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blank-potato · 1 month ago

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Something Special

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

This time, in a sudden pfft, it sprays something directly into both of your faces—a cloud of shimmering mist exploding into the air. It smells sweet... too sweet. Like overripe fruit or syrup, or cotton candy left in the sun. Almost sickly. Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?” “A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts. The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles. “Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step. Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!” Or You’ve been the live-in doctor at Avengers Tower for a year, and Bob wants to get you something special to celebrate. Unbeknownst to him, that something special turns out to be a sex plant.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit content, sex plant, sex pollen, p in v, cowgirl/reverse cowgirl, crazy thoughts from horny!reader, Bob's good intentions backfiring

WC: 6.9k

A/N: I saw Thunderbolts earlier this week, and I felt compelled to write something! My Marvel obsession is so back, and I’m so in love with Bob, and consuming so much Thunderbolts fanfiction, I think I’m genuinely going crazy

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Bob teeters on his heels as he looks around the flower shop. He was here to get a gift for you, but he had no idea what you would like. Then, while browsing the camellias, a woman appears, half scaring the life out of him, asking him what he’s looking for, and he tells her as best he knows how.

“I’m looking for something special for someone special.”

“Special, huh?” She replies with a mischievous smile, “I have just the flower for you.”

He watches as she disappears into the recesses of the shop and wonders if he’s making the right decision.

You were important to him, but maybe flowers were too much; perhaps you would see right through it and see the feelings he was trying (and failing) to hide. The whole team could see it. Alexei kept giving him unsolicited —and mostly unhelpful— advice about it, while John and Ava never missed a chance to tease him whenever they caught him gawking at you. And Yelena and Bucky tried their best to nudge him forward in their own ways; Yelena with blunt encouragement, Bucky with quieter, knowing looks and the occasional grunt that somehow conveyed volumes.

But Bob remained resolute, content with just admiring you from afar.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Ever since you were introduced to the team as their live-in doctor, he knew he didn’t stand a chance. You were a ray of sunshine. Exceptional at your job and had this strange but beautiful quality where you could make anyone feel at ease within seconds of meeting them.

He felt it firsthand when he walked into the med bay in the Tower. You were sitting there, clipboard in hand, and welcomed him in with a warm smile, motioning for him to sit. He obeyed without a word, nerves already prickling beneath his skin.

“I’m just going to take some blood samples, okay?” you said gently.

His eyes darted around the room—white, sterile walls, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Tests didn’t often lead to good things in his experience, and he felt that this one would be no different. His posture stiffened, and his breath was shallow. But as if sensing his unease, you placed a hand on his arm, steady, reassuring.

“If you’re feeling uncomfortable, I’m right here. And if you want me to stop, you just go right ahead and tell me.”

Bob nodded slowly, looking into your eyes—your beautiful, beautiful eyes that somehow made the rest of the world fade to background noise.

“I just need you to take some deep breaths for me, can you do that?”

You looked at him with such gentle care, and for a moment, he felt like he’d known you longer than just a minute. It felt crazy how fast he was falling for you, but it was happening all the same.

“Yeah… I can do that,” he replied, voice low.

And he had never been the same.

From that moment on, he’d been falling for you—hard. Making lovey-dovey eyes at you over morning coffee in the communal kitchen, pretending not to watch you when you laughed at someone’s joke, finding excuses to linger a little longer in any room you were in.

He toys with his watch, waiting for the florist to come back and flinches as he hears crashes and curses. He has half a mind to go and check on her when she suddenly pops out with a crooked smile and her hair askew, presenting the flower to him.

“Trust me, your girlfriend is going to love this one. Rarest thing in here.”

“She’s…” He stops, watching as the worker flits around the shop, putting the finishing touches on the arrangement. What use was it explaining anyway? How could he put you into words?

It was a strange flower, one he didn’t recognise. Its petals folded into each other. It was unlike any flower he’d ever seen, almost alien. But it was also beautiful, rare and special. Just like you. He buys it in a heartbeat, but the anxiety that follows is sickening. As he goes back to the tower, he thinks about turning around, getting something safer—chocolates, maybe. A coffee voucher. Literally anything else.

‘Maybe it’s not good enough, or what if she hates it?’

He plays with the loose yarn on his sweater as he nervously looks down at the plant.

‘What if she pretends to like it but actually hates it and, in turn, hates me?’

He overthinks all the way down the street, onto the subway, up the Avengers Tower elevator, until he eventually reaches the door to your office.

Then—three knocks. His heart sinks into his stomach the second his knuckles leave the wood.

The door swings open, with you on the other side of it, a smile blooming on your face as soon as you see him.

“Bob!” You say excitedly.

You’re clearly happy to see him and hurriedly usher him inside. The rest of the Avengers had been on a mission for the past two days and counting, so it was just you and Bob. It had been quite nice to spend time with him one-on-one. You even had a movie night the night prior, which ended with Bob falling asleep on your shoulder.

“What do you have there?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, catching sight of something he's hiding behind his back.

He hesitates for a beat, then slowly brings it forward, revealing a single, delicate flower—its petals a rich, otherworldly shade of purple, like something from a dream. It’s almost enchanting. You stare at it in awe, momentarily speechless.

“It’s a gift,” he says, placing it on your desk, voice shy but steady. “To celebrate you being here for a year. I… we really appreciate you.”

Your eyes soften at his words. You can see he’s nervous, waiting for your reaction like it might determine the course of his entire week.

But all you feel is warmth. You thought it was so sweet of him to do this for you; it was so thoughtful, so Bob. You’d felt a connection with him from the moment you met, something quiet but persistent that never quite went away.

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely. “I love it. Truly.”

You’re probably smiling too much, but when it comes to Bob, you can’t help yourself. You snap out of your loving stare as something flickers in your peripheral vision.

“Is it supposed to glow?” you ask, your eyes narrowing slightly as the petals shimmer faintly, a soft pulse of light running through them like a heartbeat.

“I, uh… I don’t think so?” Bob replies, frowning.

He leans in, squinting at the flower. The glow pulses again. Cautiously, he pokes it with one finger.

The flower twitches.

“It moved,” he says, eyes wide with a mix of fascination and fear.

“What? No way.” You step closer, trying to get a better look, equal parts sceptical and intrigued.

But then it twitches again, its petals bristling at the touch, and both of you freeze.

“…Did you buy this from a normal flower shop?” you ask slowly, eyeing him.

“I thought I did!” Bob says, his voice pitching just a little higher than usual.

You poke it again.

Bob coughs, waving his hand in front of his face. “What was that?”

“A defence mechanism, perhaps—” you begin, but your voice trails off as something shifts.

The stem starts to grow, elongating right before your eyes, inch by inch. Then, like something out of a sci-fi movie, thin tendrils begin sprouting from the base, curling and stretching like green tentacles.

“Okay, what kind of flower shop did you go to?” you ask, backing up a step.

Bob’s eyes are locked on it in horror. “I don’t know! I swear it looked normal! The lady had an apron!”

In hindsight, the florist did seem a bit sketchy. The shop was tucked away in a dark, back alley, its dim interior lit flickering by lamps that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the ’70s. The air was thick with a faint smoke that he had to try not to choke on, but in his defence, Bob had just assumed it was part of the shop’s "vintage" aesthetic.

The flower twitches again, and one of the tendrils gently brushes your desk lamp, knocking it askew.

“We should probably contain that,” you say.

“Or burn it,” Bob offers weakly.

You don’t have enough time to deliberate before they’re coming straight for you. They coordinate a joint attack and grab hold of your shirt. It has a relentless grip on it and tears it apart without a care. In the back of your mind, you have to take a second to mourn one of your favourite work shirts.

The plant, however, is far from done with you. Before you can react, one of its slippery, vine-like tendrils reaches for your wrist, its texture cold and unnervingly smooth. It’s trying to pin you down, the tendril wrapping around your forearm like a slippery snake.

“Bob!” you yell, panic rising in your voice.

Bob springs into action without hesitation. He grabs your arm, pulling you back just in time. But in the chaos, both of you tumble backwards, your feet tangling in each other’s as you fall to the floor.

You land… on top of him.

For a moment, everything stops. Your breath catches, his heart races beneath you, and there’s a stillness, an accidental closeness that makes everything feel like it’s happening in slow motion.

“Well, that was eventful,” you comment, breathless, glancing back over your shoulder at the plant—still twitching, preparing for its next move. The tendrils are growing faster now, more aggressive, and it’s only a matter of time before it tries to grab you again.

“Watch out,” he warns, voice sharp, as he pushes you aside with surprising strength. The moment you’re clear, he rolls to his feet, eyes fixed on the plant.

It lashes out, one of its tendrils reaching for your throat, but Bob is faster, shoving you out of harm’s way just in time.

In the seconds it took you to escape from it, the plant had doubled in size, its tentacles now oozing with a thick, viscous substance. It seemed to pulse, almost alive with an aggressive energy, like it was anticipating its next strike.

The plant gives you no time to catch your breath. Before you can react, it swipes again, this time reaching for Bob’s jeans. With surprising strength, one of the tendrils successfully yanks him to the ground, dragging him closer to its growing mass. The little tendrils begin climbing up the inside of his trousers, slithering toward his legs like they have a mind of their own.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim, adrenaline flooding your veins as you rush to grab his hands, pulling with all your strength in a futile attempt to free him. Where are the Avengers when you need them?

Unfortunately, you have no super strength or any useful abilities. Bob’s still being dragged closer, inch by inch.

But what you do have, is a pretty damn good throwing arm.

You glance around the room, your mind racing for anything you can use. Your eyes land on the lamp on your desk, your favourite one. Bob had always joked about how you wouldn’t let anyone touch it. Without a second thought, you sprint across the room, grab it in one smooth motion, and hurl it toward the plant’s centre of mass.

The lamp flies through the air, and you’re about ready to start celebrating, but just as it’s about to make contact with the plant, the tendrils shift, dodging the attack like it’s alive and aware of what’s coming.

“Crap,” you mutter. "It dodged."

This had to be one of the worst moments of your life.

Bob tries to crawl away, his muscles screaming in protest as he drags himself across the floor. His mind is a chaotic mess, every thought running a mile a minute. This day wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was supposed to give you the gift and see that smile of yours light up your face, not get fondled by a plant monster.

The tendrils continue their relentless pursuit, now reaching the edge of his boxers, squirming and twisting, as if looking for any way to get inside.

“Hold on, just a second!”

“Please hurry, it’s kind of ticklish,” He blurts out as he writhes on the ground, “And wet.”

They find their way inside his boxers, reaching his dick and starting to wrap their way around it, making him tremble.

The tentacles continue to secrete that viscous liquid, slick and glistening as they slip up and around his cock, their movements still clumsy, but starting to adapt to what makes him react. Bob struggles beneath its weight, panic flashing in his eyes as the tendrils flick over his sensitive tip, starting to pulse around him.

You’re frozen for a moment, heart racing, watching him fight against the plant’s hold. The air is thick with desperation, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re going to be too late. But then your mind snaps back into focus. This can’t keep going. You need a plan and fast.

You scan the room, eyes darting from the plant to Bob and back again. The papers on your desk, the fire extinguisher near the door, the window—wait. Without wasting another second, you rush over to it, pulling it down with a swift motion. You have no idea if this’ll work, but Bob’s safety is the only thing that matters, and you’d do anything to ensure it.

“Hold on!” you shout, as you aim the nozzle at the base of the plant.

You pull the trigger.

It’s temporarily thwarted, and you breathe out a sigh of relief when you see it retreat from Bob’s jeans.

“Come on!” you shout, reaching for Bob and pulling him to his feet. The moment you’ve got a solid grip on him, you both scramble toward safety, adrenaline fuelling your movements.

You rush toward the front door, but just as you reach it, the plant’s vines stretch out, blocking your escape. The thick, twisted tendrils curl around the doorframe, trapping you in.

You turn on your heels, panic setting in as you dash to the far side of the room. There’s only one other way out, the door that leads to the lab part of your office.

You reach the door, flinging it open just in time, and drag Bob inside with you. As you slam the door shut, you quickly lock it, the sound echoing. The room is dim, but you barely notice the light as you both stand there, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. It’s all you can both hear before you finally break the silence.

“What the fuck?”

He’s panicking. He’s panicking hard.

He attempted to do something nice, something to show just how much you mean to him and the rest of the team but instead he got you attacked by a plant that wanted to fuck you.

“I screwed this up. I’m so sorry. I... I—” He stammers, his voice trembling with regret. He tries to continue, but the words seem to catch in his throat. He’s frustrated, overwhelmed by the situation and the guilt of what just happened.

You immediately notice the signs. The way he's retreating into himself, shoulders hunched, eyes avoiding yours. The guilt and panic are all over his face, and for a moment, you realise how much this is affecting him. He must think you’re mad at him, but you’re not. Not in the slightest. You weren’t even sure if you could be mad at him; he was Bob.

You take a step forward, placing yourself in his line of sight, standing in front of him. You don’t need to say anything else. You don’t need him to apologise again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” your voice acting as his source of stability, even though you’re both still shaking from the chaos.

But before he can respond, there’s a loud bang against the door. A deep, guttural scraping noise as the plant’s tentacles push against it, trying to force their way inside. They both jump at the sounds, and he tries to curl in on himself, his hands gripping into his hair as he shuts everything out, nothing but his own voice echoing in his head.

‘Of course, you’d mess this up.’

“Bob, look at me, please.”

‘She probably hates you now.’

He opens his eyes slowly, and you can see it—the fear. The gold in his eyes flickers, a silent reflection of his inner turmoil. He’s been holding it all together for so long, but now, one mistake has him spiralling, and it’s all spilling out in front of you.

He hates that you can see it. The cracks in his composure, the weight of the guilt sinking into his chest. The last thing he wanted was to fall apart in front of you, to let you see just how much he’s struggling with everything.

“I put you in danger,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze drops to the floor, shame and regret lacing his words.

You can’t let him carry this alone. You can’t let him drown in his own guilt when you know the truth: it wasn’t his fault. He only wanted to do something nice for you.

You step forward further into his space, cupping his face gently in your hands. His breath catches and you feel his warm skin under your palms, the tension in the air thick but not overwhelming.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I’m alright, aren’t I?”

‘She doesn’t mean it.’

“I try to do one thing, and I just made things worse. I ruined everything—”

“You didn’t ruin anything, okay? I loved the fact that you got me a gift, and we’re going to get out of this.”

You pull him close, and you both embrace each other tightly, the chaos outside fading away for a brief moment as you both seek comfort in the silence of the hug.

But suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, you become acutely aware of every touch, every shift of his body against yours. The warmth of his arms, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, it all feels intensified. It’s like you’re hyper-aware of the sensation of him against you, and it’s overstimulating in a way you weren’t expecting.

You subconsciously nuzzle into his touch, breathing in his scent. He smells so good, you would even describe it as intoxicating. The feeling of him holding you, so close, feels delicious. The feeling of his fingers against your bare skin, mouth-watering.

You lean into him even more, a soft moan slipping out before you catch yourself. The sound barely escapes, but it’s enough to make you freeze. You jerk back from him, heart pounding in your chest.

From the look on his face, he didn’t hear it. Or if he did, he’s pretending not to, but you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, flooding your body. The flush spreads down your neck, over your skin, and you can’t stop it.

“We’ll…get through this,” Bob says, agreeing with your earlier words.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter out, still feeling the heat spreading throughout your body.

Then, as if his panicked brain finally catches up to the situation, Bob’s eyes flick over your form, and his eyes widen just a little when he realises you’re topless, wearing nothing but your bra. His face flushed with embarrassment, and in an instant, he looks away, his cheeks turning a shade of red at the fact that he had just hugged you in this state. Like the gentleman he is, he immediately averts his gaze, trying to give you some privacy.

“Oh. I uh, you should take my sweater.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I–”

Both of you nervously bumble until Bob starts taking off his sweater. The entire thing plays in slow motion. His hands, a little shaky, reach for the hem. The fabric bunches up in his fingers before he slowly pulls it over his head.

Bit by bit, his chest and torso are revealed. You can’t help but notice the definition of his muscles and appreciate them greatly. Finally, he hands the sweater to you, his expression nervous but kind. “Here…” he says softly, not looking you directly in the eyes.

Damn it.

He’s ripped.

You didn’t know when you woke up this morning that you’d be treated to an impromptu striptease courtesy of Bob Reynolds. You can’t believe all of that was hiding under that knitted sweater. There’s a sudden wave of arousal so strong it almost knocks you clean off your feet. Your eyes wander his sculpted form, and it’s like every part of him was made to drive you crazy. You know you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to look away.

“So… how are we planning on taking back my office?” Your words come out breathy, your eyes are still very much fixed on his body, but he seems oblivious to the fact.

“Maybe we can…” He trails off, distracted by the way you were starting to sway, “Hey, are you alright?”

He had now started to become clued into the way you were staring him down like he was a full-course meal. And you’re just happy he couldn’t read your mind because you were thinking the most unhinged things, like how you wanted to lick the sweat off his abs.

“Holy fuck,” You mutter tiredly, shaking the thought away. You were a doctor, damn it, not a degenerate. Or at least not both at the same time.

“Yeah, I’m just…” You start a sentence that you can’t finish as your body continues to heat up and your desire for him starts to hurt. You just want to be closer to him, and the overwhelming need to touch his abs comes back in full force. You try to focus on something else but just land on his arms and you wondered how’d they feel wrapped around your waist when he’d fuck you.

“Fuck!”

You start pacing around the room, trying to get rid of this madness that seemed to be overtaking you. And by pacing it was more of an awkward stumble as bit by bit your limbs turned to rubber and your brain to mush with horny thoughts of Bob.

You stop moving and drop to the floor, hugging your knees and squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you cannot see the hot man, he cannot haunt you. You decide to take deep breaths because that always helps, and try to calm yourself down. You are, however, wearing Bob’s sweater, which smells like him and therefore smells like heaven. You moan, definitely loud enough for him to hear and bury your face in it.

“Talk to me,” Bob says as he crouches down by your side, the comforting pats on your back feeling more like kisses on the neck. You just wanted to climb him like he’s a tree and live there forever.

“Need to take this off.”

You start kicking off your trousers as they start to stick to you, feeling more like sandpaper on your skin. Next, you peel off his sweater and hold it in your hands, resting it against your cheek, breathing it in every so often.

“I can’t be near you right now.”

“Why?” He asks and if you had your head on straight, you’d state the obvious. Did he not see the fact that you were seconds away from grinding on him?

But you did have to think about what caused this, and there’s only one theory that makes sense.

“I think the plant you got is a sex plant.”

Bob blinks at you.

“A what?”

While falling down an internet rabbit hole, you had heard about plants like these with certain properties that lent themselves quite nicely to certain activities. These properties including sex pollen that seemed to only affect you and not him. At a later date, you’d love to run some tests to see why. Maybe it was something in the serum he was given that made him immune to certain things. But all logical thought was being dropkicked out the window right about now, replaced with the need to fuck yourself silly on his dick.

You explain to him the whole sex plant thing as best as you can without going feral. The need to have his hands all over your body was becoming near next to unbearable.

“Why do you know this?”

“God forbid a woman is informed,” You sigh as you fan yourself with the sleeve of his sweater, more of his scent wafting into your face, making you more hungry for him than ever.

“So, how do we fix this?” He asks, desperate to help you out.

“I can just wait it out,” you suggest, knowing full well you couldn’t “wait it out”. Each second that passed was a second not spent bouncing on Bob’s cock which was a second wasted in your opinion. But this was Bob, your Bob, you didn’t want sex pollen induced horniness to reduce your friendship to rubble. You could see it now. Things would never be the same. No more book chat over morning coffee or late night milkshake runs and you’d be damned if you lost them.

“You’re burning up.” He places his hand against your forehead, and you whimper at the contact, shocking you both.

“Tell me, what will fix this?” He repeats.

It’s clear that there’s no avoiding it, so you tell him.

“...sex.”

There’s a heavy silence in the room, only accompanied by the background noise of the plant going on a rampage in your office. It was obvious, sex plant, therefore sex will alleviate the effects of said plant but saying it out loud didn't make it any easier.

“But I won’t ask that of you. I won’t,” You say firmly.

Did you want him? Yes, you wanted him bad. Ever since his floppy-haired, doe-eyed, cute self came in for his first check-up. But you didn’t want it under such dire circumstances, with a sex crazed plant trying to knock the door down. You wanted it to mean something. You wanted to know that he liked you as much as you like him.

You watch as Bob’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly as if coming to a decision. There’s something in his gaze, something vulnerable but strong at the same time, like he’s finally deciding to take a step forward.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” he says firmly. “I don’t want to see you in pain like this.”

You shake your head, the words he says sinking in, but the effects of the sex pollen make it hard to respond.

“I can’t have sex with you like this. It’s not fair on you,” you finally manage, your voice quiet, almost defeated.

Bob’s face softens, his eyes flickering with understanding and something deeper. He steps closer, his tone gentler but unwavering. “It’s worth it if it helps you. You’re hot and shivering. What kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer?”

The sincerity in his words hits you hard. You feel your throat tighten, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to spill over. You’ve always known Bob cared about you, but hearing that he was willing to do this for you was something else.

“Bob…” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it.

He stops himself then, looking away for a moment, his own vulnerability creeping to the surface. "I care about you. I…" He trails off, a deep breath escaping him as if he's preparing himself for what’s to come. “I like you.”

You're struggling to find the words as the one thing you’ve been wanting to hear is finally said.

“You like me?”

Bob looks down, his eyes shifting nervously, afraid that he might be ruining everything.

“I like you too,” You admit. “You have no idea how much.”

Not wanting the moment to pass you by, you cup his face and kiss him like you’ve never kissed anyone before. The kiss is desperate and needy, your hands gliding over his body with such urgency. All that pent-up need and tension came out in this one kiss. You cling onto each other like kissing is the last thing you’ll ever do.

You pull back, looking at him, his cheeks slightly flushed, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask, your voice a mix of uncertainty and hope.

Instead of responding, he pulls you back in, his hands gentle but insistent, bringing you closer once more. Then, before you can say anything else, he lays you back down on the floor, his body hovering over yours.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispers, before leaning back in, his lips brushing against yours once more.

You smile into the kiss and wrap your legs around his waist from beneath him.

You shiver as his hands travel up your back, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. It’s clumsy at first, fumbling with the hooks, the fabric catching between his fingers.

“Oh yeah, this one’s a nightmare to take off,” you comment, remembering the countless times you’d try to undo the clasps before giving up and just pulling it over your head instead. You chuckle lightly at the memory, tension easing for just a second.

“I think I almost got it,” he says, determination in his voice. Finally, after a few more attempts, he gets the clasp undone, tossing it aside with a small sigh of relief.

You feel a warmth spread through you, as look up at him.

“You’re perfect,” he says softly, his lips finding their way to your neck. The way he touches you, the way his hands move, everything feels electric, like every little action is charged with more meaning than you ever expected.

His hands wander down towards your panties next, rubbing at your core through them. He can feel that you’ve already soaked through them, your desperation no laughing matter.

He knows that because you immediately trap his hand between your thighs and start lifting your hips to rub against it.

His eyes widen as he watches you roll your hips, so completely wrecked, and you’d barely even gotten started. This was a whole new side of you that he could get used to.

“You need to let go of my hand for me to touch you,” Bob says, and you reluctantly do, only because you know he’s gonna give you something better.

He pulls off your panties and is met with the most beautiful sight.

“You’re so wet,” he comments spreading open your dripping pussy and flicking at your clit.

He slowly inserts his fingers and smiles at how easily they slip in. “You can take two already,” he says and almost in awe as your walls clench around him. You’re mewling and twitching with every swipe of his fingers, your wetness spilling around them. His fingers are so thick and he stretches you out so good, you wonder how your own fingers ever felt like enough.

“So good,” You whine out, and he feels encouraged to ever stop making you feel like this.

He curls them inside of you, brushing against your sensitive spot over and over again, making you squeal. You start to squirm, but he holds you still, his thigh and spare hand keeping you spread open for him.

He starts reassuring you with soothing circles on your thigh, “Right there?”

You blink away the haze and nod, “Yeah, keep going.”

He repeats his actions, his fingers threatening to bring you to an orgasm so fast that you’re almost embarrassed.

“Need you so bad,” You whisper as you thrust back against his fingers, desperate to have more of him. You’d take his whole fist if he’d give it to you.

“I need more than just your fingers.”

He looks up at you. This was a huge step, but one you were both ready to take.

“Condom?”

“I’m on birth control,” You say, and thankfully, you were. It’s not like you had a condom on you; they were in your purse, which was in the room with the raging tentacle monster.

He pulls off his jeans and boxers and he’s left exposed in front of you. He feels vulnerable, but he knows he can trust you.

“Ready?” You ask him and he replies with a breathy, “Yeah,” before laying a sweet kiss on your forehead.

He lines himself up with your hole, which is actively trying to suck him in as he pushes into you slowly. The relief of feeling him inside of you is so good, the sound of his moans as he bottoms out inside of you is just as good.

He starts thrusting into you deeply, as you grip his shoulders. It felt better than anything you’ve ever done with anyone else. It was partly the sex pollen, but more than anything, it was because it was him. You were finally with him after months upon months of pining. Finally able to feel his skin beneath your fingertips, to hear his moans vibrate against your skin, to lean his forehead against yours as he ruts into you. It was slow but passionate, as you finally confirmed how you both feel about each other.

You feel like you were on another planet, but you wanted to experience every part of this man, so you whisper in his ear, “Wanna ride you.”

You’ve never seen him move so fast, in seconds you’re sitting up right, warming his cock as his lips attacking your neck.

You’re about to start moving when he stops you.

“Just a second.”

You sit there, desperate to feel him moving inside you, but if he says to wait, then you’ll wait. He cups one of your boobs in his hands and his tongue flicking around your areola just enough to tease you.

“Bob…” You whine out, and he smiles up at you, and it’s one of his dopey smiles that makes your heart melt. Then as if you couldn’t feel any more sensitive, he starts sucking on your nipple, his eyes closed in pure focus and concentration. You fully scream, your legs quivering and walls fluttering around his cock. His tongue was working overtime, and you felt like you could come undone with just this.

“You’re gonna kill me,” You cry out as you pull closer by his hair.

“You’re so dramatic,” He laughs before going back to his ministrations, determined to make you lose your mind.

“Just like that,” You cry out as you wrap your arms around his neck. You shake and tremble so much that you just have to start riding him. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own.

Bob rests his head in the crook of your neck as you work his cock up and down between your folds. “You feel so good.” His voice is shaky and needy as he’s unable to do anything but give in to the pleasure you’re giving him. His legs were shaking with how good it felt, and it was an ego boost to say one thing.

“Wait a second,” he says before he holds your hips up and starts thrusting up into you from below, giving you everything he’s got.

“Oh Bob…”

The feeling is so overwhelming that you start to cry, tears flowing down your cheeks, each one showing just how good he was giving it to you. But seeing your tears, he stops immediately, wiping them from your eyes. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

His eyebrows are furrowed with a concern plastered on his face, worried that he had hurt you.

You shake your head profusely, “Keep going. I’m crying because it feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

With some renewed confidence, he continues thrusting into you, and it’s your turn to rest your head against his neck.

He whispers against your ear, “You feel so good.”

“Wanna turn around for me?”

“O-okay,” You stutter out, your mind half in the clouds as he spins you around and you land back on his dick, reverse cowgirl.

“Holy shit,” he says as he starts pounding into you again. You feel him so deep inside of you, you never want him to leave.

You feel him gripping onto your ass so you imagine the view must be good.

“Harder?”

“Yes, fuck please,” You reply immediately. The way he was thrusting up inside of you had you crying out for mercy, and if he wanted to go harder, you’d let him. He picks up the pace, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours is music to your ears.

“So good, you’re such…” He stops for a moment, and you can hear him hesitate, but you suppose his internal thoughts won out as he finishes his sentence, “Such a good girl.”

And you’d be lying if those words, escaping his lips, in his voice, didn’t make you want to explode.

Then he slows down before pulling out of you, you’re about to whine and complain, but he intercepts that.

“Can you hold onto me?” He asks, and you do it immediately, desperate to feel him on you again. You suddenly feel yourself being lifted into the air, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He effortlessly lifts you over and lays you down on an examination table.

He lines himself up with your hole again and thrusts right into it, not holding back one bit. Your body is shaking and trembling with each thrust, and you’re screaming his name with each one.

“So good, so good,” he repeats like a mantra, like he can’t think of anything else but you.

He lifts your hips, tilting your pelvis and hitting your G-spot dead on, and you almost choke on your spit. You’re not even sure what comes out of your mouth; you just know it’s not of this world. You head lolls to the side as you drool for his cock to be fed deeper into you.

“Right there, right there, right…”, You bluster out before being cut off by your own scream.

You weren’t going to last much longer; in fact, you’re surprised you lasted this long. You just needed one final thing to put you over the edge.

“B-bob. Put…put your hand here,” You say guiding his hand above your stomach and bite your lip as he presses down feeling his cock inside of you.

“I’m gonna—” You sob before you’re cumming harder than you ever have, calling out for Bob all the while. Bob holds onto your bucking hips as he watches you squirt on his cock. The orgasm that hits you is blinding, your toes curl, your fists tighten, and tears fall from your eyes.

You are gone.

You’re only brought back to your senses by Bob saying your name and soft kisses on your face. When he sees you’re responsive, he smiles and starts brushing your hair off your face. But then you realise, he’s stopped moving and you absolutely can’t have that. You can still feel him pulsing inside of you and you needed him to cum.

“Keep going,” you mumble.

“Hm?”

You sit up closer to you, your fingers gripping his back.

“Keep going until you’re done with me.”

You needed this, you needed him. You wanted him to fuck you so hard that your pussy remembered him, you wanted him to fill you up so much that just the smell of him would bring you to your knees and that wasn’t just the sex pollen talking.

“I think I can do this day,” Bob says and that he does. He fucks you against the wall, the window, on the floor, if he had control of his Sentry powers he probably would’ve fucked you in the air too. By the time you’re done, the sex pollen has been well and truly pounded out of your system.

But your troubles aren’t over.

The plant knocks down the door with an ominous thud. Menacingly slithering over to the two of you, now triple in size, each tentacle bigger that the last, and you’re ready to accept your fate. This is how you would go out. Fucked to death by a plant.

The plant starts prodding at you both a tiny bit before pulling back away from you, much to your surprise. Obviously sensing its job was done, it reverts back to its original form in a matter of seconds and sits innocently in its pot.

You guess your troubles are over.

“So…can I be your boyfriend?” He asks and you laugh, “What do you think?”

Bob’s face lights up with a grin, and he kisses your cheek, “I think there’s a mess waiting for us in your office.”

“Well, couples that clean together stay together.”

Snuggling into his embrace, you let out a sigh of contentment. Nothing could ruin this day, not when you’d finally made Bob your man.

But, in the distance, you hear the shuffling of footsteps as the team has arrived back from their mission. You hear a faint, “What the fuck?” seemingly from Walker seeing the havoc the plant made but you’re too content in Bob’s arms to care. You’re exactly where you want to be.

Masterlist

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morningwitchy · 6 months ago

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orbweaver embroidered sweater design is ready to go! the leaves/stems wont be so intensely purple, i just havent decided what color i wanna make em

will show the sample as soon as i have it <3

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loviatarsluv · 3 months ago

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APHRODISIAC

— ‎ ꜝ synopsis: it should’ve been just like any other auction you’d attended with sylus - get in, gather information, and get out - but an unfortunate run-in with another organization’s leader leads to a very… sticky situation.

— ꜝ pairing: sylus x reader (reader is technically MC, so they are described femininely and use feminine pronouns)

—ꜝ genre: smut (18+ reader discretion advised!)

— ꜝ word count: 5.6k

— ꜝ tags/warnings: strong language, dr*gging, aphrodisiacs, (f)masturbation, fingering, oral (f receiving), sylus being a consent king (⁎˃ᆺ˂)

—ꜝ author's note: another lads fic I’ve been sitting on for months bc I wasn’t sure if it was good enough to post but when I tell u the urge to write sylus smut is so strong at all times, esp to push the munch!sylus agenda … so I went ahead and finished this one and left it on a lil bit of a cliffhanger for shits and gigs (❛ε❛“) just know sylus had her up until DAWN, bro is trying to give himself lockjaw I swear

18+ ONLY under the cut!! I mean it!!

You tug at the tight crimson silk bound around your midsection, adjusting the almost too low neckline and the high slit that stopped just at the top of your thigh every few minutes to avoid a malfunction.

You recall Sylus’ words from months prior when you attended that first auction with him.

No one can stay wary when there’s a beauty walking around.

His flattery almost always held motive behind it— his intentions were clear with his choice of dress to adorn you in, and all you could do was grin and bear it as dozens of the N109 Zone’s most affluent gawked at you as you meandered around the lavish ballroom while Sylus was off doing god knows what.

“Miss, would you care for a glass of wine?” A waiter with a bright smile appears seemingly out of nowhere, a golden tray held before him with one single wine glass in the center.

You eyeball the glass for a moment, your better judgment scolding you for considering it, before shaking your head.

“No, thank you.” You smile politely, turning to walk away before the waiter clears his throat.

“Are you sure? It’s compliments of that gentleman over there,” he points toward a tall man looming in the corner, indolently leant against the wall and watching with a sly smirk on his face.

You squint at him, mentally searching your mind for any trace of him only to come up blank. Your eyes darted between the glass and the man, something telling you it would be wise to accept the drink in case it could start a conversation with a potential person of interest.

You feign a thankful smile, grabbing the glass by its delicate stem and swirling it slightly to subtly check for any tampering.

“Thank you.” You coo to the waiter as he dashes off, bringing the edge of the glass up to your nose to sniff it.

Unable to detect any smell or visible alterations to the dark red liquid, you sample a tiny sip, glancing at the man out of the corner of your eye as you do.

A deep and husky voice chimes through the earpiece Sylus had given you earlier, instructing you to keep it on at all times. So he can eavesdrop on me, you think to yourself.

“Miss Hunter drinking on the job? What a little rebel.”

You roll your eyes, now certain that Sylus was watching you somehow. Your eyes scan the higher parts of the room for Mephisto, but find no sign of the mechanical crow or the pompous man he answered to.

“Wasn’t this part of your plan? I stay down here and dangle myself like a piece of meat over a lion enclosure and hope someone bites while you get to do all the actual work? Well, someone has finally bitten. You should be thrilled.”

He chuckles lowly, and you tune your ears to try to listen for him somewhere in the room, but his voice remains secluded only to your left ear.

“Are you not having fun playing pretend?” Underneath the slight amusement, there’s a hint of genuine concern in his voice that catches you off guard.

A loud scoff tumbles from your lips, forgetting yourself for a moment before quickly covering it with a cough. “Are you actually making any progress, or are you too busy watching me? Is your faith in me so little?” You huff in retort, annoyance clear in your voice despite the deceiving little smile that remained on your face.

“Hard not to look at you right now, kitten. Red is your color.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, reminding you that you really were little more than a lamb primed for slaughter standing in a room full of hungry wolves— one of them being your escort.

A gruff sigh reaches your ears, his voice almost sympathetic as he speaks again before the line cuts off.

“I’ll be done soon. Hold tight.”

Before you can even attempt to reach out to him again, you notice a dark figure approaching out of the corner of your eye. You silently curse to yourself.

Sylus, you better hurry the fuck up.

“Red is your color, angel.” The man who’d sent the wine coos, peering at you from behind a pair of dark sunglasses that seemed out of place in the dim lighting of the room.

Somehow, you manage not to audibly scoff once again, biting down on your tongue as you offer him a sanguine simper from behind the glass as it perches on your lower lip.

“So I’ve been told. Thank you,” you deadpan, raising the glass to him, your dark burgundy nails tinking against the side, perfectly matching the color of the liquid inside.

He smirks, a mouth full of impossibly perfect pearly white teeth on display, his sharp canines peeking over his lip. “Don’t mention it, doll. Strange to see a pretty thing like you standing alone. Did you lose your escort?”

Misogynistic prick.

“I escorted myself.” You lie, your tone harsh as you respond sharply, unable to contain the bite in it at his presumptiveness.

“Forgetting about me already, sweetie?” Sylus’ voice is in your ear again, and it takes everything in you to fight the urge to rip the device out of your ear and stomp on it.

How you manage to be surrounded by the most insufferable men constantly is truly astounding.

“Well, it must be my lucky day then. How about a dance then, Miss…?” The man purrs, holding his hand out in offering.

Your eyes scan him once again, trying your hardest to search your memory for anything of note that could help identify him.

He was handsome— he looked like he had been torn straight out of an issue of a fashion magazine in his perfectly tailored gray suit and his lean physique. He was tall, but still not quite as towering as Sylus. He could almost appear as Sylus’ perfect negative, draped in lighter tones contrasted by his immaculately styled raven hair. He certainly had the ego to rival that of the leader of the fearsome Onychinus, but likely lacked the merit for it.

“Don’t waste your time. I’m wrapping up now.” Sylus rasps in your ear, an uncharacteristic tone of urgency in his voice as the words fly out of his mouth in rapid succession.

A devilish smirk tugs at the corners of your painted lips, deciding to give him a bit of hell as payback for leaving you out here like chum in shark infested waters.

“Vale,” you grinned coyly as you offered the fake name, knowing better than to give your real identity away, placing your hand delicately in his outstretched one. “And you are…?”

He offers yet another captivating smile before bringing the back of your gloved hand up to his lips. “Fawkes. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Vale.”

Fawkes. Where have you heard that name before?

“Shit. You didn’t drink any more of the wine, did you?” Sylus asks, his prior tone of urgency now topped with noticeable concern. “I’ll be there soon. Hold on, kitten.”

Your brows furrow, a pit forming in your stomach as the pieces fall into place and you suddenly understand the situation you’d gotten yourself into.

You’d only taken a sip, so the haze was manageable as it came on, but still enough to cause your eyelids to feel heavier than they should. You manage to maintain your composure as he leads you around the room, one cold hand wrapped around your waist, his fingertips digging into the bare skin of your exposed back, nails slightly digging into the flesh as if they were clawed talons perched atop a piece of carrion.

He watches you expectantly— you could feel his eyes on you even behind his dark glasses.

“Feeling alright, Miss Vale?” He dips his head low enough to bring his mouth close to your ear, his voice sending an unpleasant chill down your spine.

You feign a smile, coyly placing a hand against his lapel.

“Peachy keen. Thank you for asking,” you reply simply, attempting to subtly scan the room for any sign of Sylus.

The smirk on the towering man’s face sent a wave of nausea through you as the possibilities of his intentions with drugging the drink swirled in your mind— had he seen you enter with Sylus? Or worse… Did he know who you were, and did he know about the Aether Core?

Dreary eyes sweep the dance floor once more as he guides you into a graceful turn, your dress swishing across the marble tiles. No sign of Sylus still, and the pounding in your skull was only getting worse…

Not to mention, the… other effects that had started to set in, that you were trying with all of your might to ignore.

“Are you sure you’re well, doll? You’re looking a little… feverish. Perhaps you should lie down for a bit,” he offers coolly, as if he were an actor performing his lines for the millionth time. Your blood boils at the thought.

You shake your head, keeping an iron grip on your composure.

Any second now, Sylus will swoop in. He always does. He’s so handsome, and strong, and big… I wonder if—

Oh god, snap out of it!

“I’m fine. It’s just been a long day, s’all,” you slightly slur, mentally cursing yourself for losing control of your words while still trying to reign in your bodily functions and your mind that you were rapidly losing control of. Your eyes sweep the room once again, the room beginning to feel as though it were in rotation before landing on the area where you knew the ladies’ room to be. “I think I need to use the restroom.”

Just as you begin to pull away from his grasp, he reaches out once again, roughly yanking your body back against his and bringing his sinister grin close to your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver up your spine.

“But we haven’t finished our dance yet, doll,” His sickly sweet tone makes your skin crawl as his hands grip at your waist.

Just as you begin to worry that your fate has been sealed, you feel another much larger set of hands grabbing you by the waist and hauling you away. Sylus’ voice is low and gruff against your ear as he leans down to whisper to you. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

The low timbre of his voice sends a wave of heat through you, pooling low as a bright flush washes across your face tinting it a rosy hue. You try not to look him in the eyes for fear that you may lose the last remains of control you cling to.

Before you can even attempt an answer, Sylus pushes you behind him, his large and looming body shielding you as you cling to his back, pressing against the warm fabric of his suit jacket as it drapes over his broad shoulders.

He always smells so good…

“Ah, Mr. Sylus. Didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude to steal another man’s dance partner without asking first?” You hear the man’s voice distantly as you feel Sylus tense against you.

“Not nearly as rude as drugging another man’s date, is it not?” He hisses, his tone sharp and full of venom as his hand reaches behind his back to grip your arm protectively.

You recall earlier how you’d planned to make Sylus jealous out of spite, and the perverse part of your brain that had been wrenched out of hiding silently thank past-you for concocting such a brilliant plan— he is so hot when he’s like this.

Wait, what? Ugh, what did that asshole put in your drink?!

“Quite a big accusation to throw at a man with no actionable proof,” the man sounds amused, as if he were simply toying with his food. “Whether I’ve done such a thing or not, it would probably be wise to escort this lovely lady home. I’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry.”

Sylus’ jaw sets, his knuckles turning white at his side as he resists the burning sensation of his evol accumulating in his palm, the urge to send an angry mist of black and blood red to snap the man’s neck growing stronger with each passing second. He refrains, his demeanor calm and collected as he begins to lead you out of the ballroom.

As the two of you begin to pass the slightly shorter man, a hand reaches out to grip Sylus’ arm, halting him in his tracks.

What is said, you barely make out, every sound blurring together as the foggy haze makes itself at home in your unsober mind, but you could piece things together to discern what you thought was said.

“You have a long night ahead of you, my friend.”

Huh. Strange.

⁺⊹♡◦₊⋄

The silence in the car was deafening— or was it the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears? You couldn’t tell anymore, the world was all a hazy blur of sounds and lights and spicy cinnamon cologne that seemed so much stronger when contained and concentrated within the stark leathery confines of this small space.

You sneak glances at Sylus, your legs instinctively clenching together as you notice the iron grip his large hands held on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white with the force of his menacing grip strength. You worried he might break the wheel entirely.

God, you’re going mad.

Especially when he looked like that— the way his muscles tensed and remained taut, his entire presence buzzing with an energy you’d only noticed when he would come to your rescue; a sort of protective, almost possessive aura that always made your heart skip a beat, but now it had your heart doing a full on marathon in your chest.

Typically, him speeding with you in the car might bother you, but you were too gone to care anymore. Your mind could not focus on anything but that stupid. Fucking. Cologne.

Was it the cologne, or was it just him?

“I have half a mind to go back and snap that man’s neck,” he breaks the silence, casually throwing the sentence out as if he were simply commenting on the weather. You knew he meant it, too. You swallow thickly.

It’s just him. Good lord… you’re in trouble.

You remain silent, for fear that whatever comes out of your mouth might seal your own death sentence. Death by mortification.

Sylus’ head turns slightly to peek at you, his brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

No. Nope. Not good.

“Y-Yeah. All good.” You muster, the tremor in your voice evident and undeniable. You pinch your eyes shut, hoping he won’t press you any further.

“Tch. You’re a bad liar, even with drugs swimming through your system.” He chastises.

Before you can attempt a defensive retort, the car lurches to a sudden stop, and you realize you were already outside of his base.

“We’re here.”

Just as your hands move to unbuckle your seatbelt, Sylus is already on the passenger side of the car, large hands making quick work of what your shaky, clammy ones likely would’ve struggled with. Heat radiates off of him as he leans over you for that brief moment and you feel your body instinctively lean into him, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He freezes, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “Let’s get you inside.”

You nod, your slightly damp forehead rubbing against the fabric of his shirt as you do. He pulls back, carmine irises scanning your face with a softer look than you’d ever seen him adorn.

His arm wraps around your back, the smooth, warm flesh of his forearm brushing against the exposed skin on your spine causing goosebumps to raise across your arms and your hair to stand on end. The smallest amount of skin-to-skin contact was already almost too much for you, and you jolted away from his touch.

Confused, he looks you over, thinking maybe he’d hurt you somehow. “Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?”

You stare back up at him, chest heaving as if you’d ran here yourself, cheeks glowing and a sheen of sweat glistening all over your body despite the bitter chill of the winter air.

This is insane, it’s like I’m in heat! I have to get away from him before I do something stupid…

Without another word, you muster up enough strength to push yourself out of the car and dash through the front door, beelining it to the room Sylus had set up for you when you ended up staying the night in the N109 Zone.

You breeze past Luke and Kieran, who both offer some sort of silly greeting that you couldn’t be bothered to attempt to listen to this time, knowing you couldn’t look anyone in the eye right now knowing that your body was like a loose cannon.

It should be over in a few hours, right?

⁺⊹♡◦₊⋄

It had been much longer than a few hours.

At least it felt that way, for Sylus.

Sylus waited a bit before attempting to check on you, the familiar tug of worry in his chest that he only felt when you were hurt or in trouble persisting and making it hard not to fuss over you and make sure you were okay.

Not to mention, the last thing that wretched man said to him as he dragged you out of the venue echoed in his ears like a church bell— You have a long night ahead of you, my friend.

Whatever that meant.

“Boss, we can go check on her if you want!” Luke offers, breaking Sylus out of his swirling thoughts.

��Yeah! Don’t even worry about it, we’ll take care of her!” Kieran chimes in, stepping up behind Luke and peering at Sylus over his brother’s shoulder.

A heavy sigh escapes Sylus’ chest, his thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That will not be necessary.” Is all he says before turning and disappearing down the hallway toward your room, restraining himself from telling the two of them off for even offering. The thought of anyone coming near you that wasn’t him right now was making his skin crawl.

He tried not to rush through the extensive maze that was his main base to get to you, but he couldn’t help but move swiftly knowing that you were unwell, much less that you were unwell due to his own negligence.

As he approached your bedroom door, he could very faintly hear a low string of odd noises on the other side— were you crying?

Worried, he pushes the door open slowly, and the scene he finds is not at all what he’d expected.

Silver moonlight pours in through the parted curtains near your bed, bathing your blushed and panting figure in a starry glow as your skin glistens, your legs parted with your hand buried between them, your forearm draped over your eyes as you bite down on the sheets in a feeble attempt to conceal the moans and whimpers escaping your throat.

Sylus’ throat goes dry, unsure whether he should leave or announce his presence, unable to tear his eyes away from your body writhing in the stark black silk sheets, a million and one terribly profane thoughts flooding his mind at the sight.

“S-Sy— ah!” You whine, muffled by the silk on your tongue, but audible just enough for him to hear, and just enough to snap the last few strands of restraint he’d been holding on to.

He crosses the room in two or three quick steps until he reaches the side of the bed, clearing his throat loudly to announce his presence.

You gasp, your eyes snapping open, scrambling to readjust your dress to cover yourself. “Sylus! H-How long have you been s-standing there?!”

His ruby irises seemed so much darker as he looked you over, a low hum resounding in his chest. “Long enough.”

Your jaw goes slack, unsure what all he saw, or much worse, what he’d heard.

“I was just— it’s because of the— I wasn’t—” You clamor over yourself attempting to explain, your entire being feeling like you might fall apart at the seams due to both embarrassment, and the fact that you’d been seconds away from orgasm before the subject of your depraved fantasies so rudely and abruptly interrupted.

“I know, kitten. And if you had simply said something earlier, I could’ve helped you.”

Unsure if you’d heard him right, you look up at him, confused. “W-What?”

He chuckles lowly, his body lowering down to sit beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping below his weight as he scoots toward you.

“The drug— he gave you an aphrodisiac of some sort.” He explains, yet still expertly dodges your question.

“No shit, Sylus!” You yell, exasperated, still on edge and aching from the current lack of stimulation. You squeeze your legs together to quell the throbbing between them, a whimper dropping from your lips as you do. You grab one of the pillows and shove your face into it, wishing this hellish ordeal would end.

Sylus grabs the pillow and pulls it back down to look you in the eyes once again, a glint of both mischief and lust in his eyes. “Don’t hide from me, sweetie.”

“This is a nightmare.” You groan, your eyes moving to focus on the ceiling and avoid his knowing gaze.

A hand comes up to push a few sweat slicked strands of hair off of your face, then a thumb presses your jaw back down, holding it tightly as he inches closer, his face only a few measly inches away from yours.

“My offer to help still stands. If you want it, that is. But you have to give me a clear yes or no.”

Yes! Yes, please!

If you were hot before, you must be on fire now, your entire body feeling as if your blood had been replaced with magma. It took all of your strength to keep yourself from pouncing on him then and there, all rational and logical thought having left you the moment you’d entered this room.

“I need an answer, kitten.” He repeats, his hand sliding across the sheets, inching closer and closer to your thigh. You were practically trembling with need, each one of your muscles taut like a bowstring ready to send you whizzing through the air into his capable arms.

“Fuck it.” You practically moan, launching yourself forward and colliding your lips with his in a heated, breathy, sloppy kiss that was all tongue and teeth and pure greed. Not only on your part, but on his as well.

He molds you to him instantly, strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his lap, one hand moving to grip the back of your thigh before travelling underneath your dress to get a handful of the plush flesh of your ass. You break away from the kiss, dazed and gasping for air, a string of saliva still connecting his mouth to yours.

“Was that a clear enough answer for you?” You breathe, your voice huskier than you’d ever known was possible for yourself.

“I’ll let it slide this time,” he whispers against your lips as you reconnect them, taking the lead by pushing him backward so that he was laying and you hovered above him. You could feel your slick dripping down your thigh, the cool air hitting it and sending a chill through you. You’d have likely been embarrassed in any other situation, but you had much more pressing matters in your mind— such as Sylus’ clothed cock pressing against you as it strains against his too-tight slacks.

You sit back, unsteady hands trying desperately to release it from its confines, but a large hand captures yours and brings it up to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“What an eager little kitten, I’ve got,” he purrs. “As much as I’d die to sink into you and never let you go— I think now maybe isn’t the best time.”

Ouch.

You weren’t sure if it was the effects of the drugs still swimming in your system that made his rejection feel like a knife through your chest, or if it was something else, but that’s exactly how it felt— as if he’d grabbed your heart and stabbed it like it were a butchered piece of meat.

His eyes soften as he notices the look on your face, a hand moving to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing soothing circles under your eye. “Trust me, sweetie. I want to. More than anything, truly... But I want to do this when you want it for real, not because some deviant slipped a roofie in your drink.”

You remain silent, understanding his reasoning but wishing so badly you had a valid counterargument to against it, to beg and plead with him to just ravage you and not think twice about it— but damn this man for being so… thoughtful. You couldn’t possibly protest, even in your most addled state.

Taking note of your silence, he leans forward once again, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Besides, I want it to be special. I want to take my time with you,” His voice is low as he speaks, dripping with the promise of passion that only furthered your current dilemma. His eyes flick down to the spot beneath you on his pants where a dark, wet stain pooled, and he almost looks pained. “Let’s just get you through tonight first, hm?”

You sigh, beginning to climb off of him before he grips your hips, holding you in place. You raise a brow in confusion, only to be met with a lustful smirk. “I thought you said—”

“I said no to sex, not no to everything,” He explains matter-of-factly.

In a swift movement, he flips the two of you over, softly tossing your back against the mattress, your hair splaying out around your head like a halo. Large hands move to grip the plush meat of your thighs, gently spreading your legs and pulling your skirt up to expose the mess you’d already made of yourself, your panties soaked and the insides of your thighs drenched in your slick.

He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, a dangerous flicker of hunger flashing across his blood red eyes.

“Poor thing,” he tuts, his words like honey dripping from his tongue. “Already so soaked…” he grumbles more to himself as lays on his stomach, his face merely inches from your wet and waiting heat.

You can’t help but already moan in anticipation, your body aching with the fiercest need you’d ever experienced, that ache only intensifying the more he teased you. “S-Sylus, please…”

He ignores you, his eyes locked on your panties that were now essentially see through, examining your body as if he was trying to memorize it and save it for later.

He hesitates for a moment before leaning forward, his hot breath ghosting over you, eyes heavily lidded and full of pure desire as he peers up at you. Just as you open your mouth to plead with him, a long digit swipes up the center of your folds, lightly flicking your clit and making you jolt, wrenching a surprised yelp out of you.

“Are you sure you want this? I can try to figure out something else to ease your symptoms if—”

“Sylus!” You basically yell over him, leaning up and placing your hands on his shoulders, gripping at them as if your life depended on it. It sure felt like it did at this point.

“I have fantasized about this long before tonight, so I swear to all that is holy if you do not eat me out right now, I might actually keel over and die,” you ramble quickly, the words tumbling out as if a dam had burst in your brain and now the things that you barely even admit to yourself were spilling out freely. But you couldn’t care less at this point, you’d lost the ability to hours ago.

The words that leave your lips seem to shock both of you, an unreadable expression passing across his face before settling on something you could only describe with one word: primal.

He practically growls as he dives in, lapping hungrily at your still clothed cunt like a man starved. His voice vibrates against you, only furthering the sensation and nearly already overstimulating you. His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer to him and fingers digging in and gripping them tight to prevent you from pulling away— not that you’d planned on it, anyways.

Your hand flies to his head, your fingers threading through his silver locks the way you’d wished you could dozens of times over. When your fingers find purchase, your nails scraping gently across his scalp, he groans loudly against your pussy— and god, you may not last much longer if he keeps this up.

“You are so,” he mutters into you, pausing to lick one long stripe from your entrance to your clit. “Fucking divine.” He finishes, one arm releasing your thigh so he could hook a finger beneath the soiled cloth and slide it to the side, the cool air biting at your drenched cunt as he exposes it.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs to himself before diving in again, his tongue immediately finding your waiting hole, clenching and throbbing desperately around nothing.

Your back instantly arches off of the bed, a string of whiny, needy whimpers and curses filling the room amidst the profane squelching noises as he drinks you in as if you were the last drop of water in a burning hot desert.

He pistons his tongue in and out of you, using his still free hand to swipe against your neglected bud, shockwaves of pleasure wreaking havoc on your body and soul. You were already so close.

“S-Sylusss…” You mewl, bringing your hand up to bite down on your fist to muffle yourself. Sylus notices and quickly grips your wrist, yanking it away from your mouth.

“No, no, kitten. I need to hear you. Don’t hide from me,” he instructs, his voice a deep rumble akin to a purr against you. You lean up and nod at him with wide, teary eyes glazed over with pleasure. “Be good for me, won’t you?”

Good grief.

“Say it,” his voice is darker, more commanding. Your walls clamp down on the infuriating nothingness.

“I’ll be good, Sylus, p-please, pleasepleaseplease,” you plead, your voice more wanton and needy than you’d ever heard it before. It almost didn’t sound like you, if you hadn’t felt it drip off of your own tongue.

He hums in approval, bringing a finger up to tease at your folds, gently massaging and gathering up your slick on the pad of it before prodding at your entrance.

“I know, kitten. I’ve got you.” He purls as one finger slowly inches in, and a feeling somewhere between relief and desperation floods your body. It wasn’t enough, you needed more.

“More, please, please, I need—” You were practically sobbing, and he hadn’t even moved his hand yet.

“Hmm… so greedy,” without warning, he curls his finger, prodding perfectly at that spongy spot that made your vision go white and lit your body on fire, while his thumb starts to rub slow teasing circles around your neglected clit. “Is that better?”

“Yes! Just like that— I’m gonna come, just like that!” You scream, your hand instinctively pushing against his head to pull him closer.

He chuckles, complying with your nonverbal queue and replacing his thumb with his mouth, sucking down harshly onto your throbbing clit, sending you careening into the hardest orgasm you’d ever felt in your life.

Wave after wave of pleasure wrecks your body, slamming into you for what felt like forever while Sylus continued to work you through it all, one hand moving to lace his fingers between yours to help ground you while the other slowly moved within your pulsing walls as you came down.

Your body slumps, your chest heaving and your mind reeling. You’re still trapped in the haze of pleasure as Sylus pulls his finger out, placing one last lingering kiss to your over sensitive pussy before pulling away all together. You keen at the loss of his touch, already wanting more as he gazes up at you, chin glistening with the most pussy-drunk expression written across his features.

“Feel better?” He asks smugly, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and licking his lips, the burning embers of lust still flickering in his fiery eyes.

You want to say yes, but you know all too well that you could easily go for several more rounds and then some. You weren’t sure if you were even still under the effects of the aphrodisiac drug anymore, or if you were just finally admitting to yourself what you’ve known you wanted all along. This forbidden attraction to Sylus that had only grown the longer you’d spent time around him, the ache you felt to be closer to him anytime you went away or vice versa— you couldn’t deny it anymore, and that frightened you.

Sylus notes your silence, and chuckles, crawling over you until his hands are on either side of your head, his face hovering over yours. His breath smells strongly of you, and the thought makes your quivering legs clamp closed once again.

“Was that okay?” He asks, his eyes and voice softer than you think you’d ever heard from him, seeking reassurance.

Was that okay? You mock him in your head, your eyes flitting down to look at your disheveled dress, the sheen of sweat coating your skin, your heaving chest and not to mention the absolute disaster that was your lower half. Your eyes flit back to his, a wry smirk on your lips.

“If I say no, will you try again?” You ask earnestly, despite it sounding like a joke.

Sylus chuckles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Only if you ask nicely.”

⁺⊹♡◦₊⋄

other l&ds works ➛ bloop

#never beating the gooner allegations #I love sylus so much I need his **** ** ** *****#anyways!#love and deepspace #sylus #l&ds #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #sylus smut #l&ds fic #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #sylus love and deepspace #sylus qin #my fics #⁺⊹♡◦₊⋄ lovey’s drabbles

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serpentface · 4 months ago

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CAELIN/DELKHIN FOODS: AN EXTREMELY BROAD OVERVIEW

Horselord nomad horking down a blood + seed + cheese sausage while his 4 month old humbly requests a sample. The hard cheeses eaten by some delkhin societies have next to no lactose and can be digested by adults with little issue, but it's too risky for babies. The sausage is too big anyway. It's cooked blood and grasshopper mash for you, son.

Caelin and delkhin are obligate carnivores and can digest very little plant matter (and far less without the use of cooking). The majority of their diets derive from animal protein, and may be supplemented by certain fruits and cooked grains and seeds.

They also have FAR fewer taste receptors than a human and are altogether incapable of tasting sugars. Taste plays a very minimal role in eating to begin with, its function is ultimately a simple matter of determining whether something is safe to be (immediately) swallowed. They have no chewing mechanism whatsoever and swallow food whole.

Because of this, enjoyment of food does not derive from the flavor, which can/will barely be tasted anyway. The more complex and pleasurable aspects of eating stem from visual and tactile interaction with the food before and during swallowing.

The aesthetic qualities of food are very important and sensibilities vary culturally, but an underlying common element is that most 'good looking' food also looks like it can be swallowed whole and will have a pleasing or interesting texture in the process. (IE for the vast majority of sensibilities, a sticky rice ball will look more pleasing than a bowl of rice). To many human sensibilities, some of the most carefully prepared foods might look like an unfortunate chunky meat mash, perhaps strangely sprinkled with petals or insect wings, while an observer from the food's source culture may note the pleasantly contrasting textures and colors, the striking robustness of the meat against the delicacy of its visual seasoning.

Most ‘seasoning’ is for purely visual purposes and plays no role in taste. Prepared meals may be sprinkled non-toxic flower petals or seeds, layered with insect parts (raw or cooked), or dusted with salt for both visual appeal and as a supplement of needed minerals. Pigmented seasonings are very popular and may be slathered across prepared food items for visual flare. Arthropod-derived pigments that may be considered exclusively dyes in other contexts are often used as food coloring by caelin.

Whole meats may be cut to appeal to aesthetic sensibilities, highlighting texture and fat content. ‘Throat-feel’ tends to be important for the shape of cuts, though opinions on what the best throat-feel is varies by culture (the most common denominator seems to be ‘provides a feeling of fullness without any difficulty in swallowing’).

Shaping food items in unique ways also adds both aesthetic and variable throat-feel qualities. Eating meat and cooked grain in meatball or sausage form is very common, ranging from very thick links to almost noodle-like sausages using the intestines of small mammals as casing,

Eating live vertebrates (usually stunned or dying) is more common than in human cultures (both for obvious physiological reasons and because the ancestors of all caelin/delkhin would have done so on the regular as a natural facet of hunting small prey). In some cases this is ultimately a matter of appealing throat-feel, in others it plays a more specified part in specific rites or medicinal practices. Opinions on the acceptability of this practice/what animals are acceptable vary tremendously. Eating live fish tends to be uncontroversial outside of groups with spiritual/ethical objections to consuming anything alive whatsoever, opinions on small reptiles and mammals are more variable.

Caelin have extremely acidic stomachs (a trait somewhat reduced in delkhin) and have significant resistance (though not immunity) to bacteria and parasites in their diet. Eating meat raw is overall Less risky for them than it is for humans, and some cultures will intentionally allow meat to rot to various degrees as a form of delicacy (though some sensibilities consider eating rotten meat to be an act of desperation, or low class). In general, most cultures regularly eat meat in both raw and cooked forms, and the average person will eat most of their meat dried for longterm preservation but will tolerate a mild degree of rot.

Foods are often dipped in oils (usually rendered animal fats) for an appealing sheen and needed extra calories. Blood or wine may serve similar purposes. Where strong liquors are consumed as a regular part of life, they're usually integrated into the diet as a psychoactive dip for meats.

The staple elements of the diet depend on subsistence methods, but insects often play a very large role. Caviar ants are a common staple in warm/wet areas for large societies, as they are the easiest and most productive source of protein to sustain an obligate carnivorous populace. In drier areas, one needs vast amounts of livestock to sustain a large society- most of the biggest caelin and delkhin civilizations are clustered in highly productive grassland for this reason.

Big, livestock-dependent and heavily class-stratified societies are the only contexts in which a large portion of the population is dependent on vegetable matter. Members of lower classes may have a baseline diet consisting of cooked grain (grown predominantly for livestock feed) mixed with blood, supplemented by foraged insects and eggs. This is Survivable, but not healthy and can result in severe malnutrition without being supplemented on a regular basis.

Where large vertebrates are consumed, eating the entirety of the animal is especially vital. All organ meat and flesh will be eaten, tendon and bone not needed for material will be cooked down and pulverized for consumption, etc. Some cultures actively eat small amounts of fur or feathers, seeing it as a means of cleansing the digestive system. Aversions to certain forms of offal are very rare and only tend to develop in class stratified cultures, in which regular consumption of the most favored meats is reserved/only regularly accessible for upper classes (though in these cases, the aversion tends to be towards the more preservable, less nutritious lean muscle meats than nutritious, perishable organs and fatty cuts).

Some caelin societies live as scavenger-nomads, where small family units follow large herds of wild (or semi-domesticated) game, forage the insects they kick up, and eat their dead (either passively waiting for deaths, chasing away predators from kills of their herd, or actively picking off elderly or injured animals). The basis of this subsistence method is ancestral to both caelin and delkhin (prior to the latter becoming flightless in island isolation), and the first anatomically modern caelin and khait essentially domesticated each other via this continuing relationship. This is ultimately the most energy-efficient mode of subsistence for caelin as a species, with the only (debatable) downside being that it does not support large, concentrated populations.

Caelin and delkhin nomadic pastoralists slaughter livestock at a higher rate than most human pastoralists do, as they have fewer options for supplementing their diet outside of their livestock. Total reliance on fast-breeding livestock like horses is more common than dependence on slow-breeding cattle, camala, or khait. The lifestyle still necessitates reliance on living animals as renewable resources and sources of wealth, so most animal protein will still be acquired without slaughter.

Blood can be especially important to nomadic pastoralists as a primary means of consuming their valuable livestock without actually killing them. Livestock can be bled in rotation, minimally injuring the animal and giving each time to heal before being tapped again. Blood is eaten in congealed pastes, sausages, or mashed together with thoroughly cooked grain and seeds to form a patty.

Some pastoralists have relatively unique practices of consuming dairy products. As they are not mammals, caelin/delkhin do not produce the lactase enzymes necessary to digest lactose whatsoever, and their digestive systems will react to milk essentially the same way as a lactose-intolerant human. However, some forms of heavily strained yogurts and hard cheeses have so little lactose that they can pass through a healthy adult’s digestive system without issue (unless eaten in excess). These dairy products are very valuable as high calorie foodstuffs that can be acquired from livestock both without slaughter and without any injury whatsoever.

Dairy products tend to be a divisive subject that plays a role in conflict between settled agriculturalists and pastoralists. A large proportion of settled societies see dairy products as unclean or unnatural for consumption by anything but baby mammals. Some use this as one of many xenophobic justifications for land conflict with nomadic herders, characterizing their consumption of milk as one of many indications that their foes are uncivilized or animalistic.

---

Some misc food examples

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bakahimesama · 2 months ago

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I legit woke up in a cold sweat because something just hit me. At the beginning of the game we have zero idea how long we were unconscious while in Kuras' care, and he is powerful enough to reattach limbs. Which means this man could have done any number of things to us and we'd have no idea.

I'm confident that the only reason there are stitches on our arm is because he knew it'd be too suspicious for us to wake up with no sign of injury. Which means he had who knows how long to inspect our hands, investigate what we are, experiment on us, take samples if he wanted, and then heal any evidence away with nary a scratch to tip us off.

He brushes off the whole "fascinating patient" comment, but it clearly stems from something he realized/discovered about us. What did he find out and how? Leander got to experience our curse through touch, and Vere likely smelled something deeper about it off of us, but Kuras has already gotten the chance to study it, via methods I can't even imagine. And I'm not sure I want to know what he's about to do with what he learned.

#touchstarved game #touchstarved kuras #ts kuras #speculating #I have to keep reminding myself that all 5 LIs are monsters #which means no matter how kind Kuras seems #he's up to no good just like the rest

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logansdoll · 11 months ago

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ivy, l. howlett

typically saturdays are for relaxation... not treating car crash victims.

CW: canon typical violence, gore, guns, mutation, profanity, innuendos, mature themes, mentions of sex, y/n is very poison ivy-esque, jean grey exists but is not present, etc.

The longer you lived in the mansion, the quicker you realized you'd never get a true day to yourself again.

You tied up your hair with a heavy sigh, the click of your heels loud against the steady beep of the man's EKG.

Calmly, you glanced at the monitor, soft eyes combing over his QRS complex in an attempt to double check for any abnormalities.

His mutation was one you had never seen before, and you wanted to make sure it didn't affect the efficacy of your data.

Despite being a victim of a nasty car accident, his heartbeat, along with his many other vitals, were ones of a person with a perfect bill of health.

'A healing ability along with his claws?'

Looking up, you held your hand out to the small philodendron across the room, using your power to grow one of its stems and reach toward the table, grabbing the parts for a syringe and bringing it to you.

"Thank you, Phil," you hummed, carefully returning him to his pot.

What would really back up your hunch would be a blood sample...

Expertly, you assembled the injector, doing so with perfect ease as if you'd done it a hundred times before—which you had.

Once it was done, you gently slid your hand under his arm, turning it over to reveal the veins near the crease of his elbow.

You held the needle at the ready, just inches away from pricking his skin, before thoughtlessly glancing up at his face.

For about the sixtieth time in the hour.

'Damn...'

He was absolutely, positively gorgeous—the handsomest man you had ever seen.

Rugged, hunky features with sexy facial hair to match, paired with thick arms, delicious pectorals, and abs carved out of stone.

'You've had a chance to gawk... now back to business.'

Clearing your throat, you quickly shook yourself out of it, refocusing on the task at hand and pressing the needle against his skin.

Big mistake.

In an instant, he was awake and jumping off the table, the shock forcing you to drop the needle as he grabbed you, slinging his arm around your neck.

Eyes wide, you quickly reached out to Phil, the small plant quickly growing humongous right before your eyes.

The mystery man stared at it, brows furrowed in confusion, until one of its newly acquired vines shot straight for his head, forcing him to let go of you and dive out of the way.

Gasping for air, you thankfully clutched your throat, attempting to catch your breath as Phil's limbs chased the man out into the hall.

'The professor'll stop him from hurting anyone upstairs... hopefully Phil can grab him before then...'

Slowly starting to recover, you grasped the table's edge, using it to hoist yourself back up on your feet, grumbling to yourself about how rough he was.

Suddenly, the vines began to recede, one of them resting on your shoulder and blooming a flower.

"He made it to the elevator?" you parroted, turning to the plant and catching the blossom as it gracefully fell into your palm, reporting the new development.

You let out a knowing sigh, already able to foresee the scolding you were about to receive from the team's leader.

"Scott's gonna kill me..."

Why did shit like this always happen to him?

It was beginning to become routine for Logan to wake up in unknown places, with people he's never seen before, yet people who seemed to know everything about him.

"I'm Charles Xavier. Would you like some breakfast?" the old man in the wheelchair asked, cool as a cucumber despite the strange man standing in his office.

"Where am I?" Logan asked, brows furrowed and eyes flicking around the room in an attempt to find some sort of clue.

"Westchester, New York," Xavier answered, wheeling out from behind his desk. "You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention."

"I don't need medical attention."

The old man made a small smile, "Yes, of course."

He seemed to have an answer for everything...

Suddenly, the memory of a little stowaway popped into Logan's head, reminding him of the precarious situation she was in.

"Where's the girl?" he asked again, still looking around.

"Rogue? She's here. She's fine."

"Really?"

Just then, the door opened, a woman with stark white hair strutting in with a man—who had the weirdest sunglasses in the world—at her side.

"Ah, Logan, I'd like you to meet Ororo Monroe, also called Storm," Xavier introduced, Ororo greeting him with a soft hello, "Along with Scott Summers, also called Cyclops."

Scott held out his hand to shake, but was met with a suspicious glare that held little to no warmth at all.

"They saved your life."

That is... until you came walking in after.

"And I believe you've already met Dr. (y/n) (l/n)."

His eyes flicked to yours, and there he saw the most beautiful woman he had seen in a long time—and trust, he had seen plenty.

The way your curls framed your face...

The way your clothes accentuated your figure...

The way your skin seemed to glow, despite being indoors...

You looked like you stepped out the pages of a beauty magazine, or the screen of a blockbuster movie.

'Damn...'

He wasn't one to stare, but you made it hard not to.

"You're in my school for the gifted. For mutants," Xavier continued, stealing away his attention. "You'll be safe away from Magneto."

"What's a Magneto?"

"A very powerful mutant who believes that a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity. I've been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you is an associate of his called Sabretooth."

"Sabretooth?" Logan raised a brow, amused.

The professor nodded, and Logan quickly turned to Ororo, pointing, "Storm," he clicked his tongue.

He faced Xavier again, donning what seemed like a rarely occurring smile.

"What do they call you? Wheels?"

Letting out a dry laugh, he started toward the door, done with the conversation.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

But Scott didn't move out of his way, instead standing firm in his place.

"Cyclops, right?" Logan grabbed him by the shirt, roughly. "You wanna get out of my way?"

"Logan, it's been almost fifteen years, hasn't it?" Xavier stopped him. "Living from day to day, moving from place to place, with no memory of who or what you are."

Logan whipped around, facing the professor with a sharp glare, "Shut up."

"Give me a chance... I may be able to help you find some answers."

"How do you know?"

On cue, Xavier's voice began to echo in his mind, whispering words that didn't seem to come out of his mouth.

'The hell...'

"What is this place?"

By the professor's powers of persuasion, he managed to calm Logan down, filling him in on everything about Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and convincing him to compromise long enough for you to finish your tests.

Which was why he was now back on your work bench, staring up at you intensely as you removed the small, plastic patches from his skin.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, seemingly out of nowhere—but he honestly felt guilty for nearly strangling you to death.

You knew that... but you wanted to hear him say it.

"Sorry for what?" you asked, innocently, as you plucked off the last few.

"If I hurt you," he clarified, pointing to your neck.

Pleased, you gave him a warm nod, flashing a small smile before turning and starting up the MRI.

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all...

"So... you couldn't wait to get my shirt off again, huh?"

'Never mind.'

You glanced back at him, letting out a soft scoff at his gall before pressing the button and sending him sliding into chamber, abruptly.

Once he was fully in, you headed over to the viewing room next door, where the others waited for you to explain what they were seeing.

"The metal is an alloy called adamantium. Supposedly indestructible," you started, looking at the X-rays of his skeleton. "It's been surgically grafted to his entire skeleton."

"How could he have survived a procedure like that?" Ororo asked, concerned.

"His mutation," you answered. "He has uncharted regenerative capability, which enables him to heal rapidly."

You crossed your arms over your chest.

"This also makes his age impossible to determine. He could very well be older than you, Professor."

"Who did this to him?" Scott asked.

"He doesn't know, nor does he remember anything about his life before it happened."

"Experimentation on mutants," Xavier sighed, thoughtfully. "It's not unheard of... but I've never seen anything like this before."

"What do you think Magneto wants with him?" you asked, worried.

A face off with him would spell doom for Logan.

He could very well just rip the metal bones right out of him, form a skewer, and impale him with his own skeleton.

'Gross...'

The thought made your stomach churn.

"I'm not entirely sure it's him Magneto wants..."

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #james howlett x reader #james howlett #mcu x reader #mcu #x men x reader #x men

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