#future rogue

The air was thick with the scent of charred stone and blood, a suffocating reminder of the battle that had just torn through the land. Smoke curled in lazy tendrils around the ruins, twisting like ghosts over what remained of the city. Bodies littered the ground, some groaning, some still. And in the midst of it all, you lay among the debris, barely conscious, your body aching from the impact of whatever had sent you crashing into the rubble.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Heavy with purpose.

Through the haze, a shadow loomed over you, blocking out the smoldering remains of the sky. You forced your eyes open, vision swimming as the figure came into focus. Pale hair. Crimson gaze. A presence that was colder than the ruin surrounding him.

Rogue Cheney.

But not the Rogue you knew. This was the man they called Future Rogue, hardened by years of war, loss, and something darker. His expression was unreadable, his stance one of indifference—like he had seen a thousand versions of this moment before and already decided how it would end.

For a long, harrowing second, he simply stared at you. His eye flickered over your form, scanning for any sign of threat, for any reason to justify ending you right here and now. And then—

He hesitated.

The shift was subtle, barely noticeable, but you caught it in the way his gaze sharpened, in the faintest hitch of breath that you wouldn't have noticed if you weren’t watching him so closely. His lips parted slightly, as though he were about to say something, but instead, he simply muttered under his breath.

"You look like her."

Your mind reeled, searching for meaning in those words. Her? Who was she? The way his fingers twitched at his sides, the flicker of something—not pain, not grief, but something close—crossing his features told you it wasn’t a simple resemblance. No, whoever you reminded him of had meant something to him once.

And that was the only reason you were still breathing.

Future Rogue exhaled slowly, the moment slipping away as quickly as it had come. Whatever memory had just resurfaced, he buried it as swiftly as he had unearthed it. He turned sharply on his heel, his cape whipping through the smoke, as if he had already decided you weren’t worth his time.

And yet, he didn’t leave.

Instead, without looking back, he spoke, voice as cold and cutting as the wind that blew through the ruins.

"Get up."

Your body screamed in protest as you pushed yourself onto your elbows, wincing. "What—?"

His red eye flicked to you, unreadable. "If you want to keep breathing, move. Now."

There was no warmth in his words, no kindness, only the weight of something unspoken—something you couldn't yet understand. But you knew better than to question it.

So you stumbled to your feet, the taste of ash thick on your tongue, and followed him into the unknown.

And for the first time since the battle began, you wondered if surviving was the better option after all.

<hr>

The fire crackled between you, its glow flickering across the ruins like embers licking at the edges of a dying world. The scent of smoke and blood still hung in the air, a testament to the chaos that had unfolded only hours before. You should be afraid. You should be running. But instead, you sat across from the man responsible, watching the flames dance in his crimson eye as he spoke.

"You don’t understand what’s coming," Rogue said, voice low, even, as if he were stating a simple fact rather than sealing the fate of an entire world. His fingers traced the edge of his sheathed sword, lazy, absentminded, as if he were contemplating whether or not to draw it. “The dragons return, and with them, a future carved in fire and shadow. No more weakness. No more compromise.”

You didn’t speak, didn’t move, only met his gaze through the wavering heat between you.

It should have bothered you—how easily he spoke of destruction, how casually he dismissed the present as if it were nothing more than a temporary inconvenience. But what unsettled him, perhaps more than he was willing to admit, was the way you didn’t look away. No fear. No trembling hands. Just quiet, unwavering attention.

A flicker of something passed through his expression. Not hesitation—Rogue Cheney didn’t hesitate. But a shift, something near imperceptible, buried beneath the weight of all he had lost.

"You think this world is worth saving?" he asked, tilting his head. His lips curled, the ghost of a smirk there and gone in an instant. "Or are you just too naive to see what’s coming?"

Your arms crossed over your chest. "Maybe I just don’t scare easy."

The embers in his gaze burned hotter. A slow, humorless chuckle left his lips, dark and smooth as the shadows pooling at his feet.

“Interesting,” he murmured, his eye flashing.

Something curled in your stomach—not quite fear, but the sense that you had just stepped over an unseen line. That you had piqued something in him that had nothing to do with battle, nothing to do with war. This wasn’t admiration. This wasn’t intrigue.

This was hunger.

But not for love. Not for tenderness.

A release.

His fingers tapped against the hilt of his sword once before he leaned back against the ruined stone, eye still pinned to you like a predator who had finally found a challenge worth pursuing.

“Then let’s see how long that lasts.”

The fire burned low, embers crackling softly beneath the weight of silence. Rogue leaned back against the jagged remains of a fallen pillar, red eye locked onto you like a hunter waiting for his prey to make the wrong move. His fingers drummed idly against his knee, the only tell of his irritation, his restlessness.

"You think you're strong," he mused, his voice a rasp of iron and smoke, hardened by time and loss. "But you wouldn’t last a day in the world I come from."

You tilted your head, watching him through the shifting glow of the flames. He looked at you like he was sizing you up, gauging how much of you would break before you finally shattered.

"You have no idea what seven years of hell does to a person." His voice was lower now, smooth as a blade drawn slow from its sheath. "What it carves out of you. What it leaves behind."

You didn’t flinch. You should have. You should have dropped your gaze, should have let his words sink into your bones and weigh you down the way they were meant to. But you didn’t. Instead, you held your ground, your lips curling ever so slightly.

"Then prove it."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The fire crackled, but it barely registered over the way Rogue's expression darkened, his lips parting slightly in something almost like surprise before it was gone, swallowed by something far more dangerous.

Amusement.

His eye dragged over you, slow, deliberate. The tension stretched, wound tight like a bowstring drawn back just before the shot. And then—

A quiet chuckle, dark and sharp, like flint sparking against steel.

"You want me to prove it?" His voice was silk laced with venom, smooth but lethal. He stood, the flickering firelight casting his shadow long against the broken stone, swallowing up the space between you in an instant.

His gloved fingers caught your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze fully. His grip wasn’t bruising—not yet—but there was something possessive in the way he held you there, something meant to make you understand exactly what you had just challenged.

"You have no idea what you're asking for."

You smirked, the thrill of the moment sending a rush of heat through you. "Then show me."

His pupils dilated, the only sign of his control slipping, just for a moment. Then, with the kind of speed that barely gave you time to react, you were pressed against the crumbling wall, his body flush against yours, the firelight casting wicked shadows across his face.

His breath ghosted over your ear as he murmured, "I'll show you exactly what seven years of hell can do."

The stone wall was cold against your back, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating off Rogue’s body, the sheer force of his presence swallowing up every inch of space between you. He loomed over you, red eye gleaming like embers, sharp and unrelenting, scanning your face like he was looking for the first sign of weakness.

Like he was waiting for you to break.

But you didn’t. You refused.

Even when his gloved fingers traced down the line of your jaw, the pressure just enough to make your pulse hammer, you met his gaze head-on, unyielding.

His smirk deepened, a flicker of teeth visible beneath the dim glow of the fire. “You really don’t know when to be afraid, do you?” he murmured, voice smooth but carrying an edge, like a knife gliding against bare skin.

You swallowed, refusing to react, refusing to let him see just how much he was affecting you.

His grip on your chin tightened—not painful, but firm, commanding. His other hand braced against the stone beside your head, caging you in completely. “It would be so easy,” he mused, his tone almost thoughtful, “to show you exactly what kind of monster I’ve become.”

He leaned in closer, the tip of his nose grazing the shell of your ear as his breath fanned over your skin, warm, almost taunting. "To make you regret ever challenging me."

Your fingers twitched at your sides, breath catching in your throat. His magic pulsed around you, pressing down like a storm ready to break, thick and suffocating, demanding your submission.

But you weren’t going to give it to him.

You smirked instead, tilting your chin just slightly into his hold. “Then do it.”

That was all it took. The thread of restraint snapped.

Before you could blink, his lips crashed against yours, all heat and teeth and raw, unrestrained possession. There was nothing soft about it—this wasn’t a kiss, it was a warning, a declaration, a claim. His gloved fingers threaded into your hair, tilting your head back to take more, to devour every breath you tried to take. His body pressed flush against yours, solid and commanding, leaving no room for doubt about who was in control.

A sharp nip at your lower lip made you gasp, and he used it to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting you, staking his claim.

By the time he finally pulled back, you were breathless, heart hammering against your ribs, your lips swollen and tingling from the force of him.

He studied you for a long moment, thumb brushing over your lower lip as his smirk returned, smug and satisfied. “Not so cocky now, are you?”

You exhaled sharply, meeting his gaze with something just as reckless, just as unhinged.

“You call that proving something?” Your voice was hoarse, but teasing. “I thought seven years of hell would’ve made you better at this.”

A dangerous glint flashed in his eye, and just like that, he was on you again.

And this time, he wasn’t going to stop at just a kiss.

With a growl low in his throat, he grabbed the front of your tattered shirt, fingers curling into the fabric before tearing it apart like it was nothing more than paper. The sound of ripping cloth echoed in the still night air, the cool bite of the wind rushing over your newly exposed skin. Before you could even react, he had his hands on you—hot, rough, claiming—palming over your ribs, your waist, the heat of his gloves dragging against your bare skin as if trying to memorize every inch.

Your breath hitched, but before you could form a response—before you could even think—he had you off the ground, hands gripping your thighs as he hoisted you up against the cold stone wall. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, bodies flush, your hands flying to his shoulders to keep balance, though he held you like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

“Seven years,” he murmured, voice guttural, raw, teeth grazing the column of your throat as his hips ground against yours, slow, teasing, making you feel exactly how much he wanted this. How much he needed this. “Seven years of fighting, surviving, enduring. You think you can handle that?”

His teeth scraped against your skin again, sharp but not enough to break—just enough to make you shudder, to have you clenching around nothing as your fingers dug into his shoulders.

"Prove it," you whispered back, breathless.

That was all he needed.

His grip on your thighs tightened, and the next thing you knew, he was moving, his body pressing harder against yours, grinding against the heat between your legs through the barrier of his clothes, the friction enough to make you gasp.

His fingers found the last of your remaining clothing and ripped them down, the sudden rush of air against your bare skin making you tremble. The way his magic crackled in the air sent another shiver through you—raw, untamed power barely restrained, threatening to swallow you whole.

"Too late to back out now," he rasped, voice wrecked with hunger as he reached between you, undoing his belt with an almost savage impatience, the clinking of metal making your stomach coil with anticipation. "You're mine now, and I don’t share."

A flicker of something wild passed through Rogue’s crimson gaze as he took a step back, letting you feel the absence of his warmth. It was only for a moment—just long enough for you to catch your breath—before his hands were on you again, gripping your thighs, forcing them apart as he sank to his knees before you.

Your stomach clenched, anticipation coiling hot in your core as you pressed back against the cold stone wall. He wasn’t even touching you yet, but the way his gaze locked onto your bare, exposed skin had you trembling. He looked... hungry. Like a predator about to devour his prey whole.

You expected him to say something, to taunt you, to throw one of his sharp remarks your way.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he grabbed your thighs, his grip bruising as he yanked you forward, pulling you down onto his waiting mouth.

The first stroke of his tongue had your head knocking back against the wall, a strangled gasp escaping your lips. Oh, fuck—

Rogue let out a low, guttural sound—something between a growl and a groan—his breath searing against your sensitive skin. He tasted you like he had something to prove, like he wasn’t just giving you pleasure but taking it for himself, like he was claiming every single inch of you with his tongue.

His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading you wider as he buried himself deeper, devouring you with a fervor that sent heat shooting up your spine. His tongue flicked against your clit, slow at first, controlled—until your hips twitched, your body betraying you with the way you instinctively sought more.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

With a rough growl, he locked his arms around your legs, forcing you against his face as he feasted on you like a man starved. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking hard enough to make your knees shake, enough to make you whimper—a sound you never meant to make, but one that had him gripping you tighter in response.

His tongue was relentless, switching between slow, teasing licks and rapid flicks, wrecking you with every calculated movement. The heat between your legs was unbearable, your entire body tightening as he worked you over with ruthless precision.

And the worst part? He wasn’t saying a damn thing.

No taunts, no smirks—just the sound of his breath, the occasional low growl vibrating against your sensitive skin, the obscene wet sounds of his mouth working you over like he needed this more than air.

You gasped, your fingers finding their way into his white hair, tugging—needing something to ground you. But that was a mistake. The second your fingers tightened, Rogue groaned against you, his grip tightening, his tongue moving faster—as if he liked that you couldn’t help but hold onto him.

Oh, fuck.

Your thighs threatened to clamp shut around his head, but he didn’t let you. Instead, he let one hand slip from your thigh, his fingers ghosting along your entrance before plunging two inside, curling just right, hitting that spot that had your entire body jolting against him.

"Rogue—" Your voice broke as pleasure surged through you, your vision going hazy, your breath ragged.

He didn’t slow. He didn’t ease you into it. No, the second he realized how close you were, he chased your orgasm like a man hunting his prey—fingers moving harder, tongue flicking faster, sucking, devouring, until your body snapped beneath him.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as the heat exploded, pleasure slamming into you like a tidal wave. You barely registered the way Rogue groaned against you, the way his fingers kept moving, prolonging it, forcing you to take every last second of it until your body was trembling in his grasp.

When he finally pulled away, you were still gasping, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

Rogue wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, crimson eye dark and ravenous as he rose to his feet, looming over you once more.

You expected a smug remark. Expected him to say something cocky, to throw your own challenge back in your face.

But instead, he just smirked, tilting his head as he dragged his fingers up your thigh, spreading the mess of slick between your legs with slow, deliberate cruelty.

"You’re already shaking,” he murmured, voice like gravel. "And I haven’t even fucked you yet."

A sharp gasp ripped from your throat as Rogue grabbed you, his fingers digging into your hips as he flipped you around with no more effort than tossing a ragdoll. The cold stone wall scraped against your chest as you were forced forward, your palms barely catching yourself before he yanked your arms behind your back.

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the familiar twist of magic-infused rope snaking around your wrists, binding them tight.

"You're not running," Rogue growled, his breath hot against your ear. "You're not stopping me."

As if you could—as if you wanted to.

You swallowed hard, your entire body thrumming as his hands roamed, mapping every inch of your exposed skin like he was memorizing it, branding you with the roughness of his touch. He was breathing heavily, raggedly, like he was barely restraining himself, his chest rising and falling against your back.

"You think you can handle me?" Rogue's voice was lower now, more dangerous as he palmed your ass, squeezing—spreading—like he was inspecting his prize. "You think you can survive seven years of hell?"

He kicked your legs apart with his knee, his grip tightening as he yanked you up, arching your back until you were completely at his mercy.

A desperate sound crawled up your throat as you felt the blunt heat of him press against your entrance—thick, heavy, leaking against your slick folds. He didn’t ease in, didn’t wait.

Because Rogue Cheney didn’t wait for anything.

With a brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you wide, forcing your body to take every inch of him in one sharp, unyielding stroke.

A strangled cry tore from your lips, your bound hands clenching into fists as your body fought to keep up with the sheer force of him.

Rogue let out a deep, guttural groan, his fingers bruising as they clamped onto your hips, holding you still as he pulsed inside you.

"Fuck," he snarled, his forehead dropping against your shoulder for half a second, like even he wasn’t prepared for how tight you felt around him. "You're taking me so fucking well."

You barely had time to breathe before he moved.

His hips snapped forward, setting a punishing pace, his cock dragging against every oversensitive nerve inside you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the space around you, mingling with the deep growls that rumbled from Rogue's throat.

"Seven years," he gritted out between thrusts, each snap of his hips harder than the last. "Seven fucking years without—" He slammed into you, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "Without this."

Your moan was punched out of you, your body jerking forward against the wall with every relentless thrust. He was everywhere—all-consuming, raw, feral—taking everything he could, forcing you to take him just as desperately.

"You wanted me to prove it?" Rogue’s voice was a rasp, his breath searing against your ear as he bent over you, pressing your bound wrists against your back. "Then fucking take it."

He angled his hips, and fuck—the new angle had your vision whiting out, had your body clenching around him so hard that he snarled, his fingers bruising as they dug into your waist.

"Shit," he bit out, his movements turning erratic, more desperate, more wild. "You're going to make me fucking lose it—"

You were already gone—your entire body on fire, pleasure coiling so tightly in your gut that you knew you were seconds away from snapping.

"Rogue—" His name fell from your lips in a broken, pleading moan, and that did it.

With a rough snarl, Rogue slammed his hand down over your stomach, pressing hard, making sure you could feel every punishing thrust, making sure you felt him take you to the edge.

And then—everything shattered.

Pleasure ripped through you, your body seizing as your orgasm crashed over you, raw and overwhelming. Rogue groaned, the sound wrecked as he pounded into you, chasing his own release, his hands tightening—his body tensing—until he finally let go.

With a shuddering growl, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock twitching deep inside you as his release filled you, hot and unrelenting. His breath was ragged, his body still trembling as he pressed against your back, his grip firm but possessive.

Silence stretched between you—only the crackling fire and the sound of your shared breathing filled the space. His weight against you was heavy, grounding, even as your body still trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure.

And then—finally—Rogue's lips brushed against your ear, voice low, hoarse.

"You asked for it."

Rogue’s breath was ragged against your ear, his grip unforgiving as he held you in place, every brutal snap of his hips sending you further into oblivion. The pressure inside you was unrelenting, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like you were teetering at the edge of something devastatingly inevitable.

"Fuck," he snarled, his voice dark, raw, his movements turning frantic, desperate. "You’re squeezing me so fucking tight—"

You could barely breathe, your body writhing beneath his touch as the overwhelming pleasure built to a breaking point. Rogue could feel it—he knew—and instead of slowing, instead of easing you into it, he doubled down, his pace turning merciless.

"Take it," he growled, his grip tightening around your bound wrists as his free hand snaked between your thighs, fingers finding your clit. "Come for me, now."

The sharp command sent fire racing through your veins, the rough press of his fingers tipping you straight over the edge. A wrecked sob tore from your throat as the pleasure exploded, every muscle in your body seizing as you came hard, spasming around him.

Rogue snapped, a guttural groan ripping from his chest as he drove himself deep—so deep—before he let go. His body shuddered, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you, his release hot and endless. His grip on your hips was bruising, his breath harsh against your shoulder as he emptied himself into you, completely, fully, until there was nothing left but the wreckage of what he'd just done to you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the sharp, erratic rhythm of your breaths, the fire crackling quietly behind you. Rogue remained pressed against you, his body still rigid, as if forcing himself to stay grounded, to process what had just happened.

His hands loosened around your wrists first, the rough ropes dissipating into wisps of shadow before they fully disappeared. He didn’t pull away immediately, didn’t let go—not completely. His palm splayed wide over your stomach, possessive, grounding, as if to remind himself that you were real.

And then, finally—his voice, raw and hoarse.

"I warned you."

Your body was still trembling, your cheek pressed against the cold stone, your mind struggling to catch up to everything that had just happened.

And yet—despite all of it—you managed a breathless, taunting smirk.

"Seven years of hell, huh? You’ll have to try harder than that."

Rogue went still.

And then—he laughed.

Low, dark, dangerous.

"Oh, you really don’t know what you just started."

The night burned on.

Whatever restraint Rogue had left—if he had any at all—was completely shattered as the hours stretched. He was an unrelenting force, taking you in every way he wanted, bending you to his will, wrecking you over and over again until all you could do was take it.

He didn't stop.

Not when your body trembled, not when you gasped for breath, not even when you weakly pushed at his chest, only for him to grab your wrists and pin them back down. "You wanted to see hell?" he murmured against your skin, voice a molten whisper of dark amusement. "Then fucking feel it."

And you did.

He took you until you lost track of how many times you had unraveled beneath him, until your body was ruined from the sheer force of him. He wasn’t just chasing his own release—he was driving you to yours, demanding it, again and again, pulling pleasure from you until the pleasure turned to torture.

Each time you thought he was done, his fingers trailed lower, his mouth pressed against your sweat-dampened skin, and his body caged you in again. He was insatiable. And worst of all?

You loved it.

<hr>

The world was quiet when you woke.

Your body ached, sore in places you hadn't even realized could be sore. The remnants of the night still clung to you—heat still simmering beneath your skin, the bruises left in Rogue’s wake still fresh. You shifted, sucking in a sharp breath as the dull throb between your thighs reminded you just how thoroughly you had been taken apart.

A shiver crawled down your spine as memories flashed behind your eyelids.

His teeth scraping over your throat. His grip unyielding on your hips. The way he had held you down, whispering filth into your ear, dragging you to ruin again and again—

You exhaled, shaky, reaching out beside you—

Empty.

Your breath hitched.

The space where Rogue had been was cold.

Your fingers curled against the fabric, the truth settling in your stomach like a stone. You pushed yourself up on unsteady limbs, scanning the dimly lit ruin of your surroundings, half-expecting him to be lingering somewhere in the shadows.

But he was gone.

No note. No lingering warmth. No trace of him left behind.

As if none of it had happened.

As if he had never been here at all.