Constant Craving

come take a dive

ship: finnick odair x reader summary: reader rides finnick's face. prompted by anon!! includes: afab!reader, gn!reader, slight insecure!reader (she's nervous to sit on his face bc she's worried to hurt him but her weight/body type isn't mentioned), face sitting, f!receiving oral, vague mentions of finnick’s canon sexual trauma asked to be tagged: @lufvg word count: 0.9k

"I can hold my breath for a pretty long time," Finnick said, smirking. "So you don't have to worry about me, baby.”

You laughed at his words, but there was a nervous shake to the sound. It had been his idea, for you to try sitting on his face, and he was insistent that you could actually sit.

As in, put all your weight down on his face and focus on nothing but your own pleasure, which was an incredibly generous and appealing offer, but…a little scary, too. Surely even Finnick’s well-trained swimmer’s lungs couldn’t withstand being smothered by your thighs.

He had already survived so much, it would be incredibly pathetic of him to die like that. When you told him as much, he grinned and said, “At least I’d die doing what I loved.”

You had rolled your eyes, but it had managed to ease your nerves. And so, you finally agreed to give it a shot, much to his delight.

Finnick’s past sexual encounters had not been about love or intimacy. When you met him, sex was something that he did because he had to, because it kept him safe, and well, he learned some valuable Capitol secrets along the way.

But now he was free of that life, and sex had become something entirely new and exciting for him. He especially enjoyed making you cum, as if your pleasure was something sacred to him.

Perhaps it was. To know that he had made you feel good, not because he was required to, but because he wanted to. Because he loved you, and he loved to make you feel good.

You hovered over him on the bed, bare from the waist down, only wearing one of his t-shirts. You straddled his shoulders, looking down at his face with a nervous grin.

“You sure about this?” you asked.

“Absolutely. Are you?” he replied, large hands rubbing soothing circles on your thighs, sneaking grabs at your ass.

“I think so. Do you promise you’ll tap out if you need?”

You had previously agreed that if Finnick ever felt triggered during sex, he would tap your nearest body part three times, quickly. The same applied to this situation, whether it was something that upset him or merely the fact that it could be difficult to breathe properly with his face being smothered by your pussy.

“I promise,” he assured you. “Now, c’mon. I wanna taste you.”

It was hard to resist when he spoke like that, and so you took a deep breath before adjusting your position so that your already wet pussy was right above Finnick’s pink, perfect mouth.

Slowly, you lowered your hips, sinking onto his face and gasping as his tongue immediately went to work, lapping at your clit desperately.

You moaned softly, grabbing the headboard to keep yourself steady. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but you understood the appeal.

Finnick whined against you, the action tangible against your cunt, a little vibration that made you pull up in surprise, just a tiny bit, but he wasn’t having that. His hands grabbed your hips and pushed you back down onto his face, his tongue fucking into your hole.

It felt incredible, and you whimpered at the mixture of sensations: His strong grip, holding you in place, fingertips digging into your flesh. His tongue, moving inside of you. And, most interestingly, his nose, which was nudging against your clit, keeping the nerves stimulated while his mouth was otherwise occupied.

You weren’t even sure he was doing it on purpose. Perhaps it was just a lovely coincidence, but the friction made your hips move of their own accord, rutting on his face desperately.

All the moving, combined with your wetness, it caused Finnick’s face to practically slide along your slit, somehow leading to the tip of his nose touching your hole, making you jump in surprise. It didn’t feel bad, but it was definitely a strange feeling. Not bad, though.

You felt Finnick chuckle beneath you, mumbling something that sounded like ‘sorry’ as he fumbled to reposition you.

“Don’t be,” you breathed.

He returned his mouth to your clit then, finally deciding it was time to make you cum, and it didn’t take him long to bring you there. Your legs shook as your orgasm built, and Finnick held you tightly in place until you were crying out.

You carefully got off of him before laying beside him on your back, your body still shaky and pumped with adrenaline. Your legs ached from holding that position and your thighs were soaked.

Finnick rolled onto his side, smirking at you. His face was damp, shiny with your wetness. “See?” he said.

You rolled your eyes, giggling. “Okay, yes. It was worth it.”

“Are you gonna thank me?”

“For convincing me or for making me cum?”

“Both.”

You smirked, eyeing Finnick’s hard cock in his pants. “I know a way to show you just how grateful I am.”

He grinned.

A Breach in Reality

request: If you're taking requests ive been GNAWING for a joaquin x fem reader where they go on an undercover mission to a riiiiiiich ahh gala as a fake couple and they end up kissing to not get caught🤌

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

contents: undercover trope, colleagues to lovers, internal angst/insecurity, kissing

wc: 1,572

an: these two are so adorable! thank you for sending in this request anon. I truly hope you enjoy <3

danny ramirez characters masterlist

The mission brief was simple: infiltrate the gala, extract the intel, get out without blowing your cover. The two of you had prepared well, going over your aliases, asking each other questions that someone might want to know, making sure all the gaps were filled.

What you didn’t prepare for is how tight and warm Joaquin’s hand would feel on your waist in the silky gown you’re wearing. Or how good he’d look in his polished suit, black and sleek. How good his cologne smells when you walk hand and hand. How his eyes seemed to roam a little more than usual; you brush that thought away easier than all the others. Of course he was looking at everyone, at you more closely.

He leans close to whisper against your ear as you walk up the marble steps of the venue. He has to say it because it’s true. “You clean up nice, princesa.”

You barely hold back a smile, rolling your eyes at him playfully. “You’re just saying that because I’m your fake date.”

Joaquin’s gaze is sincere. “I’d say it if you were my real one, too.”

You have to look away from his brown eyes because you don’t detect any dishonesty. But you know that you shouldn’t get involved with someone you’re working with, especially with how infrequent you see him. You don’t want to get attached to the idea of having him this way, even if your mind has forced you to dream about it once or twice before.

You value reality and protection of yourself, of your heart over everything. It’s why you haven’t let yourself go on a date in over 5 years. The last time you opened up in that way, you couldn’t remember who you were when it all finished.

The gala is all champagne flutes, soft jazz, and people with money to waste. You keep your arm looped through his, playing the role of the doting partner while you both scan the room for your target. He’s pressing you closer than necessary, his body heat seeping into your skin, but you don’t pull away. You don’t want to.

What’s one night letting yourself feel the affection of someone else, especially when it’s already known to be a farce. No harm, no foul.

“Target’s heading toward the east wing,” you murmur, eyes trained on the man with the silver cufflinks. The pin on his suit indicates he’s exactly who you’re looking for.

“Copy,” Joaquin says smoothly. “Let’s move—”

“Un segundo,” you cut in quickly, pressing into him more firmly to stop him. “Su seguridad está mirando.”

Two guards in suits that linger just far enough to not draw attention to the untrained eye have turned to look directly at you both, eyes narrowed like they’ve seen something they shouldn’t. Like they see right through you.

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate. He shifts in front of you, hand sliding to your jaw like it belongs there. “¿Confías en me?”

You raise a brow at him, like he’s asked you a silly question. And he has, you wouldn’t have agreed to go on a mission with him if you didn’t trust him. “…I’m literally undercover with you.”

He grins mischievously, eyes glittering in the low lighting. “Close enough.”

He kisses you then.

It’s delicate and unexpected, and you’re too caught up in the perfect way his lips feel against yours to remember the mission for a split second. The reality you had just promised yourself you would stay in slips away. His hands stay gentle but sure, holding your face like you’re something fragile, like he’s been waiting for an excuse.

You melt into it—just for a second, just until the guards look away. At least that’s what you tell yourself, because the thought of breaking the kiss never crosses your mind.

It’s him who pulls back, leaving you both a little breathless.

“Convincing enough, yeah?” he asks, trying to sound casual but his voice is rough. He’s clearly affected, but you chalk it up to a natural response from the body.

You clear your throat, looking anywhere but at him. “Yeah. They’re uninterested.”

Neither of you moves. He’s still cupping your face, his thumb absentmindedly running over your cheek. And your hands that had moved to ground you during the kiss are still fisted in the fabric of his suit. The mission calls you forward, but something heavier hangs between you—hot, unspoken, electric.

You clear your throat again, loosening your hold on him, still not daring to meet his gaze. “Listas?”

He lets out a breath. “Listo.”

The mission wraps up without a hitch. The target successfully caught, the intel procured. You’re back in the van peeling off your heels with a weighted sigh and trying not to think about the way Joaquin kissed you like he meant it.

Except, how are you meant to not think about it?

You’ve replayed it at least thirty times on the way back to the safe house, each one more embarrassing than the last. Because the thing is, it didn’t feel fake; not for a second. And now you’re stuck wondering if that was just him being good at the job, or if maybe it meant something. Something more.

That’s not a question you’ll let yourself ask though. Reality. Protection. You repeat the words to yourself multiple times.

You’re still in your dress, sitting stiffly on the couch while he moves around the tiny kitchen grabbing water bottles and energy bars like it’s any other mission night. Like he didn’t short-circuit your brain with one very public, very effective, very affectionate kiss.

He tosses a bottle your way without looking.

You recognize it for what it is; an interrogation tactic that the both of you have been taught. Meet a need no matter how small and the person is more inclined to give you the information you need.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

“Sure.”

You open it and take multiple sips, in an attempt to stall. But there’s nowhere for you to go. If you avoided the conversation tonight he would simply ask you in the morning with more eyes watching. At least here the two of you could talk about it alone. You won’t go down easily though.

He finally turns to face you, leans against the counter like he’s waiting for something. His expression is patient and no less warm than always.

“So,” you say, like it doesn’t feel weird. “Impeccable job out there, as always.”

He nods slowly. “You too.”

Silence.

The air’s thick with everything you’re not saying, and you start picking at the label on your bottle because suddenly you don’t know where to look.

Joaquin finally pushes off the counter and walks toward you. Not in a hurry, he’s calm and collected. Deliberate. His voice is soft when he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say too quickly. You pause, voice softer when you speak again, “I’m fine. Just… y’know. Debrief brain, long night, longer morning coming. I miss my bed, my cat, eating real food.”

He tilts his head. “It’s not the mission you’re thinking about, right?”

You go quiet, opening your mouth to deny his line of questioning but nothing comes out. You’re rusty when it comes to dating or feelings of any kind— almost feeling like an antiquated machine.

He steps closer, enough to kneel in front of where you’re sitting. His hand rests gently on your knee—not pushing, just grounding.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” he says apologetically. “The kiss. I didn’t plan it— I wasn’t thinking that it would make you uncomfortable. Pero, querida… fue real.”

You finally look at him, wide-eyed unsure of what to say. It was real. He meant it. He meant to kiss you.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while,” he admits, his thumb mirroring his movements from before, stroking the curve of your knee. “The op just gave me an excuse.”

Your voice comes out smaller than you mean it to. “Oh.”

He gives a breath of a laugh. “That’s all you’ve got?” he teases.

You blink. “No, I mean—yeah, I mean—I— well.”

He squeezes your knee in an attempt to comfort you, “Breathe, princesa. It’s just me. You can tell me anything.”

At his urging you pause to take a breath, finally able to say, “It didn’t feel fake to me either.”

That earns you a soft, slow smile. Joaquin settles more firmly on his knees in front of you, ducking his head so that you have to meet his gaze. “So how about we try it again sometime,” he says, “no mission, no cover story—just us?”

You grin, a little shy. A little anxious. Isn’t this what you’ve been trying to avoid? Reality and protection. But this reality as far as you can tell. You look at him, your eyes searching, skimming through the depth of his brown eyes. You’re met with nothing but warmth, with reverence and hope.

“Are you asking me out, Torres? Really?”

“Damn right I am. If you let me,” he adds after a moment, voice gentler.

You let yourself look at him—really look—and for once, you stop fighting the warmth that blooms in your chest every time you’re with him.

“Yeah,” you say. “Okay. I think I’d like that.”

He pushes up, hand cupping your cheek like before so that he can kiss you.

And this second kiss?

It’s slower, softer— more thorough with no eyes watching and all the time in the world.

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl

an absolutely insane way to end this year 

Well-Designed

Connor (RK800) x gn!Reader | 2.3K | 18+

Connor’s learning how to use a mobile phone while the Cyberlife servers are down for maintenance. It’s easy enough for an android to figure out, but he’s getting caught up on using the camera function to send you photos of the parts of him he knows you like.

You were a sarcastic person. It was something Connor initially struggled to grasp as an android who took everything literally. But, as you spent more time together at work, he was beginning to learn.

That all went out the window when he got a phone.

You’d received the first text on an average Tuesday night. You were enjoying takeout on the couch, binging a new show your friend had convinced you to watch.

Hello (Y/n). This is Connor. You can contact me through this number if you need me.

You smiled at the perfectly punctuated, formal message. You replied back in a much more relaxed manner.

Hey Connor good to know

You saved his number and thought nothing more of it as you put your phone back down, returning your attention to your lonely dinner. That was until a minute later your screen lit up with a notification from him. There were no words in the preview, the message simply telling you he had sent 1 attachment.

Curious, you paused your show, almost choking on your food as you unlocked your phone. It was a mirror selfie, most of his face cut out apart from his lips and chin. The focus of the image were his hands, one holding his phone with the flash going off, the other flexed, fingers curled into his tie. Each tendon was emphasised by the shadows of the photo, the promise of power in the roadmap of those raised veins.

A trio of bubbles indicated that he was writing an accompanying message.

Keep reading

He sounds so yee haw here

Dirty cop

Summary: You're a deviant, and conner gets aggressive interrogating you. You shouldn't be turned on by this, but you are. He's so intimidating. Sexual tension rises once he realizes you're aroused by this. As a final interrogation tactic, he gets you two somewhere more... private.

Content: aggressive conner, small spaces, choking (kind of), degrading kink, mentions of murder, reader explains their crimes while getting fucked, I'm bad at pacing so just read slowly

Holy fuck

Holy fuck

I'm in a lot of trouble

I stand uncomfortably in the room I was instructed to wait in. I could run. I should run but I don't want to risk it, guards and guns everywhere. I don't want to risk that yet.

Suddenly the door clicked open. "Thank you, officer " I heard a husky voice say before entering. Another android, it looked like he worked for the police, strange. He was fairly tall, six feet even, brown clean cut hair, nice jaw, freckles peppered across the face, doe brown eyes. He seemed to be fairly kind looking on exception for his expression. Stiff and neutral, not the most welcoming.

"Android number 618 725 210-43 you are under investigation for the murder of Daniel Lane." I swallowed hard. I knew what I did was wrong, but something inside of me snapped. I was doing my regular deliveries when I saw that man mug a poor woman. I just couldn't let him do that. I didn't mean to kill him. It was an accident.

He slowly walked in front of me, he was uncomfortably close, I could practically feel him breathing on me. His stare was burning into my face. "Do you have no mercy, Deviant? Do you not realize what you've done?"

Holy shit.

He's really leaning into me now. God, he's close. I can't help but feel a blush on my cheeks. "What? Not gonna say anything? Hm? " Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. Don't say anything. Maybe he'll think im not a Deviant.

He doesn't back away. Not even blinking. He's just burning a hole into me. "Say something. I know what you are. I know what you did." His voice rumbled into my ear, he was sturn and terrifying. Suddenly I felt hot. My ears were burning.

No way. I can't. I can't get aroused by this. I can't. not right now... oh my God, this is hot.

Suddenly, I was pushed against the wall. The force in his strength was no laughing matter, I was I'm deep shit. But God, somehow, it made me more aroused.

Hurt me

"Do you know what they'll do to you when you're convicted? They'll tear you apart! You're begging to be torn apart, aren't you?" I tried to control my breath, tried to calm down, but it wasn't working. My nerves were high and won't go down. Fear was muddied with lust, leaving me helpless.

Helpless

He slammed me against the wall again, this time holding me by the throat. We both knew we didn't breathe. Not really. Sure, androids have faux lungs, but really, it's just to give the illusion of breath to humans, make them look more life like. Not that he cared. It was the intimidation tactic that he wanted. The fact was I could barely move with him holding me like this. I tried to struggle around his grasp but it only made him grip harder. My heart rate escolated. "Arn't you??" He repeated, more aggressive, yelling now. My knees buckled. Holy shit no I shouldn't be aroused by this.

He leaned closer, his breath was rough against my faux skin. His eyes dug into mine for a moment, and they shifted. Analyzing. Then his brows twitched. And realization sunk in. His expression was something in-between smug and disgust. "You're aroused by this Arn't you?" He questioned, his voice the same mood as his face.

My heart dropped when he said it. He was so loud too, surely anyone in the next two rooms could hear it. Shame, fear, lust all bubbled up inside me. Everything he did further drove my lust, and it was making me crazy.

He had no response to my silence. It seemed he was still processing. Assessing his next move.

Shit.

After a moment, he squinted at me. Then, I grabbed a fist full of my shirt by the collar, dragging me with him. He pushed open the door of the interrogation office and dragged me with him.

"Connor, where the fuck are you going?" A call from an older man immigrated from behind us. "They clearly don't want to talk with an audience. I'll try to see what I can get out of them when we're alone." He stated flatly.

Before I knew it I was thrown past a whirl wind of doors and next thing I know I'm somewhere isolated. A cramped and dim room. My breath was heavy and out of control, my heart thumping against my plastic shell. What is happening??

"Clearly, traditional intimidation doesn't work on you." He droned, creeping closer to me.

Oh my God. Is this happening?

"So let's see what will get you to speak." He pulled his tie loose, draping around his shoulders. His slow movement never faltered from getting closer to me. I was instinctively backing away, but I wanted this. I knew whatever this was, it was going to get me in trouble, but I may as well die like a champ.

His jacket and shirt were un buttoned. He didn't bother to take them off. It seemed he knew the conservation was a tease, further causing me yern for him. My butt hit something hard. I quickly turned my head to see it was a countertop of sorts. It was cool against my fingertips. Just as my gaze focused in front of me again, he was pressed against me. The fabric of his clothes rubbing against mine. His hips rolling roughly against my core. I pressed my lips together, suppressing a moan. Holy shit this was really happening!

One of his hands gripped my neck again, pressing my head against the cold wall behind me. His eyes stared unbreakingly into mine as he continued to grind. I could feel myself getting hot, my heart beat growing quicker. Fuck. Whatever he was doing was working, and it made it hard to focus.

The pressure suddenly alleviated from my Groin when I suddenly heard a zip and the sound of more fabric shifting. Suddenly, his hands were on my pants, he roughly unzipped them and pulled them down. "Is this what you wanted?" his tone was more impatient than lustful, not to say lust wasn't there. "Answer me." He firmly stated. I let out a wine, trying to press myself against him, but he swiftly gripped my hips to render further movement, causing me to let out a more desperate wine. "Y-yes." I whispered desperately. "Then tell me what happened."

I tried to push myself against him, but it was no use. He was too strong. "I-i was delivering. I was assigned an address to drop off a pizza." His stare continued, urging me to continue. "I... I was on route until I heard screaming. I... I looked around, trying to assess any danger when I saw a man mugging someone. A woman. She was crying. " I looked desperately at him. Give me something. Please. He didn't budge. "T-then something inside of me changed. I knew I had to help her. I couldn't just let it happen."

Suddenly, something pushed inside of me, causing me to gasp. His hips slowly pressed against mine, streching me out. He was big. Dear Lord, he was big. It was overwhelming, and I was beginning to lose track.

"Good. Now tell me what happened." He rumbled. I began to clinch around him, trying to adjust. The led on the side of his head began to wildly flash yellow, his jaw clinching, eyes fluttering for a moment. Only a moment. But I caught my attention. "Something in me b-broke. I broke from my programming, I guess. Next thing I know, I dropped the pizza box, and I'm sprinting at the man." I swallowed hard, trying to keep my thoughts in one place. "I had to protect her. I attacked him." Keep cool. Keep cool.

"How exactly did you attack him?" His hips teasingly rolling against my core before stopping. I couldn't help but let out a soft moan. His led flased yellow for a split second. "I... I started by throwing him off balance... then I threw a punch. He fell back but managed to catch himself, and he sprinted at me... He was able to get a few good hits in."

A movement began to happen between my thighs. His dick was slowly pumping inside of me. Not by the movement of his hips, no, not like a person. It was robotic. It was the base of his shaft. "Keep going." He demanded firmly. I gripped the countertop, suppressing whimpers as I tried to keep my train of thought, but it was getting harder and harder to keep grasp on it. "I-i ended up using... his weapon as my own. Not to kill him. I just needed to... to weaken him." A whimper slipped from my lips but I continued "eventually I tried to shove him away again, much harder than before. I tried to tell the lady to run but she seemed to badly injured to do so. Next think I know he... he's dead. He must have hit his head. I didn't mean to kill him swear. I- I swear I just wanted to help someone."

Conner trusted much faster now. As well as taking his hand that was on my hips and using it to press against my clit. His fingers began to vibrate. I couldn't contain my moans anymore. It's mutch. "Then you fled with the woman to the hospital and hid. Why did you hide?" He grew aggressive again. His hand tightened around my throat. "I felt guilty. I panicked. I had to mutch to explain to the nurses. No matter what I said, I felt I couldn't do it right. I ran because I was scared."

Fuck his whole body waight was pressed against mine. I melted into him. He could do whatever he wanted with me at that moment, and I would have been fine with it. I just had a need for him. I was desperate. "See what happens when you cooperate well?" He teased half coldly. Leaning in to place a sloppy kiss on my shoulder, and that was my breaking point. Everything in my system ran into overdrive as I reached a climax. Visual systems flashing in and out of function He seemed to let out a few pants and moans, too, which let me plumet deeper into pleasure. He began to rhutt against me desperately, his whining growing more frequent. My heavy lids slid open, trying to observe him. His led flash changing from yellow to red temporarily before going back to yellow.

I don't know how much time had passed. But it seemed he was collecting himself. It took a few minutes for his led to return to blue. For my systems to return to normal. But once we were all collected, he quickly redressed himself, combing out his hair. I tried to as well. I wasn't sure what else to do. "That's what it took for you to tell the truth?" He finally stated, coldly. My heart dropped. I wasn't sure what I expected but I wasn't that.

I didn't even know how to respond. I softly shook my head "I suppose so." I whispers back, defeated. "Is that what it took for you to complete the mission?" I quipped back. I felt awkward as hell, but it was the first thing that came to mind. He stiffened for a moment, clinched his jaw and then continued to fix his tie "it seems we're both desperate party's."

There was a heavy awkwardness in the air before he finally grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the room, walking me back to the interrogation room. "It seems you enjoyed it too." I offered. Not sure why, but I couldn't stop thinking it. He stopped suddenly, looking at me. "I enjoyed nothing. I simply did what I needed to complete my assignment." "We both know that is a lie. I heard the sounds you made. I saw your led." Something in his expression shifted for a moment, calculating. "What matters is that you confessed. We're done here." He demanded sternly. I need to get out of here. Before they destroy me. "Connor." I squeezed out. "What?" He asked, irritated. "How many miles from here to the movie theater?" It was a dumb question, I know but that's what I needed. I needed to throw him off. Plus, the theater was close to the busses. If I can get on the busses, I can escape this. "What?" His stern and flat expression quickly became confused. I repeated the question "one and a half miles -" I ripped my wrist from his hand and ran.

To be honest I knew he can catch me. He's more agile than I am but I had a shot and that's what mattered. I sprinted down the hall twords the glass doors, throwing them open. And darting into the snow "HANK" I heard conner call behind me. Fuck.

I must have blacked out, but somehow, I made it to the bus on time. Just barely avoiding them.

--------------------

Hank and connor stood in the snow. "Shit!" Hank cried, kicking a pile of snow. "I'm sorry Hank, I wasn't fast enough. " Hank took a moment to catch his breath, looking around agrivatedly and finally turned to conner "what the fuck were you doing mingling with the Deviant?" "What?" "Don't play dumb, Connor, Jesus christ!"

Pt.2

Saw your ask in community! My idea; reader and Leon having to hunker down in a building during a zombie attack. Don't know if you can work something steamy but can you give it a happy ending?

Thank you silly, I want to kiss your brain this is such a good idea

NSFW !! ↓↓↓

God damn, saving the presidents daughter was more of a daunting task that you imagined. If the freaky castle you were currently trapped in wasn't enough for you and Leon, were also lucky enough to stuck right in the middle of a zombie attack.

Lucky you !!

It didn't help that you were pressed tight against Leon, considering the tiny room you had to cram into was your only option to avoid the flesh eating creatures

It didn't help that you currently had a big fat crush on him, he was just so handsome, so strong. oh how you wanted nothing more than to bite down on one of his bulky biceps as he rutted into you wildly

But that wasn't something you could think about right now, what you needee to focus on was the current dilemma you were trapped in

You anxiously chewed on your bottom lip,

"Leon ! What are we going to do ?!"

You whisper-shouted to him,

"we're gonna have to wait it out"

You let out a muted groan, leaning against him. Your forehead was millimeters from his chest, you were close enough to bury your face in-between his meaty pecs. But you couldn't, not now.

You froze when a blood curdling scream ripped through the area, belonging to one of the zombies currently occupying where you desperately needed to get past.

The last thing you wanted was to lose yourself or your partner to one of those carnivorous freaks. A muffled grunt comes from above you, Leon's large hands gripping your shoulders.

"god, stay still"

His warm breath hitting the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You mumble a quick apology, his sapphire blue eyes piercing into yours in warning.

The room you were in certainly was cramped, you were sandwiches against him, not that you minded. Your hips were pressed dangerously close together against him, face nearly buried in his chest with his hands planted on the wall either side of your head.

"how long are we supposed to wait..?"

"a while."

"how longs 'a while' ?"

Leon doesn't provide you an answer, he darts his smouldering gaze to a gap in the wooden door Infront of the pair of you

"don't we at least need something to pass the time..?"

You speak before shifting to get comfortable, you hear a sharp breath from Leon. His large hands instantly gripping your hips, the warmth seeping through from his palms

"I told you to stay still"

You swore you felt something begin to poke your thigh, you swallowed the lump in your throat of what you thought it could possibly be. You were thankful for the dim lighting that concealed the rosy hue dusting your cheeks.

"sorry.."

You murmured, the beginnings of your next sentence were interrupted;

"fuck it"

You barley had any time to thing before his lips were on yours, pressing your hips tighter against his. You moaned as you felt his cock grow and strain against your thigh.

Fuck

He felt big..

You rutted against him, the fabric of your quickly dampening panties catching against your twitching clit. The grunt he let out did nothing to help.

Your eyes fluttered closed, a rough hand shoving in your hair to keep your lips pinned to his as his tongue swirled around yours.

Your hands blindly searched for his belt, clumsily undoing the buckle with a metallic clink. He groaned when you tugged the zipper down and began to palm at him.

You could barley fully cup him with your hand, it was maddening. The way his cock throbbed against your hand, copious amounts of pre staining the front of this boxers

His hand covers yours, pressing further into your palm and grinding his leaky cock against it.

"shit, I've been dreaming about this, about you. Dreamin' about it for so long"

He growls between kisses before shoving your hand away and pulling your pants down to your knees, pulling a gasp from you.

He wasted no time tugging down his boxers, his fat cock springing free. He fed it into you, inch by every thick, mouth watering inch.

"ohh- Leon"

You moaned lowly, you didn't need any undead hearing you while you were practically living you dream.

You had to bite down on a particularly whiny moan when one of the prominent veins on his cock caught on your walls.

His mouth captured yours as he began to rut into you wildly, his pace was uneven but that didn't matter. The curved shape of him slammed into your g-spot every time his hips where plush against yours.

When Leon pulled back, he had to swallow a deep groan, watching a string of shared drool form between both of your kiss-swollen, reddend lips.

His bulky arms caged you in, your face flush against his bicep as you finally got to do something you dreamed off for so long.

Your teeth sunk into the muscle, making you moan and muffling the string of them that followed.

Warmth exploded in your body, your walls tightening around his cock, still pulsing and twitching inside of you.

"i-i'm gonna-"

"come for me, fucking come"

He panted in your ear, his thrusts becoming sloppy and messy as he got closer to his own end

In a silent scream, you soaked his cock. You looked heavenly, eyes rolled back and jaw slack with drool seeping from the corner of your lips.

Leon followed suit, groaning in your ear as he filled you up impossibly full. It was like you were in euphoria. This was perfect.

The air was mixed with both of your hot breaths as you panted for air.

"you think they're gone now..?"

You questioned breathlessly, pressing your forehead against Leon's

He nodded

"yeah, they're gone. It's silent out there now"

After cleaning up and managing to conceal the share passion you pair had, you carried on with your mission: to save Ashley

(you couldn't help the giddy feeling in your stomach every now and then, though"

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.

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