#and it has now reached an all time worst point

[kominigiru]

im gonna start dumping my one-shots here from now on just bc. also posted on ao3!

satoru's guide to wedding day blunders

contains: female reader, fluff, crack, gojo being a menace, reader and toge are siblings, shoko and nanami being so done with satoru's shenanigans part 1 - part 2 (both in ao3)

Gojo Satoru is late to his own wedding.

You stand at the altar, fingers clenched around your bouquet, doing everything you can to keep from grinding your teeth. Shoko, standing to your right as your maid of honor, is shooting you sympathetic looks, while Nanami on the left looks like he's one deep sigh away from physically dragging Satoru here himself.

Your family sits in the front row, their faces showing various degrees of irritation, disappointment, and—worst of all—pity. They're whispering among themselves, making no effort to hide the glances they cast toward you, or the fact that they're annoyed on your behalf.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the noise. When you open them again, your mother is already halfway up the aisle, moving toward you with a determined look in her eyes.

"Sweetheart," she says, barely acknowledging Shoko and Nanami. "It's been over an hour. I think it's time to accept that maybe this wedding… isn't happening."

You stiffen, fingers going numb around your bouquet. Cancel?

Nanami sighs heavily, crossing his arms. "She has a point. Gojo's behavior today is completely unacceptable. It reflects poorly on him, and worse, on you. We can reschedule."

Shoko snorts in agreement. "Yeah, even I'm tired of waiting, and I'm not the one at the altar. Typical Satoru."

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't speak often—as your Cursed Speech makes casual conversation risky—but the urge to say something now presses hard against your chest. Before you can figure out how to respond, you feel a tug on your gown.

You glance down to see your younger brother, Toge, standing at your side, his tiny arms wrapping around your waist in a comforting hug.

"Aniki's late," Toge mutters, his voice barely audible.

The way he says it tugs at your heartstrings. Even your usually patient brother is starting to lose hope.

Suddenly, with perfect, almost theatrical timing, the heavy church doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a deafening thud. You don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

"Sorry I'm late!" Satoru's voice rings out, loud and unapologetic, echoing through the silent church.

You finally turn, and there he is, Gojo Satoru, standing in the doorway like he's just walked in from some casual errand and not his own wedding. His hair is tousled, his sunglasses perched on top of his head, and he's grinning like this is all some kind of joke.

Satoru saunters down the aisle, waving casually at the guests. "Miss me?"

Your family collectively groans, and you can feel Nanami's simmering rage without even looking at him. Shoko rolls her eyes dramatically, muttering something about "classic Gojo" under her breath. You, however, stay rooted in place, fingers tightening their grip on your bouquet.

Satoru reaches the altar, looking perfectly at ease, as though he hasn't just kept an entire wedding party waiting for over an hour. He slides up next to you, his grin widening when he sees the expression on your face.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says softly, leaning in just enough for only you to hear. "Sorry about that. Had to deal with a curse situation. You know how it is. Life of a sorcerer and all that."

You stare at him, your mouth a tight line.

You've gotten used to Satoru's antics over the years, but even for him, this is too much. Still, speaking directly, even to scold him, could have unintended consequences thanks to your cursed technique, so instead, you breathe deeply through your nose and give him a pointed glare.

"Ah… right," Satoru says, catching on. "You’re upset. Understandable."

Nanami, who's been silent up until now, finally speaks up, his voice thick with irritation. "You're lucky we haven't already canceled the ceremony."

Shoko nods. "An hour late, Satoru? Even for you, that's ridiculous."

Satoru throws up his hands in mock defense. "Okay, okay, I know! But hey, at least I showed up, right? That's what matters."

You can feel the tension radiating from the entire room, but before you can think of how to express your feelings in a way that doesn’t result in your cursed speech accidentally knocking everyone unconscious, you feel a tug at your dress again.

You glance down, and Toge is looking up at you with wide, concerned eyes. "Tuna mayo," he says softly, which is his way of saying, Are you okay?

You crouch down slightly, giving Toge a reassuring smile and patting his head. It's a small moment, but it helps ground you. You straighten up, turning back to Satoru, who's watching the interaction with a sheepish grin.

"Look," he starts, "I know I messed up. Big time. But hey," he adds, flashing a grin, "You know you love me anyway, right?"

You stare at him for a long moment, taking in his disheveled appearance, his unshakable confidence, and his infuriating grin. Despite everything, despite the frustration, the embarrassment, and the whispers from your family, you can’t help but feel the corners of your mouth twitch upward.

Maybe it’s because this is so typically Satoru—unpredictable, chaotic, and yet, somehow, charming in his own way.

You take a deep breath and raise your hand to his chest, pressing two fingers lightly against him. It's a gesture you often use when you can't speak, one that means I forgive you, but don't do it again.

Satoru's grin softens, and he takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "I promise," he says, and for once, there's no teasing in his tone. "I won't mess up again. Well, not today, at least."

Nanami clears his throat. "We'll see about that."

Shoko shrugs. "Honestly, I'm just impressed you got here at all."

Toge, ever the voice of simplicity, tugs on Satoru's sleeve and mutters, "Okaka."

Satoru gasps dramatically. "Betrayed by a child! I thought we were family, Toge!"

Toge just crosses his arms, unimpressed, as you all share a quiet laugh at Satoru's expense.

Satoru turns back to you, his grin back in full force. "So, what do you say we make this official, huh?"

You glance at the altar, the officiant who's been waiting patiently, and then back at Satoru. Slowly, you nod.

Satoru's face lights up, and with a flourish, he turns to the officiant. "Alright! Let's get married before anything else decides to go wrong!"

As the ceremony finally begins, you can't help but feel a mix of exasperation and fondness swelling in your chest. Life with Satoru will never be predictable, but as you look at him now, standing beside you, you know one thing for certain: it will always be interesting.

And in his own chaotic way, you know that Satoru loves you—enough to show up late to your wedding but still make you smile in the end.

You squeeze his hand once more and and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead and whisper, "I love you, too."

—

Later that night, after the wedding reception winds down and everyone heads home, you and Satoru return to your shared house. You're still wearing your wedding dress, and he's got his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, looking as carefree as ever. He's been trying to sweet-talk you the whole way back, as if he hadn’t shown up an hour late to your own wedding.

"Come on, sweetheart, it wasn't that bad." He grins, nudging you with his elbow. "Everyone had a good laugh, right?"

You give him a sidelong glance, your silence speaking volumes.

"Okay, okay, maybe I pushed it a little. But hey, I made it in the end, didn't I? That's what counts!" He flashes his signature smile, the one that usually gets him out of trouble.

You pause at the front door, turning to look at him. For a moment, he thinks he's won you over. You're smiling, after all. But then, without a word, you toss him a single pillow.

Satoru catches it with a confused look. "Uh…what's this?"

You gesture to the pillow and point to the roof.

His smile falters. "Wait, wait, wait, hold on. You're not serious, right?" His laugh is nervous now. "You forgave me at the altar! We're good! We're married now!"

You shrug and head inside, but before he can follow, you turn around, blocking the doorway with your body. His eyes widen in panic.

"Come on! I can't sleep on the roof on our wedding night! People will talk! Nanami will find out and he will never let me live it down!"

Your only response is a raised eyebrow, and you slowly, deliberately, start to close the door.

Satoru jams his foot in the door with a dramatic gasp. "But I thought you loved me!"

You don't need cursed speech for this one. You give him a sweet, innocent smile—the kind of smile that would normally melt him on the spot. But tonight, it just spells doom for him. He knows that smile. It's the smile that means, "I do love you, but you're not getting away with this."

He groans. "Seriously? After all the curses I've fought, this is how I go down?" He leans his head dramatically against the doorframe, clutching his pillow like a lifeline. "Sleeping on the roof like a stray cat? Come on, babe, be reasonable!"

You sigh, your patience wearing thin. He's still whining.

With a subtle tap into your cursed technique, you say the words that you've been holding back all night. "Sleep on the roof tonight."

The power of your cursed speech echoes through the air, and Satoru visibly flinches. His body moves on its own, turning toward the roof like a puppet on strings.

"W-wait! No! I take it back! I take it back! You don't have to use that—"

But it's too late. His legs betray him, carrying him toward the roof with a dramatic flair, like he's being pulled by some invisible force. You watch as he scrambles helplessly, pillow tucked under one arm as he clambers up to his new "bed" for the night.

From the roof, you hear him groan, his voice tinged with betrayal. "But I'm your husband now! Doesn't that mean anything?!"

You close the door, letting out a small chuckle. Behind it, you hear him muttering to himself in frustration.

"Of all the things to use your cursed speech for..." he grumbles. "Could've just told me you were mad! But noooo, had to make me sleep outside on the night of my own wedding!"

You hear some shuffling from the roof, and then: "At least give me a blanket! It's cold up here!"

You open a window just wide enough to toss him a thin, scratchy blanket, watching it float up to where he's perched.

"Thanks," he mutters sarcastically. "This’ll totally keep me warm."

There's silence for a few moments before his voice drifts down again.

"I'm sorryyyyy!" he yells, his voice carrying through the night air. "I'll never be late again, I swear! I'll be early to everything! Our anniversaries, your birthday, breakfast—you name it! I'll never mess up again!"

You shake your head, smirking to yourself, knowing full well that's a promise he'll break within the month. But for tonight, the roof will teach him a lesson.

From the roof, you hear a long, pitiful sigh. "I thought married life would be more… cozy. Not like… this."

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of grumbling, he goes quiet, probably giving in to the reality of his situation. The stars twinkle overhead, and for a moment, all is peaceful.

Until—

"I bet Nanami's gonna find out and give me that look tomorrow." His voice suddenly perks up again, this time with a hint of dread. "You know the one. The 'I told you so' look. Ugh, I hate that look…"

You roll your eyes, closing the window fully this time, knowing that his whining will eventually tire him out. But still, you can't help but smile.

You know he'll be back to his usual antics by tomorrow, but for now, he can enjoy the roof.

As you settle into bed, you can faintly hear Satoru one last time from outside.

"You'll miss me eventually! No one can resist my charm!"

You smile into your pillow. Not tonight, Satoru. Not tonight.

[i-wanna-write]

If One’s Different, One’s Bound to be Lonely - Wolverine Fanfic

Fic Synopsis: We know Wolverine and Sabertooth but the reader is known as Jackal. Just like the other two, their mutation is animalistic, lending them healing factors, enhanced physical abilities, and animal senses. This fic details their relationship with the Anchor!Wolverine and how they ended up meeting the Worst!Logan

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Chapter Warnings: Violence, cutting, mentions of sex but no smut, ANGST, brief mention of rape but no details/descriptions

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: We’ve finally reached a movie!!!! This chapter doesn’t have much dialogue but moves the plot along!

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It’s been years since your intimate night with James. You recall it having been 1965 or ‘66 when you two finally gave into your instincts, sharing that night together.

He left a few days later, leaving to join the Vietnam war with Victor. It made you feel weird. You felt different knowing you wouldn’t run in to him. That you wouldn’t move and see him randomly in the woods, or at a gas station, or a bar.

Rather than dwelling on that thought for long, you fell back into a your old routine. Moving every 3 months, hunting for food, and reading. Only this time, you had soemthing to look forward to - the end of the war.

And It finally did end - in 1975. So your focus shifted to waiting for James to return. To looking forward to where your life would take you next, maybe James by your side.

Months though turned into years, and years turned into five. Now it’s 1980 and you haven’t seen James. It’s been about fifteen years and at this point, your night with James and all past run ins seem like a dream.

A year or two ago you found a cabin in Canada, secluded just how you like it. You were in town to stock up on food when you visited the library with the intent to steal some books. However, you somehow ended up with a job there.

The job allows you to be around the thing you love, and not interact with most people. You simply organize the books and put them away once they’ve been returned. You may have to answer the occasional question, but for the most part, you’re alone.

Just how you like it.

The library is quiet so you have no overwhelming sound. Not many people visit so you don’t have to fight your instincts. You can just be around what you love in silence.

Your days consist of work, reading, and watching the moon at night. Your cabin is secluded enough you are able to enjoy the silence of nature, no sounds of the city to bother you.

All that led you to now, partaking in your usual nightly routine. You’re currently sitting on the porch, whiskey in hand as you watch the moon rise into the sky. If you had to guess, it’s almost a full moon and you like thinking the animals will soon be noisier.

You take a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. With your mutation you’ve come to understand through the years that another reason you love solitude is the smell. Being in cities and around others was never a pleasant aroma.

You take another breath when you catch a familiar scent. You immediately tense, feeling your heartrate begin to increase. Your mind has to be playing tricks on you.

It can’t be.

You haven’t smelt the familiar whiskey and cigar in so many years.

Your gaze moves from the moon to the tree line to the first floor when you see a familiar build. There standing, flannel donned with a bag slung over his shoulder, is James.

You rise, forgetting your whiskey and immediately running off the steps and towards him. He seemed to have the same thought as you meet in the middle. His bag dropping as you jump into his arms, legs hugging around his waist.

Your own arms are around his neck while his own hold you up by your ass. Your lips immediately find his and you moan on the contact.

They’re soft, tasting of tobacco and solely James. Your mouths move hastily against each other, neither of you able to get enough of the other. He presses his tongue into your mouth and you let him take over the kiss, content to just be in his presence.

The kiss ends all too soon but James doesn’t let you go. He allows your legs to drop form his waist but keeps his hands on your ass, keeping you close. Your head is tucked into his chest, his own resting on your head.

You’re both silent a moment, just relishing in being together again. His heart pounds strongly beneath your ear and you have to stop tears from falling. He’s finally here.

“Fuck I missed you sweetheart.” He whispers against you before placing a kiss on your head.

“Fifteen years James.” You mumble against his chest.

“I go by Logan now.” You pull away at that, looking into his brown eyes, eyes you missed so much l, as you arch an eyebrow.

You’re able to take him in. Though fifteen years has passed he still looks the same. His hairs is longer than before, tufts still on either side but more prominent. He has a few wrinkles and there seems to be bags under his eyes.

You frown at that, not knowing what he’s been through. You lower your hands from his neck, grabbing his to take them off you. You grab his right hand in your left.

“Come, I’ll make dinner and you can tell me anything you want.”

…

That night, after dinner and many moments together to try to make up for the past years, the two of you lay in bed, sweaty and naked. He shared with you how Victor and he fought in the war for a few years before Victor fucked it up.

Ever the narcisstic masgonist he is, he attempted to rape a vietnamese woman and killed a Senior officer who tried to stop him. This led to himself and Jam- Logan, being brought in front of a firing squad.

He shared how he and Victor were than imprisoned because the bullets obviously didn’t work. How they were approached by a man named William Stryker to join a team of mutants.

They took him up on the offer.

James decided to go by his biological father’s surname - Logan. You finally learned how Victor and James were half brothers - that they shared the same father. It was only revealed when Logan went through puberty, as his mutation showed itself and Victor, being older, already had the mutation.

He shared how, throughout his time with weapon X - the mutants team - it turned into something he didn’twant to be a part of. The other mutants on the team and Stryker himself were brutal. Viscous. They couldn’t control themselves and had no empathy for those they were after or can across. All this was what James was against.

So he left.

He finally left Victor.

In turn, you shared with him your time apart. Your job at the library and how you’ve lived in this cabin awhile now. You live a quiet life, not worrying about being found out or running to the next cabin.

You were almost happy there.

He of course teased you about ‘becoming domesticated’. How he was off using his instincts while you were the one who ignored them. How the two of you seemed to have switched.

But you tell Logan how he was always the piece missing. How you missed not hiding your true self and instincts like you did with him. How being with him, you didn’t feel different. Didn’t feel lonely.

So Logan settled in with you, getting a job as a local lumberjack, putting his flannels to use. You lived a quiet life together for six years. You both left each morning to go to work, returning for a quiet night of dinner, whiskey, and sex.

Until everything changed again.

…

Tonight you and Logan lay in bed naked, tangled in your sheets and drenched in sweat. You’re laying with your head on his chest, right arm playing with his chest ahir. One of his arms is around your waist, the other smoothing your hair back and forth, a cigar hanging from his lips.

You tried to stop him from smoking in bed but it was a losing battle. Besides, the scent of them became soothing to you and now helps you fall asleep everynight. That, and just knowing he’s here, safe and with you.

The only lights in the room are his cigar and the moon. The embers alight Logan’s face, showing his stubble that lines his jaw and his deep brown eyes. To you, he looks the most peaceful in moments like this.

Like he hasn’t fought in numerous wars, seen terrible things, done terrible things. It’s moments like this you cherish the most. You can both be yourself and not care about all the factors of the outside world.

Logan catches your eyes and gives you a quizzical look. “What?” He asks, cigar between his teeth.

“Nothing.” You say to him, continuing to just stare.

“I can feel your eyes on me.”

“Just admiring your beauty.” You say, smiling brightly.

Logan chickles. “Smartass.” He says before taking the cigar from his mouth to place a kiss on your forehead.

You smile at the feeling, always feeling safe with him.

“Want to hear a story I read today.” You ask him.

He places the cigar back in his mouth, taking another drag. You watch as the smoke leaves his mouth, always amazed at how cool he makes it look. It’s funny that nothing can really kill him. So he may as well relish in the things the average human cannot do so often without the risk of cancer.

“What’d you read about today, sweetheat?” He places his hand back onto your hip, pulling you closer if possible.

“It’s about why the moon is so lonely.” You start, your voice soft. “It used to have a lover named Kuekuastheu and they walked the skies together. Everyone was jealous of the relationship but a spirit, Trickster was the most envious and planned to break the relationship.

He told Kuekuastheu that the moon wanted some wild roses from the normal world. So he went to get them, not knowing that once you leave the spirit world, you can never come back.

When Kuekuastheu returned he found out he couldnt re-enter. The moon was so sad so she got help from the sun to give her light power to her love. Keukuastheu asked the Master to turn into a wolf because when he went into the forest, he saw how harsh men were.

He saw how they cut a wolf to get its fur and eat it, so he chose a wolf to help them. He made people fear them and good came out of it, for whenever a wolf barred its teeth, it was a better option to run rather then hit or kill it.

But Keukuastheus still loves the moon so much that at night he goes to the cliff top and howls her name. For she can never be with him again.” You finish, a tear leaving your eye as you can’t imagine that kind of loss.

“You know what Keukuastheus means in the Native American language?” Logan whispers, looking you in your eye.

You shake your head. The sad fable did not reveal that.

“Wolverine.” Logan says.

You frown at that, suddenly not liking the symbolism. You don’t want to be his moon. He your Keukuastheus.

“Well, now it’s creepy and sad rather then romantic and sad.” You point out, a pout forming on your lips.

Logan snorts, shaking his head. He discards his cigar with his hand on your waist, stuffing it into the ashtray on his night stand. He then re-grabs your hip, pulling you half on top of him before lowering his head into your hair, giving your head one more kiss.

“It’s just a fable sweetheart, go to sleep.”

You close your eyes, feeling safe, happy, and not alone.

…

You're standing in your kitchen, making dinner for you and Logan. Another bright side of settling down near a town is frequent grocery shopping. You’d be lying if you said you missed hunting rabbit and deer as your source of daily protein.

You’re in the middle of seasoning some steaks, prepared to peal potatoes when the front door opens. A smile graces your face, surprised but happy Logan is home early.

“You’re home early.” You say, turning to face him.

Only it’s not Logan. Instead, it’s someone you havent seen in twenty years.

Victor.

“Sorry frail, figured you and I have some catchin’ up to do.” He says, walking closer to you.

You take in the man you loathed from the moment you met him. He still looks the same. Short hair on the top of his head with stubble lining his jaw. His canines are on full display, his claws grown on his hands which are at his side.

“Wasn’t expecting company.” You say, watching his every move, ready to fight if needed.

He continues to walk closer to you, looking around the place you’ve grown to call home. He slides his nails over the top of the couch, ripping it and you watch as the stuffing falls out. He moves closer to you and you take a step from the counter, knowing not to get yourself backed into a corner.

You watch as Victor leans his head up, nose flaring as he takes in the scent around him. He flashes you a smile. “Seems you and the runt might end up with some runts of your own based on the smell of this place.”

“What do you want Victor.” You say, arms crossed over your chest.

You know he’s not here for chit-chat. But you’ve ripped his throat out twice and you wont hesitate to do it a third.

Victor shrugs. “I mean, we’re practically family. Just wanna see how my little bro is treating his misses.”

“Cut the shit.” You snap, anger rising and teeth threatening to elongate. “I know what you’ve done the past years and I know sure as shit you’re not here to ‘catch up’.”

Victor smiles again, shaking his head. “Knew he didn’t like you just for your looks.” He crosses his own arms across his chest, mirroring you. “My… Colleague, has an interest in you. He wants a little meeting.”

You let out a laugh. “Not a chance in hell. And i suggest you fuck off before I make you.”

“I’m not sure, domestication seems to have made you soft.”

You growl at that, teeth elongated and claws growing. You know he’s bating you into a fight. You know he is. But your instincts are telling you to attack. To go for the throat. To finally make his heart stop beating.

Your instincts win out.

With a growl, you go to attack. Victor is just as ready. The two of you meet in the middle, his claws slicing into your shoulders while your own enter his stomach.

You grunt, pulling away and turning back to look at the man. He moves to attack again and you take the defensive, blocking the hit. You quickly turn, claws out and manage to slice his arm. He looks down at it, rage in his eyes before coming at you again, teeth bared.

He goes for your throat but you manage to get your own hand up, him taking a chunk out of your arm. You groan at the pain and grab the nearest thing, your potatoes peeler, and shred it down his face so he lets go.

You go to attack again as he’s momentarily distracted, swiping at his throat and managing to scratch him but not missing the jugular. Blood sprays your kitchen and you grab a chair, aiming to hit him. He quickly rips it out of your hands and growls.

He lands a punch to your face, your head going to the side and body flying back as you land on your on your ass and elbows. He rushes over to you but you move your legs, swiping his out from under him. This time he’s the one to land on his back and you quickly straddle him.

“Want to be with a real man?” He grunts to you, bucking up his hips.

You grimace in disgust and lean down, teeth aiming for his neck. They never get to make contact as he bucks again, this time with his hands on your hips and flip your position. His hands immediately find your neck and they enclose around them.

You feel your breathing cease and throat start to crush. You try to move you head up towards him, teeth bared to snap at his arms. Your hands are on his face, scratch any surface you can get but to no avail. He’s older, stronger, quicker, and more feral.

“Thanks for the rematch frail.” Victor says before you feel a pinch in your neck and everything goes dark.

…

“It’s amazing she isn’t already with child.” A voice calls you out of your unconsciousness.

You slowly open your eyes, the vision blurry before coming into view. You’re met with a room that looks like a hospital operation room, the scent of saline and disinfectant meeting your nose.

You look down to see you're in only a hospital gown. Your legs are spread open, knees and ankles strapped down. You let out a low growl, teeth and claws growing as you try to free your hands.

You hear a loud, fast beeping and hear someone speak. “She’s awake, sir.”

You try to look around for the noise but cannot see who spoke it.

“Fuckign Mutants, can’t do anything right. Give her another dose, I’m not done extracting yet.”

You have no idea what that means but know it’s not good. You immediately start to pull on the restraints, trying to free yourself. Soon though, you feel another prick in your neck and the world turns dark again.

…

The next time you awake the smell is the exact opposite of the first time. It's the stench of body odor, feces, and blood. You slowly open your eyes to see you’re in a cell laying on a dirty cot.

You immediately rise to your feet only for them to collapse, not able to hold your weight. You slowly stand back up, moving to sit on the edge of the cot.

You look around to notice the room is dark, only one window outside of the cell and in the hall. The cell itself having no window of its own. It consists of only the cot and a bucket in the corner.

Next you move back to your sense of smell, already covering the stenches. You can make out two unfamiliar scents and nothing else. You allow your ears to strain, hearing two separate heartbeats and breaths.

“Hello?” You call out, noticing your voice is hoarse.

“New girl, that you?” A voice calls from your right.

“I guess.” You reply, hand reaching out to rub along your throat as if to soothe the hoarseness.

“They’ve had you sedated for a month. Never saw someone fight as hard.” The voice from your left calls.

Your mind swirls You have no idea where you are. You don’t remember anything that has been done to you. Moments like this you’re grateful but also upset that you have your regenerative ability. You have no idea what has been done to you.

That thought scares you.

“Where are we?” You question.

“A facility they experiment on mutants.” the voice says angrily.

Great. Of course fucking Victor would drop you off here. Your mind thinks to Logan, wondering where he is. If he’s looking for you. If he thinks you’re dead.

You know that when he returned home he saw a blood massacre in the cabin. He probably would have smelt Victor as well as yourself, knowing the two of you fought. The question is, what did Victor do to him once Logan found him?

You don’t have time to think more on that, as an alarm is sounded throughout the hall. You rise, your legs cooperating this time and watch as your cell opens. You rush out, seeing that the two on either side of you are just kids, no older then the age of fifteen.

“Damn!” the boy on your left shouts. “You look like shit.”

You glance down, noticing that you’re in a half ripped shirt and dirty sweatpants. You see that you cell neighbors, the other a girl, are dressed in clean white t-shirts and sweats. Looks like you didn’t get any special treatment.

You lift your head, listening for any sound or smell of someone else. You hear feet moving from outside your hall, following them and smelling they’re all the same as the children next to you. Mutants running towards freedom.

“Come on,” you tell them, turning to your right. “Outside is this way.”

“How do you know?” the girl questions, looking scared.

You tap your nose with your finger, then repeat it to one of you ears. “My mutation.”

You then start running towards the hallway exit, knowing they’ll follow you. You open the locked door easily with your strength, looking out to see more teenagers running in the direction you suspected.

You allow your neighbors to go first before following, running along with the kids. You look around and notice this hallway is just a stretch with doors on either side, you’re assuming housing cells like the one you were just in.

You continue to run, noticing how there are staff on the floor, dead. You hold no ill feelings towards that, happy to just be out of this hell hole where you don’t even remember what you went through.

Soon, sunlight reaches your eyes and you soon exit the facility, grass under your bearfeet. You watch as the children are guided on to a jet, a woman dressed in black ushering them in.

You want answers. You want to know where Logan is, what happened to him. Where Victor is. You wouldn’t mind tearing out his throat, for good this time.

Deciding to not follow the others, you turn to walk towards the tree line. You’ve survived in the woods numerous of times and you know you can do it again. Your plan of action is to find out where you are, get home, then find Logan if he’s not there.

A hand suddenly stops you, causing you to turn and ready to fight. Having grabbed you is a man also dressed in black, similar to that of the woman. He’s wearing sunglasses and is tall, probably six feet with broad shoulders.

“Where are you going, jet’s this way.” The man says, his hand now on your own.

You jerk your hand out of his grasp. “To get answers.” you say, not owing this man anything.

“Revenge wont get you anything.” The man says, trying to persuade you to come with him.

You shoot him a smile, all teeth elonged and claws grown.

“I’m the Jackal. I can get anything.”

You then turn your back to the man, continuing to walk to the treeline.

…

After escaping the facility, you found out you were still in Canada and only about two hundred miles from your home. You stayed moving in the woods for a week, hunting and gathering your strength.

Afterwards, you found a nearby cabin that was empty but lived in. You broke in, helped yourself to a shower and change of clothes before packing a bag of food and leaving. You trekked through the woods for another week, allowing your scent of smell to guide you back home.

Finally you reached it, noticing how it looked run down. You immediately ran in to see the aftermath of your fight with Victor from a month ago. Blood was all over the kitchen cabinets, piles on the floor. The couch was torn apart, the kitchen table broken.

You walked into your bedroom, seeing the room the same as when you were last there. You sat down on the bed, the scent of Logan lingering.

Tears suddenly gathered in your eyes and you let out a sob as they continued to fell. You were angry. So angry. How Victor could come in and take you. How you were able to let yourself be taken and experimented on.

You were frustrated. Confused. You had no idea what has happened to you the past month and frustrated you couldn’t remember. One of the kids said you were sedated for a month and you cannot imagine what happened during that time.

You were sad. Sad for all those kids that undergone something that you might’ve. That they were just different and that meant they could be taken and experimented on.

But most of all you were sad cause you lost Logan again. You had Logan for six years, you were finally normal, not different. But it all had to go and change. And you have no idea where he is or what happened to him.

It seemed you really were the moon, and Logan Kuekuastheu.

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///

Tag List: @randomblogzsblog, @sebastianstanblog, @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @somiaw @sseleniaa

A/N: I cannot find where I found a fuller version of the Moon and the Wolverine story. I hope I did it justice.

[crescenthistory]

you are my favourite silence

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: Jessica's lecture and the eventual nightmare-catalysed-reunion, from Paul's tortured, yearning perspective. Based on "in the silence, there is an us".

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: not proofread, angst, hurt/comfort, references to nightmares, intense yearning, descriptions of anxiety and panic, feeling like the world is demanding too much of you, being super in love but not able to say it out loud, cuddling, lady jessica being a c*ckblock/heartbreaker

***

In the face of change, of being pushed into the final phase of growing up, Paul wanted to cling to you like a lifeline. To the gentle rhythm that once existed between him and you, the one he felt becoming more and more unbalanced as the world around dumped expectations on you both. He almost had not noticed it happening at first. You had grown up beside him, a constant presence, and yet now, each time he glanced your way, he was increasingly aware of what could be taken from him. He was only just beginning to grasp how much he cared for you, and the idea that you might feel like you did not belong here, or worse, being shown you do not, made something twist deep inside him.

Sitting beside you in the library, Paul could hear his mother’s words – sharp and pointed, even as he believed they were meant to guide. His whole body felt tense, not because of Jessica’s talk of duty, or the future he would soon shoulder, but because of you. Because he knew what her gaze did to you, how it picked at the part of you that never felt enough. When Jessica moved on to discuss personal relationships, the weight of her underlying meaning came pressing down, and Paul could barely keep his attention on her. His eyes flicked toward you, searching for any sign that her words were cutting too deep. Even when scolded himself, all he could think about is how it would affect you.

He hated this. Hated the way his mother’s eyes would linger on you, as though you were being measured and found wanting. It wasn’t true, but he knew you felt it. He could see it in the way you lowered your head, trying to hide from the sharpness of her tone. His jaw clenched. You were not some distraction, you were his best friend, and that should count for something. You were the reason he could breathe when it all felt either too small or too big.

When the speech was finally over and Jessica left them alone, Paul let out a breath, half-realising he did not listen to a word she said towards the end. The silence between the two of you felt heavy, thicker than it should have been. You should have been able to laugh it off together, snicker at his mother’s dramatics, but he knew you would not do that anymore. He risked a glance at you. His heart sinking at the way you avoided looking back. 

“She didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice low, unsure how else to cut through the tension. When you didn’t respond, he moved closer, needing to bridge the growing distance. “She’s just worried. That’s all. My mother –”

“Your mother is always worried,” you cut in sharply, and Paul flinched. The tone in your voice was one you rarely ever used on him, only in your worst moments. He knew what it meant. You were pulling away, not just from the conversation, but from him. He could feel it. He wanted to stop it, wanted to reach out and pull you back to where you belonged, beside him. “Maybe she has a point. I’ve been distracting you. I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t keep coming to you.”

No.

Paul’s chest tightened as you began to move, began to slip from his grasp. Before he could even think, his hands moved on their own, gently but firmly gripping yours, desperate to ground you. “No,” he said aloud, his voice more forceful than he intended. “You haven’t been distracting me. You’ve... you’ve been keeping me sane. It’s not the same thing.”

He didn’t have the words. Not really. Not for what he was trying to say. All he needed was for you to understand, to know how important you were to him, but no words were worthy in the moment. His mother could never see it the way he did, she was too caught up in her visions for his future to realise when the only future he cared about was right in front of his nose. She didn’t understand how all the qualities that could make him a good duke were the ones you brought out of him.

He could see your brows twitch in the way they do when you are holding back tears. “But your mother thinks –”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and for a brief moment, Paul felt a surge of panic. He blinked, startled by his own admission that he had not realised rang so true for him, but he didn’t let go of your hands. His grip tightened slightly, and he looked at you, willing you to understand all he could not say. “I don’t care what she thinks about the time we spend together,” he continued, trying to keep his voice level. “She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, like the world’s pressing in from every side, and you’re just. Alone.”

She doesn’t know you’re the lifeboat. 

“Whenever I’m with you, it’s the only time I don’t feel that way,” he confessed, his voice raw. He was laying it all out, unsure if he was saying the right things or making things worse, but he couldn’t stop himself. It felt like he was pleading a case. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the only thing that keeps me steady.”

He saw the way your eyes briefly squeezed shut, the blush still remaining in your cheeks, the slightly quivering curve of your mouth, all that internal struggle on your beautiful face. It tore him apart. You wanted to argue, he could see that, but something held you back. Paul wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. He felt you giving up instead of giving in, as you softly said, “We just need to be more careful.”

Careful. That word grated against his every instinct. Paul didn’t want careful. He wanted you, the way you had always been – close, inseparable. 

But then you said, “We can’t keep hiding away in each other’s rooms. We can’t... we can’t keep acting like kids.”

Paul’s heart sank, his body sagging slightly as he was giving up, too. Not on you, on himself, on his situation. He rubbed at his face, trying to shake the helplessness threatening to take over. You were right, but it felt painfully wrong.

“But we’re not acting like kids,” he muttered, trying to keep you from slipping too far away. 

“Aren’t we?” you whispered, your voice filled with something that sounded like heartbreak. “We’re literally sneaking into each other’s beds in the middle of the night, Paul. We’re still pretending like nothing’s changed.”

Paul didn’t have a response. Not immediately, too caught up with the ache in his chest as his disturbance turned existential. Why must sharing a close connection with someone, being tethered by someone, be a thing of only childhood? He felt he needed it more and more the older he got. Yet, he knew better than anyone all he had to do and all he had to be, and that it was time to step up to the challenge. But that didn’t mean he wanted to lose this, lose you, at least this part of you it felt he had always possessed. The idea that things had to change, that you couldn’t be the way you had always been – it was unbearable.

“Nothing has changed though,” he finally said, aiming for conviction. “Not between us.”

Deep down, Paul knew you were right. Everything had changed, just not in the way you were currently discussing, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He was not ready to face it. 

When you stood up to leave, the panic flared again in his chest. He wanted to reach for you, to stop you, to pull you back down beside him. Show you why you had to stay. He did anything but, he could only watch as you walked away, leaving him behind with the oppressive atmosphere of the library. His finger tips lingered on your seat as he clung to your promise: I will see you tomorrow. Even that small promise felt like a lifeline made of plastic.

Paul stared at the spot where you left, the weight of the future settling heavily on his shoulders. 

The following weeks, Paul did everything in his power to bury the gnawing unease that twisted inside him. He cherry-picked from his continuing lectures from his mother, trying to keep only the positives and leave out all the doom everyone seemed to hand him these days. The tension that hung between you only worsened in the silence of the castle’s long nights. You had always shared a restlessness after dark, a sort of curse that made sleep seem impossible unless you were together. But after his mother’s warnings about appearances and responsibilities, Paul felt obligated to put distance between you, to keep his emotions in check. At least for as long as you claimed that was what you wanted, too.

God, he hated it.

At first, he tried to do everything right, tried to focus more on his studies, his duties, his pretenses. He could not afford to slip up, not when he was being watched so closely, not when he was meant to prove himself a future Duke. But the more he tried to be the person he was expected to be, the more he felt himself, Paul, not the future duke of House Atreides, unraveling. 

Every moment spent apart from you gnawed at him, like a thread slowly being pulled loose from the fabric of his mind. His concentration splintered; during meetings, his eyes trailed to the door, wondering if you would ever walk in, during training, his movements felt sluggish, his mind always wandering to whether you were okay, whether you missed him too.

The longer you kept your distance, the harder it became to focus on anything but you and the looming elephant that was your friendship.

He soaked up every interaction you had like a parched man trying to survive in the desert. Even something as simple as sitting beside you during meals or brushing past you in the hallways felt like a lifeline. He clung to those moments, storing them away like precious memories, replaying them in his mind when he found himself alone. He knew you still saw each other a relatively normal amount, the amount usual friends dedicate to each other – but it was far from enough.

During it all you kept up your facade too well for Paul’s state. It was like you practiced it all when you could not sleep at night, you were polite, composed, like nothing had changed between you. Paul knew you better, of course. He could see through it, see the cracks forming beneath the surface. The bags forming under your eyes, the strain on your smiles, the flickering of your gaze when met by any member of the Atreides family now. You were just as affected by this distance as he was, but you were better at hiding it from everyone but him. It only made him want to reach out more, to break through that wall, to remind you that you didn’t have to carry this alone.

Paul sat beside you at the long wooden table in the dining hall, trying to act as though nothing had changed. The usual hum of formalities and business between his tutors, his mother, and the few remaining nobles blurred into a background buzz. All of it felt irrelevant compared to the tension sitting between you and him. He tried to tell himself the change was not that large, out of all the seats in the room, you were still sat together. 

He sneaked a glance at you from the corner of his eye. You were sitting perfectly still, your posture as composed and graceful as you had been trained to be, eyes downcast as you picked at the meal in front of you. On the surface, you looked calm, indifferent even, but Paul could see it so easily. The way your fingers gripped your knife a little too tight, the way your shoulders tensed as if trying to make yourself smaller, invisible. It’s not the same.

Despite his appetite having long since vanished, Paul tried to take a bite of his food. Beside him, you sipped your water, eyes flicking up just once to meet his before darting away again. The briefest connection, but it hit him like a shockwave. He was desperate for more of you, the real you, not this version that was carefully packaged to meet the standards of the room.

A thought ran through his head and before he could compose himself, Paul’s foot nudged yours lightly under the table. A small, almost childlike gesture. His heart raced, wondering if you would acknowledge it, if you would look at him like you used to. When you glanced his way, a flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, a sign that you were still there, but it withered away fast.

You straightened in your seat, breaking eye contact, your attention turning back to your plate. A clear signal that you couldn’t do this, not here. Not now.

Paul’s stomach twisted, and he gripped his fork tighter, his knuckles white against the silver. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. There had been no distance between you before. You used to laugh together, share inside jokes over dinners like this. You used to sneak glances that said everything without needing words. Now, there was just this unbearable restraint. The longer it stretched on, the more suffocating it became.

He wanted so desperately to just be your best friend again, like when you were younger, when things were simple. When sharing a bed was not plagued by conventions or the expectations of his mother. Back then, it had been about adventure and laughter. Now it was about survival for poor Paul, it was all he needed to secure him. He wanted you to know how much he cared, how much he needed you. 

He remained silent.

When night fell, it became unbearable. Alone in his room, Paul felt the weight of everything pressing down on him—the responsibilities, the expectations, the growing distance between the two of you. Sleep evaded him. Each night felt longer than the last, and the silence of the castle, once comforting, now felt suffocating. 

He thought of you constantly. 

He wondered if you were having nightmares, the way you always did when there were no storms to distract you. You never reacted well to the stillness of nights like this, and Paul knew it. He knew you too well. 

Should I go to her? 

The thought flickered in his mind more than once, the worry gnawing at him more than usual, but something held him back. His mother’s words still lingered in the air between you, but more importantly your words. You asked for space, even if the reasons felt as tragic to him as they did. He could not risk making things worse, could not risk losing you completely by overstepping. Nevertheless, the longer he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the more unbearable the thought of doing nothing became.

The hours drifted on, whisking away into the night air streaming in through his cracked open window. He had zeroed in on the sound in hopes it could form a lullaby, but to no avail. In the silence of his room, he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Before he could finish thinking, he was up and out of bed, hand on the door. He was fully expecting to open the door and be met with a wall of nothingness, forced to face how truly delerious he was becoming, but the possibility of any other outcome made him throw the door open without hesitation. 

His pounding heart all but lit up as he saw you standing in the doorway, almost hidden in the darkness. Surprise was etched onto your features and your hand was half-raised, presumably to knock on the door. A relieved smile made it onto your lips, and Paul briefly wondered whether you were aware, or if it was instinct. He breathed your name as a silent thank you to whatever forces brought you back to his doorstep.

In the half-shadows, you looked haunted, and he immediately stepped to the side to make room for you to step back into his world. He had been waiting for you. Hoping, somehow, that you would come to him, that you still needed him the way he needed you. 

You slipped inside quietly, and Paul closed the door behind you, sealing the two of you away from everything – his mother, the expectations, the fear that had been building between you for weeks. His chest tightened as he watched you, taking in the way your shoulders tensed, the way your eyes flicked to his like you weren’t sure if you should be here.

Paul had never been more certain of anything. He needed you here. 

As if your muscle memory controlled your actions, you moved toward the bed, and Paul followed hot on your heels, not willing to let you get too far away from him. There were no words, but there didn’t need to be. You both knew what this was. 

As he watched you climb into his bed, Paul felt something settle in his chest, something that had been fraying ever since the distance had started growing between you. He slid in beside you, immediately wrapping his arm as tightly around your waist as viable and pulling you close.

The quiet of his room that had just felt so suffocating now felt like a refuge. You were his anchor, his constant. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside didn’t feel so heavy. 

He heard your breathing slow as you nestled against him, your head resting on his chest. Without any real thought behind the action, he buried his nose in your hair and breathed you in, feeling every part of his body that was touching yours. He could feel the tremors in your body start to fade, and with them, the knot of worry that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside him began to loosen.

“Are you okay?” Paul whispered, his voice soft, almost afraid of shattering the moment.

You nodded against him, but Paul could feel the weakness in the movement, could feel the words you did not say. In response he held you tighter, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it almost didn’t reach his own ears. He had not realized how much he needed to say it until the words were out. “I wanted to come to you, but—” He trailed off, guilt wracking his mind while trying to somehow silence yours. His hand began to trace up and down your bare arm, needing to feel the warmth of your skin to remind himself that you were real, that this moment was real.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion. “I wanted to come sooner.”

Paul didn’t say anything, but his heart ached at the truth in your words. You had wanted to come sooner, but something had kept you back. The same thing that had kept him pacing his room, wondering if he should break the unspoken rules and go to you. Although he had always known, being told that the distance was killing you too felt oddly good.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence between you now felt different, like the quiet after a storm, when the air is charged but peaceful. Paul’s hand drifted up to gently stroke your hair, the motion instinctual, as his other hand held your waist. It was one of the most intimate embraces you had had, and it felt so right, to the point where he did not even question it. He wanted to offer you more than comfort, more than just a place to escape your nightmares. He wanted to give you the world, guaranteed safety. Not just a reprieve or a shelter, but a true home, a good life. But the words weren’t there yet. He didn’t know how to say the way he cared for you, that it was more than just… caring. That you were the only person who had ever made him feel like everything might be okay.

Instead, he whispered, “I’ll always be here. I swear it.” It was close enough for now.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim candlelight, burning low. For a moment, Paul’s breath caught in his throat. He saw everything in that look – your fear, your doubt, your hope. Your care. He craved to kiss you, to close the distance that still felt like it hung between you. Instead, he pressed his lips to the top of your head, a tender, quiet gesture that said everything he couldn’t yet.

Neither of you spoke after that. You simply held each other, the world outside disappearing as you both drifted into a peaceful sleep. Paul finally felt safe.

[cringefelinecreature]

To think that the lovesquares biggest most ongoing problem (honesty and communication) all started from a white lie about a scarf.

[missrosegold]

Looks like I just lost another close friend to guy who isn't worth a pile of dog shit. 😊

[arolesbianism]

Working more on the local group of Synchronized Light and hoo boy. There's smth wrong with these guys.

[ntshastark]

.

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ it's a gift (you keep those) ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ giving him a plushie that reminded you of him┊1k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, crushes, probably ooc but he’s so cute & wade is hard to write for, written for dp&w logan so idk if he got gifts in xmen, i forgot about laura, they are in touch and have a wonderful father-daughter relationship, i’m so sorry, edited

➤ author's note: i have so many thoughts but too incompetent to write

logan’s never sure who will appear when he opens the door as wade’s quite the extrovert, either vanessa or one of his many other friends whom he’s now become somewhat acquainted with, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to meet the familiar eyes of the cute neighbor who lived a few doors down. he nervously scratched the back of his head, suddenly becoming aware of his shabby appearance, “uh, are you looking for wade?”

“no, i was actually looking for you!” god, your smile is so bright, it’s blinding. he normally hates perfume of any sort as it’s so overpowering to his heightened senses, but the one that you wore smelled so lovely like always. is that a new shade of lip gloss you’re wearing? it really suits you. (why on earth is he noticing all of these details out of the blue? he needs to snap out of whatever spell you put on him after being introduced when he first showed up and only interacting in passing since then).

“looking for me?” he repeated, in disbelief, trying his best not to allow his surprise to slip into his voice. considering he isn’t from this dimension and not the most agreeable person to be around, he had no friends of his own yet and hasn’t been visited by anyone since he got here. a beat of panic struck him, thinking that he was in trouble for something and you came to complain. he really couldn’t think of any other reason you were here for him even though you were so cheerful.

you were carrying some shopping bags with you, dropping them on the ground before reaching into one and pulling out a large fuzzy plushie of a gray cat hidden under layers of glittery tissue paper, “i saw this cutie when i went shopping with my friends and thought it looked like you!” you held it out for him to take, looking so proud of the stuffed animal.

he hesitated for a second before accepting it, trying to take in the fact that you were reminded of him in your day-to-day life. it made his heart flutter, and he found himself dumbfounded by the feeling. he was frequently teased by his roomate about his little “crush” on you, claiming that it was oh so obvious and that the sooner he accepted it, the better, but he never realized until now how pathetic he was when it came to you. was the wolverine really getting butterflies like a fucking schoolgirl in his old-ass age? thank god no one was home right now to bully him about it, he would never hear the end of it.

“it does not look like me,” he scoffed playfully after a quick examination.

“no, it definitely does! it’s a big, grumpy kitty—” you took a step closer to hold it with him, pointing at all the similarities you observed, although it was clear you were exaggerating for laughs. “see the little frowny face and ears? it could be your identical twin separated from birth! willy mentioned that you act like a cat most of the time, and i think it fits perfectly!”

the smile he didn’t realize was plastered on his face faltered at the last piece of information, grateful that you didn’t notice. that idiot has been talking about him to you? he might as well forget about any chance of getting with you, because knowing how he yaps without a filter and loves to play matchmaker, you probably think he’s a freak of some sort. “only good things, i hope…”

you giggled, the sweetest sound he ever heard. “of course, he’s really fond of you… well, maybe a bit too fond, but you already know about that!” you opened your mouth to continue the conversation or say something else, but your phone started ringing and you excused yourself, looking a little shy as you grabbed up your bags. “i’ll talk to you later!” you sounded so excited about the prospect of it before leaving, your voice and footsteps becoming fainter as you walked back to your place.

“wait, you didn’t take back the cat—”

“it’s a gift! you keep those!”

“oh… right…”

he lingered for a moment, unable to say much in response since you left in such a rush. when was the last time someone gave him a present? staring at this brand new item, he still couldn’t see the resemblance in any way, but knowing that it was a gift from you gave him a rare feeling of happiness which returned every time he looked at it from then on among his few possessions. 

“oh my goodness, what is this adorable thing?!” wade exclaimed when he saw it sitting on the couch where logan slept, picking it up to gawk at before tossing it up in the air and catching it before it hit the floor. “ooh, let me guess, it’s a gift from her, isn’t it?” 

the mutant groaned at his mocking tone. “put it down before you ruin it with your grubby hands,” he commanded, snatching it from his grasp (rough enough to make his point clear, but carefully enough not to tear it apart). his roommate didn’t even bother pretending to be offended like he usually would as he was simply overjoyed that his “ship” was coming true. “it doesn’t mean anything, don’t make it weird.”

“it doesn’t mean anything?! how can you say that when it’s going to be the first gift you give to your first child together—”

“first what??”

“nevermind, what are you gonna name it?”

“i have to name it?”

“have you never owned a stuffed animal before? you have to name it! how heartbroken is she going to be when she asks what you named it and you say that you haven’t done that?! she’s gonna think that you don’t value her gifts!” you would think the world was going to end if he didn’t do so if you heard the way he was speaking.

“fine, i’ll name it…” he looked deeply into the toy’s soulless eyes, noting how soft the outer material was against his calloused hand, “... fluffy…”

“that’s such a shitty name—”

“shut the fuck up, it’s been decided.”

[fontvine]

￫ EMBARRASSING MOMENTS DURING SEX !

wriothesley, neuvillette, lyney

￫ wriothesley

given his occupation, wriothesley needs to blow off steam constantly - the minute he’s home from his duties, he’s on you like a feral dog, wasting no time and clasping the handcuffs around your wrists tightly. wriothesley pants heavily above your restrained form, sweat beading at his hairline, lips bitten red, and balls slapping harshly against your bottom with every thrust. while he enjoyed the roughness, he knew when the both of you were nearing your climaxes, you both preferred to be able to hold each other properly.

wriothesley reached over onto the bedside table where he usually held a spare set of keys for the handcuffs, only for his blunt nails to scratch against the oak wood.

“… my love, i’m afraid i’m gonna have to head back to the prison momentarily.”

￫ neuvillette

now neuvillette is a stoic yet gentle lover - his passion runs thickly through his veins and clouds his every thought, even when in the court room. fontaine had reached a peaceful point in time - there were little to no trials and matters had instead been avoided or dropped entirely… perhaps focalors had found a more interesting thing to focus on.

it was rare neuvillette had you within the court rooms walls - the occasion saved for moments in time he needed to relax before an intense hearing, or times he knew the hydro archon was far from the building - yet he had chosen to bend you over the wooden balcony and slowly yet deeply thrust into you from behind with the knowledge the archon was somewhere within the building

“this has to be the most horrific thing the courts walls have ever seen!” focalors yelled dramatically from one of the neighbouring balconies. “i can never view you the same neuvillette!”

￫ lyney

lyney had encountered more embarrassing moments with you during sex than out in public. not only does he have a nack for somehow bringing magic into the bedroom at the worst of times, but he has also been caught with you more times that he could count on both hands.

the magician is a playful lover through and through and lives for the thrill - he’s had you on his cock outside of the comfort of your shared bedroom more times then within - in an alleyway, the bathroom of a restaurant, and even backstage at the opera. of course though, after not being caught in all of those risky places, the moment he has your legs draped over his shoulders in the comfort of his house, lynette chooses to interrupt.

“lyney, freminet and i are heading out for groceries- what do you and y/n want for supper?” lyney can only bury his face into your neck in embarrassment. “anything lynette, please just leave.”

[tgcg]

an open fly walking

i didnt like this one but i thought id finally air it out since its been sat in my folders for months now

TG: hey karkat

CG: YEAH?

===

TG: you ever noticed you like

TG: walk weird

CG: WOW, OKAY.

CG: HAVE *YOU* EVER NOTICED THAT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT?

TG: pff

===

TG: no listen because i got my ears scoping that shit im like a scouter for dude activity

TG: ok maybe me mentioning it to you is gonna fuck up your ecosystem or something but

TG: you have the heaviest feet of the century man

CG: I DO???

TG: just thrust them straight down into the ground like youre trying to homebrew a san andreas fault

TG: viciously tamping on tectonic plates hoping for top score on the richter scale

TG: waging war against solid particles and the basic flow of gravity

TG: i could ID those footfalls out of a million i mean it

CG: SERIOUSLY?

===

TG: i mean theres nothing wrong with it but

TG: yeah

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW.

TG: im not fucking with you striders honor

TG: when have i ever lied to anybody about anything

CG: NOT UNPACKING THAT QUESTION WITH YOU TODAY.

CG: BUT SHIT, HOLD ON. LET ME SEE.

TG: yeah take the umbrella go over there and just walk to me

CG: ON IT.

===

===

TG: see you just kinda slam em straight down dude

CG: THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY RIOTOUS FUCKING JOKE OF A LIFE.

TG: dont your feet ache

===

CG: MOOT POINT. THIS MIGHT SOUND INSANE BUT I'VE ACTUALLY HAD MY STRUT PODS FOR A WHILE. ANY KIND OF PAIN THIS WOULD'VE BEEN CAUSING WOULD BE TOTALLY FILTERED OUT OF MY SPONGE BY NOW AS BACKGROUND NOISE.

TG: damn i didnt think that through

TG: my shades

CG: ALRIGHT, GET BACK UNDER THE SHITTING UMBRELLA AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME.

TG: look ive fucked myself over here too i dont have shit to clean these with

TG: ugh

===

TG: guess its karma

CG: HOLY FUCK. HOW DID I NEVER NOTICE THIS BEFORE?

TG: i dunno but im gonna assume having a dad thats a literal crab monster is probably a contributing factor

TG: im guessing thats not a great role model for this kinda thing

TG: just conjecture i mean

CG: YOUR ENVY IS OVERWHELMINGLY OBVIOUS DAVE. AS A DISCLAIMER, HE WOULD'VE ABSOLUTELY KICKED YOUR ASS.

TG: yeah probably

CG: THAT'S PRETTY MUCH ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

===

TG: but see bro had me stringent on feather feets

TG: i bet i could slip across a bike horn warehouse with nary a fucking toot

CG: HAHA. ASSUMING YOU DON'T MAKE A TOTAL ASS OF YOURSELF, AS PER USUAL.

CG: IF YOU WEREN'T CONSTANTLY RUNNING YOUR GASH ABOUT EVERYTHING AND BEING AN INIMITABLE CLOWN I SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD BE ON PAR WITH YOUR CUSTODIAN.

CG: THAT IS A MONUMENTAL "IF".

TG: well look at it this way

TG: im basically doing you all a favor by being a dumbass

TG: never gonna get caught off guard by the bozo patrol

CG: WOW. GOOD POINT.

===

TG: also screw this can i use your shirt

TG: this stupid hoodie is just smudging my lenses up

TG: i cant see dick

CG: UH

CG: SURE, I GUESS.

TG: cool

===

TG: so yeah i could be prowling around like a goddamn verbal assassin sniping convos left and right

TG: but no ive got the decency to go bunp in the night

CG: YEAH.

CG: IT'S DEFINITELY COMPOUNDED BY THE CONSTANT INANE RAMBLINGS.

CG: BUT

CG: IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY RELAXING, Y'KNOW? IT HAS ITS OWN RHYTHM.

TG: see yeah i sound it off and

===

TG: wait really?

CG: YEAH

CG: I DON'T KNOW

CG: FUCK. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS WITHOUT WANTING TO CRAM MY FROND DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE.

===

CG: IT'S LIKE

CG: A SALVE FOR MY AGGRAVATION SPONGE.

CG: YOUR VOICE IS THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT OF ASPIRIN.

TG: uh damn karkat hold your hoofbeasts i was talking about the rhythm thing

CG: ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M TAKING US BOTH THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE REACHED THE BAD END OF THIS CONVERSATION.

TG: you think thatd be heroic or just

CG: IF I WAS STILL GHOSTING AROUND THE RUINS OF SGRUB'S ARCANE FRIGGIN GAME SYSTEMS, THE COMPLETE LACK OF SHIT AFOOT NOWADAYS WOULD BORE ME TO DEATH.

CG: LIKE. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME OUR THERMAL HULL LEVELLED UP, DAVE?

TG: hah

===

TG: but uh

TG: i mean we had aspirin on earth

CG: NO, NUMBNUBS.

CG: I'M SAYING YOU ARE MY ASPIRIN.

TG: oh

CG: YEAH, TAKE THAT TO THE BANK AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR 20-KARAT ASS.

===

TG: heh

TG: well get this

TG: i will literally talk at you forever for free

TG: you got lifetime priority seating for the davealogues

TG: never gotta go to the drugstore again you can just get doped up on my dulcet tones for the rest of time

TG: take that and some of this

TG: im packin punches

CG: OW, FUCK! NO! MY MIGRAINES!

CG: SWEEPS OF VEINCLOTTING AND NERVEFRAYING DOWN THE FUCKING GAPER. BECAUSE OF YOU.

CG: YOU ASSHOLE, THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

CG: AND YOU'RE LAUGHING.

TG: chuckle up it only gets worse from here

===

CG: BE HONEST WITH ME. DID FONDLING MY SHIRT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET EVEN DO ANYTHING?

TG: barely but yknow sometimes you just gotta deal the cards youre given

TG: ill just be astigmatic for a while its cool

CG: PFF… OKAY MAN.

[cherry-leclerc]

can’t you see ☆ mv1

genre: redbull!driver, enemies to lovers, smut, lando and danny playing cupid lol, protective!max (although he won’t admit it), mean!max, sub!max, dom!reader

word count: 3.2k

In between your mutual dislike with your teammate, Lando and Daniel try their best to make you and Max uncover some hidden feelings.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, riding, sucking on fingers

req!...quick one, but ahh first maxie drabble. eekk :)

“What a fucking asshole.”

Daniel’s eyes bulge out as he hands you a cup of coffee. It had been an extremely long day. Perhaps not the best idea to keep it going, but it seemed like the FIA didn’t give a shit about that. You were past being upset. You were seething. 

“Uh…Yeah. I mean I get it. I’m tired, too. This red flag came at the worst time-”

Briskly, you take the cup from him, cutting him off. “It’s not the red flag, it’s Max.” Ever since you joined Formula 1 as the first female to drive for Red Bull, you had felt welcomed by everyone. Everyone but your actual teammate. You had thought maybe it was because he had small balls and couldn’t handle the fact that you were driving alongside him, but when you confronted him about it, he only growled. 

As if you would ever cross my fucking mind.

Squinting, you point accusingly at the Australian. “You ought to stop being his friend.” He loudly laughs as he throws his head back. 

“You say that every time.”

Making a face, you shoot back. “And you never choose!”

“You’re both my friends. No one is winning custody.” 

“You’re older than both of us combined.”

“Hey!”

Hey, a low voice replies. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A shiver runs down your spine. Max leans up against the nearest wall as he ignores you and keeps his eyes on his friend. You wave your hand up in front of him a couple of times for good measure before your mouth drops open when he acts as if you were Casper the Friendly Ghost. 

“We were just talking abou- Ouch!” Daniel shrieks in pain when you pinch him. Faking a smile, you turn to the Dutchman. We were actually in the middle of something here. Nothing. He just keeps looking past you. Running a hand through his hair, he starts talking about how this all ‘ruined my flow’ and how he was going to have to ‘try to fix the FIA’s mistakes’. You have to laugh.

“Is something funny to you?”

You look around the room as you theatrically shudder. Sipping on the hot beverage, you hum and close your eyes. Max clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he crosses his arms in frustration. Cold weather, Danny. Do you think there’s a place nearby that sells homemade chicken soup?

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“If we find one, then maybe we can invite Lando and-” Suddenly, he reaches out for your cup and hot drops hit your hand. You hiss in pain. “What’s your problem, dickhead?”

Now, a normal reaction would be to be a decent human being and apologize. Offer up their own cup of coffee, perhaps. Not Max. Throwing it into the nearest trash bin, he turns to you. And he actually has the audacity to look upset.

“Why didn’t you let me overtake you? I don’t know if you don’t know this because you’re new or something like that, but here, when we are instructed to do something - we do it.”

Narrowing your eyes, you step closer. “So what? I don’t let you by one time and suddenly I’m the bad guy? Let me remind you that that’s all I’ve done for you this season.”

“Maybe when you’re someone’s number one driver then you won’t have to do shit like this, but until then,” he angles himself lower to you, “...It kinda looks like you have to.”

“Oh. No.” Daniel winces as he sips quietly on his hot drink. He can physically see your wheels turning as you glare back at the Dutchman. Your cheeks have turned light pink as you refrain yourself from yelling in front of all the Alpha Tauri engineers. Max scrunches his nose.

“Cute.”

You’re about to explode and let all hell loose, but just then, the red flag is over. Huffing, you grab your helmet as you walk away without sparing a single goodbye. Daniel frowns. “You need to stop treating her like that.” Max scoffs. Treating her how? The Australian inches closer as he lays a large hand on his friend's shoulder. “Like you don’t care.”

As soon as the race picks back up, you’re in the zone. You have to work twice as hard to overtake anyone in your way, considering most drivers were on new tires, but eventually you worked your way through. Drops of rain hit your visor as you slow down in sector 2. 

“Should I be worried about the rain?”

“Nothing to be worried about, just keep it up.”

You nod, even though Christian can’t see you. As you get closer, you can see Max’s rear wing. He’s fast - zooming, almost - but that only made you want it even more. Defend. I repeat, defend for a 1-2 finish. “Yeah. No.” Entering the DRS zone, you press down on the throttle as you try all tactics to catch up with the 3x World Champion. Fat drops of water hit the Red Bull as you squint in order to not get lost with the commotion. What are you doing? Defend. “I am defending.” You press harder. “Except I’m defending my spot. Not his.”

It’s almost as if he knows what you’re about to do. Quickly, he scans his sideview mirror as he curses when he sees  that you weren’t slowing down. It looks like the two Red Bulls are going head-to-head! Probably not the best idea at the moment considering the tough weather, Crofty announces. Passing Max by, you can’t help but cheer as you try to imagine his reaction. 

“Not what we were picturing, but very well executed. He will be defending now.”

It wasn’t planned to get stung by a boiling hot coffee, of course it wasn’t, despite the bickering between you two. It wasn’t planned to take time to scratch your burnt hand. And it most definitely was not planned to crash.

Plunging into the wall, you groan, curses flowing past your lips. Are you okay? “Yes. I’m okay.” Lifting your visor, you shyly wave at the grandstands. Would you mind going over to check on Max? He’s currently not responding. Your heart stops. Jumping off your seat, you climb out of your car as you turn and sure enough, Max’s Red Bull is ruined. 

“Are you alright?”

Throwing a thumbs up, he lifts himself out of his car to wave at the fans. He turns to you, dark blue helmet still over his head. “What the fuck was that all about?” You narrow your eyes.

“What do you mean? I got an itch.” And though he wears his helmet, you can’t help but notice the crinkles by his eyes. Your stomach flips. It's because of the crash. That’s all it is. You clear your throat. “What happened to you? You were driving well.” Professionally, he slides his gloves off as he waves over at the safety car.

“I had to check on you one way or another, right?”

Dumbfounded, you're faced with his back as he walks away.

-

“He’s into you, can’t you see it!”

“No. Jesus, don’t even say that.” Lando raises his brows as he throws his legs on top of your bed. Daniel hums from underneath the covers. He’s right, though. Pulling the sheets off, you scowl. “Don’t give me reasons to kick you both out.” Throwing yourself onto the mattress, you smile widely. “Soooo, what’s new?”

It’s all you three are ever good for. Pure gossip. Chewing hard on a piece of pizza, you gag. Daniel cackles as he reaches for the last slice. Hey! What if I wanted that? He cocks his head. Fine, you mumble.

“All I wanted was a warm soup.”

A gentle knock echoes through the room as you all turn to face it. Go and open it, Daniel hisses. Wha- No! You go open it, Lando whispers back. Bunch of babies, you murmur as you untangle yourself from your blanket. Swinging the door open, you freeze. Standing tall is Max with a paper bag at  hand.

“Hey.”

Peeking out into the hallway, you stare back confused. “Hey?”

Almost timidly, he kicks his feet up against the wall with a small smile. He extends his arm out, signaling for you to take the mysterious bag. I don’t want any problems, you choke out, feeling skeptical. His blue eyes grow wide.

“Oh. No, don’t worry!” He opens the bag and takes out a small container. Leaning forward, you feel blood rising up to your cheeks. “It’s just soup.”

After an awkward exchange, he leaves. Inhaling the delicious scent, you let out a dreamy sigh.

“He so likes her.”

-

“We might have been wrong.”

Lando tilts his head, curly strands bouncing at the motion. Daniel hurriedly takes a seat next to the Brit as he smacks his large hands on the table. “What do you mean, mate?”

Daniel scans the room quickly before shaking his head. “I mean, that I just heard them two. They were going at it.” Lando blushes as he lets out an awkward laugh. I don’t even want to know. The Australian bites back a smile as he continues. “Not like that. Yet. What I mean is that they’re back to square one. He’s being a complete dick.”

“Alright. Looks like we have to knock some sense into him.”

-

Go, Daniel mouths once Max enters the debrief room, eyes entertained on his phone screen. Pushing past the Dutch, Charles jogs over to where you sit next to George. “Hey!” Greeting him back with a warm smile, you pat to the open seat. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite after this. Maybe some chicken soup?” You beam.

“I love a good soup!”

Rapidly, Max’s ears perk up as he hears your conversation with the Monegasque. He was well over the rivalry, but with this? He would not second guess bringing it back. He clenches his jaw as he notices you nodding along with Charles. Strolling over to the small group, he shoots a bitter grin.

“Did you see Christian’s message about our last minute meeting?”

“Hello to you, too.” Checking your phone, you look back confused with a pout. “No. I haven't received anything.”

“Yeah, well, there’s one-”

“No, there's not.” Flickering your eyes behind your teammate, you’re even more lost. With hands on his hips, Christian taps his shoe as his eyes flicker between his two Red Bull drivers. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. There’s no meeting.” He sends a small wink at Charles before walking off to the rest of the team principles. Max slumps.

“Ha. Guess it got canceled or something like that…”

Rushing over Lando and Daniel, Charles hunches over as he starts blabbering. “Did it work? Please tell me it worked - God - I think I almost shit myself. Tell me it fucking wo-”

The Brit points discreetly to where Max paces the room, orbs trained on you like a guard dog.

“It’s definitely working.”

He smacks a one hundred dollar bill onto a large hand. 

“And thank you for the help, too, Mr. Horner.”

-

Despite the attempts to get you and Max together, nothing seemed to work. The blue eyed boy would appear to start registering his feelings, and at the last minute, would completely chicken out. It would be an outright lie to say that this didn’t entertain the Alpha Tauri and McLaren boys, but they also knew that they had to continue their fairy godparent duties.

“Watch it!”

Crashing onto the couch inside of the Red Bull Hospitality, Max’s face bounces against it. He groans in pain before throwing a harsh stare at his friends. Lando stiffles a giggle as Daniel raises his arms up in defense. Getting seated, the Dutch looks back with a sour expression. 

“What’s this hostile situation about?”

Lando panics as he turns to his mate. The Aussie licks his lips, patting his lap. “Look, we’ve noticed a few things-” What things? He huffs. “Maybe if you would just let me finish-” That’s what she said! He glares at Lando who slaps a hand over his mouth, tears from unreleased laughter painting his blue eyes. “As I was saying…We’ve noticed your behavior towards a special little someone…”

“Towards Heidi? Shit. I didn’t think it’d be that noticeable.”

Lando clicks his fingers rapidly before pointing at the Red Bull driver. “He’s trying to not talk about it because he knows where this is going!” No, I’m not, Max shrieks as his voice cracks. Blushing, he pushes his hat lower to his face.

“You like her!”

“You know I like Heidi! She’s good for you-”

“You know that’s not who we’re talking about.”

It’s silent for a while. Standing up, Daniel goes to sit next to the 26 year old. Running a hand over his face, Max’s sighs as he looks up. “I’m not…used to feeling this way, okay?” 

“That’s totally fine, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat her like a piece of gum stuck at the bottom of your shoe. She’s amazing. Could have anyone - and I mean anyone - but she likes you. I don’t know why or how, but she likes you.” Daniel scoots away when Max narrows his eyes.

“She doesn’t like me.”

Jumping over the coffee table, Lando plops down. “Yes! She does. Ask me how I know.” A bored expression slashes Max’s face as he asks anyway. How, Lando? How do you know? “Because she’s always fighting with you.”

Daniel clicks his tongue as he slowly squints his brown eyes. “I don’t think you’re making the point you think you’re making, mate.” The Brit waves him off.

“I’m dead serious. When she gets upset, she always walks away because she claims to not want to waste her time on stupid arguments. But with you,” he pushes his index finger against the Red Bull polo, “With you she never - ever - walks away. Sure, you’re both at each others throats, but that only means one thing.” He leans against the sofa as he takes a sip of the open energy drink. 

“She doesn’t mind wasting time on you.”

-

After some more convincing, the duo had managed to raise the 26 year olds confidence. They could be wrong. Embarrassingly wrong, but how would he ever know if he never tried? Taking in a deep breath, he finds himself knocking on your door.

“More soup?”

Sheepishly, he shakes his head. His heart skips a beat as he notices how laid back you seem. How relaxed you were. He was going to ruin all that. He was going to say something that would change everything and things might never be the sa-

“Wanna come in?”

Handing him a plate of cut up watermelon, you take a seat in front of him, legs tucked beneath your butt. What are you doing out so late at night, Mr. Max Verstappen? He sets the plate down as he forces himself to mold into his chair. 

“I’ve never hated you.”

You blink. Clearing his throat, he looks down to his lap as he fiddles his fingers. “I know I’ve been such a bad teammate - I know - but I promise that it never had to do with you.”

“Okay. So…then what did it have to do with?”

He lets out a croaky laugh as he shuts his eyes. “That’s the tough part…” Opening his blue eyes, he finds you staring back, waiting for an answer. “I feel the opposite of hate…towards you.” He hates the way your face doesn’t change and you remain still. He hates when you shrink back and chew on your lip.

But he could never find himself hating the moment you climb onto his lap.

“T-that’s not what I came here for-”

“I know.” You slide your hands against his stubble. “Your confession was…adorable. Had trouble saying those words out loud, right? Because you,” you strum your finger against his chest, “...You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart.”

Now he’s frowning as he tries to unravel your words. A giggle bubbles up your throat, eyes crinkling shut. His breath hitches. “I feel things…” Your heart twirls with the way his voice sounds. Sure you do, Maxie- 

Grabbing your face with his left hand, he kisses you. It’s hot, feverish, and impatient.

It’s him.

Whimpering, you grind against him as he groans underneath you. Forcing himself to pull away from your warm lips, he cocks his head to the side. “Was that enough proof?”

“I might need more.”

It’s such a moment of pure adrenaline, that you can’t even pinpoint the moment your hatred towards him had turned into lust. All you know is that it felt so good to be riding him. Squeezing your hips, he lifts you up as he lets out a strained moan. The sound itself makes you drip even more. 

You had always loved his voice. How croaky it was. But you never imagined that it would turn your entire world upside down to hear him moaning your name like a prayer. Oh, fuck. Holy shit. Pushing his hands down, he opens his eyes as he looks back, weak and concerned. He worries you might have suddenly regretted all of this. That you would walk away and never want to talk to him ever again. But he’s already kissed you. He’s already been inside of you. 

He would beg you to stay in order to make you keep it that way.

“B-baby.” He whimpers with the way you dig yourself against him before circling your hips. Slow. “It’s okay if you want to stop-” You slide his fingers into your mouth. He swears he could finish with such a pretty sight.

“I don’t want to. I just want you to say sorry for everything you’ve ever done to me.”

“I already said I never meant any of it! You’re absolutely everything to me.”

Your core grows tighter with his affirmations. Holding onto his broad shoulders, you continue your sinister rhythm. “Maybe. But I still want one.”

“I’m so-”

Rubbing your bare tits against his chest, he shudders as he harshly pinches your thigh. Try again. “I said I’m so-” Pulling all the way out, you slide back down onto his cock. “Oh - don’t fucking do that.”

“Try again.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry.”

A satisfied smile slides onto your plump lips as you nod before kissing him and riding him the way you know he deserves. With one last hop, you both finish as he moans into your neck. Your fingers push his sweaty, blondish strands away before pressing your lips against his cheek. He smiles weakly.

“I like you, too.” You look down before returning your attention. “But I can’t be with you.”

“Wh-”

“Max. Let’s be realistic here. I’m a girl in Formula 1. You don’t know how hard I’ve worked to get here. I’ve had to do twice the work simply because I’m not a man.” You roll your eyes. “People are going to hate me. Call me names - God, I can already hear them.”

He never thought his heart could actually hurt for someone. You were really messing him up. He gingerly rubs small circles against your cheek.

“I’ll ruin whoever says anything bad about you, but please give this a chance. I’ve never wanted someone as bad as I do you. Please.”

And yes, there will be nasty comments. Hateful interpretations about your relationship. But that never really mattered as long as you had him. 

[gghostwriter]

Wanted: A Gentleman

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Future take Summary: Your lovely group of friends, Penelope, JJ, and Emily, set you up with your perfect match Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.3k a/n: Back at it again with something miss Sabrina Carpenter inspired. The fluff idea has finally struck and I love how this ended up, even without any editing! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“I’m serious!” You clarified, wiggling to get comfy on Penelope’s sofa. “It was the worst date I’ve ever been on!”

All the three girls laughed. It was Friday night, girl’s night, and you found yourself surrounded by the baddest girls Virginia could ever offer. The Powerpuff girls of the BAU as you once jokingly dubbed them—JJ being Blossom, Penelope being Bubbles, and Emily being Buttercup. Witty thinking on your part, if you say so yourself. 

Having just moved into the state just a few months ago, you were grateful for the ray of sunshine that Penelope was for taking you under her wing and introducing you to a great set of girlfriends.

“It can’t be that bad—” JJ giggled as she took a sip of her newly refilled glass wine. “Can it?”

Bringing out your phone, you swiped to the screenshot Bumble profile of your date the night before. He wasn’t bad looking, not at all. He was cute in a very American boy next door type of way but then again, his profile being filled with gym pictures should have clued you in.

“We had dinner at that newly opened restaurant, Palm & Pine, which is a great place by the way, but all he ever did was talk about himself—”

Emily nodded along. “Typical macho male behavior.”

“—that wasn’t even the worst part! He brought out a scale, a portable weighing scale, to log his macro calories in a fitness app!”

Penelope chose the wrong time to take a sip of her drink causing her cough violently while the two remaining girls threw back their heads and laughed hysterically. All you could hear were gasps of weighing scale and calories between them.

“I’m all for being healthy but really? On a first date?” You crossed your arms to your chest. “At this point, I might as well get a cat or two to keep me company.”

Penelope snatched your phone and clicked to open the dating app. “Oh no no, sweetheart. You’re too beautiful and nice to end up alone. We can find you a perfect man to love and take home with!”

“Yeah, we’re profilers. Trust us to pick for you,” Emily slyly added as she peeked behind Garcia’s shoulder.

Reaching out for the opened bottle of alcohol, you sighed in defeat and let the girls do their thing. “I’m going to need copious amounts of alcohol in my system for this.”

———

It was bad. Based on all their comments and numerous swipes to the left, the dating pool was atrocious, hell on earth. 

“He looks cute—” Penelope continue to scroll on his profile before making a face. “Never mind, look at that horrible grammar.”

JJ leaned in and read the poor man’s bio. “Theirs a million reasons why I’m your future boyfriend—Jesus, it’s really hard out there, huh?”

“I’d take any man who’s nice and breathes,” you laugh in despair. 

Emily’s eyes twinkle from a sudden idea. Everyone had been drinking continuously and the filter had been turned off by the time the third bottle was opened. Any thought made beyond just screamed bad idea. “You know, we could just set you up with Reid.”

“Reid?” you tilted your head to the side. What kind of a name is that? Its very…unique. “You have a co-worker named Reid? As in that’s his first name?”

“No, no, no. His name is Spencer, Reid is just his last name,” JJ clarified, leaning forward with a sweet smile on her face. Oh no, you knew that look. She was very much into this.

Penelope slides your phone to you and promptly claps her hands in glee. “You’re so right! Why didn’t I think of that!”

“Right,” Emily turned to face the other two. “They’d be great for each other. Now we just have to get him to agree. JJ—” the blonde raised her eyebrows. “—can you talk to Reid about it?”

She shrugged. “I could but you know how stubborn he is.”

“I’ll blackmail him if I have to,” Penelope interjected. “Boy genius needs to meet our own girl genius. They’ll be perfect for each other, he just doesn’t know it.”

Your eyes volleyed in between the three. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

Emily tsk’ed as she turned her inquisitive dark eyes on you. “I’ll cash in on that prize I won last time.”

“No,” you breathed out, remembering how you badly lost last poker night and vowed to do any dare the winner would tell you to do.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” her smile growing wider and wider with each denial. 

Your shoulders slumped forward. “Fine but he better be the love of my life or you owe me big time.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head. He will be,” Penelope laughed, pouring more wine in all of the glasses. “Cheers!”

———

It took three weeks before the girls were finally able to wear the mysterious Dr. Spencer Reid down and in the midst of waiting (and stubbornly hoping that he would never give in), you learned more about the boy genius than you ever wished for. How he has an IQ of 187, graduated high school at the age of 12, has 3 PhDs under his belt, and an avid reader—like yourself. 

You begrudgingly admitted that he spiked your interest and having someone to talk to about books would be lovely but beyond that, you were slightly intimidated by his background which made yours, a literature degree graduate and publishing editor, seem insignificant. Penelope tried to squash that negative thought once you aired it out in the open by saying that Spencer wasn’t the type to judge anyone based on their societal standing. If anything, he’d find you interesting, she urged.

But there was one information you weren’t privy to, how he looks like. The girls didn’t want to show any photos, stating it’s best to see him face to face rather than through an image, which in turn made you imagine the worst. 

You looked around, standing on the second step of the museum as you try to spot any curly, hazel haired man walking your way. He wasn’t late, you were just too anxious to be fashionably late. 

Someone stopped in front of you at the bottom of the steps. 

“Are you—” the doe eyed stranger cleared his throat. “Y/N? Penelope’s friend?”

Oh damn. He was beautiful.

“Yes, are you Dr. Spencer Reid?” You squeaked. 

He smiled, stunning you into even more into awe. “Hi, yes. Yes, Spencer is fine.”

“Should we go inside?” You breathed out as you watched his cheeks reddened, no doubt matching the color of your own.

He nodded before slightly touching your arm to stop you in place and bending down like he was some kind of knight and shining armor and for all you knew, he could be. “Your shoelace is undone. Did you know that there’s more than 1,000 cases related to loss of footing each year and 67% of these falls were attribute to untied shoelaces?”

“We wouldn’t want to contribute to that, do we?” You quipped back as you studied how the sunlight hit his wavy locks, turning some into gold, and his doe expressive eyes with specs of green in them. Your favorite color as of today.

He laughed, his high pitched chuckle further capturing your heart. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” 

Your thoughts thanking the three women for setting you up with what seemed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[minimomoe]

Not just Neighbors

Pairing: Logan Howlett (the worst Logan) x fem reader

Summary: Wade had a way of attracting the most unlikely people and keeping them around, but his newest roommate Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scowling is living with him until he figures out his way in this new universe. While Logan's come to peace with not dwelling on the past, the past always has a way of coming back to him.

Tags: MDNI!, Mutual Pining, Wade Wilson is a Little Shit, Next door Neighbors and roommate situation, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Smut, porn with some plot, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, breeding (like a tad), oral (fem receiving)

word ct: 7.7k (get comfy)

song inspo: Iris- Goo Goo Dolls

AN: this could potentially become a throuple if you guys want. you just gotta let me know

You were there when Wade brought in his new flatmate for the first time. Wade had gone on and on about how he was akin to Jesus and how he managed to save you and everybody else in the goddamn world with the help of this newcomer and the rat of a dog he brought back home with him. You weren’t surprised at all. Wade had a way of attracting the most unlikely people and keeping them around. If you thought about it a little harder, it was one of the reasons why you were friends with Wade in the first place. His constant bouts of word vomit and funny quips annoyed you to no end but his kindness is what made you stick around. 

But as for Logan, Wade’s new friend, they were truly the most unlikely pair. You couldn’t wrap your head around how they had to work together for anything. You suppose the “how” didn’t really matter here with everybody smiling with the occasional conversation bursting with unadulterated laughter. Wherever Wade picked Logan up from, he fit in perfectly in the group. 

Somehow you got stuck with one of the newest guests at the get together, Mary Puppins, and you looked down at the mutt with a less than ecstatic grimacing smile. You didn’t like how naked she was, her skin only having matted tufts of fur in none of the places that mattered. 

“No no no, you can’t hold her and have that face. If you’re holding Dogpool you have to smile. She invokes happiness, like a vibrator,” Wade said. He took the dog from your arms and rubbed noses with her. “Who’s the prettiest princess in the world? Is it you or me?”

The floppy tongue of Puppins licked all around his face and you could barely hold back gagging. “Dude, that’s disgusting. Who knows what fucking diseases you just got.” 

“Not surprised that you find true love disgusting. You remind me of a snapping turtle with chlamydia. You got an itch you can never reach so now you have to make it everybody else’s problem.” 

“I just told you to stop tonguing down your dog, prick. I’d rather drink rubbing alcohol than do what you’re doing.” 

Your friend gasped loudly and clapped his hands excitedly. He pointed excitedly at Logan who felt the new pairs of eyes on him from across the room even though he was in the middle of a conversation with others. His eyes hardened on Wade, glaring at him before travelling over to you. You thought you had imagined it when he had first walked in, but Logan did not want to deal with you. His eyes softened marginally before sweeping back to the laughter that bursted in front of him, tilting into concerned territories instead of pure annoyance, but still paid you no mind. You had no idea what you had done to the man, but his adverse behaviour made you eye twitch. 

“He drinks rubbing alcohol! You two would get right along with your premature wrinkles from being sour pussies and the lust for emotionally reserved people. Actually, have you said hey to Logan, my newest roommate? Don’t worry, he bites. Once he sinks his teeth in you have to shake him off. I think we should get him a muzzle. I would show you the marks he left on me but they’re in places only my eyes can see.” 

He tucked the dog under his arm and dragged you closer to the other man hurriedly without asking if you wanted to say hey to Logan. He was just your type, dark eyes, dark hair, imposing stature, but totally and completely uninterested in you.

“If they’re for your eyes only, why show them to me?” 

“Because that’s what friends do! What are you, new here? You’ve helped me take some amazing nudes so don’t get all chaste on me,” Wade exasperated. 

Unfortunately he said that loud enough for Logan to hear, who lifted an arched brow at you and Wade’s locked arms. You were getting an eyeful of his chest that was unbuttoned in his blue flannel top that made it hard to drag your eyes back up at a respectable angle. 

“Logan, this is my bestie who is also the best damn cook this place has ever seen. She could cook cocaine from scratch if she put her mind to it like that one tiktok lady and it would be heavenly. I know you crazy kids will hit it off, but if you ever need a third,” he gave you a suggestive look. 

You jabbed your elbow in Wade’s side. “Stop that. And I have never made cocaine before and I will never do that,” you corrected. 

Wade had already left to talk to Vanessa and your irritation already ebbed away at the sight of the two of them together. You shook your head and gazed back down at Logan whose jaw was ticking and you guessed that you were the cause. You nervously shifted on your feet as you talked, not wanting to make the newcomer any more uncomfortable. 

“Look, I’m not gonna pry. I do want to thank you for whatever you did with Wade. I was getting worried about him but he seems genuinely happy as of late after knowing you,” you said sincerely. 

Finally Logan looked up to meet your eyes. He scanned your entire visage and something like pain flicked across his face. 

“Nice to meet you. You’re also one of Wade’s friends?”

“And next door neighbor,” you waved your hands. You received another thinly veiled grimace. “I think Al is calling me,” you muttered so you could leave this painful conversation. 

You couldn’t have known that Logan’s gaze stayed on you even after you turned your back on him to talk to Al. There was no way for you to know that Logan had met you before, in a different universe once upon a time, and you two were a lot more than neighbors. Seeing that you didn’t have an ounce of recognition for him was jarring but he couldn’t decide which one was worse. You having no memory of him, or you knowing just how low he got before finally getting his shit together. Whenever he caught your eyes across the room you quickly focused your attention elsewhere. As much as it bothered him, he thought it would be for the best to keep his distance. 

The night passed and you didn’t make another attempt to talk to Logan. In fact, he didn’t see you again until a week later when he opened his front door and you had your fist raised in the air ready to knock on the heavy wood. 

“Oh. Logan,” you drawled, dropping your hand. You were dressed for the heat in dark wash shorts that stopped high on your thigh with a cut up t-shirt of some new age tv show. Your hair was different from the last time he saw you. A million, tiny braids wrapped up in a knot on top of your head decorated with gold jewelry. Under your arm was a basket of clothes resting against your hip. You peeked over his shoulders, looking for anybody else in the apartment. 

“I wanted to grab Al’s laundry while I’m heading down there. You mind if I get it?”

This was his chance to try to set the record straight. Logan looked at you for so long you started to frown, wondering if you had said something wrong. 

“Your hands are already full,” he said without further explanation and you fell back when he went inside with the door closing in your face. The shock of his audacity is what kept you frozen in place, but not even ten seconds later it reopened with Logan holding Althea’s laundry basket. 

“You want to do it together?” You asked incredulously. 

Logan shrugged. “I got nothing else better to do.” 

You said nothing as he walked past you down the hall to the stairwell. All you could do is stare at his nice ass saunter away after you rolled your eyes. When down in the laundry room on the first floor you took the basket out of Logan’s hands, quickly sorted the clothes then placed them in the machine. You sat down on the bench, staring down at your hands, clenching your fingers into your palms before slowly stretching them back out. 

“What’s wrong with your hands?” Logan was still standing, leaning against a machine that wasn’t on as he looked at you with concern. You moved from stretching your fingers all at once to bending them one by one until they released a crisp pop!

“I feel like they're getting stiff. Gotta stretch so I can keep braiding hair for a few more years before the arthritis kicks in,” you sighed. “Sit down already. You’re making me nervous hovering over there like that.” 

He dropped himself on the other side of the bench you were sitting on, making it creak in protest. 

It wasn’t like you to fill the quiet with small talk but you didn’t know much about Logan and he seemed to be in an agreeable mood. After a few minutes of watching a video on your phone, you paused it to ask him a question. 

“So what do you do? You know, for a living?”

Logan slowly tilted his head to regard your inquisitive stare. “I work in construction.” 

You nodded, his occupation making total sense to you. He had the look of somebody who was blue collar. “I don’t know how it fully works but can you tell the city to fix the road on the bridge? It has holes bigger than a pornstar’s.” 

Logan chuckled at your choice of words and it made you grin. It dawned on you that it was the first time you have really seen a happy expression on his face and you wanted to see more of it. 

“I’ll move it up the docket,” he snorted. 

“I’m counting on you.” 

This was going much smoother than the first time you met him and you wondered if you had imagined the unsettling encounter in the first place. You wanted to test the waters without pushing your luck, so you went back to the paused hair tutorial on your phone and the quiet hum of the washing machines tumbling filled the empty space. You kept sneaking glances up at Logan who sat comfortably on the bench, taking up twice as much space than needed with his manspreading with arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell softly like he was sleeping. 

“You wanna say something, bub?”

Your cheeks flamed like you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. “Do you call everybody that?” 

Logan opened his eyes and looked at you from the corner of his eye.“I don’t bother myself too much with people’s names. It’s easier for me.” 

“So you can’t be bothered to remember my name, nice,” you snorted. Before he could respond you put your hand up. “It’s okay, I’ll forget yours so we’ll be even. I was just wondering if you styled your hair like cat ears or if you just woke up like that, but then again, it looks like that every time I see you.” 

He immediately ran his hands through his hair but failed to do anything about the style. You snorted then stretched your arm out to brush through his hair with your own fingers. The locks of hair were persistent in their upright position. You gave an amused hum before dropping your hand. “It’s pretty cute.” 

Logan bit his tongue from mentioning how the you from his universe always made fun of his hair. He couldn’t compare the two, it wouldn’t be right, but you were so obviously the same person he cared for without even trying. He abruptly got up, leaving you bewildered on the bench by yourself. 

“Call Wade to help you take this shit back to our place. I have something to take care of,” he said gruffly. Without another glance he left the laundry room. You watched his frame from the large windows walk down the street until he was no longer visible and scoffed. 

“Fuck you too, Logan,” you cursed under your breath. 

Your touch had ignited something in Logan, something that he needed to walk off lest he exploded. You had no fucking idea what you were doing to him and it wasn’t until Logan looked up and realized that he was about to walk into a new city limit that his feelings dawned on him too. You had left him in the previous universe, ending things with him before he was a full blown alcoholic because you didn’t want to be there when he self-destructed. It’s not that you had left without begging him to change, trying to help him get better, but he was too busy drowning in self pity to grab the hand that was reaching out for him. Seeing your expression full of hope and wonder in this world made Logan’s chest cave in from disappointment. It reminded him of a time where you loved him before he became The Worst Logan. He couldn’t find it in him to fully explain the turmoil that was going on with his mind and heart without it sounding utterly insane to you. The ghost of your fingers in his hair replayed in his mind for days as he kept himself busy with work and the gym, trying to minimize his chances of bumping into you to zero. The only problem was that it was an impossible task. You lived next door, and you were Wade’s friend. He could hear your voice through the drywall when he holed himself up in his room while you talked to Wade and Al. 

“Trust me, he doesn’t hate you. Unless you have a smart mouth. Then he might hate you a little bit.” 

“Is that really all the advice you can give me?” 

“He really likes Madonna?”

“Thank you. Thank you for absolutely nothing,” you groaned. 

—•—

Even though days have passed since his time spent in the laundry room with you, he was bound to cross paths with you again. He came home late at night at the same time as you who was having trouble with opening your door. 

“Shit,” he heard you mutter. “Fuck. Shit-fuck, where is my key?”

More rustling ensued as he came up the stairs to see you paw through your bag. You dropped your hand in futile defeat and pressed your forehead on the door with a soft thump. You then whipped around, making your way to his apartment, Wade’s apartment, and freezing like a deer caught in headlights when you see him down the hall. You started to backtrack but Logan called out your name.

“I was just gonna ask Wade to pick my lock again. I can’t get in,” you explained.

“Wade’s not in there. He went out with Vanessa,” Logan said. He took slow steps closer to you and you stiffened up. “I could open it for you.”

Your eyes widened at the offer, then you eyed him suspiciously. “Are you saying that but gonna fuck off to who knows where halfway through?”

Logan sucked his teeth in. “I’m sorry about that. I just— I needed to leave.”

You gave him a disbelieving stare. Even now with the tiredness of the day weighing you down you looked beautiful to him. You had your hair held back with a silk scarf that freed your face so your knitted eyebrows were showing clear confusion. Your full lips were hard pressed in a line with the corners tugging down.

“Fine. Whatever. Just open the door,” you scoffed. “Please,” you added after some thought. 

He would’ve opened it even if you yelled at him. You stood behind Logan, unable to see him extend a single claw to pick your lock. In no time you heard the click of your door being opened and you clapped in relief. Logan opened the door wide for you to step in, fully prepared to close it after but you took his hand to drag him inside.

“Thanks,” you muttered. “You’re coming home late too so you must be hungry. I doubt Wade got anything good to eat over there.” 

He watched you move around your space, kicking your shoes off at the corner and hanging your bag on some hooks next to the door. He did the same with his shoes, padding behind you in his socks as you walked over to your kitchen.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you scoffed. He looked at what you were staring at and it was your lanyard of keys sitting pretty on your countertop. “Well, is there anything you’re in the mood for?”

“Do you still have any of that lasagna you brought over last time? It was fucking amazing.”

“So you do eat my food,” you said bashfully. “Unfortunately I do not but I’ll make it again soon, buuut I do have spaghetti sauce with big ole meatballs leftover, so we can have that.” 

You gave Logan a hopeful look, silently asking him to stay for dinner. He didn’t know what else to do with himself in your tiny kitchen but he stuck around, scanning the walls and other surfaces for bits of you plastered all over the place. You had a little bit of everything tucked in all corners, books in haphazard stacks, miniature plants in colorful pots, and random trinkets tucked in corners. It wasn’t messy, but your space was lived in. It was a visual representation of your personality. 

In the same bowl you threw your keys in after you found them there was a large flat disc that he recognized. It was a token given to those who attended the same AA meetings he went to, the exact same design, that said “1 year”. You saw him eyeballing the coin and picked it up. 

“Oh yeah I don’t drink. Gotta keep my streak up,” you chuckled dryly. “It’s actually been three years but I don’t go as often as I should. I think I got a good handle on it now.” 

Logan’s brow raised up. He only recently started to go to AA meetings secretly on his own. While he didn’t have to hide it, having everyone close to him know how much he needed help made his stomach turn. The way you spoke about your past freely to him made him more willing to be open and honest with himself. 

“I’m trying to get better at that too,” he said in a steady voice, looking at you head on. You regarded him without any apprehension. “I go to the latest meetings of the night.”

“At the rec center on 5th?”

Logan nodded and you gave a soft smile. Your thumb brushed over the engraving on the token. “They’re good people over there. They really helped me get back on my feet.” 

You shuffled over to your pantry to pull out a pack of spaghetti, then to your cabinets to get olive oil and salt. 

You moved with ease in your kitchen like you could find all the stuff with your eyes closed and it reminded Logan of simpler times. Him coming back from a mission to you making a meal if it wasn’t the middle of the night. He’d stick to your side like a starfish, not wanting to let go until you started complaining about your dwindling range of motion. Then he’d pull you in his lap when food was served, having you sit and feed him until you slowly stopped bringing out two plates to just one so you could eat off of one together. This domestic scene that played in front of him was something that Logan thought that he had lost forever. 

“I grew up in Butt Fuck Nowhere, USA. All there was to do for fun was go to the liquor store and get drunk in parking lots until it wasn’t just for fun but a necessity to avoid everything. Over the years I just… wandered. When I ended up in the hospital and nobody came to check on me is when it really hit. I could’ve died and I wouldn’t have anything to show for my life.” 

Once you filled a pot full of water on the stove, you toyed with the token while leaning over the counter. You spun the coin around on the table until it reached the speed to where it looked like a transparent sphere. 

“I must’ve relapsed at least 50 times when I first started going to meetings. Hell, it took me almost two years before I even went to meetings regularly. I don’t mean to lecture you or anything. Lord knows I have no business giving advice to anybody,” you chuckled. The coin slowed and collapsed on itself. You flicked it over to Logan and he caught it under his fingers. “But I do know what you’re going through. So if you feel yourself slipping let me know. It would’ve been nice to have somebody to lean on back then.” 

The only noise that could be heard in your apartment was the soft bubbling of the pasta boiling. Logan picked up the coin that you slid over to him and turned it over in his hand. The timer you set for the spaghetti beeped so you went to tend to the pot, grabbing oven mitts for the drawer and prepped your strainer. You poured out the boiling hot water in the sink, hissing when the steam billowed in your face. 

“Careful,” Logan muttered behind you, his hand on the small of your waist. He took the burning pot out of your hand with no protection and placed it back on the stove. 

“It’s just a little steam,” you waved off. “You must’ve burned yourself. Here, run your hand under cold water first.” 

You took his hand to inspect it and saw the red welts and fingertips quickly disappear back into his normal skin color. You gaped at his hand, running your fingers over his palm like a psychic reader. 

“You’re like Wade,” you gasped in awe. “No wonder he brought you home.”

He carefully slipped his hand out of your hold and held it over the sink, exposing the claws that sprung from between his knuckles. When he retracted the claws you took his fist and inspected his knuckles, trying to find the exit point with knitted eyebrows full with concern. 

“Does that hurt you?”

“I barely feel it anymore,” he shrugged. 

“How much do you know about mutants?” Logan breathed out. This was the closest you've ever been to him. He could smell your shampoo wafting off of your hair and the slightest bit of your perfume. Just like his old timeline, you always favored vanilla and coconut scents. 

“Not much. Something, something, genetic mutation, the next step for human evolution, can be a variety of different powers or appearances. I know that a few of Wade’s other friends are mutants and I unfortunately have the base model human form,” you joked. “But it’s a good thing you’re not hurt.” 

You never stopped rubbing Logan’s hand and he never took it away. Instead he pressed his palms to yours then slotted his fingers in the available spaces until he was gently holding your hand. You nervously cleared your throat but didn’t say anything for him to stop. 

“I don’t know how much of the story you got from Wade, but I had my own timeline, my own universe, that I fucked up before he pulled me out of there to save this one. You were there.” 

That made your eyebrows fly up. “Holy shit— there’s another me? Or another variant of me. I think that’s how Wade explained it.”

“Yeah, another variant of you. And I let you down. I mean I fucking blew it at the time. So I see you now, knowing that I’m being given a second chance, and fuck I’m scared I’m gonna mess it up again.” 

All the agonizing looks and sudden disappearances finally made sense. You always felt like Logan had known something about you that you weren’t aware of, albeit you weren’t thinking it was this major. Still, the corners of your mouth curled up.

“Don’t go looking too far ahead in the future, Logan. You could start small by not running out of the room when you see me and you could always stop by for dinner.” 

Logan’s heart was drumming in his chest so hard he swore you could hear it. There you went again, bridging the gap between him and you like you always did. You stated things so simply because it was that simple to you. You went back to preparing dinner, dishing out plates of spaghetti for the both of you and diving into a story about the marital issues one of your clients were having. You were so animated when you talked, your eyes bright and hands waving, he held onto every single word. Before he knew it there was no food left on his plate and you two had been talking for nearly an hour. Once he saw you yawn he excused himself, taking your plates and washing them off, promising to see you the next day and you looked happy with his new attitude. 

So Logan started small just like you said to. There wasn’t a time when he saw you that he didn’t say hi, and your face lighting up made him want to say it again and again. He surprised you with compression gloves to help your hands and offered to do your grocery shopping whenever he could. You made good on your word by bringing twice as much food over to the apartment, going as far as packing him a separate plate with his name written on a neon post it note with your curly handwriting. You had no idea how long he kept one of the notes in his pocket, neatly folded until the corners were devoid of pigment. He would swipe over it while he went to his meetings and be reminded of your encouraging voice. 

When he felt himself itching for a drink, his throat feeling dry and the tremors in his hand returning, his first call was to you. It must’ve been almost 12 am when he called the first time, but you answered and talked him down out of the bar full of his temptations and into your apartment where you had two cups of tea and a listening ear. When he didn’t want to talk you offered a distraction, putting on the shittiest comedies you found and forcing him to sit on your couch and watch them with you until the tension in his shoulders melted away and he could finally hear the voices that were coming from the tv. By that time you were already in a deep sleep, your face peaceful and the most interesting thing to watch was you, not the screen. Movie nights became a normal, weekly occurrence for the two of you after that, something that Logan looked forward to. 

Even Wade and Blind Al noticed the change in the relationship. 

“It’s always ‘where’s Logan, Logan, Logan?’ with her. Soon she won’t even bother to cook for us anymore. I used to be the only person she’d make chimichangas for so why the fuck do you get a plate now? All she cares about is that slutty waist decorated with a big fat shiny belt buckle,” Wade complained. 

“Motherfucker, if that little angel stops bringing me her sweet potato pound cakes, I will drop kick you out of the window.” Al pointed her can in the middle of Logan’s chest. 

Logan’s phone buzzed on the coffee table and all three of them turned to face it. 

“Speaking of that gorgeous devil. Must be a slow day at work if she can be sexting you. Do you even know what that is or do you only send horny notes via quill pen and carrier pigeon?” 

“Mind your own goddamn business,” Logan said, snatching up his phone before Wade could reach it. It was a message from you, and it wasn’t a sexy message at all (to someone who isn’t attracted to you like Logan was). Instead you had sent him a picture of one of your client’s hair with an intricate braid design with only your fingers in the frame. You were wearing the gloves he gave you and he was too busy looking at that than the hair. Another message popped up. 

-took me only ten hours and she tipped the same amount as the price!!!

-finally gonna buy a new stand mixer

“Oooo she sends you hand pictures. I didn’t know you had a fetish for that, you freaky frogs. Cover your eyes Althea, they’re getting nasty.”

That earned Wade three stabs in his leg and Logan stepped out of the living room to call you back in peace.

—•—

Another night eating dinner together and you excitedly pulled Logan to the kitchen and made him cover his eyes with the palms of his hands so he wouldn’t peek. He heard the fridge open and close, matches being struck, and the soft ring of utensils being set down. Then you stood behind him, replacing his hands with yours. 

“Okayyy open!” 

Logan opened his eyes to a small, round cake displayed in front of him with a single candle lit in the middle. In elaborate cursive, “Happy One Month” was written in blue and yellow frosting. He had given you his token earlier this week from his meetings with a shy smile and you were ecstatic for him. He wasn’t expecting you to do anything more than that from you because he still had a long way to go. But you stood behind Logan, your hands resting on his shoulders while you peeked over his body to try to see his expression. 

“We need to celebrate things like this,” you said fondly. “You’re doing fucking amazing.” 

Your hands left his body and you went to get plates to serve the cake with. “I hope you like chocolate cake. You seem like a chocolate type of guy.”

Your knife was poised over the cake ready to slice down when you felt Logan’s heavy hands rest on your waist. You have been trying to be normal about him for weeks, not wanting to assume that he would be interested in you now because you looked similar to someone he knew before while your own attraction was off the charts. His body heat covering your entire back and circling around your abdomen made it impossible to make a steady cut in the cake and you pulled out a crooked slice. 

“Logan?”

You pivoted on your heels to face him. His arms never loosened around your body. His expression was dark and heady, ever so ready to eat you rather than the cake. Your gaze went from his eyes to his lips before dragging back up. Heat swirled in your stomach, one that has been growing since you met him but it was finally bubbling over. 

“Nobody else would think to do this but you,” he said in a low voice. It only sent tingles right down your spine. You ran your hands on his shoulders before hooking them together behind his head. Logan slotted one leg in between yours, his thigh pressing lightly on your sex, and your lower back pressed into the table. The cool tile barely soothed your sizzling skin.

“It doesn’t take much to do,” you shrugged. “I want to cheer you on.” 

One of his hands snaked up the front of your body until he cupped your chin, tilting your head back and you both shared open mouthed breaths. You combed his nape, watching his eyes roll back into his head and he cursed. Logan’s lips came crashing down on you with reckless abandon, his tongue making quick acquaintance with the inside of your mouth and you hiked your leg up his waist to lock him in closer. He lifted you up to sit you on the counter and the heights changed. You sat a little taller than him, controlling the kiss with just as much gusto and both legs around his waist. You pushed off the jacket he was wearing, not liking how many layers of clothing were separating you from him and his hands rubbed up your bare thighs till he was under your shorts. A moan that left you biting his lip escaped your mouth and Logan showed just enough restraint to say something. 

“Tell me you want this,” Logan groaned. His gaze was so deep, full of the regret of some other timeline where he had once failed you once before and he needed to know that this wasn’t some hyper realistic dream that he was letting himself get swept into. You cupped his face, kissing the stray tear that fell from his right eye before capturing his lips again. He was hungry for you, getting drunk off the salty kiss but had enough control left to pull away and repeated himself. “Say you want this.”

“I want this,” you nodded vigorously. “I want you. The Logan that’s here in front of me. I want all of you.” 

You were afraid that your answer wasn’t enough as Logan stared at you like he couldn’t believe that you were real. His head dropped to your shoulder and your hands made home in his hair. You gently scraped his scalp with your nails when you felt open mouth kisses on the side of your neck that shot electricity through your veins. You hummed quietly, sagging into his embrace and he continued his burning map of passion down your body. He heaved you off of the countertop, walking over to your sectional rather than your room because he couldn’t afford to waste any more time before settling into the soft cushions with you on top of him. Your mouths were back on each other, feverishly seeking what the other was offering in a desperate manner. Teeth clashing on each other did nothing to slow you down outside of giving you a moment to breathe before you could get lightheaded.

Logan’s large hands roamed over your body, nearly tearing off your shorts to feel the wetness of your pussy. You meweled when his fingers slipped past your folds and smeared the arousal he gathered from your entrance. Not wanting to be the only one feeling good, you worried his belt buckled, jerking the leather out of the way to free his length from the confinements of his pants. Your fingers wrapped around his cock strung out a long groan from Logan from deep inside his chest. You were equally as loud, whimpering whenever he circled your clit and clenching your thighs around his hips. 

“Holy fuck, Logan,” you shuddered. He inserted another one of his thick fingers, moving two in a scissoring fashion that made your vision hazy around the corners. You were tight and he wanted to take his time preparing you, but you were riding his hand and his palms were drenched in your arousal. You spat in your hand and pumped his cock faster, taking his mouth again for a dizzying kiss. 

“That’s enough,” he growled out. With a bruising grip he guided your hips to line up with his stiff cock. His tip nudged your oversensitive bundle of nerves and you hissed, your fingers digging in his shoulders. You sank down slowly on him, his cock splitting you open with a delicious stretch you had been imagining for weeks now. None of your toys could compare to the real thing. Logan coaxed you to keep your eyes on him while he fucked you from below. Your lashes were lined with tears as you slid down inch by tantalizing inch of his length. You still had your top on and that was a problem for Logan. He hastily pushed your shirt off of your body and was rewarded to your breasts falling in his face. If he could smother himself with them he could. Your nipples stood out, clearly begging for his attention, and he flattened his tongue to lap them up. 

You clutched him to your chest, gasping and writhing on top of him, still trying to get down to the base. He closed the gap, bucking his hips up with a satisfying slap to the back of your thigh.

“Yesss,” you hissed. “God yes.” Logan was fully seated inside of you, your velvet walls pulsing around him in an intoxicating rhythm. A sob of relief fell from your lips when he controlled the tempo from below. He could leave handprints on your ass with how tightly he was holding you, rolling your hips, hurtling you towards an orgasm. It was your turn to take off his shirts. You didn’t need anything to slow the large wave of pleasure ready to crash over you. Once you had a clear view of his top half, viewing his muscles that flexed from holding you up, you splayed your hands on his broad chest to steady you. His hands wrapped around your wrists, bringing one up to kiss the pulse point that was beating a hundred miles a minute, then drag his tongue over the vein. He left open-mouth marks up your arm, pulling you closer until it was your lips he was devouring once again. 

Logan’s thumb stimulated your clit and you whimpered in his mouth. You were forehead to forehead, eyelashes tangling with each other with each blink. You always broke contact first, too overwhelmed with the building pressure deep in your core and Logan would lure you back to him. 

“Don’t leave me all alone, pretty,” he moaned, and it was all it took to have you staring deep in his eyes again. 

You came crying out Logan’s name. You buried your face in his neck, rolling your hips feverishly against him to ride out the rest of your high. His arms laced around your back, holding you together as you fell apart. When you released the final heaving breath he flipped you on your back on the couch, slipping out of your sex to settle his head between your plush thighs. 

“Whaa–?” You were still dazed, floating in the cloud with slight tremors running through your body, only being brought back down to earth when you felt the brush of Logan’s beard on the inside of your leg. 

“You have no idea how good you smell,” he gritted out. 

He was practically salivating at the sight of your pussy, his hand cupping your ass and he spread your legs further apart so that no part of you was hidden. You rested on your elbows to watch him from down below, his hazel eyes blown wide at the feast presented to him. He dived in nose deep, messily eating you out, drenching the bottom half of his face from his spit and your arousal that dripped all over the couch. Your hands made a home in his head of hair, tugging him to and fro whenever you thought you were close. Arching your back off the couch offered you no break, Logan’s hands curled around you to keep you in place and firmly stuck on his mouth. He enjoyed the harsh pulls on his scalp, the way that you murmured sorry like you could actually hurt him. “Lo–logan,” you whined out. It was almost too much to bear. He was relentless, his oral fixation on your clit becoming numbing as your nerves were in overdrive. Your nails clawed his back, the tops of his shoulders, trying to find purchase in anything to keep from the mounting spiraling sensation that kept you crying for him. 

“Keep saying my name like that,” he commanded. It came out muffled, you didn’t actually hear a word that came out of his mouth, but you felt the vibrations of them and it made more tears fall from your eyes. 

He moved from fucking you with his tongue to slipping his fingers inside, crooking them up to your spot and keeping a tight seal on your clit. Your release hit you like a freight train. You clamped your shaking thighs together around his head, and Logan fucked you through it until you were sobbing, begging him to let you breathe. Every muscle in your body was trembling from the gratifying exertion. 

However, Logan was far from finished with you. 

His beard was slick with your second orgasm. He finally came up for air, kissing up your softness of your stomach, a slow trail through the middle of your chest.“You taste fucking amazing too.” 

“Let me see,” you crooned, cuffing the back of his neck to mash your lips on his. Both your arms and legs wrapped around Logan, containing his body in your embrace with the rest of the strength you could muster up. He slipped inside of your cunt in one fluid motion, fucking you to the edge once again. You fluttered and clenched around him, his strokes languid yet hitting your spot with precision. You were beyond fucked out, a blubbering mess that wanted him to finish inside of you. 

“Please, please, please give it to me. Come on– fuck, baby,” you begged. “Don’t you wanna come inside?” 

“Asking so nicely,” he gave a low chuckle. “How bad do you want it?”

Your hands squeezing his ass was all the answer he needed. Logan was notched deep inside of you, hips rolling and teeth bared over your skin. Desperation fueled him. The need to make you completely his, filling you up with his come. Your eyes wandered to between you, the point where you both were conjoined to watch the raunchy scene of his cock fucking your slippery pussy with amazement. You glided your finger over your clit for one more high with Logan’s filthy words in your ears. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. One more time and I’ll give you exactly what you're begging for. You already made a fucking mess everywhere–” 

You crested with a high keen that made everything flash white. The sheer force of your orgasm had you coming for what seemed to be a few long minutes. Words were useless to describe the lewdness of your moans accompanied with the final, sharp snaps of his hips on the back of your thighs. Logan couldn’t hold out any longer, finally spilling inside of you with a growling shout. His hands were sunken inside of a decorative pillow above your head on your couch that was ruined from his claws extending at the height of his peak. Ragged pants were shared between you, heart rates finally slowly. You locked your legs around his waist, wanting Logan to lay his full weight on top of your body like a stone press. You basked in the afterglow, grazing your nails on his skin, enjoying his body heat. He nestled further into your neck, breathing in your scent, content with your affectionate embrace. Logan could finally put all worries of ruining his relationship with you in this world to bed.  

—•—

You weren’t sure if you had slept for only a few minutes or hours, but you woke up feeling hungry, sore, and overheated.  It was all due to Logan, who was starfishing on top of your body. Only one hand was curved around your waist to ensure that you wouldn’t escape even while he was in the dreamlands and you chuckled. You took the liberty of touching him freely while he slumbered, craning your neck to skate your finger down the slope of his nose and cheek. His nose twitched, shaking off your finger to remain sleeping. You really had to pee but you didn’t want to disturb him. That’s when you realized that you were no longer on the couch like you were the night before. You don’t know how many times you did it, how many positions you went through with the insatiable man who craved you for hours. He must’ve carried you to the bed when you were too tired to walk on your own and when you ran you hand down on parts of your body that wasn’t buried under him you were clean. You thought about waking him up so you could convince him to take a shower with him when your phone rang on your nightstand. You felt your way to grabbing it, stretching your arm as far out as you could to snatch it off the table and read the caller ID. 

“Wade, this better be important.” 

“Good morning to you too, sunshine. I just wanted to say the headphones you got Al work great. After the third, or was it the fourth round, I put those bad boys on and couldn’t hear a thing. Send me the link so I can buy them for myself.”

You threw your arm over your eyes in embarrassment. “Fuck me, you heard us?”

“Oh yeah,” he snickered. “You two sounded like banshees fucking on a rollercoaster. Tell me, is he huge down under? I would take a hike down his happy trail any day.” 

“I’m hanging up now,” you said, and did just that. You tossed your phone back on your nightstand when Logan rustled. 

“Who was that?” His voice was even deeper than usual, hitting your ears with a delicious gravelly tone. You pressed your legs together at the sound of him. 

“Wade. Just know that he heard us and will be an annoying little shit about it.”

“Fucking great,” he groaned. You combed your fingers through his hair to soothe him. 

You were going to say something else when the state of your pillow caught your attention. 

“Holy shit,” you murmured, running your hand over the torn fabric. Three streaks sliced through it, exposing the soft down within. Logan tilted his head to see what you were looking at and winced. 

“I’ll replace that too.” 

You could only laugh in disbelief. His chin rested on your sternum and you held an amused expression, a small smile dancing on your lips. 

“What is it?” He asked. 

“My question is finally answered. You wake up with the little cat ears.”

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

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[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt the random card au again. Why must it go so crazy hard I miss it sm

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

i’m visualizing a fic where reader goes off to fight with their dragon and comes back to jace being furious that she would endanger herself and feelings are revealed…. can you make that happen? xx🙈

Request: Being dragonseed and getting close to jace during the trainings. Maybe she claimed silverwing or vermithor? She goes to battle while he is not there and jace is STRESSED

Request: Jace sneaking out to check on the girl he secretly loves

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When Jacaerys took it upon himself to teach and train the dragonseeds, he didn’t think his loyalty to his betrothed would be challenged. Since the beginning of war, his bond with Baela became stronger and they got closer, but as he watched you atop Silverwing, hair in the wind and soaring over the water, he felt things he never felt before. 

Was it the blood of the dragon, although thin, that was calling to him? Or was it the sight of a woman on a large dragon? Jacaerys couldn’t tell. What he knew was that he never felt that way when Baela was riding Moondancer. 

‘’What do you mean, she went to the Riverlands?’’ he shouted at his mother, all manners forgotten.

Rhaenyra met his glare with a calm gaze. ‘’The Greens are marching up to Harrenhal. I sent her to meet their army before they reach the Riverlands.’’

‘’And what of Vhagar?’’ Jacaerys continued, his voice rising as he thought of the beast that had devoured his little brother and his dragon in a single bite. ‘’They know Daemon has taken Harrenhal. Undoubtedly, they brought their biggest dragon to fight him.’’

Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. ‘’It is a high possibility, but Silverwing is a large dragon, as you said yourself. Y/N will handle Vhagar if Aemond dares showing up.’’

‘’She is not ready to go to battle.’’ Jacaerys’s fists clenched at his sides, making up the worst scenarios in his mind. ‘’You sent her to her death!’’

‘’I needed to send a dragon. It was Silverwing or Vermithor.’’

‘’Why did you not send Vermithor?’’ 

‘’Because I didn’t want to reveal our biggest asset to the enemy,’’ Rhaenyra said, her brow furrowing as she noticed her son’s agitation. ‘’Why are you so agitated? The dragonseeds were your idea, Jace. We have to send them on the battlefield at some point.’’

The reasons the search for dragonseeds began was to get more dragons on their team, but also to not risk their own in battle by using those with blood 'thinner' than their own as fodder. It was selfish and evil, but losses are inevitable during a war. Better be a stranger than someone you love. 

But now, his plan had backfired.

‘’She’s not just a dragonseed!’’ Jacaerys snapped, his eyes blazing with anger and worry. ‘’She’s—’’ He stopped himself, realizing how much he had revealed in his fury and the implication of what he was about to say. 

Rhaenyra spoke his name softly, finally figuring the nature of her son’s worries, but he turned away, unable to look his mother in the eye. 

⁂

When night came, Jacaerys was unable to sleep, tossing and turning in his bed. All he could think about was you fighting against Vhagar…and losing. 

If you didn’t return from the Riverlands, he would never forgive himself for encouraging you to claim Silverwing. 

Finally, Jacaerys could not take it anymore. He sprung out of his bed, changed into his riding clothes and slipped on a cloak. Quietly, he sneaked out of his quarters and started heading towards the hills where he knew Vermax liked to sleep. Rhaenyra would be furious in the morning when finding out he went to the Riverlands without her approval, but he needed to go to you. 

‘’Lyka (quiet), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys said as he mounted the dragon, not wishing to alert anyone of his nightly adventure. The poor thing was whining and confused why his rider was waking him, but obeyed his command. 

They set out into the night, flying towards the northwest. The wind was cold, biting through Jacaerys' cloak, and the darkness was absolute with no moon to guide their way. The only sound was the rhythmic beating of Vermax's wings, cutting through the icy air.

After what felt like hours of flying blindly in the night, Vermax began to screech, a high-pitched, urgent sound that pierced the silence.

‘’Sagon gīda (be calm), Vermax,’’ Jacaerys commanded, trying to calm his dragon. But Vermax continued screeching, his eyes darting around as if he had seen something human eyes couldn’t. ‘’What is it, Vermax?’’ 

Vermax's screeches grew louder, more insistent, and Jacaerys felt a surge of unease. He strained his eyes, peering into the inky blackness, but saw nothing. He knew that dragons had senses far keener than humans, capable of detecting things long before they were visible.

‘’What do you see?” he muttered, more to himself than to Vermax, as he tried to understand his dragon’s distress.

Vermax couldn't understand the common tongue, but his behavior made it clear that something was wrong. He twisted his head, sniffing the air, and let out another screech, this one more urgent and filled with warning.

Jacaerys suddenly realized what it could mean: Vermax had detected the scent of another dragon. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he tightened his grip on the reins, scanning the dark skies for any sign of movement. The thought of encountering Vhagar in the pitch-black night sent a shiver down his spine. He tightened his grip on the handles, trying to steady both his dragon and himself.

Then, through the darkness, he saw a faint, silvery glimmer. Realization struck him hard. 

‘’Silverwing,’’ he breathed, understanding now what Vermax had sensed. 

Immediately, Jacaerys commanded Vermax to descend. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew that he had not reached the Riverlands yet. If Silverwing was down here, it could mean you were injured. Dragons were known to stay by their rider's side and guard them when they were vulnerable — or dying.

The prince's heart raced as they descended, his mind filled with worry. As soon as Vermax touched ground, he dismounted and scanned the area frantically, searching for you. 

Silverwing screeched loudly when Jacaerys got close, the sound stirring you from your sleep and snapping into alert. You reached for your dagger sheated at your hip, ready to stab whoever would try to get close.

‘’It’s me,’’ Jacaerys quickly said before you could touch him. 

‘’Prince Jacaerys?’’ you said with a frown. ‘’Has Her Grace sent you looking for me?’’

Jacaerys stayed silent. His mother did not care much for you — or any of the dragonseeds. 

The sight of blood on your hands sent his heart into a frenzy. ‘’Are you hurt? What has happened?’’ 

He kneeled beside you, and you let out a small hiss. ‘’I'm not on my deathbed, my Prince,’’ you reassured. ‘’I saw the Green's army marching to the Riverlands. They were definitely surprised to see a new dragon had been claimed by the Blacks. I engaged in battle, burning several of them, but their archers started shooting arrows at us. Silverwing dodged them the best she could, but I received one in my leg…’’ You glanced down where the arrow used to be, blood seeping through your clothes and down your leg. ‘’I know I should not have taken it out, but the pain was too much.’’ 

‘’It’s okay.’’ Jacaerys drew his sword to cut a piece of his cloak to make a bandage for your leg. ‘’All that matters is that you’re alive.’’ He began wrapping the piece of his cloak tightly around your wounded leg, but not so tight it would cause you more pain. ‘’I…I was worried about you.’’ 

You raised an eyebrow at the prince. ‘’Me?’’

He looked at you for a moment, his gaze flickering between your face and your wounded leg. ‘’Don't do that again. Going alone in a battle. What is Vhagar had been there?’’

‘’Why? Because I’m a woman?’’ 

‘’No.’’ Jacaerys shook his head. ‘’No, that’s not— When I didn’t see you at training this morning, I thought you were in the village helping your parents with the sheeps. But Baela informed me that you had been sent to the Riverlands at first light to meet the Greens and all I could think about was Rook’s Rest. What Vhagar did to Luke, and Rhaenys… Gods, if you were the next to fall, I would not handle it.’’

You huffed, not believing him. ‘’Aren’t I just a paw in your mother’s war? I’m not stupid, my Prince. Dragonseeds don’t matter to Her Grace. She just want the power of our dragons.’’ 

‘’I care. I care about you. I care so much about you that I could not sleep without knowing if you were okay. I would not have taken flight in the middle of the night if I didn’t care about you.’’

His words hung in the dark night, the air filled with his confession. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you processed his sudden confession. This conversation felt like forbidden territory. You were a shepherd’s daughter and he was a highborn prince, betrothed to a princess.

‘’You…you shouldn’t say things like that,’’ you finally murmured, averting your eyes from the intensity of his gaze. You tried to hide the fact that his words made you feel things you shouldn’t.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, then slowly reached out to tilt your chin, his fingertips gently tracing over your skin. ‘’I should, because it’s how I feel.’’ He leaned closer. His fingers grazed your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

‘’What of Baela?’’ you managed to ask, your heart beating wildly in your chest, torn between desire and loyalty.

He shook his head, his gaze locked with yours. ‘’I don’t feel strongly for Baela the way I do for you,’’ he confessed.

—

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