#cyclops x reader

Logan Howlett:

Logan likes to pretend like he isn’t the jealous type, despite him being the most possessive man alive. You’re his, and only his, and he’ll make damn well sure everyone knows it. His scent is definitely all over you.

If anyone is getting a little too close to you for his liking—making you laugh too much, maybe getting a little touchy—Logan is on his feet in an instant, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. 

Maybe gets a little too handsy, hands travelling lower to cup your butt, canines grazing the side of your neck. He won’t say anything, he’ll just loom there so incredibly ominously until whoever was with you gets the message and leaves.

“Logan,” you warn.

He just grunts, “you’re mine, you know that?”

And you sigh, suddenly weak in the knees, and nod along to his words. He keeps you extra close afterwards, usually sitting you in his lap and looking sideways at anyone who so much as glances your way.

Wade Wilson:

Wade is absolutely the jealous type but it takes a lot to actually get him going, and when he does, he hides his insecurity behind humour and substances. Still, it gets the best of him sometimes and he just can’t help it.

If someone’s flirting with you, he’s inserting himself into the situation immediately. He’ll sidle up next to you, prop an arm on your shoulder and grin at whoever you’re talking to.

“Excuse us for a moment.”

He won’t even give you a chance before he’s pulling you in for a bruising kiss, tongue swiping along the backs of your teeth. His hands roam your sides, maybe cheekily pinching your butt. 

You pull away gasping, hands on his chest. “Wade!”

“What?” He grins goofily, “I couldn’t help it, you look so fuckable.”

Kurt Wagner:

Kurt’s not really the jealous type, and when he is jealous, he just gets sad. He’ll watch someone else hit on you and wonder if he’s enough, if you would prefer someone less blue.

He’ll go quiet for a while, maybe get a little distant while he thinks it over. He does his best to reassure himself, remind himself that you love him and you don’t want anyone else, but it only gets him so far.

Finally, he’ll cave and come to you, dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your stomach. You rest a hand on the back of his head, tilting yours to the side, “Kurt, baby, is everything alright?”

He sighs, words muffled by the fabric of your shirt. His words all come out in one big jumble, each one mumbled and bleeding into the next. Still, you get the gist of it: he’s feeling insecure, and he wants to know if you’d be happier with someone else.

You blink, stunned. “Of course not,” you frown. 

“Really?” He pulls away, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, really.” You reach for his hands, helping him to his feet, “c’mere, silly.”

And Kurt sighs, letting you pull him in for a kiss.

Scott Summers:

Scott either gets really quiet or really arrogant when he’s jealous.

He’s analyzing the situation, watching you talk with a friend. He’s focused on the way they get a little too close, the subtle contact they make on your arm, the way your smile changes ever so slightly.

When he can’t take it anymore, he’s sidling up to you and throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, doll.”

He’ll plant a sloppy kiss to your lips, lingering just a little too long until whoever’s talking to you gets the message. If he’s feeling extra devious, he’s making a snide comment.

You smack his bicep once they’re out of earshot. “Really?”

“What?” He smiles, feigning innocence, “I just missed you.”

Remy LeBeau:

Remy is so clingy when he’s in love with you so it’s only natural he’d be jealous too. But not the angry jealous type, no, Remy gets sad when he’s jealous.

Someone comes up to flirt with you while you’re at the bar and he’s sitting in the corner pouting, nursing his drink and watching. Someone calls you cute right in front of him and he’s not letting it go for the rest of the day.

“Oh that’s cute of you.” “Mhm, yeah, très mignon.”

However, if someone gets handsy with you, Remy’s on his feet in an instant, cards in hand. Is it too far? Maybe, but he doesn’t care.

“This guy bothering you, amour?”

You take a step back into Remy, letting him wrap an arm around you. “Yes,” you say quietly.

That’s all he needs to hear before he’s sizing him up and sending him on the way, hand clenched around the desk of cards in his palm.

Warren Worthington III:

Warren’s jealousy is a lot more low key, but it’s definitely there. He shrugs it off and pretends like he doesn’t care but inside, he’s in shambles. The minute someone else tries to flirt with you, he’s at your side, wrapping an arm around you and leaning his head on your shoulder. 

He smiles but there’s no humour behind it as he stares down whoever’s coming onto you.

Sometimes, if he’s been drinking a little or you’re in a safe space for mutants, he’ll even go as far as to wrap his wings around you, creating a shield between you and the other person. You roll your eyes, turning to face him in the trap of wings he’s created for you.

“Baby?”

“Hm?” His jaw is clenched but his eyes are soft when they find yours.

“Can you let me go?”

He tilts his head down, wings ushering you closer to him for a slow and soft kiss. “No.”

Piotr Rasputin:

He’s not really a jealous person to begin with. He knows you’re his and he trusts you enough to believe you’d never do anything behind your back. The rare times he does get jealous is when someone is doing something for you that he could do.

Someone else holds the door? His brows are knitting together. Someone lifts something heavy for you? He’s frowning for the next hour and a half. He’s your partner, he should be the one doing all that for you. He’ll spend the next few hours trying to show off, flexing his muscles and doing everything for you. 

He gets a little sad when he’s jealous, too. Is he not enough for you, would you rather be with someone like that? As secure as he likes to think he is, that all melts away in the face of jealousy.

Finally, he’ll come to you, tail between his legs. “Do I make you feel loved?”

You blink, looking up from your book. “Of course you do.”

“Really?”

You dogear the page altogether, putting it down to look at him properly. His lips are pursed in a frown, eyes big and wide with emotions. You rise to your feet, placing your hands on either bicep.

“What’s this about, Petey?”

He sighs and admits to his jealousy, head hung low in shame. It’s only when you cup his cheek and force him to look at you, planting a soft kiss to his lips, that he starts to feel like himself again.

marvel masterlist | navigation

LOGAN HOWLETT !!

The new student at Xavier’s School is a telepath named Julian. He’s loud, confident, and extends a hand toward you with a cocky grin. You immediately freeze.

Logan, who was leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, feels his chest tighten. He watches you take a half-step back, your fingers finding the worn leather of his jacket sleeve. You grip it—two fingers, then three—and shuffle until you’re almost entirely behind his broad back.

“She’s shy,” Logan grunts, not to Julian, but to you. His voice drops to a low, gravelly rumble that only you can hear. “S’okay, kid. I gotcha.”

He doesn’t push you forward. He doesn’t tell you to be brave. Instead, he shifts his weight so his body is a complete wall between you and the stranger. His hand comes up slowly, palm flat against your side where you’re hiding, a grounding pressure. He’s warm. He smells like cigars and metal.

“This is Julian,” Logan says, still not looking at the boy. He’s looking down at the top of your head. “He’s annoying, but harmless. You don’t gotta talk. Just wave.”

When you give a tiny, pathetic wave from behind his elbow, Logan’s lips twitch into the faintest smirk. He feels your grip loosen slightly. Victory.

Later, Julian will tell the other students that Logan Howlett, the Wolverine, glared at him like he was about to pop his adamantium claws for simply existing near you.

WORST WOLVERINE !!

Wade has brought home a new contact from his odd jobs—a jittery, loud informant. The apartment is small, so there’s nowhere to hide. You’re on the worn-out couch, and the moment the door opens and a strange voice booms, you’re off the cushions like a rocket.

You don’t even think. You just dive behind the Logan, who is currently trying to eat a cold hot dog straight from the packet. You grab the back of his dirty white tank top, bunching the fabric in your fists, and press your forehead right between his shoulder blades.

“Uh,” the man says.

Logan freezes. The hot dog stops halfway to his mouth. He glances down at your white-knuckled grip on his shirt, then back at the man. His eyes, usually tired and sarcastic, sharpen into something primal.

“Back up,” he says flatly.

“I didn’t even-”

“Back. Up. You’re scarin’ the kid.” He sets the hot dog down and reaches one arm behind him, patting your hip awkwardly but firmly. “Hey. Squirt. It’s just a greasy rat-man. He’s not gonna bite. I’ll bite him first if he tries.”

He doesn’t move you. He just stands there like a grizzled, hairy statue, letting you hide for a full two minutes until your breathing slows. Only then does he grumble, “There. See? Still alive. Now go get your blankie or whatever.”

But he doesn’t let go of your wrist until you’re safely past him.

WADE WILSON !!

Wade loves this. He lives for it.

You’re meeting Dopinder’s new cousin, and you’re doing the thing. The Thing. You’ve got both hands fisted in the back of Wade’s red spandex suit, your face buried between his shoulder blades, and you’re using him as a human shield.

“Aww,” Wade coos, loud enough for the entire taxi garage to hear. “Look at my little barnacle! My adorable little anxiety-sucker! She’s latched on, folks. This is a protected species. No photos, please.”

He doesn’t try to pry you off. Instead, he reaches back and pats your head, his gloves squeaking against your hair. He introduces you while you hide. “This is my unofficial daughter, who I would kill for, die for, and also commit several minor felonies for. She’s currently recharging her social battery via osmosis on my very expensive suit. Don’t make eye contact. She’s like a T-Rex—if you look, she’ll freeze.”

When you peek one eye out, Wade gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, she’s emerging! A miracle! Quick, Dopinder’s cousin, compliment her shirt and then look away.”

He winks at you, and even though your face is burning red, you feel safe.

ORIGINS ! WADE WILSON !!

This Wade is handsome, sharp, and devastatingly charming. He’s also a menace. But not with you.

You’re at a team briefing, and a new liaison from the government walks in. You’ve never seen him before. Instantly, you’re out of your chair and glued to Wade’s side, clutching the sleeve of his black tactical shirt. You’re literally using him as a curtain.

Wade doesn’t miss a beat. He doesn’t even look at you. He just shifts his stance slightly, angling his body so you’re fully blocked from the stranger’s view. His hand comes down to rest on top of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

“Sorry,” he says to the liaison, his voice smooth as butter and twice as dangerous. “She’s the shy type. You’re gonna have to talk to me first. And through me. And also, you’re gonna have to pretend she’s not there, or I’ll have to pretend I didn’t see you blink wrong.”

He says it with a smile. The liaison laughs nervously.

Wade’s fingers tighten just a fraction in your hair—a silent I’ve got you. He then proceeds to conduct the entire meeting one-handed, the other hand never leaving your head. When the liaison leaves, Wade turns and crouches down to your level.

“Good job, kid. You were very scary. He’ll have nightmares.”

You smack his chest. He grins.

REMY LEBEAU !!

The Xavier school has a new student from Louisiana. Remy is supposed to be the one to show him around, but you’re trailing behind like a duckling. When the new boy—a nervous kid named Caleb—smiles at you, you immediately grab a fistful of Remy’s brown leather duster and hide your entire face in his arm.

Remy’s heart absolutely melts. He doesn’t even try to hide the soft smile.

“Chère,” he murmurs, his Cajun accent thick as honey. “Dis is Caleb. He got a pet tarantula. You like spiders, non?”

You shake your head against his sleeve.

“Ah. Well, he also got no manners, lookin’ at you like dat.” Remy throws Caleb a look that is equal parts playful and I-will-charge-a-card-into-your-neck. “Don’t stare, mon ami. She ain’t a museum piece. She’s a treasure. You gotta earn de right to see her face.”

He takes the hand that’s gripping his coat and wraps your entire arm around his own, tucking you close to his side. He smells like gumbo and something sweet. He walks you both down the hallway like that, with you attached to his hip, and he doesn’t rush you. He just chats with Caleb in that lazy drawl, occasionally squeezing your hand where it rests on his forearm.

When Caleb finally walks away, Remy tilts his head down to look at you. “See? Painless. Now, let’s go steal some beignets from de kitchen. You earned it.”

KURT WAGNER !!

Kurt is the gentlest soul you know. He understands shyness on a molecular level.

You’re meeting a new group of young mutants who have just arrived. They’re all staring, and you feel your throat close up. Without thinking, you shuffle sideways until you’re pressed against Kurt’s side, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his black and red uniform. You bury your face against his arm.

Kurt doesn’t flinch. He simply places one three-fingered hand over yours and squeezes gently. His tail, usually swishing idly, comes up to curl lightly around your ankle: a secret, furry reassurance.

“Mein Schatz,” he whispers, his voice a warm, accented rumble. “It is alright. These are friends. They are more scared of you than you are of them. That is a joke. A bad one. I am sorry.”

He doesn’t try to move you. Instead, he introduces you by describing you as “the bravest one in the room, because she is scared and yet she is still here.” He says it with such genuine reverence that your cheeks heat up. The new kids stop staring.

Later, when you finally let go, Kurt’s tail is still loosely looped around your leg. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It’s just instinct to keep you tethered to him.

SCOTT SUMMERS !!

Scott is a leader. He’s stoic, strategic, and a little bit stiff. But you have him so completely wrapped around your finger it’s almost embarrassing for him.

A new government liaison arrives at the mansion. He’s a tall man with a firm handshake. You’re standing beside Scott, and the moment the man looks at you, you’re gone. You step directly behind Scott and grab the back of his blue and yellow uniform, your fingers digging into the fabric near his spine. You’re using him like a human wall.

Scott feels the tug and immediately straightens his posture. His hand, which was resting at his side, comes up to press flat against his own lower back, covering your hand with his. A silent don’t let go.

“She’s my… ward,” Scott says to the liaison, his voice even but carrying a subtle warning. “She’s shy. If you need to speak to her, you speak to me first.”

The liaison blinks. “Of course. I just wanted to say hello.”

Scott doesn’t move. He doesn’t step aside. He keeps his body between you and the stranger for the entire conversation. When the liaison finally leaves, Scott turns around slowly, crouching down so he’s at eye level with you. His ruby quartz visor catches the light.

“You did well,” he says quietly. “You held on. That’s good.”

He reaches out and gently untangles your fingers from his suit, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. He holds it as he stands back up.

“Next time, you can hold on as long as you need.”

EDDIE BROCK ( & VENOM ) !!

You’re meeting Eddie’s new editor. The woman is nice, but she’s a stranger, and strangers are terrifying. You’re standing in the kitchen of Eddie’s crappy apartment, and the moment she smiles at you, you lunge.

You grab the back of Eddie’s worn leather jacket and duck behind him, your forehead pressed to his spine. You’re trembling slightly.

Eddie freezes. He knows the drill. “Uh. Hey. She’s… she’s good. Just shy.”

But then a black, gooey tendril snakes out from Eddie’s shoulder. Venom’s head forms, all jagged teeth and white eyes, and he glares at the editor.

“NO. ” Venom’s voice is a low, gravelly growl. “YOU ARE SCARING THE SMALL HUMAN. BACK AWAY. ”

“Venom!” Eddie hisses.

“WHAT? SHE IS OURS. SHE IS HIDING. THAT MEANS THREAT. I WILL EAT HER. ”

“You will not eat my editor!”

While they argue, you feel another tendril detach from Eddie and wrap gently around your wrist. It’s cool and smooth, and it pulses in a rythm that mimics a soothing heartbeat. Venom’s head turns slightly to look at you, and his massive white eyes go… soft. Round.

“LITTLE ONE,” he says, much quieter. “YOU ARE SAFE. I WILL PROTECT YOU. THE LADY IS NOT FOOD. YET. ”

You giggle despite yourself. Venom preens. Eddie sighs in relief. The editor never comes back, but honestly? You didn’t want her to anyway.

STEVE ROGERS !!

You’re at a Stark Industries charity gala. It’s loud, bright, and full of strangers. Steve has his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd. When a senator approaches with a wide smile and an outstretched hand, you immediately pivot.

You grab a fistful of Steve’s suit jacket—the nice one, the blue one—and press yourself against his side, your face buried in his bicep. You’re hiding. Completely.

Steve doesn’t miss a beat. His arm comes up and wraps around your shoulders, pulling you in closer. He’s a solid wall of warmth and starch.

“She’s a bit overwhelmed,” Steve says to the senator, his voice the perfect blend of polite and immovable. “It’s her first big event. I’ll pass along your regards.”

The senator gets the hint and walks away. Steve looks down at you, his blue eyes impossibly soft. He doesn’t tell you to be braver. He just tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’ve got you,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to. Just stay close to me. Can you do that?”

You nod against his arm. He smiles that genuine, pre-serum Brooklyn smile, and keeps his arm around you for the rest of the night. He even cuts your steak for you at dinner. No one dares say a word.

TONY STARK !!

Tony is dramatic. He’s loud. He’s extra. But when it comes to you, he becomes a different person.

You’re meeting a potential new team member in the Avengers compound. The guy is huge, built like a refrigerator, and he looks down at you with a curious grin. You immediately grab the sleeve of Tony’s expensive black hoodie and yank it. Hard. Then you hide behind his back, your fingers twisted in the fabric near his waist.

Tony looks down at your hand, then up at the giant. His expression doesn’t change, but his entire body shifts. He plants his feet. He angles his shoulders. He becomes a wall.

“FRIDAY,” he says quietly. “Scan.”

“No threats detected, boss. He’s just tall.”

“Debatable.” Tony doesn’t move. He reaches one hand behind him and finds your wrist, rubbing his thumb over your pulse point. “Hey, kid. You’re okay. He’s not scary. He’s just… vertically excessive. I’ve got a suit that’s taller than him. Wanna see?”

You shake your head into his back.

“Okay. Wanna go to the lab and build a new gauntlet instead?”

You peek one eye out. The giant is now looking very awkward, trying to make himself smaller. You nod.

Tony grins. “That’s my girl. FRIDAY, cancel my next three meetings. We’re having a science day.” He doesn’t let go of your wrist as he walks backward toward the elevator, keeping you hidden behind him the entire way.

PETER PARKER !!

Peter is still learning how to be a hero on his own, but he has one thing down perfectly: being your big brother figure.

You’re meeting his new neighbor, a sweet elderly lady named Mrs. Castellano. She’s holding a plate of cookies and smiling warmly. You want to be polite, you really do. But your feet won’t move. Instead, you shuffle sideways and grab the back of Peter’s hoodie, burying your face between his shoulder blades.

Peter, who is used to this, doesn’t even flinch. He just reaches back and pats your head clumsily.

“She’s shy,” he says to Mrs. Castellano, his voice fond. “Like, really shy. But she’s the best. She just needs a minute.”

He then proceeds to have an entire five-minute conversation with the woman while you cling to him like a backpack. He doesn’t try to pull you out. He doesn’t force you to talk. He just occasionally squeezes your hand where it’s gripping his hoodie.

When Mrs. Castellano leaves, Peter turns around and grins at you. “See? Painless. Also, she gave us cookies. I call dibs on the chocolate chip.”

You smack his chest. He laughs and pulls you into a one-armed hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Love you, kid.”

THOR ODINSON !!

Thor is a god. He is thunder and lightning and majesty. But when you hide behind him, he becomes a golden retriever in a cape.

You’re meeting a new Asgardian refugee on the New Asgard docks. The man is tall, scarred, and has a booming voice. You don’t like it. You immediately let go of Thor’s hand and sneak behind him, grabbing onto the back of his red cape, pulling it around you like a shield. You’re literally hidden underneath in his cape, pressed against his massive back.

Thor looks down, sees the lump of you behind him, and his entire face melts.

“Ah,” he says, his voice dropping from godly to gentle. “My little shadow. She is shy. You must forgive her. She is the bravest warrior I know, she simply hides her courage behind my cape.”

The Asgardian looks confused. Thor doesn’t care. He picks you up and settles you on his hip like you weigh nothing.

You’re a teenager. You’re mortified. But you also burrow into his neck.

Thor chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound. “There. Now you may greet the nice man from the safety of my arms. He is three feet away. He cannot reach you. I would crush his hand if he tried.”

He keeps you on his hip for the entire tour of the fishing boats. You never have to say a single word.

JOHNNY STORM !!

Johnny is cocky. He’s a show-off. He’s a flirt. But with you? He’s a protective mess.

You’re at a Baxter Building press event. A reporter gets too close, microphone extended, and you immediately grab the back of Johnny’s Fantastic Four uniform. You yank him backward so hard he stumbles.

“Whoa- okay, okay, I gotcha.” Johnny doesn’t complain. He just wraps an arm around you and tucks you into his side, angling his body so the reporter can only see his back. His skin is warm, not hot, just comfortably warm, like a heating pad.

“She’s off the record,” Johnny says, flashing a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Actually, she’s off the planet. You don’t see her. You never saw her. If you write about her, I will fly to your house and leave a flaming bag of something on your doorstep. And I don’t mean poop.”

The reporter backs away slowly.

Johnny looks down at you, and the grin softens into something real. “You good?”

You nod, still gripping his suit.

“Alright. Let’s go bother Reed in the lab. He’s stretchy. You can use him as a blanket.”

He keeps his arm around you the whole walk there, occasionally flicking a small flame off his fingertip to make you giggle.

PETER QUILL !!

Peter is a disaster of a human being. But he’s your disaster.

You’re on the Milano, and the team has picked up a stray alien who needs a ride. The alien is blue, has four arms, and keeps trying to make eye contact with you. You don’t like it. You stand up from your seat, walk over to Peter, and grab the back of his red leather jacket. You hide behind him, your forehead pressed to his spine.

Peter, who was in the middle of explaining something about the navigation system, stops talking. He looks down at your hands gripping his jacket. Then he looks at the alien.

“Okay,” Peter says, pointing a finger. “New rule. No looking at the kid. She’s shy. She’s also the only one on this ship who likes my music, so I will literally throw you out the airlock if you make her uncomfortable.”

The alien raises all four hands in surrender.

Peter reaches back and finds your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. He keeps holding it for the rest of the flight, even when he has to steer with one hand.

When the alien finally leaves, Peter turns around and ruffles your hair. “You did good, kid. Now c’mon. Let’s go annoy Drax by explaining metaphors again.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re both in the common room. And even then, it’s a close thing.

"You sound exactly like that! Deep, serious voice, etcetera, etcetera." You lift the visor from your eyes and restit on your forehead, no longer seeing a mess of scarlet shades all over the room. "It's sexy."

"It's not meant to sound sexy." Scott seemed to take a certain pleasure in disagreeing with you — delighting in puffing out his chest under his crossed arms, furrowing his brows, and waiting for another comment from you so he could retort; as if everything that left your mouth was a challenge to be won.

You roll your eyes before you even think, a response ready on the tip of your tongue, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Summers." And the visor is back over your eyes. "But you didn't answer me: how do I look?"

You watch him from behind the lens, still not used to the crimson tinting every tiny detail of the scene — much less Scott, drowned in red and burgundy. You exchange glances, eyes searching for the other pair behind the crimson filter. Silence hangs between you until, in a line no longer firm on his lips, Scott breaks it.

"I prefer it when I can see your beautiful eyes."

"… real smooth, Scott, real smooth." It slips from your teeth too quickly, too flustered to dismantle the growing smile on Scott's face.

He’s frowning now, “Why are you watching porn in the middle of the day?” “Scott!” you shout, and he chuckles in response.

“How do you know it’s porn?” you ask, crossing your arms and he lets out another laugh, leaning his head back. He goes back to stacking papers, completely ignoring your question in the process.

“Well?” you push, stepping closer and leaning your face in front of his work, watching the blush build up his cheeks. He presses his hand against your face, pushing, “I think everyone has gone there at least once..”

“Just once?”

“Ooookay, enough questions, I have work to do, like a normal–”

“Non-porn loving—”

“I said!-- Normal, person.”

⋆｡° ✮ : WOLVERINE / LOGAN HOWLETT .

“So, you’re crazy.”

“Huh?”

He’s sitting on the other side of the couch, beer in hand as he shakes his head at you like a disappointed father. You frown, like you don’t understand, “I didn’t know my volume was up..” you whisper, and he just laughs. “Suuureee. Watchin’ porn like some sorta freak when I’m right ‘ere.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He takes a big gulp of his beer, before setting it down on the table in front of him, crossing his arms.

“Why watch dicks n shit like that when I’m sittin’ right ‘ere?”

You should’ve expected this, from a guy like him especially. “So, what? Am I supposed to watch you?” you ask, setting your phone down, and scooting a bit closer to him now, watching his lips curl into a smile.

“Sure, why not.”

⋆｡° ✮ : GAMBIT / REMY LEBEAU .

His eyes widen before he just grins, his shoulder bumping against yours as he peeks at your phone, “Ohhh, is it any good?” he simply asks, like this was a normal event. You seem more shocked than him, “Are you crazy?”

“Ah?” he says, confused– pointing at himself, “Me?” he laughs out. You nod, “Yes you!”

“Gambit ain’t crazy, Cher, just curious what my love is into. I think that’s pretty normal, no?”

You stare, “I mean, well, yes. But you’re not shocked that I’m just, watching porn…?”

“Gambit watch porn all the time.” he replies, “What!?” you shout, “Now you’re just hurtin’ my feelings, Cher…” he says, pouting.

“Sorry! I just, do you… like, actually..?”

He crosses his arms, thinking for a second, “Yeah, I do. Gambit like porn, it ain’t like I jerk it to it all, it’s like a challenge to find which one look like you.”

“That’s.. Actually sweet,”

“See? Gambit ain’t no weirdo! I just like to see porn that remind me of you, Cher.” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and grabbing your phone as he does so, “But.. Gambit don’t want you watching porn ‘bout no other guys.. Y’here?”

You giggle in response to his antics.

⋆｡° ✮ : DEADPOOL / WADE WILSON .

“Well, well, well, we got Ms. Goonette over here. Let me guess, backshots? Creampies? …Jacking off videos…?” he says, awfully loud as well.

You hold in your laughter as you attempt to stay to the script, “I didn’t know it was turned up!” the eyes on his mask gets bigger, “Oh I’m sure, princess. Next time make it louder so I can hear the cheeks getting clapped– Seriously, this shit is crazy.” he laughs out.

You push him a little, just tossing your phone onto the couch. “Throwing evidence?” he says, sucking his teeth, “Yikes,” you slap his arm, “Shut up.”

He holds his hands up, as if surrendering, “Look, we all watch porn! No shame, no gain they say,” “That’s not what they say–” “I don’t care! What I do care about is what were you watching! I’m really curious.”

You pout, “I’m not showing you any of MY porn,”

“YOUR porn? Fine, fuck it, I won’t show any of MY porn–”

“Your dick is hard.”

“I’m a simple guy.”

“Okay, freak.”

“Damn, tryna make me cum already?”

Your legs fidget, trying to wake up like the rest of your body. Just to be met with a growl coming from under the blanket. Mind slowly unfogging, you notice the boulder shape under the covers. Your hand moves to pull them back, Logan's face appearing with himself wrapped around your legs. Face shoved up against your mound through your sleep shorts, beard burning against your thighs while he nuzzles against your clothes slit. Taking in a deep breath, his eyes locked on the growing wet spot on the thin cotton.

"Morin' darlin'," he rasps through a scratchy morning voice. Head not lifting, not even budging as you blink away what you think is a dream.

"Logan, what the hell are you doing?" He shifts to his elbows, pushing the blanket off his head when you notice his eyes are blown wide, pupils nearly swallowing the blue of his eye whole.

"Tryna behave while you're sleepin'... Didn't wanna wake ya, but I could smell it on ya." He pushes back in, nosing at your clit through the thin cotton keeping him away from you. You preen against him with a whine, seem pressing into your sensitive bundle along with his prodding nose. Pressing up onto your elbows, he ruts his face into you. Growling again before looking up at you.

"You must have been sleepin' real good. Dreamin' about me, and what I could do to ya if you’re good for me." The familiar sound of Adamantium claws popping makes your thighs tense around his head.

"You always wanna test my patience, tap dance on my last damn nerve. But I can see it on ya too. She's just slick and waitin’ for me to enjoy her." Shiny silver slides against your skin with a gentle press under your shorts and up against the fabric. His pupils dilate like a predator spotting it's next meal.

"You don't mind me testin' that theory, do ya now? I'll make it worth your while and then some." He looks at you expectantly. Stupid little smug grin on his face. It's, obnoxiously, too inviting for you to say anything but a resounding yes.

You give a single nod before the shorts are shredded, a gasp ripping from your throat as he pounces on you like an animal. Claws retracted with a satisfied groan as he dived it. Tongue diving into your pussy like he's trying to scrape the last piece of meat off a bone. Gliding from hole to clit before driving directly into the exact spot he knows makes your toes curl up. Your feet pull at the hem of his shirt as your legs lock around him with a ragged moan.

His hand goes to your lower stomach, pressing gently to keep you in place. His nose rutting against your clit just right to make your thighs tremble as the knot in your stomach starts to form quickly.

"Logan..." You whisper his name, feeling his hand pull you down the bed closer to him. His tongue leaves your hole as two fingers glide in with ease, his lips move back to suck on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your fingers curl into his hair out of habit, tugging at his scalp and making him vibrate against you.

A gasp leaves your lips, feeling your hips start to buck, fighting against his firm hold as the build starts to get too overwhelming. Blissful contractions fill your stomach in waves, orgasm crashing with a muffled mixture of curses and his name.

Panting, you watch him lick his own fingers clean, relishing over the mess you've made of yourself as he stands up. Tugging you to the bottom of the bed by your ankles. There's a noticeable wet spot on the front of his boxers before he discards them. Cock slapping up against the thick bushel of hair on his lower stomach, thick and swollen as he grabs it and gives himself a few strokes. A bead of pre cum slipping from the red tip that quickly moves to coat his shaft in his hand. His grip finds your legs, moving them onto his shoulders as he ruts his tip teasingly through your wet folds.

"Hope you weren't thinkin' we were done. We gotta long morin' ahead of us, darlin'. And I'm lookin’ forward to tasting every single bit of you."

Kurt

Fingers glide over your belly in your wake. Gentle and fuzzy like the body wrapped around you. Blue fur pressed against the shimmering skin of your back, a peaceful purr planted somewhere in your hair. Both of your body's bare from the previous night's actions, skin still dewy and his fur rumpled like a feral animal. His lips move when he feels you stir, kissing behind your ear before you can look back at him.

"You're purring."

"I'm very happy, I have every reason to be. Did you sleep well?" You nod with a yawn, stretching your arms with a roll of your neck. Turning your body, you press into him, his tail curling around your waist. His chuckle gracing your ears, his lips ghosting down the side of your face over the trail he's taken so many times before.

Your hand glides over his firm hairy chest, rosary glinting in the early dawn light with it tangled up in your fingers. His teeth nip at your pulse, tail flicking mischievously against your back.

"How'd you sleep?" You finally question, his head pulling back, yellow eyes looking you over with a gentle smile. His head tilts forward, foreheads meeting with a relieved sigh.

"Better next to you. It's been too long since I got to wake up to you like this." He leans in, mouth planting against yours with a sense of hunger that can only come from your mischievous boyfriend. Lips and limbs tangle together. Breaking each other open through a messy clash of teeth and tongues.

Knee pressing up between your thighs with a roll of his hips. His cocks hard and begging for attention against your stomach. You moan into his mouth before he pulls away, face pressing into your neck. Lips latching onto your pulse with a gentle nibble.

"You just had me last night, you haven't had enough of me?"

"I could never have enough of you, mein Engel." You slowly grin, hand gliding down as it wraps around his base. Making him roll into your hand as he moans at the lazy stroke. Thumb teasing along the underside of his tip just how you know he likes it. Your body's lifted, Kurt moving you against the pillows as he climbs over you. Half lidded eyes looking over you with primal hunger, tongue licking over his teeth with a soft chuckle at your startled eyes.

"You're going to be the death of me... Or my fiery descent into Hell. Especially with every sinful thought that crosses my mind when I look at you like this." You smirk, giving him a gentle squeeze and tug.

"Then I guess you'll need to say a few hail marys to make up for it." He lets out a soft chuckle before his hands wander, lips meeting yours as his thick finger glides through your folds. Plunging into your welcoming heat and stretching you open as his tongue slips into your mouth with a soft hum. His hips try to fuck into your hand as his finger curls right into that spot that has the light behind your eyes turning white with bliss.

You huff against his lips, whining when he pulls away from your grip. Shifting up onto his knees, hands guiding your legs around his waist and crossing your ankles in a snug lock. His tail wraps around your ankles to keep you in place as he lines himself up at your entrance.

Slowly, he slips in with a sigh of relief. Snug in your walls as he finds himself laying over you again. Giving you time to adjust with whispered praises against your ear in German. Your arms wrap around him, both hands digging their nails into the flesh of his shoulder blades under fur.

You moan at the first slow but rough roll of his hips. Pelvis rutting perfectly against your body with the practiced expertise of a man on a mission. The sounds of wet skin meeting damp fur fills the bedroom to mix with the blessed sounds of your mixed pleasure. Blunt nails dig into him as a rough thrust meets the perfect angle.

You cry out, feeling him shift into the right position before starting to drill into that spot with zero hesitation. Tail unraveling your ankles and pulling your legs up higher. His hand glides between yourselves, thumb circling over your clit as you clamp down around him with a soft whimper of his name.

"That's it. Take what you need from me die Liebste, it's all yours. Only yours." His forehead leans down against yours, your eyes squeezing shut with the white hot pleasure blooming through your entire body as you crash over the edge. Gripping onto him as you come with a broken moan.

His hips stutter for a moment, rolls getting sloppy before the last few pounds send him to the point of no return. Face pressing into your neck as you feel him painting your insides with a shaky pant against your skin.

Huffing and puffing you both collapse. Kurt's hands smoothing up your thighs to rub circles on your hips as he tries to ground himself against you. Face pressed into your neck with a soft mutter.

"Ich liebe dich." He kisses your jaw, arm sliding under you as he gets comfortable on top of you. Ignoring his fur matting against your damp skin.

"I love you too." You mutter through rough breaths, lips finding his temple as you hold him close. Reveling in his weight against you and him. Your fluids mixing as come slowly seeps out around his soft cock.

Scott

Coming to life in the dim haze of your bedroom, you roll over, your husband's body turned towards the door. Acting as his usual shield between you and the world. A yawn slips through your lips, arm traveling over his side as you kiss between his shoulder blades. Not to wake him, just to show your undying affection. Face nuzzling into the crook of his neck as he gently stirred.

"Down boy, no emergency, I just wanted to hold you." He hums, low and bassy as he turns towards you, meeting his groggy gaze through his sleep visor. Straps twisted from moving against his pillow, his hair puffed up like owl feathers behind his ears. It makes you chuckle as you're pulled in closer.

"What?" He mutters, hand coasting over your back. The cool metal of his wedding band complimenting his rough finger tips against your skin under your nightgown. He slowly blinks, his almost timidness when he's half asleep makes him all the more handsome.

"You're hairs just... It's nothing baby." You give him a peck to his plush lips as he groans with defeat. Returning the gesture with as much as his brain can manage this early. His head slumps into yours, eyes closing as his grip tightens around you. Protective and strong as always. He leans more into you, cutting all distance between your bodies as skin meets skin.

That's when you feel him, morning wood pressed against your thigh through cotton boxers. The faintest twitch of a heartbeat against you flesh. Your leg moves, he groans again.

"Good morning to you too."

"Ignore it." He mutters, shoving his face in your neck, arms tightening around your waist as your fingers go into his hair. Fixing the bunched up strands from under the top strap and back into place.

"What if I don't want to ignore it?" You tease against his ear, watching him shiver as his head lifts slightly, breath leaving his nose as it tickles your collarbone.

"Your liveliness this early in the morning concerns me... You are my wife, right?" You laugh, nodding to his question with a kiss to his nose. He huffs once, arm moving from under you to hold his head up. Leaning in you kiss his lips slowly, hand cradling his jaw as you mumble against his lips.

"When was the last time we had a morning with each other? No rushed kisses goodbye or not waking up together." His hand rubs your side, pondering the thought with a faint peck to your chin. Lips brushing down to your neck with tender presses to your pulse. A faint response nipping at your skin with his teeth.

"I can't remember." You hum against his skin, turning to kiss him again. Slower this time, molding together with a brush of his tongue along your bottom lip. You pull away as he tries to follow, your hand guiding him to layback. You lift yourself up, legs bending to straddle his waist as you reach for his shades off the nightstand.

"Close your eyes." He listens, squeezing them shut in cute little creases, lashes fanned over the pale outline of untanned skin as you pull them off. Leaning down, you carefully kiss each eyelid, sliding his shades back into place. Leaning back over to set the sleep set down, his hands push your nightgown up with a tender rub of your hips with his thumbs.

"There you are," you smile, eyes tracing his face as you lean back in. Lips connecting with his in a patient dance of hunger and need. His hand runs over your curves, fingers tangling into your hair to deepen the kiss. Your tongues melt into each other as your hips rut against him through his boxers. He gasps, head rolling to the side enough to moan away from your lips.

"Feel good?" Scott nods, trying to collect himself when you sit up. Feeling your mound rub against his clothed length with a slow pace that makes his face start to turn red. Your hands glide up and over his sternum, feeling his heart beat pick up beneath your palm. Trying to escape his ribcage by how hard it's pounding.

"You okay baby?"

"Yeah," he blissfully responds, trying to keep himself in check as you keep pressing against him. His hands give a gentle tug to your nightgown, and you give him what he wants without even having to ask. He watches closely, trying to ignore the growing wet patch making his shorts stick to his shaft. You let him take you in completely once the garment hits the bedroom floor. Hips pressing back into him, leaning over his torso with a lazy roll.

Your hand slides down, finger lingering over the vein protruding from the band of his boxers. Gliding over it with a tender press to its blood flow as you grind down. Moaning along with him when his head nudges your clit through the fabric.

"You- you're trying to kill me." He groans, hands tightening around your sides, slowly sliding down to grab handfuls of your ass as you push down again. Leaning in closer, you whisper in his ear.

"You want these off?" He hums in response, gaze not daring to peel away from your naked body as he ogles every curve and trace of skin when you sit up. You tease his waistband, watching his face start to contort with a notch of impatience. Scott usually has some much of it for your teasing, living for letting you rile him up as much as you wanted, but he's exhausted whatever patience he has.

Your back hits the mattress, a little stunned at his sudden switch for dominance. Scott's over you, lips planted on yours with a rough shove of his tongue into your mouth. As quickly as he's there, he's gone. Pulling away and off the bed, boxers coming off with lightning speed. His cock slaps up against his lower abdomen, heavy and dripping from his tip as you look up at him as his knees meet the mattress.

"Someone's excitable so early." He chuckles, lips turning into a little smirk.

"You like pushing my buttons. Don't act like you're surprised." Your little smug smirk turns to a shit eating grin as he starts climbing over you. Grabbing your legs and letting him maneuver you with a gentle touch only he could have for you.

Scott fits your ass flush with his thighs, legs pulled to rest against his shoulders as he kisses your ankle once. His rough hands sliding up your thighs and prying your lips apart with his thumbs. Staring down at your own dripping mess, eyes glancing up with a look that said 'you're as bad as I am'. His hand slides up, ghosting over the sensitive bundle of nerves with the rough pad of his thumb.

You whine, preening into his hand, making him chortle softly. He positions himself at your entrance, pressing in with a slow glide of his hips. Air leaves your lungs with a gasp at the sudden fullness. Scott forces himself to wait, body slowly leaning forward to hover over you. Your knees nearly pressing into your chest from his weight alone, held in place as he braces a hand on the bed somewhere near your head and his other moving to hold yours against the sheets.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your heart as his hips start to rock. Body taking over as you grip him with your walls, his head hitting that angle with his usual laser pin point precision. Your fingers tighten around his grip, holding onto your only lifeline in any way you possibly can.

He grunts, face going flush as his pace picks up, leaning in closer as your eyes lock through his shades. Your hand comes up to curve over his jawline and cheek. He moves your legs off his shoulders and spread out wider over the bed. Body moving to cocoon yours with a needy pound of his hips, wanting to hold you close much more than anything.

"Scott..." You whimper as a warning into his shoulder, his lips finding your ear as he coasts along the skin under it.

"I know, baby. Me too." He catches a noise in his throat, damn near close to a whine. Feeling you clench around him at your impending orgasm, your bodies coil together. Scott feels your teeth dig into the muscle of his shoulder as your high rips through you. Making his body jolt, groan pulled from his throat as he fills you up, deep within your walls before he slumps over. Both of you panting messes clinging to each other.

"Sorry... Sorry I bit you." You mumble through breaths, feeling his head turn to kiss along your neck.

"It's okay... Did it break skin?" You glance at his shoulder, met by the indentation of your teeth. It almost makes you a little bit proud as you shake your head.

"No." He huffs, pulling back enough to look at you, both of you covered in a new layer of sweat and slick. If you weren't so sure, you'd miss that look of recognition at a job well done and his tiny hint of pride.

His lips meet yours in a caring kiss before pulling back as he climbs back, pulling off you with a sigh. Tapping your hip.

"C'mon. We're getting cleaned up." You groan, being pulled up by your arms. Sitting at the edge of the bed you see Scott going into his working mode. Pulling the blanket back enough to tug the sheets off the corners before he's back in front of you. Watching you catch yourself from your own head. His voice quiet, hand cradling your chin to keep your attention.

"Hey, why don't you go start a bath for us? We got another hour before I'm needed anywhere. I'll be in once I'm done." You nod with a hum, feeling him kiss your sweaty forehead with a hum.

"Love you," he mutters against your skin.

"Love you too."

Wade

The light of dawn bleeds into your shared bedroom, sun beating into your profile. You've actively been trying to ignore his antics for the better part of twenty minutes. You heard him come in about half an hour ago, lugging himself into the bathroom to shower and come back out to you, spread out in one of his old shirts and underwear. Curled up in the safe space you thought was your bed until this little shit started poking at you after he laid down.

First it was just snuggling, then his hands got antsy, wandering up under your shirt with a some half baked apology. Cold fingers gripping at your chest like his own personal nipple having stress balls. Muttering something to himself about a "lack of self control" and how you were his own personal fidget toy. Which lasted all of two minutes before he was burying his face between your legs and making it his mission to piss you off.

But you know Wade thrives on attention. Wade knows he thrives on attention, that's why he's been edging you and "helping" you "reach the big O" as he'd so proclaimed before jamming his shit eating grin right into your cunt.

And if anything he's fantastic at achieving things if he tries hard enough. But he also likes pushing your buttons a lot more. So, right as you're starting to flutter around his fingers for what's probably the fourth or fifth time by now. He's pulling away, only to look up at your scrunched up face and kiss your thigh with admiration.

You'd kick him in the face if he actually weren't so sweet...

"Y'know baby, if you just gimme what I want I can make both lips of yours smile in a minute flat. I'm not an amateur when it comes to coming. If anything, some depraved pervert, definitely not me, would love to see you grovel for mercy under their touch." He leans his head against your thigh, watching your eyes crack open in a still moderately tired haze.

"There's my girl. You finally see the voice of reason? I sure hope so. You're scrumptious, don't get me wrong. I could live down here for hours, but I don't want you suffering anymore then you have to. Come on, she's weeping for mercy, give her a break." You give a slow blink, no verbal response as he huffs through his nose with a disappointed tut.

"Have it your way, sugar puss. I'm enjoying my A.M.B., apartment mandated breakfast, either way." He shoves his face back between your thighs, making them lock against his head like earmuffs. Back to breaking you apart piece by piece with his motor mouth. Working you right up to that edge before pulling away with an inquisitive hum. Tongue gliding over his lips to clean your juices from his mouth with ease.

"Have you been eating pineapple? I'm getting a hint of sweet-" you don't let him finish as your legs lock around him. Twisting til he's under you and you're up on your knees. Any normal man you'd have to worry about breaking his neck, or killing him. Thank God that's not a problem here.

He's speechless for once in his life, you stare down at his wide eyes, his mouth slightly parted as your hands come up, pinning his in place above his head with an annoyed glare.

"Shut the fuck up and get me off." You growl, legs spread apart as you hover your cunt over his face with a slow grind down towards him.

"You know how to use your mouth any other time, c'mon." He groans under you, head lifting as his tongue moves to slip into place. His hands tug, your grip letting go. His arms come up, wrapping around your legs to pull you down flat against his face. His nose moves against your clit with a guide before your hips roll. Letting you ride his face like he doesn't need oxygen to live.

"Oh fuck," you whimper, hips grinding down in a smooth fast rut that makes the headboard knock into the wall with a thud. A definite noise complaint coming later. Your breath gets shaky as your orgasm slowly starts to build back up again. Chasing the tingle between your legs for only a few seconds before you're gushing on his face with a sharp cry. Palms meeting the sheets as you slump forward.

You pant, slowly trying to move off him. Wade grabs your hips before you can move, tongue dancing across you as he cleans you up from below. Hand tapping your thigh before you pull off. He lets out a gasp for life, breath shaky too as he looks up at you before grinning. Mouth covered in what remains of your release.

"Jesus Marvel Christ I fucking love you. I think Logan might be right, I am God's favorite idiot." He lets out a harsh sigh, leaning up to give you a kiss before you avoid him.

"No, you're not doing that with shit on your face. It's your turn away."

"Oh no, sugar puss. I'm good. I painted my favorite Hello Kitty jammies. But I guess you could say I really said 'Hello' to your kitty." You blink with a groan, slumping back into your pillows, hand rubbing over your tired eyes as he crawls over.

"What the fuck is wrong with you..."

"A lot. I thought we established that at our first fuck-a-thon. Now, just lay back and relax. Daddy needs his stiff drink of punani after a long hard day at work..." He chuckles under his breath with a quick whisper, "Haha, that's what she said."

"Wade," your hand meets his head before he can assume the position again, "it's five in the morning."

"Yeah? And I wanna get pussy drunk. It's always 5 o'clock somewhere."

“They don't mean five a.m.”

“Great thing I have time blindness then!”

Logan Howlett

He’s got an instinct for these things. Considering that he’s able to distinguish the heartbeat of a doe in the quiet of the woods, the bull-rushing wind that ghosts through the trees, the flap of wings as they take to the sky—it makes sense.

This is why he pauses in the descent down the meter of your body, the heat of his mouth loitering over the dip of your navel. His tongue scrapes against the divot as his eyes search you, admiring the way that your brows twist up. He appraises how your face wracks in delighted pleasure—but is also restrained with an element of anxiety.

“What’s wrong?” He murmurs, audible enough that you are distracted from the thrill of his explorations. Your eyes alight down to him too-quickly, caught out and without any proper defenses.

“Ah—”—You begin with a stammer that can’t be smothered in your voice—“—Nothing—”

“Haven’t done this before, have you?” He asks, and his voice is a corrugated rumble that snakes through you from your abdomen out. His hands seize around your bare waist, fingers clasping into the flesh, his eyes lancing through you with a deep, proprietary need.

You cannot lie to him in this most crucial of moments. Anything less than the truth will result in the cessation of this pleasure. Pleasure that even his body draped out of you produces.

“No,” You confess, your eyes askance to the bedsheets tangled in labyrinthine knots beneath you. If your body scalded with the torment of pleasure he coaxed out of you, this embarrassment is even more excruciating.

But you have little time to dwell on it before you feel the lap of a tongue up your stomach. Your vision drags to the obscene sight that he makes, his arms drawing you further under his implacable grip. His eyes are rolled over dark with a need to satisfy what you have yet to receive.

“You’re not—mad—”—You try to ask, but the inquiry is choked as you feel the sink of his teeth into the flesh of your thigh. Still his eyes refuse to deviate from you, drinking in every subtle reation that he can encourage from your lips, from the twitch of your body below him.

“Not at all,” He growls into the throbbing pulse where your legs meet, “Just means I gotta make sure I ease you into it.”

When his tongue laps at the heat of your body, making you curl your fingers into the meat of his arms—his groan couples beautifully with your own.

Scott Summers:

You cannot deny that you expected Scott to have a specific type of reaction when you confessed this to him. But the way that he draws entirely still under you, his hands adjusting down the slope of your waist, making further navigation down the cleft of your ass—

You don’t know if you expected this.

“Scott?” You ask, unable to discern the emotion that lurks underneath those opaque lenses. “Please say something.”

“I—”—He bows his head in humble incline, allowing you to see the knit of his brow as he makes a resuscitative noise you realize is a cough.

And this allows you to realize that he’s blushing, a ruddy dusting of color that spreads from the apple of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. You don’t realize that there’s a smile growing on your face, a coalescing of disbelief and amusement.

“It’s not—bad, is it?” You ask, affecting your voice to a low whisper as you look up to him. You take careful visual inventory of him through the fan of your lashes.

And he’s quick to respond, with an instinctiveness that is motivated by the need to reassure, to keep you in the span of his broad fingers. You can’t see the quality of those eyes, but you do the brows that twist in a worried desperation, a mouth expressionless with fear. That communicates volumes.

“No!” The syllable is expelled quickly, his fingers supplement to the veracity of his statement—they drape up the small of your back, ambling up you with needful obeisance to assuage your worries. “Not at all.”

He clears his throat again, though it does little to diminish the color that is still rising with the precarious quality of the situation. There’s something endearing. Something awkward—something shy.

“I just want to make sure that you don’t feel rushed into it.” He says, his voice low, deliberate. “I want to make sure you feel ready.”

There’s something that pulls tender, something in the way his hands rest on the ridge of your shoulderblades. He holds you as though you are precious—as though you are sacred.

There is a twist of longing in the caging of your ribs that matches with the beat that thrums between your legs; you can’t help but buck into the bulge that is still growing with nascent interest against you.

“I’m ready.” You tell him, staring at the lenses that are angled directly towards you. “I don’t want to do it with anyone but you.”

Scott’s jaw sets, a taut swallow makes descent down the column of his throat. Something grows firmer, harder still against you—and you chuff out a flustered breath, averting your eyes.

“Can we just—”—You reorient yourself in the clasp of his arms—“—Take it slow?”

His lips are on the slope of your shoulder, an oath of his fidelity, of his gentility. “Of course.”

His mouth makes slow journey up your neck, summoning tight shiver through the grit of your teeth. And his hands make warranted journey back to the heat of your body.

“Let me know if you want to stop, okay?”

“Okay,” You gasp as the rough scrape of those fingers continue lower—you know that you won’t.

Remy LeBeau

“You tellin’ me,” Remy asks next to you—and you’re trying so hard to not focus on the close proximity of his body to yours, “You never been with a man before?”

“Never been with anyone before,” You confess with a shyness that you wish you didn’t bear, shifting uncomfortably in your seating. You’re too focused on the weight of your admission to notice how his eyes draw in particularity over your body, nor to notice the crook of his mouth as he watches you.

“I know,” You continue, still ignorant to the gears that are turning in his mind, “It’s embarrassing—”

“Non,” He corrects with a an alacrity that makes your eyes dart up to him, look at the unexpected neutrality of his voice, “Only mean you gotta find the right person to do it with.”

He inches further down the limited real estate between the two of you, letting you see the clench of those muscular thighs as they flex nearer yet.

“Yeah?” You ask, your heart trapped in the housing of your throat, complex words clotted past articulation. “Like who?”

“Someone you know, chere,” He advises with a drawl that sends a thrill of adrenaline through your veins, and heady want in the pit of your abdomen. “Someone who treat you right—”

His arm slinks down the back of your chair, close enough to make tactile contact with you. You have to grit your teeth to resist the shudder that is trembling up your body.

“—Someone who make you feel good.” His eyes glow with an unspoken fire that scorches you the longer you share his gaze. But you want to feel the heat—perhaps this is why you near closer. Why you ask what you do next.

“Know anyone, Remy?” You ask him. When he chuckles, it’s a confident, arrogant noise. But it carries with it the weight of someone who knows how to fulfill a responsibility given.

“Maybe I do, minou,” He murmurs, and when his knuckles drag up your jawline, you don’t flinch—his touch fits perfectly against your face. As though you have been waiting for his hand to find your body.

His mouth is needy, it is eager to taste your own. To lick the salt from your tongue and to scrape against the back of of your teeth. His hands slink under clothes that are rapidly becoming unnecessary with each passing moment.

You help along the way as you buck your hips into the heel of his palm that grinds against you, that sends a shock of pleasure through your body. That makes him chuckle into your mouth, his teeth catching on the full of your bottom lip.

When he presses his tongue against it, draws it against his soft palate, and sucks, hard—you can’t help but moan. And his hand is eager to convince more from you as his fingers search in between your thighs.

“You gonna enjoy this, minou,” He reassures you as his breath ghosts over the crook of your neck, as his tongue marks territory that he will claim upon further inspection. “I promise you.”

You can only whimper into the shell of his ear. You think that he’ll make good on this guarantee.

Clark Kent:

To your relief, he takes your confession in eager stride, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It does little to disguise the heady flush, the shyness that you find taking bloom over his face.

To your surprise, he makes further revelation to you as he shifts, letting you settle more fully from where you’re seated on his lap. You both are in various undress, so it falls to reason that goosebumps dart up your arms, your legs as he presses you against him.

“I am, too,” He informs you.

There’s something hopeful, something fearful in the slant of his eyes as he looks to you in worshipful manner. To you, to your altar that he has been given opportunity to lay sacrifice to, to give ample tribute to—with your permission.

“You are?” You ask in incredulous manner—there’s something difficult to believe about this, as you look at the wall of muscle that he makes under you. At the delicious display that he is under the spread of your arms, all power and sinew and warmth—all yours.

“I find that hard to believe,” You inform him as you run your fingers down the swathe of his chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath, of barely suppressed pleasure. Something down the descent of his body, pressing against you, speaks for the rest of him.

“I never got around to it,” He admits in hushed delivery, moving those wide hands up your body. Still, he touches you in hallowed meter, as though the privilege of your body will be rescinded at any moment.

“I always wanted it to be with the right person.”

“And am I the right person?” You ask him, letting something sly run undercurrent in your voice—though it is beset by that nagging self-doubt that hounds you. The way that he looks from the curves of your figure, to search your face, dispels any insecurity you might bear.

“You’re the perfect person for me.” He whispers to you, revelatory and reverent as he speaks. “Always.”

You know that you don’t imagine the smile that is making instinctual passage on your face, nor the way that his hands seek to commemorate your body under his palms.

“And,” Here, an element of mischief establishes itself in the crinkle of his eyes, the arc of his smile, “With any luck, I’ll be good at it eventually.”

“I get the feeling,” You draw your arms to rest on his shoulders, closing in to the plush of his mouth, “That that won’t be too difficult for you.”

He murmurs against your mouth, barely able to resist the taste of your lips, “Tell me what you like.”

Clark’s hands search you with the adoration of a man who has seen God. “So I can keep doing it for you.”

The last word before he finds your mouth with his, and works to fulfill his prayer, is “Always.”

And so, you let your disciple make prayer at the temple he has travelled vast journey to make.

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