A PROFESSIONAL INTERVIEW -- Sebastian Vettel

I have a request 🐉

~you can chose the house we are in :3

imagine being betrothed to bran stark (readers father wants her to be queen). after the wedding how would bran act? reader likes him but bran is kinda cold to her but he eventually warms up to reader after he sees all the effort she puts into the marriage. will he fall in love with her?

something like this please and thanks

-lady 🐉

A/N: AHHH this is ADORABLE <33 I decided to write both some headcanons and a fic at the end for this because i liked the plot a bit too much and might have gotten carried away, so apologies for the length! 🥲💞 I hope you enjoy this my dear ^^❤ Also, let's pretend everyone's alive and happy and well, yes? :") another note: originally, i was planning on making the reader either a Reed or a Greyjoy, but since i wasn't so sure which House to choose, i wrote (L/N) so you can refer to your own last name as a House, or, pick whichever house you'd like to be in! Hope this is what you expected dear, i'm getting used to writing for GoT 😂🥲❤

Pairing: Bran Stark x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings?: Long, very. More than expected.

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• You're (Y/N) of House (L/N). Your father has arranged you to marry Brandon of House Stark – expecting you to become the future Queen, eventually.

• Of course, as expected, the previous days before your wedding you had to meet your now future husband and the castle you were going to live in to, at least, get familiarised with each others presence a bit, and as well to get used to your new home.

• Being fairly honest, it took him a bit to get used to the idea of being betrothed to someone, even if he constantly reminded himself that the idea of being betrothed/married to someone was all merely political, and to show union between the Houses.

• His first impression of you, was that you were a rather sweet and lovely girl, but you were still a stranger for him; and a stranger he soon would have to refer as "Wife". He barely knew you properly, since you had only talked for a small bit, and didn't really feel the type of love he's supposed to feel when getting married to someone. But what can he do about it? He's got no other option.

• You, on the other hand, as cold, unexpressive, and introverted as he seemed when you met him for the first time, you couldn't help but develop and instant crush on him. What you liked about him, was how cute he was (despite his awkwardness around you), and how he kept his gentleman behaviour. You were afraid you'd be stuck in an unwanted, abusive marriage like most girls you'd met, but he was quite the opposite – and that was more than enough for you to fall for the coffee-eyed boy.

• The day of your wedding, you were extremely anxious, yet excited about it. Your parents – and his family as well – reassured you everything was going to be just fine, and complimented you quite often in hopes of calming your nerves.

• Bran, as distant as he seemed towards you, also seemed to calm your nerves with his tranquil, shy personality, and with his compliments: making you feel much better, and even, spend a nice time in your wedding, surrounded by people who loved the two of you.

• Your marriage, even if it was sudden and kind of unwanted (at first!) was better than you expected. You tried to be the most loyal, and faithful wife as a girl could ever be, and you were beside your now husband no matter whatever happened. Always helping him out, sticking by his side, defending him when you heard people saying hurtful comments about him, taking him to the garden – whatever you could do to cheer him and have a nice time, you did it.

• ^ And of course, so did he, being the true gentleman he is, even if he's still not fully used to the idea of being married.

• With the passing of time, he eventually grew very fond of you, and became closer. Bran enjoyed your warm presence, it was very calming and you were a very good and loyal companion to him.

• And, from one day to another, oddly enough, Bran suddenly began noticing you more than he often did, even if he was already warming up to you. A particular new sensation for you sparked inside of him, a feeling he's never felt for anybody else, but for you: desire. There was something about you he loved so much, and he wouldn't stop admiring you from afar, even if you didn't notice.

• He thought of you as incredibly kind, sweet, beautiful, and he adored how despite you being incredibly pure and innocent as a dove, free from the cruel stains of the world, you could easily stand up either for yourself or for anybody else without flinching. The way you always put so much effort into your marriage, and how you always tried to give him the best, was something he admired and appreciated a lot.

• He's began taking a particular liking for you, and there's no turning back from that – he has fallen in absolute love for you.

• For Bran, he's uncertain and absolutely clueless about how to properly express his feelings for you, and confess to you that he's in madly love with you. So, to discreetly tell you he loves you, he'd do small things to do so, such as: pulling you closer to him while sleeping (or him cuddling you), complimenting you more often, gifting you jewellery (if you like wearing it, of course), holding your hands more frequently, giving you small kisses on your cheek/forehead, etc.

• You found it odd that he suddenly began showering you with love in small ways, but deep down inside, you enjoyed the particular attention you've been getting from him.

• Even if you're married already (because you had no choice tbh), he'd spend a long time thinking of ways to tell you how he's recently began feeling about you, in a way that doesn't kill him from the anxiety.

• The best way he thought of confessing that he truly loved and cared for you, was doing it while you were showing him the blooming flowers in the usual garden walk you always gave him in the mornings. It was peaceful, nobody would interrupt you, and it was a perfect moment.

• And my final answer for your question? Is yes. He would most likely fall in love with you when he notices how you always try to stick for him by his side, and always try to make him as comfortable as possible in your marriage.

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The warm rays of sunshine delicately hit your faces, as you strolled your husband's wheelchair through the blooming garden. It was your favourite activity to do in the mornings, and even if he wouldn't admit it, he quite enjoyed it as well; helping him relax, and make him forget about everything, at least, for a short while.

Your father had recently betrothed you to Brandon Stark, just a few full moons ago, and quickly got wed. All of this, was only so you could become the future Queen once Bran was named King. For both of you, the idea of being married to someone you barely knew still felt awkwardly odd, even if you knew it was eventually going to happen. Getting betrothed with someone was all purely political, and only to unite Houses. In this case, unite House Stark and House (L/N).

When you met Bran for the first time, a few days before your wedding, as cold and distant as he seemed to be at first, you thought he was cute: which made you develop an intense crush on him. Why? Because, he acted different from the other Lords and future Kings: in your life, you've met several girls who married Lords and future Kings, and sadly, all of them were stuck in an abusive, unwanted relationship. You were absolutely afraid of ending with that same fate, but lucky for you, Bran proved to be the complete opposite of the other future Kings – he was a gentleman with you, and he was polite as well, even if he was quite unexpressive at the moment, naturally. But his personality was what had charmed you.

You thought, the feelings were only one sided – and even if it hurt a bit, you had to accept it. So, despite him probably not experiencing the same interest you had for him, you decided to still be a good wife to him, and stand by his side at least, as a loyal companion who'd try to help him with whatever thing he could possibly need. And how wrong you were to think he couldn't possibly like you.

Your natural sweet, kind, and helping self was more than enough to make him take a particular liking for you, soon growing to become love. It was hard for him to express his feelings for you, as they made him feel anxious, but he loved it when you helped him lay in bed, defend him, stay by his side whenever he needed it, and, like you are currently doing right now: take him to the gardens in the early mornings.

Snapping out of your thinking trance, you took a look at your surroundings, filled with beautiful colours from the flowers. Stopping, and gently touched a rose that has now fully bloomed. “Look, Bran, the roses and the lillies have bloomed so preciously. Some new flowers have bloomed as well, they're so pretty. Don't you think?” Breaking the strangely awkward silence between the two of you, you looked down at him, who was admiring the recently grown flowers as well. “Yes, they're quite beautiful.” Bran said, a small smile forming on his lips, as a contented sigh escaped from you.

As you tenderly touched the petals of the new grown flowers with the tip of your fingers, he noticed a particular odd flower that stood out from the rest. The flower had a strong crimson yet bright colour with some darker red strings that grew from the center, it's shape was different than the rest of the flower – as if it were more vivid, and so mesmerising as well. Bran carefully took the flower from it's stem, and softly raised it to his nose, feeling the sweet, pure smell of the flower – causing him to smile even wider at all the pleasant sensations. As he admired the flower he was holding, he thought, the moment was perfect to do what he's been wanting to do for a while, now: confess his feelings for you. No one was around to bother, or interrupt you, and your surroundings were so calmingly pleasant – it couldn't possibly get any better than that.

Bran couldn't understand why – or how – could you make him feel so nervous. You were already married, and you were very kind to him, yes, but he was afraid you were doing it out of politeness rather than sharing the feelings he had for you. Taking a deep breath, he turned around to look at you, slightly lifting the flower so you could see it; signaling for you to take it from his hand, in a way. It was nearly impossible for him to hide the growing redness on both his cheeks.

“This flower is for you, my love. I believe, it resembles your beauty.”

Looking down at him with wide eyes in surprise, a faint blushing rose your cheeks as well. Lately, he had been becoming a bit more expressive and less distant with you, leaving his cold, awkward nature around you far away. Bran had complimented you many times before, and he became so sweet with you, but never like this, acting very suddenly.

“Wait, why, wha– Really? Why, thank you, darling.” Stumbling upon your words as you began speaking, you offered him a shy smile, not hiding your blushing. You gently took the flower from his hand, and smelt it. “It smells tremendously sweetly, as well.” As you spoke, your voice tone was low. Crouching a bit to him, you placed a kiss on his cheek, which was warm from blushing. “You deserve it, beautiful. You've always been so kind for me, and I feel as I haven't returned you the favour.” Before you could open your mouth to speak, he signaled for you to sit on front of his lap by gently patting it. “Come, and hand me the flower for a second. I have something important to tell you.” Bran didn't even know where all his current courage was coming from, but that didn't matter anymore.

Doing as told, you first handed him back the flower, and continously, you shyly adjusted yourself on his lap, a bit tense from the sudden physical contact you were both having at the moment. Bran placed an arm around your body to properly hold you, as he tenderly tucked the flower behind your ear. He lovingly admired your flustered face for a brief moment, before he spoke. “I must apologise for being so distant and unexpressive towards you when we first met, my dear.” As he lowly spoke, he lifted the hand that tucked the flower behind your ear, only to softly stroke your cheek with his thumb. “I am sure you'll understand the reason of why I acted that way towards you. The idea of being suddenly betrothed and getting wed in a short span of days was a complicated thought to process, as expected as it was for both of us, knowing it'd eventually happen in our lives.” The only thing you could do, was shyly nod in agreement, as he kept spoking. “The idea of getting married merely for political terms rather than getting married for love was disappointing for me. But, I believe, fate has bought us together. I've realised–” Bran made a short pause before he kept speaking, trying to hold his own nervousness, as your heart pounded faster.

“I realised, I can't see my life without you in it now. It started by noticing how attached I became to your genuine sweetness and effort in making our marriage work, allowing me to warm up to your presence, and now, I desire to stay by your side for the rest of my life. I love you, and I am so happy to have been betrothed with you.” His words seemed so genuine and true, that made your eyes get watery with happiness of receiving the love you had terribly longed for since the first moment you met. “I am proud of calling you my wife, I desire no one else, but you. There aren't enough words to express my true feelings towards you which is beyond any possible barriers, my love, but hopefully, this will prove it.” His body began leaning towards you, and naturally, you did the same, until your faces were inches away. Ever so lovingly, the hand that was previously stroking your cheek now went to the back of your head, and pulled you closer to him – your lips finally meeting, in a pure, genuine kiss.

Of course, you had previously kissed in the lips before the day of your wedding, but it didn't feel genuine; it felt rather cold, and forced as well. It had been utterly bittersweet for you. The rest of the kisses you had given to each other, especially these recent days, were small shy kisses given in either the forehead, the cheek, or hands. This precise kiss, felt warm. Warm with the genuine, unstained love he had recently began developing for you in such intense way, that there was no possible physical way for him to prove it, unless you got inside his mind. Kissing his plushy lips was something you've only dreamed for so long, thinking you would never really get to experience his sweet taste – but here you were.

As you slowly pulled apart from him, you slightly gasped for air as a smile began forming on your lips. “I quiet enjoyed that,” You lowly cooed, as you wrapped both your arms around his neck, and placed a loving kiss on the corner of his lips. “But I think, we should get going. If we go missing for too long, they're going to start looking for us.” You said, as you played with some strands of his hair. “Yes, I think we should.” Bran said, placing one last kiss on your chin, as you tried to untangle yourself from him. Before you could place a foot on the ground to stand and go back inside with him, he tightened his grip on your body, and pulled you closer to him once again.

“Allow me to carry my dear wife back inside.” He said, notoriously teasing you, as the red colour on your cheeks slowly began appearing again. “Alright, only if you say so.” Adjusting yourself back on top of him, your arms went back to being wrapped around his neck, some giggles escaping your lips as he wheeled the two of you back inside the castle. Once you got back inside, you received some funny looks from the people who were walking around the halls, and around the castle in general. Seeing the future Queen on top of the future crippled King as he wheels the two of them throughout the halls was certainly not something you saw everyday. Of course, none of you cared about the way other people looked at you.

The two of you were now happy that each others feelings were fully reciprocated, even if it had taken a while to do so after being betrothed and getting married. You were happy that way, and no one would be able to change it.

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♡ taglist : ♡

@anemic-royaltyy

crying at night thinking about protective!joel getting angry when he finds out that you’ve started getting close to another man living in the boston QZ. and tess calling him out on his jealousy and obvious attraction to you.

tess to the rescue -- tesscue if you will

Looking

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

He doesn't like the way she flirts with all their customers. But he's not jealous. No, definitely not jealous.

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, smutty implications, sexual harassment

.............................

“Since when is she running deals for us?” “Since all the feds like customer service with a smile.”

“Tess.”

“Is there a problem, Joel?” He grunts, taking one more look at her, the easy smile she’s giving the guard as she flicks some of her hair out of her eyes. He knows her well enough to know she’s putting on a show for this guy, and it makes his blood boil. Tess steps in front of him, blocking his view.

“Hey, is there a problem?” She enunciates each word slowly and clearly, obvious irritation in her voice. He shakes his head with a huff.

“No– no problem. Just don’t come to me when she gets herself killed by one of these fucking guards.” He shoves off the brick wall he had been leaning against, trudging off toward their apartment, not bothering to glance over to where she’s still playing it up to the guy. 

He tells himself that the only reason he’s pissed is that he still doesn’t trust her, the new addition to his and Tess’ smuggling operation, and he doesn’t want her pocketing pay behind their backs. But as the weeks go by of this new set-up, it becomes clear that he doesn’t need to worry about that. Whatever extra sweetness the FEDRA guards throw into their trades with her, she’s sure to share it with him and Tess. It had taken every ounce of his willpower not to laugh in elation when she brought home a bag of coffee the other day, offering it to him with the same smile she was giving to all their customers. Joel has no reason to be so pissed, so cold to her, at least no reason that he’d like to consider. Tess, however, seems to think otherwise.

“You keep staring like that and you’re gonna burn a hole through the back of her head.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tess snorts, nudging his shoulder with hers where they’re standing a bit further down the alley, both of them watching her finish another deal with another guard. 

“Joel, we’ve been partners for what– five years now? In all that time I’ve never seen the look you get when you’re looking at her so maybe cut the bullshit, yeah? Because she thinks that you hate her.” He scoffs, toeing his boots into the cracked asphalt.

“Don’t hate her– I just– don’t like the way she acts– with these boys. She’s gonna get herself– I don’t know– jesus–  will you just drop it?” Tess puts her hands up as if in surrender, a smirk that’s all too smug for Joel’s taste stamped across her face as she shuffles out of the alley. He settles back against the wall with a sigh, keeping his eyes fixed on her and the guard. How long does it take to trade some fucking pills?

She’s good at what she does, Joel will give her that, letting out breathy giggles as the guard smiles at her, running her hand down his forearm before waggling her fingers at him as she turns to leave, the bright facade she had been using immediately falling away as she looks to Joel with a firm but subtle nod. He presses off the wall as she falls into step beside him, both of them weaving through the crowded streets of the QZ back to the apartment building. She lives a door down from him, their proximity was what had originally drawn her into their business, but most of her time is spent in his apartment now, working out new deals and supply chains with Tess. 

“Extra ration cards on top of the agreed on payment. And a date. But I’m not sharing that perk with you, Miller.” He huffs at her teasing, keeping his eyes focused on counting out the cards as he slumps down onto the musty sofa in his apartment. Tess is nowhere to be found, most likely off running some sort of scheme elsewhere in the QZ. 

“Hardly call that a perk, darlin. Don’t know why you even entertain those boys. Ain’t nothing but trouble.” She sighs, tilting her head to rest on her shoulder as she looks at him.

“Those boys happen to have A-one access to any and all supplies you could possibly want. You can scowl all you want, Miller, but it pays to be on their good side.” 

“Well then, when’s this date of yours?” 

“Tonight, don’t wait up, Miller.” He scoffs, muttering a low “wouldn’t dream of it” as she’s already walking out the door.

…

“Joel, what the fuck are you doing? You’ve been standing at that window all night.” His head whips around, grimacing at Tess before he promptly goes back to scouring the darkened streets outside his window.

“It’s late. She should be home by now.” Tess scoffs.

“Oh please. You just don’t want to consider that maybe she’s not home because she’s getting laid right now. I say good for her, getting some action and some more supplies in one fell swoop.” Joel doesn’t like the sound of that at all, Tess’ words moving him away from the window to grab his jacket and head for the front door. 

“What’re you doing now?” He glances at her over his shoulder, already halfway out the door.

“I’m glad you think this is funny, really. But I don’t. I’m going to look for her.” He closes the door before he can hear Tess’ exasperated exclamation.

“Fucking lovesick fool.”

…

He’s not sure where he should be looking, quickly realizing how stupid this is. It’s past curfew, so he sticks to the alleyways, ducking under the bright lights of the patrol cars whenever they roll by. He makes it a few blocks away from their apartment building before the reality of how foolish he’s being sets in. Just as he’s getting ready to turn heel back home, his ears prick to a shuffling sound coming from deeper down the alley. He moves toward the sound, sliding along one of the walls of the alley to stay in the shadows. His stomach twists when he hears a voice.

“C’mon, baby. You were so friendly this afternoon. Just let me have a little peek, huh?” Her voice answers, clearly laced with a strained distress.

“Just- just stop. It’s past curfew, what if we get caught?” The man laughs, and it takes everything in Joel not to sprint down the alley and take him out right then.

“You don’t gotta worry about getting caught when you’re with me. I run these streets. Now I suggest you quit being a little bitch and give me what I want.” He finally catches sight of them, dim figures in the outer reaches of a lone streetlamp. The man has her cornered up against the wall of the alley, his hands tugging at her clothes as she tries to push him off.

Joel moves before he can think, and in the blink of an eye, he has the man on the ground, bringing his fist down again and again as rage washes over him. The only thing that finally stops his blind rampage is a firm hand on his shoulder. He takes a shuddering breath, looking down at the man’s now pummeled face, a mess of blood, before looking over his shoulder to meet her watery gaze.

“We need to leave before someone comes looking, c’mon.” Neither of them speak as they hustle through alleys to get back to the apartment, but she holds Joel’s bloodied hand the whole way, tugging him out of his anger-induced haze.

…

“You came looking for me.” Her voice is a faint murmur as she keeps her gaze focused on his hand, daubing at his split knuckles with a damp rag in the bathroom of his apartment. He’s trying not to think too hard about the way she’s kneeling between his legs where he’s sitting on the lip of the bathtub, but his breath still catches when she finally looks up at him.

“I did.”

“Why?” 

“I was worried about you.”

“What? Joel, you don’t even like me.” He swallows thickly and she huffs at his silence, getting back to work at cleaning his busted hand.

“That’s not true.” Her hands still and she looks up at him again.

“It isn’t?” He shakes his head.

“No, it’s not. I– I like you, I do. What I don’t like is how you act with all those boys. It just– it makes me– fuck, it makes me nervous.” She sits back, fully looking at him, her brows raised in surprise.

“You? Nervous?” He huffs, not missing the crooked ghost of a smirk that spreads over her face.

“Those boys are no good, darlin. It may seem like a game to you– swiping a few extra ration cards here and there with a bat of your eyes– but I’ve seen what they’re capable of. That’s why I went looking for you– because the thought of something– of him– I couldn’t–” His rambles die in his throat when she places her palm on his thigh.

“Thank you, Joel. For– helping me tonight. You were right, at least about this one.” Her eyes fall and Joel feels worry kicking back up in his chest, bringing his hand to her jaw and coaxing her to look at him.

“He didn’t try anything else, did he? Are you– are you alright?” She sighs, but nods, her cheek pressing lightly into his palm.

“I’m fine. Got there just in time, Miller.” His shoulders slump in relief.

“I don’t want you doing deals anymore.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he presses on.

“We do just fine without all the extras. If they want pills so bad they can go through me. Tess has some new connections on the border of Vermont, could use your help mapping a route, I’m guessing. But no more of that cute shit, alright?” She grins, and he immediately regrets that last bit.

“So what I’m hearing is, you like me and you think I’m cute.” He immediately takes his hand away from her face as she laughs, her eyes crinkling up at his grumbling expression.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tease–”

“Oh, I think you do, darlin.” That makes her laugh again and Joel has to fight off his own crooked smile. She sighs, taking one more look at his knuckles before standing and tilting her head as she looks at him.

“That’s the best I can do for your hand–” Joel’s breath stutters when she bends over, resting a hand on his shoulder as she brings her lips to his good ear.

“And for the record, I like you too, Miller.” He swallows hard before speaking, worried that his voice might give away more than he’d like it to.

“You do?” She pulls away only slightly, looking him right in the eye as she nods.

“Call me crazy, but I like ‘em a little mean.” It happens so fast, he thinks he’s been electrocuted by the bright zap of her lips smacking a kiss to his cheek. She’s already out the door when he brings his palm to where her lips just were. 

Maybe Tess was right.

an absolutely insane way to end this year 

Dying For (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.2k 

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of stalking, Adrian has a praise kink (also a bit of a sub here), mentions of blood/injury, stitches, mentions of violence, vaginal fingering, handjobs, blowjobs, thigh riding, (lmk if I missed anything please!!)

You awake to the sound of shattering glass.  

Fucking great. 

The one time you’re home alone, house sitting for you parents, shit like this happens—

You throw your comforter off in a great flourish and vault from your bed. Goobie, your parent’s old, wrinkly basset hound, one wrong breath away from yeeting off this mortal coil, begins to bay at the foot of your bed. Chilly air caresses your bare thighs, the hardwood floors turning your toes to ice. You grab your brother’s baseball bat that rests besides your dresser as Goobie howls at the door. More glass splinters and cracks, stemming from the living room.    

A life in Evergreen is never overwhelmingly busy—especially without a job. Only thing you frequently find yourself doing nowadays is participating in a long standing rivalry between you, a broom, and and the congregation of overly curious raccoons that have sequestered themselves in your backyard. One night—one fucking night you left out a box of Cheez-Its and now they think it’s easy pickings—  

They’ve grown bold, you think, to physically manifest inside your living room. It’s fine. Totally cool. 

Except—

As you open your door, dressed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shitty underwear, prepared to beat back the surge of grubby, little thieves, you’re met with—

Well…you’re not really sure what you’re looking at, to be quite frank. 

Keep reading

Ipseity (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: When the 141 has to make a choice between saving you or a fellow sniper, you know that your time has come to an end.

A/N: This was meant to be a short filler and now it's like 4.5k long. Hope you're all happy.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Graphic Language | Graphic Violence | Gun Violence | Graphic Description of Injury

The ringing in your ears woke you up. 

It was a high-pitched squeal that scrambled your thoughts and made your head pound. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't get past the overwhelming dizziness whenever you tried to raise your chin.

Blood stung your eyes. Your chest burned. You hadn’t been in this much pain in years, every pinch of your nerves prodded at long-forgotten childhood memories. They were things that had been left behind from before you enlisted, things that no longer mattered. What mattered was that you were tied to a chair and barely breathing. 

You were going to die here. 

And nobody was coming to save you. 

"Oh,” someone crooned from behind your seat. You didn’t have the strength to turn your neck and you thanked whatever cruel deity was listening that you hadn’t flinched. The least you could do was fake some courage for what was to come. 

“Come back for more?” Your mouth was dry, wretchedly so. You wanted to gag and spit, but there was no moisture in your mouth- it was like sandpaper. 

“There’s not much left in you for me to take, Sol,” Valeria said, her fingers trailing the length of your shoulder. Your body shivered beneath her touch as she slowly circled your chair, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“Oh, I’ve always got something left for you, gorgeous,” you chuckled, flashing the drug lord a weak grin. 

She snorted, the harsh light of the overhead lamp illuminating the edges of her features. She was a sharp woman, Valeria, somebody that you secretly admired. Not for her deeds or the atrocities she’d committed, but for her tenacity and her ambition- there was no stopping her. 

“You’ve always been my favourite sniper, you know,” Valeria mused, pulling her hand from your skin to inspect it. Your blood stained her fingers, thick and warm from where it had oozed from your wounds.

“You usually kill your favourite snipers?” You tried to raise your eyebrow but sharp pain ripped through your face, you realized dimly that the skin of your forehead had been split.

“Only when they steal things that belong to me, Luz,” Valeria whispered, pressing her hands against the armrests and leaning in. “Then, I kill them.” 

“We didn’t do it,” you met her gaze evenly, the false claim falling easily from your lips. 

“You’d die a liar to protect your friends,” she nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate that they have chosen not to give you the same courtesy.” 

You frowned, taken aback by the statement. You suspected that the 141 wouldn’t be there in time, you’d come to terms with the fact that your journey might end here. But, the way she’d said it… it was as if you were missing something. 

Valeria’s brows raised, eyes wide as she mocked your surprise with a gasp. “Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it earlier.” 

“Mention what?” You ground out through your teeth. 

The drug lord huffed a laugh, pushing off from your seat and standing upright. Sweat began to form in a thin sheen across your skin, anxiety running rampant through your system. 

Valeria’s eyes hardened as she tutted under her breath, pulling the blade on her thigh from its sheath. When her attention turned back to you, the malice in her gaze made your spine straighten. 

What did she mean? 

“What you stole from me,” she began, pointing the knife towards your face, “got someone very close to me killed.” 

You swallowed thickly, your throat like gravel and your tongue like concrete. 

The woman was seething now, the cool facade that she’d worn had melted into pure vitriol and hatred. It was an expression you’d never seen on her but on so many others throughout the years, it was the stare of someone who blamed you for their loss. 

“So, as penance,” Valeria pressed the tip of the blade to rest against your chest, “your Task Force will have to lose one of their own- even after they bring me the information.” 

“What-” 

“We have the other sniper,” the drug lord shrugged. “The little broken one.” 

Your heart stalled in your chest, fear dousing your body like a bucket of ice water. Blood rushed through your ears, loud and roaring and all-consuming with the sound. You couldn’t think straight, the image of your colleague being tortured flashed across your vision like a spotlight. 

“Birdy.” You whispered the name but it sounded like a plea rather than a statement. Valeria must have heard the begging in your voice because she only smiled. 

“Birdy,” she confirmed, with a smug tilt of her head. 

God, please no. 

“Let them go!” You lurched against your restraints. 

The latina's eyes were like stone, hard and unyielding. She was in pain, she was hurting and now it was her chance to hurt you all for what you’d done.

“I will,” she nodded her head soothingly, fingers coming to trace your trembling jaw. You snatched your face from her touch and she raised a brow. When she leaned back with a sigh, you knew what was coming. 

Valeria struck you hard. 

The wounds on your face screamed and it felt like someone was making you gargle molten lava. Your eyes watered but you made no sound, you gave her nothing to indicate that she’d hurt you. 

“The 141 will bring me what they stole,” Valeria sucked in a breath, watching you from beneath her lashes. “But they can only save one of you.” 

Your eyes widened. 

They can only save one of you. 

You knew then that you were going to die here. 

“What’s the matter, pequeño sol?” Valeria spoke with a mocking lilt. Your body trembled. “You don’t think they will come for you?” 

“No.” 

The word was soft and broken and you wondered if the drug lord had even heard it. The way that her smile wavered implied that she did. 

“No,” she nodded, standing straight. “Neither do I.”

If you hadn’t been so shattered, you would have seen the glimmer of pity pass over her features. 

You took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, "will you keep your word?"

"What?" 

"Will you keep your word?" You repeated firmly. No one was stupid enough to trust the word of a drug lord but right there and then you would take it as law. If you were going to die you needed to know that Birdy would be safe. 

Your eyes bore into hers. Valeria swallowed and you could see her hesitation, the desire to spit on the dying flame in your chest and put it out. 

Instead, the woman only nodded. 

"I will." 

Instantly, you relaxed in your seat and leaned your head back with a sigh. You closed your eyes, fighting the tears that had gathered along your lashes. 

This was it. 

This was the end of it. 

You weren't stupid enough to expect anyone to come save you, not when Birdy's life hung in the balance. There was never a doubt about who was more valued on the team, despite your skills you'd never be able to contend with Birdy's spot on the team. 

It wasn't about who was better, it was about who was loved. 

And nobody in the 141 loved you more than they loved Birdy. 

No one. 

Your lips trembled and you fury rose like a volcanic eruption from within your chest. You would not die crying. You would not die without dignity. 

"I'll be leaving to retrieve my package," Valeria sighed, sheathing her knife. "Once the handover is made, my men will put you down."

You grinned.

"After all we've been through," you feigned hurt. "I thought you'd want to do the honors, gorgeous." 

But Valeria didn't bite. She didn't laugh nor did she retaliate, the woman only watched you with an unreadable expression. 

"We are the same, me and you, Sunshine." The drug lord stood tall, "Deberías haber sido valorado. Morir con orgullo."

You blinked dumbly.  "I don't know what the fuck you said but I'm going to assume you think I'm hot and that you regret not sleeping with me before I die." 

Valeria rolled her eyes and turned away. 

"You act tough, Sol. Don't die thinking this is anything but a betrayal."

Betrayal. 

You offered nothing but a snort, laughing the chill of her words off your spine.

The woman left the room and immediately the silence was overwhelming. There was no one to lie to now, no one to throw your facade at. You found yourself almost asking her to stay as she closed the door behind her, biting your tongue to reserve your dignity. But, you didn't want to be alone, not when the end was approaching so quickly.

 Though, you guess you'd done this to yourself. 

Always good, but never enough. König was your best friend, but you knew he'd leave you in a heartbeat to save the sniper he truly loved- you couldn't ask any differently from him. 

After all, if it had been between him and Ghost, you were sure you'd make the same decision. 

A pathetic tragedy in itself considering the feeling wasn't mutual.

Simon Riley loved Birdy, just as the rest of them did.

You would never compare, you'd never come close, not with your ambitious demeanor- not with your shitty attitude. You'd never allowed yourself to view them as family and when they'd tried to include you, you hadn't let them in. 

If your own family had wronged you, your own flesh and blood, what would the 141 do any differently?

By the looks of the situation: nothing. 

No one was coming to save you. 

The burning beneath your lids became so aggressive you wanted to tear the skin from your face. You wanted to gouge out your eyes, just so that the only thing dripping would be blood- not tears. 

Never tears. 

You were not Birdy, you did not cry. 

You were not Birdy. 

You'd never be Birdy. 

The pressure in your chest grew and swelled and suffocated, extinguishing the fire you'd kept burning for years. Through everything, you'd held strong. Through hellfire and brimstone, you'd crawled your way across death and misfortune to emerge from the ashes stronger. 

You did not break. Not until now. 

A scream ripped from your chest, unrecognizable. It wasn't you who wailed, it was the child inside who mourned their life. It was the adult who'd never been loved the way they'd prayed for in the dead of the night.

Never enough.

Never enough for König, the man who always found himself by Birdy's side, chasing for the crumbs of their attention.

Never enough for Simon Riley, who'd taken your heart and crushed it every time he watched you with distaste- with disappointment.   

You were never the priority. 

Never his priority. 

You'd never be anything to Ghost, not the way Birdy was.

But you were not Birdy and you'd not die wishing that you were. 

You pulled at your restraints, thrashing in your chair with renewed energy. While you knew it was unlikely you'd escape, at least you'd be put down fighting. 

"Hey!" One of Valeria's henchmen shouted. 

You struggled harder, the skin of your wrists ripping from beneath the ties. Fresh blood trailed down your fingers and you smeared it wherever you could reach, wetting the braided rope until it was slick with crimson rage.

Your heart jumped as your hands slipped through the restraints, the gory lubrication helping you pull your crumpled fingers free. 

"Stop!" The cool metal of a barrel pressed against your forehead, putting an instant halt on your plans. 

You glared up at the man before you, his eyes were hard but his hand trembled, the weapon jittering against your skull. 

"I will fucking paint this room with your brains," he hissed, the cigarette in his mouth jolting with each word. "Try me, I dare you." 

"If the 141 comes with the package and I'm dead, Valeria will butcher your entire family, cabrón." You were careful as you spoke, enunciating each word as clearly as you could muster. 

The butt of his weapon struck your cheek hard enough to send stars skittering across your vision. 

"I speak," the man hissed, "not you."

"I'm trying to warn you-" 

He hit you again, this time harder. You felt your teeth dislodge from in your mouth and panic gripped your heart as they slid down your throat. 

"I said don't speak!" He shouted, the words warbled as your vision spun. Your head lolled to the side, gagging as you choked on your own bones. Bile speared through your chest as a combination of blood and stomach acid hit the floor weakly. Your teeth clattered across the ground, like dice rolling across the board. 

"Ricky!" The man called over his shoulder. "Alguna palabra sobre el paquete?

"Aún nada, hermano."

"Mierda! ¿Por qué tarda tanto?"

The conversation fell on deaf ears as you fought to keep yourself conscious. Your hands were freed but now the element of surprise was lost and there was a barrel pressed against your face. 

"I should kill you right now," the man spat in English. "You fucking murdered my brothers like a coward."

"They should learn to duck," you shrugged weakly. 

This time when he hit you, it threw your seat backward. You hadn't been able to move your hands in time before the weight of your body and the steel spines of the chair slammed against your forearms. 

A sickening crunch reverberated through the room, echoing like the toll of a church bell and while that was loud, your scream was deafening. 

"Let's be honest with ourselves, Sunshine," the man laughed, watching you as you writhed and sobbed. "Nobody is coming to save you." 

He cocked the weapon slowly, leaning down to press the barrel against your forehead once again. You couldn't even keep your eyes open as you struggled for breath, choking on your own spit and blood as you shrieked. You wanted to watch him, you wanted to go down with defiance- but fear gripped your throat so tightly you were choking on it.

You weren't going to die fighting. 

You were going to die suffering. 

When the gunshot came, your body recoiled so hard that your head smashed the concrete beneath you. In that horrible moment of silence that followed, you wondered if there was no peace even in death. Agony ripped through your nervous system, every inch of your body screamed for relief. 

If this was death, then you were in hell. 

"Think again, cunt."

The distinct cockney accent had your spine straightening and your eyes snapping open. 

The gun clattered beside your head, unfired. 

You weren't dead. 

"Sunshine!"

You were being saved. 

"Talk to me, Sunshine!" 

The voice was so far away, he was too far away, he wasn't going to make it. You weren't going to make it. The man on the floor next to you must have sat back up because you could feel his hands gripping your shoulders, the gun rattling in your ears. 

Fingers gripped your face, jostling you from your semi-conscious state. Your vision was blurred by your own blood and tears, the figure before you a mess of shadows. You screamed, trying to pull your broken arms from beneath the chair to defend yourself until help got to you. 

Searing hot pain ran up the lengths of your arms and stabbed into your neck. You gagged, a low bellow wrenching from your throat as you heaved. 

"Stop! Stop! Don't move!" 

"Get away from me!" You wailed, voice shrill and unhinged. You tugged again and this time his hands came down on your shoulders. 

"SUNSHINE!"

The roar of your name made your entire body freeze, clutching you by the throat with the desperation behind the callsign. You closed your eyes, a whimper falling from your lips to taint your dignity. 

"Jesus." He sounded like Ghost. It couldn't have been him but, God, you wished it was. "Come on, Sweetheart. Look at me." 

"I can't see," you wept. 

His thumbs swept over your face, gloves wiping the blood from where it had settled on your lids and lashes. You tried again, blinking the crimson liquid from your eyes as best you could. You imagined that you looked a sight, the whites of your eyes a deep red, stained with evidence of your injuries. Finally, your vision settled. 

Simon stared back at you, eyes wide. 

You gasped. 

"Simon?" You slurred, his name broken on your lips. 

"Yeah, Sunshine. S'me." He murmured distractedly. His fingers were twitching on your neck, scanning the rest of your body for injuries.

Your heart was beating against your ribs, sudden anxiety flooding your being.  If he was here it meant that they'd brought the package to you rather than to Birdy. 

That meant… 

"No, no, no," you whispered as the Lieutenant lifted the chair with one hand, pulling your broken hands from behind your back. "No, no, Simon, what're you doing here?" 

Ghost recoiled slightly, a frown overtaking his features. "The fuck do you mean?" 

"Birdy," you rasped, a sob building in your chest. "You need to get Birdy. What about Birdy?" 

"Birdy's-" 

You fought to stand up, pushing him out of the way as you stumbled to your feet. Your body swayed side to side as your vision swam, but you weren't going down- not again. 

"Need a gat. Need Birdy- we can't lose Birdy. Everybody needs Birdy-" 

"Sunshine." 

"I can't lose Birdy!" You snapped, reeling on your superior with a broken gaze. 

For a moment, he stood frozen, speechless. You'd never recover if they killed the other sniper, no one would. Everyone would blame you, it'd be your fault.

"König's got Birdy," Ghost said slowly, straightening to stand to his full height. "I've got you, Sunshine."

You gawked at him as though you hadn't understood a single word he'd said. Realistically, you truly hadn't. They'd come for you, knowing that it would put everyone at risk. 

Simon had come for you, leaving Birdy to a man that he hated with every ounce of his being. 

Simon had come for you, not Birdy. 

"You're here?" You whispered and although it sounded fucking stupid, Ghost only nodded. He knew what you were really asking. 

"Of course," he said. "Of course, I am."

"You came for me?" Your voice broke.

The soldier shuffled on his feet, shaking his head as though he thought it was obvious. 

"I'd follow you anywhere. We both know it," he huffed, that dark gaze pinning your soul to your chest. 

You rocked forward at the words, knees buckling from beneath you. Simon shot forward instantly, his arms looping around your waist and hauling you upward. His hand came to grip your chin, fingers slapping your cheek lightly as your eyes rolled backward. 

"Come on, Sweetheart. Stay with it, it's nothin',"  he growled, jostling your body to keep you conscious. Your head fell forward to rest against his shoulder, ears ringing and your mind shattered. "Sunshine, stay awake for me."

You couldn't any longer, you couldn't listen to him. He should have been used to it by now, you'd always been the troublesome one for him. Never directly disobeying him but never doing it the way he asked, always driving him bat-shit fucking crazy- always under his skin. 

But, if Simon couldn't save you, you'd die happy knowing that he'd even tried. 

You'd die happy knowing that somebody loved you. 

—

When you thought of dying, you always had such a visceral image of what would happen. You'd be the last one on your line, and the rest of your unit would be shot down; you'd make a stand on a hill and wipe out the enemy until you were out of ammo. Then, you would fight until you were overwhelmed. 

That was the death you'd imagined. 

Not abandoned and left alone in a warehouse in a sick game of "pick the sniper you like more." 

"They'll fully recover physically," someone sighed from above your head. "Mentally, though…" 

"They'll be right," Simon finished. 

"That's what they said about Birdy," the doctor muttered. "We all know how that ended." 

"Doc-" 

"Saint."

Simon cleared his throat. 

"Saint," the callsign foreign on his tongue, "Sunshine's not Birdy."

To hear it from Simon Riley himself was all the validation you needed. 

You stirred in the bed and immediately all conversation fell quiet, the both of them waiting for you to fully awaken. 

You knew you were in the hospital before your eyes opened. You recognised the doctor who was talking, a medic who had yelled at you often for ‘being reckless.’ The smell of antiseptic was near seared into your memory and the sound of the monitor beeping was too familiar. 

However, the room was brighter than you’d anticipated and you cringed into your pillow with a moan. The overhead light stung your eyes, searing your retinas and making it near impossible for you to think. 

“Get the lights,” Saint ordered, realizing what the issue was. 

The room fell dim, enough for you to finally pry your lids open and have a look around. Your jaw felt heavy like there was cotton in your mouth. As you probed with your tongue, you realised with a pitted stomach that there actually was something stuffed between your teeth. 

You moaned, reaching upward to pull it out. 

It was as though you’d set off a bomb with the movement. Both Simon and Saint immediately shot forward, hands on your arms to rest them by your side gently. They stood on either side of your bed, like two sentries, one dark and one light. 

“Gonna need you to just relax a second for me, spitfire,” Saint chuckled. 

You huffed, fighting the urge to gag on the material in your mouth. Your tongue ran over it, moving to dislodge it from where it had been wedged between your teeth. 

“Now,” the doctor leaned over to adjust your drip. “Do you remember your name and what happened?” 

Rather than respond, you opted to slowly let the gauze fall out of your mouth and onto your chest. Saint watched you with a deadpan expression as you fought with your facial injuries to perform this feat. 

At the end of it, you offered a weak smile. 

A long moment of silence ensued before the doctor sighed, staring at the lumps of bloody fabric sitting on the gown. 

“I’m gonna go grab some shit,” they said. “Maybe a fuckin’ whiskey.” 

They disappeared from the room swiftly, leaving you alone with the Grim Reaper himself. With a harsh sigh through his nose, the Lieutenant reached over and scooped up the gauze, dropping them into the bin. 

“You couldn’t just answer the question?” He muttered, moving to crouch by your head. He wore only his balaclava, his hoodie down for once. 

“Not with that in my mouth,” you rasped, words thick and sickly. 

Simon snorted softly but he said nothing, opting to watch you instead. His gaze ran from your hair to your neck, over and over as if he were committing you to memory. His expression was gentle but there was something hidden that made you think that, at that moment, he was extremely vulnerable. 

Anything you said from this point on would determine the relationship between you both. You remembered what he’d confessed when he found you beaten and bloody on the floor. It was clear as day and imprinted on your brain as though it had been branded on the inside of your skull. 

“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.” 

You’d both reached the point of no return, no more smoke and mirrors, no more half-truths. Neither of you could get away with hiding your feelings behind hatred anymore. 

Not after he’d chosen you. 

“You came for me,” you whispered. A statement, not a question this time.

“Of course,” he said again, just as he had before. 

You hadn’t realised you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks ever so gently. As much as you hated it, as much as you wanted to stop, you couldn’t hold them back. 

The relief was palpable, the understanding that you were valued was freeing. 

Simon Riley knew the kind of person you were, right at your very core, and he still chose to love you. He still chose to hold your hand and dry your tears with nothing but pure reverence in his gaze. 

You realized then and there, that you were valued.

You were enough.

[GUNSHOT] [CAR CRASH] [BOOM] [PEOPLE SCREAMING] [SIRENS] [GLASS BREAKS] [DISTANT YELLING] [EXPLOSION] [HELICOPTERS AND NEWS TRUCKS] “...WE’RE REPORTING LIVE FROM THE SCENE—“ [AMBULANCE SIRENS] “MY LEG... MY LEG”

one having to sit in the other’s lap when space is tight and them both blushing like crazy over it With teammate Max please ❤️

a/n: I’m sorry if it’s too short but I just messaged my crush for the first time and don’t have the guts to check if he answered bc I’m a coward with rejection issues.

this doesn’t look very professional | Max Verstappen blurb

You hated the TikTok.

They should be banned from existence because they carried the existence of community managers, I ever eager marketing people whose ideas always involved getting dirty or things like that. Of course everyone enjoyed the semi formal conversation between Max and Daniel.

But now you wanted to disappear as you noticed only two small couches, one for Christian Horner and the other for you? For Max? It didn’t make any sense, of course this was scheduled and crew knew it was both you and Max.

Max was asking for a new chair or something, trying to use his firm charm that only he knew how to make it work, instead you were serious, lipa on a straight smile because you don’t recall this ever happening when Checo or Daniel were driving.

“Guys, I’m sorry but I have a meeting in fifteen minutes,” Christian checked his Tag Heuer. “Let’s get this done,”

“We can leave it for another day,” Max suggested and everyone, except you, denied his idea.

“We can make it look intentional, you can sit on top of Max’s lap and viewers will think you’re good friends, it’s a win-win,”

Before you could protest, Christian chimed in, saying it was a terrific idea.

Of course Max sat first. His body rigid and weirdly placed his arms on the armrests, making it clear he wasn’t touching you. His stance didn’t change when you sat on his leg, trying your best to not touch him and being almost on his knee, ready to run away

The interview started, you noticed Max’s body relax a little bit against you, which resulted in you very slowly making yourself more comfortable on his leg

But then…

The screen that contained a fan question from twitter was too long and your eyesight wasn’t that good. Forgetting you were sitting on your teammate’s lap, you inclined your body and losing balance.

Your face was ready to meet the ground and it wouldn’t be pretty; there’d be blood and maybe a broken tooth.

But you felt Max’s quick hands holding your waist tightly, very tightly.

Nobody said anything, they didn’t even laugh as your cheeks flushed, and Max’s squirming underneath told you he was just as red, suddenly the room feeling too small.

But his hands didn’t leave your waist for the rest of the interview.

I just want to let everyone know that I finished shatter me nd now on the second book and I’m still just as confused as last time !! But everyone keeps saying how my opinion is gonna change nd now I’m just waiting

Guys I’m finally reading Shatter Me and Warner needs to CALM TF DOWN. And Adam is literally the only one that is helping Juliette!!? Why is everyone saying he’s bad!? WARNER IS THE ONE WHOS BAD !! He scares me!!

cod characters fucking fleshlights

this post includes: soap, ghost, gaz, price, graves, konig & alejandro

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soap 🧼- the one that takes his time

now, this ain't soap's first time using a fleshlight. he started with a tenga egg or something like that, just for the sake of trying something that wasn't his hand. and i just know that troughout the years he has created a decently sized collection with a lot of varietiy: fleshlights imitating pussies, asses, mouths,... even if a man like him could easily pull a pretty lass to fuck, with the job he has and what it requires of him, it isn't always ideal.

but there is one thing that soap does, no matter weather he's fucking one of his partners or a plastic replica: he takes his time. stroking himself tentatively before lubing his dick up and loweing the fleshlight onto his hard on until he's balls deep. and when i say he fucks it as if it were a real person i mean it. he's fucking int in diferent positions, jerking himself with it but also fucking into it, both slow and fast until cums all over himself

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ghost 👻- the stretcher

ghost sometimes has to ask himself if he's really that big and thick or if it's just that the one or two fleslights he owns are way too fucking small. he doesn't know, but he very much loves it. there is something about the size difference, the way the plastic stretches to fit him and how he can perfecly see it expanding as he pushes his dick deeper into it that makes him go feral.

now, other than his size kink goin brrr, he finds himself swiping his cock against the flesglight's pussy-like entrance, as if he were teasing a real cunt, before fucking himself slowly into it. he's mersmerized by the plastic doll completely swallowing up his aching hard dick until he's balls deep. he also intends to pull out - just to save himself some clean up - but he finds himself so overwhelmed by the feeling and visuals that he just fill the fleshlight up with his potent cum - more than once, at that -.

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gaz 🧢- mess making perpetrator

this may be my most repeated gaz headcanon but he's a mess maker and there is no deniying. when he get's home from a mission or something like that and he doesn't feel like trying to find a partner to fuck, he always has a trusty fleshlight. the thing is, he doesn't even make it to the bedroom most of the time, deciding to just fuck it in his livingroom.

he just plunged deeply into the plastic pussy, stretching the plastic over his limit because his dick is too long for the small fleshlight, almos breking it. the pent up hornyness and the feeling of something other than his hand wrapped around his dick sending him into an orgasm faster than he expected. he pulls out to first his impossibly hard cock when he feels himself about to cum. and he stains the sofa with it as the mess perpetrator that he is - and let me tell you, it ain't the first time he's had to clean his seed out of that sofa.

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price 🚬- the first timer

price is an older and more traditional man, he would rather fuck another person than some piece of plastic. but he keps hearing his men talk about fleshlights, how good they feel,.. and all that combined with the fact that he ain't getting younger, he's extra tired and trying to find a partner with a job like his is tedious, he decides to get himself a fleshlight just to try it out of curiotisty.

what he did not expect was that god forsaken piece of plastic would feel that fucking good. all it took was some slow deep strokes into it before he found himself cumming. and at that moment his lust filled brain took over and he started fucking himself into the fleshlight again, trying to extend the pleasure of the orgasm. let's say he now fully understands why his men praise them plastic holes.

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konig 🗡- the nasty fucker

lets be real, konig is fleshlight collector number 2. anxiety gets the best of him so he would rather to make do with some plastic pussy or ass than having to deal with the hassle of interacting with people. his not that experiended ass is fucking enamoured by the feeling of and ass or pussy, even if it isn't a real one.

now, konig allways finds himself doing two thing every time he uses one of his fleshlight. a. he moans. like a bitch in heat. he can't help it, it just feels overwhelingly good to have something wrapping tightly around his unexperienced cock. and the fact of finally getting some release. b. he makes messes - yup, mess making perpetrator no. 2 -. spit, precum, lube and cum mixing all together, covering his dick, hands and fleshlight as he fucks himself dumb and slaps his dick all over yhe plastic ass.

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graves 🪦 - the stressed

now, these military men always find themselves stressed out, it's a part of the job. but for graves, said job and the tension that it generates have kept him away for some time now from a real pussy or ass. so a fleshlight is a good alternative, giving him all that he needs to reach some much needed release.

the few occasions he has had enough time to indulge in some pleasure, he's going to make the most of it. alternating slow, sensual deep strokes and fast shallow ones. hands making sure that the fleshlight stays in place as he plunges into it chasing an orgasm and moanig at the sweet feeling of release. he for sure cums deep inside of the plastic masturbator, because it may be plastic, but he loves creampie-ing it the same way he would creampie a real person.

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alejandro 🤠 - the tip teaser

alejandro doesn't strike me as the type of person that would have a proper fleshlight, you know? instead of a piece of plastic that fully engulfs his dick he has one of those quickshot ones. a transparent one at that. it gives him a lot of options, from fully jerking his cock with it to just teasing his tip.

and oh does he love to tease his tip! using that comact masturbator to play with his angry red bulbous tip. pushing just the head in and out, sometimes tilting it to make his dick pop out of the fleshlihgwith a wet noise. and seeing his cock breach into the plastic, dick twitching at the feeling, his stomach spasming from the sensation... he always inevitably cums all over himself, staining his hard shaft, lower hairy stomach, thights and even the quilt.

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.