bobafetts-princess

[bobafetts-princess]

Watching Triple Frontier while reading the fic I wrote about Triple Frontier while I’m on vacation. Life is peak rn

Bee Stung

Pairings: Benny Miller x Fem!Reader x Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x Will Miller

Word Count: 8.3k (I cannot even explain what happened. My fingers started moving and never stopped)

Warnings: Sex pollen. Dubcon because of sex pollen. PiV, little butt stuff, oral (fem!receiving), love bites. There’s a little boy on boy action.

Is not killing Tom a warning? He isn’t on our mission but he also isn’t dead so

A/N: This is 100% inspired by @/charnelhouse’s Bloomverse. Char is an incredible writer and I can only hope to live up to her writing standard 🙏🏼

(She also has a book out, you should definitely check it out)

“Are we all in?” Santi asks, glancing around at his brothers. Brothers in arms, brothers in life, brothers in every way but blood.

“I’m down,” Benny says, jumping at the chance to be in before Will.

“I’m in,” Will shrugs, “so long as Fish is in.” The eyes around the room glance at Fish as he contemplates.

“I’m trying to get clean, man,” he says, palms up.

“No drugs. None for us. Recon and get the fuck out,” Santi says, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. They can’t do this without Fish. Their pilot. Their way out. Fish nods before dropping his head. It’s silent for several minutes as he thinks, Pope’s breath caught in his throat. He’s about to try to plead again when Fish glances up and nods.

“I’m in.”

Santiago lets out a heavy breath. He’s got three of his four on board but his toughest test has yet to come. You.

“We can’t do this without her,” Will muses, hand on his stubbled jaw. “We need her,” and Santiago knows. He fucking knows okay?

Will is their leader, their planner. Benny is their cheerleader, he’s got their backs no matter what. Frankie is their escape. Their way out, always. Santiago is the glue that holds them all together. But you? You’re their anchor. When shit goes south and Jesus it always goes south, you hold them together. Figuratively and literally. You’re their medic, you’ve saved their lives more times than they can count. You’re also their sharp shooter. You’ve taken as many lives, if not more, than the rest of them.

Honeybee, sometimes known as Honey. Sometimes known as Bee, depending on the situation. When you’re patching up their bullet wounds or knife cuts, you’re Honey. When you’re 500 feet away and sniping an enemy, you’re Bee. When you’re sugar sweet and smiling at them as you do a shot of tequila, you’re Honey. When you’re spitting mad and cussing because they’ve done something stupid, you’re Bee. That time Benny lit your truck on fire because he ‘was curious about whether metal burned’, he got Bee and boy did Bee sting. But when Frankie needed someone to bail him out of jail because he got busted, Honey showed up without a second thought.

Santiago can’t do anything but think about that awful mission 2 years ago when everything went sideways. When they almost lost you and because of that they did end up losing you. It’s a long drive to the farm where you live now and Santi can’t stop his racing thoughts. He told the other three to follow a half hour behind him, give him time to apologize and soften up their Honeybee before they descend and ask the unthinkable.

——————

You know who it is the second you see a truck turn down your driveway. Who it is and why he’s here. Not the specifics, of course, but you know why he would show up on your doorstep nearly 2 years to the day after he last spoke to you. He steps out of the truck, as disarmingly handsome as he smiles at you.

“Hey, Honeybee,” he greets you like he last saw you a week ago and it pisses you off.

“Pope,” he used your call sign, you’ll use his. He can’t see all of you, only your shoulders and head because you’re hidden in your garden.

“How are you?” He asks like he doesn’t know. Like he hasn’t been keeping tabs on you. Of course, you have connections too and they tell you when Santiago checks up on you. When you step out from behind the tomato plants and stalks of corn, he’s almost knocked over at the sight of you. You’re as stunning as ever and Santi gulps down the sight of you.

“Fine,” you’re short with him. And he knows you have every right to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping towards you and stopping when you move your basket from your hip to in front of you. A clear sign for him not to get closer.

“For what, Garcia?” You prod. You both know what he’s apologizing for but he’s the one that needs to admit the wrongdoing.

“For that mission,” his head drops in shame and your eyes narrow at him.

************

2 years ago, you’d been on your final mission as Delta Force. Redfly was set to retire and be followed by Ironhead and Catfish. Benny followed his brother into everything and wanted to start his boxing career. The level of respect that was given to you by these five was hard to come by, so you retired too. Pope was the only one who couldn’t give it up. Couldn’t stop. ‘One more mission’, he’d say, every time. But this one really was the last mission as a team, a unit. One that had spent nearly every waking hour together for 10 years. (Not really, but it felt like it some days) Some, like Redfly and Ironhead, had been together longer than that.

Pope had been charged with watching your weak side, your job was to snipe their sharpshooter, make him disappear while the others take the operation down from the inside out. But Pope got distracted, eyeing something and went to investigate. While he was gone, the enemy had managed to get someone behind your lines, intending to stop you. Their footsteps were quiet and you had your eye through the sights, drowning out everything else. By the time you heard them it was too late for you to do anything except roll. The knife intended for your neck embedded in your ribs instead.

“Honeybee down,” you remembered saying through your comm, right after putting one bullet through the skull of your attacker. There was so much activity over the comms, shouts from Ironhead and curses from Redfly and Benny. Fish, unknown to you, was already on his was to your location and Pope, Pope was frozen with fear and shame and guilt. You heard his voice over the comms, taking responsibility for the situation as you tried to remember your medical training.

Keep pressure on the wound. Don’t remove the knife. Fuck. Where’s my med pack. Jesus this hurts. Damn, I missed my target. This is going to blow the entire mission.

Catfish found you first, gently removing your bloodied hand as he pulled supplies out of your med pack and bandaged you up as best as he could. Ironhead was next, whispering gentle words in your ear as you bobbed in and out of consciousness. Benny and Redfly came together, Benny cussing up a storm and demanding you stay awake as he gently cradled your face. The wound was deep and you were bleeding like a stuck pig. Which, to be fair, you kind of were. It took all of them to get you and your shit out of there without you dying, but it was close. By the time Pope arrived, you were out, your body protecting itself from the pain and blood loss.

But the thing was, you weren’t even mad at Pope because he abandoned his position. They’d all made mistakes and they’d all gotten injured before, it was part of the job. But what pissed you off was the fact that he never called. Never checked up on you himself. He did it all through the others or through your doctors when they got you to a hospital. You’d scraped by, the wound nothing but an ugly puckered scar now. The true pain lay somewhere in your chest when you thought of them. Thought of all you’d given them and they’d given you. And the fact that none of them called anymore, none of them stopped by or checked up. Even Redfly, who was always the most unattainable of the group but also the most reliable, quit contacting. And that shit hurt. You’d given them 10 years and they’d given you nothing in return. You knew life was hard, they were all learning to live without the army.

Shaking your head of the memory, you focused on the man in front of you, the one hanging his head in shame and finally speaking to you.

“I mean, what the fuck Pope?” You snapped, taking a step towards him.

“I made a mistake, I left my position,” he said and you sighed out loud.

“You’re a fucking idiot, do you honestly think that’s what I’m mad about? You’ve got a thick skull,” and his head lifts to look at you.

“You’re not mad you got hurt?”

“Fuck no, I’m not mad I got hurt!” You explode, 2 years of hurt and anger flying to the surface. “I’m pissed because you never checked up on me. When I got medically discharged, everyone but you was there. No letters no phone calls, no get-well flowers, just silence,” the rage in your bones is making the scar on your ribs twinge and you subconsciously rub the skin there. Santi winces as he watches you, taking the tongue lashing he deserves. “Don’t you remember that time I missed a shot and alerted an enemy to Fish? He almost died because I fucked up and Fish forgave me without a second thought. I didn’t even have to forgive you for making a mistake, Santi, because it happens to the best of us. I’m not ready to forgive you for choosing to shut me out the next 2 years.”

“I’m sorry,” he says once there’s been several beats of silence between you. “I was so embarrassed and ashamed. Redfly ripped me apart for making that mistake and I couldn’t handle the guilt of knowing I was the reason that you nearly died. I-,” he falters for words, his palms up in defeat. “I just couldn’t handle feeling so responsible,” he nearly chokes on his words as he remembers that day, in a different light than you do.

**************

He saw a shadow, he would swear by it to this day and in fact he did when the army investigated the situation. You were so damned capable, so smart and aware, there’s no way you could get hurt if he checked it out, right? He gets there and there’s nothing but another shadow, a little further off. He follows again, gun at the ready and his senses in overdrive. He hears a pop and the shadow darts into an opening and it’s just a fucking alley cat and he thinks ‘Bee got her shot’.

But then your voice comes over the comms and its scratchy and breathy and not at all like the rich one he’s used to hearing. “Honeybee down,” and his brain explodes and his body freezes. He’s supposed to be watching your six, your back, keeping you safe. The comms explode with noise, all five men dropping their individual missions to make their way to you. He hears Redfly come over the comms demanding to know who fucked up and Santi’s hands shake as he takes responsibility. He’s closest, he should get there first but he can’t fucking make his feet move. Fish is the only one not speaking and Santi knows that he’s already on his way. Ironhead is shouting, demanding to know what the fuck happened and Benny is cussing up one side and down the other. Santi knows how he feels about you but in that moment he knows how the others feel about you too. Well, except for Redfly. He’s married and sees you like his baby sister, but the other four? They see you as something more.

Catfish comes over the comms and confirms that he’s got you but you’re in a bad way. Your attacker got you with a knife and didn’t hold back. You’ve done a damn good job of keeping pressure on and Santi feels a rush of pride that you’re so good at your job that you’re saving your own life. A feeling that is immediately followed by guilt as he remembers that it’s his fault. Ironhead is next in and Santi would never tell him this but when he leans over you, he presses your comm and broadcasts what he’s saying.

“Come on my sweet girl, stay with me. Let me see those beautiful eyes, that’s it. Look at me. Stay with me. Please,” he’s pleading and then here comes Benny’s voice.

“Honeybee, you’d better fucking be awake. You’d better fucking stay with me, goddamnit. We’ve done too much for this to be the thing that takes you out. You’re fucking tougher than that knife,” and the longer Benny talks, the more desperate his voice gets and that’s finally what gets Pope’s feet moving. He gets there as they’re putting you on a makeshift stretcher and his gut twists as he looks at you, unconscious with your breath rattling in your chest. They told him later that you had a punctured lung that nearly collapsed and you’d lost a significant amount of blood and he donated so much he almost passed out. Santi shakes the memory away, bringing himself back to the present as he looks at you.

“I’m so sorry,” he says and this time he uses your name. The way his tongue curls around it makes something go hot in your bones and you nod at him. He’s not truly forgiven but you also know Santi and know how responsible he feels. Anything that will make him feel something that deeply needs to be pushed down or it might overtake him.

“Your apology isn’t quite accepted but you’re moving in the right direction,” you smile at him and it’s disarming. He hasn’t see that smile in too long and it nearly knocks him over. He takes a step toward you but then a noise distracts him. Before he can get to you, wrap you up in a hug, run his fingers over the softness of your thighs, he hears the rumble of a truck. It’s the guys, his half hour must be up.

“I knew you were up to some shit, Garcia,” but your tone isn’t one of anger, in fact, you sound almost amused. The guys get out of Frankies truck, heading to you but Benny, sweet fucking Benny, can’t contain it and he breaks out into a full run to get to you. He’s wrapping you up and you’re laughing, Benny’s hands clasped under your ass as he spins you in a circle. Will is next, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug before he cups your jaw and takes a moment just to look at you. Frankie is next, burying his face in your neck as he inhales your scent, holding on just a beat longer than the others. You look at them, your boys, and catalog how they look.

Santiago has more gray in his hair than you’ve ever seen, his beard speckled with grey as well. He got his call sign early in his time with DF when one of his informants told Redfly that he fucked so good she saw God every time he came around. He’s got wrinkles by his eyes and he’s so undeniably handsome.

Catfish, who got his call sign because he refused to shave and Redfly said that he looked like he had catfish whiskers under his nose, has put on weight. It looks good on him, the way his shirt stretches just a little bit around his midsection. His hair has gotten long, curling around the edges of his hat as he smiles at you and it makes your heart thump.

Will, who got his name Ironhead from actually getting shot in the head. A bullet ricocheted off a piece of metal and lodged itself in the back of his skull and if he gets really drunk he’ll let you touch it. He’s still fucking stacked, you can see his muscles under that little polo he’s wearing. He’s golden, the golden boy of Delta Force, their face if they needed one. His facial hair is longer than he used to keep it and it makes your chest ache.

Then there’s Benny, who followed his big brother into everything in life. He’s grinning at you like you hung the sun and maybe for Benny, you did. Benny had a call sign once upon a time, he was Baby Miller until he got hammered once and admitted to you that he hates it. You made everyone stop using it after that, sticking with only Benny and even though he’s never thanked you outright, you know he appreciated it. His hair has gotten long too, you can see it when he moves his cap to run his fingers through it.

They’re all so devastatingly handsome and you have to do something to distract yourself. “No Redfly?” Tom got his call sign because he was like a fly on the wall. He seemed to always know what the enemy was doing and how to handle it.

“Nah,” Will says, scratching a hand across his jaw in a way that’s so familiar that it makes your chest ache. “He had that back surgery last year to repair a disk and it didn’t fix the problem. He has to have another one in a few weeks. He sends his best though.” Tom was the only one you’d kept up with, until the last six months or so, he was a good man who has had some bad breaks. A soft silence settles over the five of you and while you don’t mind it, there’s an elephant in the room.

“Why are all of you on my farm?” You ask, eyes flicking between them. Benny and Will share a glance and Frankie’s eyes narrow at Santi. “What are you not telling me? I know y’all didn’t show up after all this time just to look at me like I’m a ghost.”

Santi swallows, “there’s a mission…” you knew that, you just wanted him to admit it. So you cut him off with a raise of your hand and start dishing directions. You may not lead them into a mission, but this is your home and you give the orders here.

“Pope, grab my basket please. I’ve got some steaks we can grill tonight. I made fresh bread this morning and I just picked tomatoes and basil, so I’ll make the bruschetta if someone can cook the steaks,” you tell them and almost laugh at the way they jump into action. “You can tell me about this mission over cocktails,” you say, heading up to your house, “which I’m not making.”

It’s so easy, you notice, to fall into a rhythm with them. Will grills and Santi tells him everything he’s doing wrong. Frankie washes all the vegetables you harvested and Benny makes sure that everyone’s drink is always full. You eat on your patio, everything but the steaks from your farm, and the boys are sure to compliment you on it. You spend the evening catching up on everything you’ve missed as a group and once everyone has a full stomach, you give Santi a pointed look. He explains everything and you listen intently, throwing a leg over the arm of your chair and letting your red toes dangle. “Can we do this without Redfly?” You ask and Santi nods.

“We don’t have a choice. He wouldn’t miss this unless he absolutely had to,” Will says and the group nods at you.

“Who runs point?”

“Ironhead,” Santi confirms what you already knew. It makes sense, he was Tom’s second hand and watched the way he worked more closely than the rest of you.

“And you’re all in?” You ask, looking each man in the face and wait for them to confirm. A soft hand lands on your ankle before it moves up and wraps around your calf. It’s Will’s and you breakout in goosebumps at the feeling of his warmth on your skin.

“We can’t do this without you, Honeybee,” He says and the other three murmur their agreement.

“I’m in,” you say and Santiago breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m also not cleaning up,” you tell them, gesturing to the food on the table. I’m going to sit here and watch you four do it,” and as you watch them, you can’t help the thoughts that sprint through your mind. Wondering what it would be like to have them all here with you, in this house. How fucking soft and domestic it would be. An image flashes in your brain at them in your bed and you quickly shake it away. You’re heading out on a mission where there’s a real chance you won’t all come back, you cannot get distracted.

The five of you chat and hang out, drinking until well-past dark and you’re the first to call it quits and head to bed. You’ve barely gotten to sleep when your bed dips and you know who it is without opening your eyes.

“Benny,” you whisper as he curls around you, just like old times. Benny runs warm and the two of you always ended up together on nights you had to cold camp.

“Couldn’t be in the same place without some tactile cuddles,” he says and you open your eyes just to roll them.

“We don’t need to snuggle for warmth in my house, Ben,” you say and he shrugs.

“I’m already here, might as well stay.”

You both drift off, Benny snoring softly in your ear, but before you get into a deep sleep the bed dips again. “Can I join?” Frankie’s voice rasps, his hot breath fanning across your face and you nod, keeping your eyes closed. He kisses your cheek and then flops down, making Benny grunt and hold you tighter. You reach out to Frankie and he takes your hand, curling your fingers in between his and he’s out in seconds.

A little while later you hear the door open but you’re so damned tired that you don’t even look up. A pair of soft lips press against your temple, Will’s, and he whispers a ‘good night, Princess’ before you hear the couch in your bedroom strain as he drops his weight on it. Another pair of lips press against your cheek moments later, the stubble rubbing gently against your skin and Pope is the only one it could be. The rocking chair that sits beside the couch creaks gently when he sits in it. You wait until you hear the soft breathing of all four of them then you relax completely and drift back off into your own sleep.

——————-

Pope, leave it to fucking Pope, lied about this mission. It was initially recon, like he said, but it quickly morphed into something else. Instead of passing intel over to the national government, Santi said to just use the intel yourselves and kill the bastard in charge. “We would never have to work again,” he pleaded. “Lorea is ruining this country and no one will question why he’s dead. We can have money and this country can have freedom.”

So, here you are, strapped down with guns and your med pack, stalking through the house looking for this guy. He wasn’t where Santi thought he should be, so you offered to sweep the house while they loaded the money. You’re the quickest shot anyways. Turning a corner you see movement, and slow your steps, lifting your gun. You and Lorea catch sight of each other at the same time, but you already have your weapon ready while he has to reach for his. It takes one shot and you communicate that over the comms. You move towards him, grabbing the plastic ball on the table next to where he was and inspect it. It’s not a bomb, too flimsy, but there’s definitely something inside it. When you gently squeeze it, it explodes in your face and you scream.

Santi’s stomach drops when he hears that scream, it’s one he’s never heard from you before. Not when you’ve been shot or stabbed. Not that time Benny threw you in the pool fully clothed or that time Fish scared you so bad you peed yourself. It’s gut-wrenching and they all drop what they’re doing to run to you. Benny reaches you first, skidding across the floor on his knees as he grabs your face and you can see the panic in his eyes. You’re covered in white powder that smells sickly sweet, like the scent of dying lilies. “Fuck, Honey, talk to me. Are you okay?” The powder burns your sinuses and makes you go cross-eyed as you try to spit and snort it out. The extra hangs in the air and settles on the skin and in hair as Benny tries to wipe everything off your face.

“Load up, time to go,” Will says, sniffing the air and Benny is already on it. He’s got you hauled over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and Frankie is so worried, his brain so focused on you, that he doesn’t notice another ball on the floor. He steps on it and it explodes, launching more of whatever it is into the air. It settles in the air as they load up, leaving a sick scent and haze in the air.

They’ve all got white powder in their hair, on their clothes, tracked in the treads of their boots. They don’t know what it is or how anyone is going to react to it and all Santi can think about is how they’re probably going to have to burn their clothes. Will can’t stop checking behind him, Benny’s face wrenched up as he tries to cough it out of his lungs. You’re choking on it, trying to get it out of your mouth and your nose and your eyes and you can’t concentrate on anything except the fucking scent.

“Safe house, we have to get to the safe house,” Santi is saying as they get to the van and Will and Benny are tending to you. Frankie is driving, trying to remain calm and rational as Santi gives directions and not glance back at you every two minutes to make sure you’re okay. A burn starts low in your belly as you try to focus on Will, his blue eyes and golden hair filling your vision. You get a flash of what you think those blue eyes would look like in between your thighs and have to shake it away. He hands you a water bottle and you dump it over your head, keeping your eyes open so you can wash the substance out. You feel better, but the substance fucking reeks. Benny is there next to Will, raking fingers through his long hair as he panics. He’s rambling, he tends to do that when he’s scared or nervous and it takes everything in Santi not to tell him to shut the fuck up.

“That’s why you’re not the team medic, Ben,” you say with a laugh and it seems to calm them all down. “No good under the pressure of a medical emergency,” you tell him, smiling, and Benny exhales deeply. It can’t be that bad if you’re cracking jokes and poking fun at him. “How long to the safe house, I want to wash this all off,” you say but as you finish you get a hot flash. Without thinking you start to strip yourself of all your tac gear and get some air. The burn starts to take over your body, the flush creeping up your neck and when Frankie calls your name from the drivers seat all you can think about is how husky it might sound when he cums.

“What’s going on?” Will asks, taking your vest as you get it undone. Your sweatshirt is next, followed by your long-sleeve.

“I’m so hot,” you tell him, that burn intensifying as you take a deep breath. Everyone begins their descent into panic again with every layer you strip off. You’re down to tac pants and a tank and Will can see your pebbled nipples through the material.

“Pope, any idea what the fuck that powder was?” Will asks, fear lacing his voice. He’s never seen you like this, you’re always in control. But Santi shakes his head.

“Nothing I’ve seen before. How do you feel, Bee?” But you can’t answer. You’re looking at all of them and contemplating the repercussions of your next action. You’re slowly losing your grip so you need to make your mind up and quick. You want them, all of them, and damn everyone who might not understand.

“William,” you purr in a voice that sounds so unlike your natural that Ironhead whips his head back to you.

“Pope,” his voice is full of worry as he watches your pupils dilate and your face flush. “I need some answers,” but then you’re pressing up against him and his voice falters. You settle over his lap, rubbing your face against his neck like a cat. You call his name again, your voice husky and needy and he’s really panicking now. His hands are in the air, away from you and god he wishes they weren’t. He wants to settle them on your hips, press you down on himself but he doesn’t think that’s the right choice.

“Captain,” you purr again, and he’s so scared but he gets a hard flash of lust too. But he’s scared about what will happen if he gives into desire, scared about what that powder was. Scared for you. But he’s taken too long to make his decision and you’re off and moving to your next target.

“Benjamin,” you say in that same sultry tone and his eyes are wide and nervous. You straddle him and his hands come up instinctively around your back, cradling your head as you run your tongue along the column of his throat.

“Fuck-“ he stutters, jerking his hips upwards. “Pope, what the fuck is happening?”

“I-goddamnit. It’s a rumor down here! I didn’t think it was real!” He shouts, and Frankie is driving faster now, unable to keep his eyes off the scene in the back of the truck but needing to keep them on the road. “There were rumors that some of the drug lords were making an aphrodisiac powder, you could snort it like cocaine. I didn’t think it was real! We’ve never encountered anything like it!”

“Fuck,” Will says, they’ve been hit with an aphrodisiac powder? Who comes up with this shit? You took a face full of it so god knows how you’re going to react. He glances over and you’ve got your tongue shoved down Benny’s throat, making these hot little whines as you grind down on him. “We have to get to the safe house, now.” Benny took a good bit of it too as he attempted to clean you up, and Frankie stepped on the other one and shot more in the air.

“We’re here,” Frankie says two minutes later, his eyes starting to dilate as he pulls the truck into an underground garage. All three of them are hard as glass listening to you and Benny rut against each other. Santi and Will manage to get the truck covered up as Frankie wrestles you and Benny inside, limbs so tangled up in one another that he can’t tell who’s who but he knows he needs his hands on you. Will starts to feel the heat you were talking about and tries to tamp down the jealousy as he watches Fish and Benny sandwich you in, Benny’s hands on your ass and Fish’s on your tits. Santi takes a look at Will, in all his movie-star handsomeness, and knows this is going to change all their lives.

You feel like you’re under water and Benny’s mouth is the only thing keeping you afloat. You’re drowning in the need, the desire. But then Frankie is behind you, his soft lips on your shoulder as he tugs at your tank. You gasp as his hands find your tits, pulling and pinching and twisting at your nipples.

“Frankie, baby,” you cry out, breaking your kiss with Benny as you twist to shove your tongue down Frankie’s throat. Frankie growls, shoving at Benny, trying to make him back up and Benny snarls. “No, no fighting,” you plead and the desire starts to make your stomach cramp. “I need someone, anyone, everyone. Fuck, please,” and Benny sets you down so he can yank down your tac pants. He can’t get your shoes off, doesn’t have the concentration for that, so he spins you instead. He enters you in one thrust and you both sigh in heavy relief. Benny’s hand is on your hip and his head drops between your shoulder blades as he breaths you in. “Benny,” you plead, “Move. Please,” and he gives you exactly what you ask for, he can never refuse you. His pace is quick and you’re clenching hard around him, savoring the relief his cock is providing.

His pants in your ear sound pained as he moves inside you and his hand cups your tit, thumb and index finger pulling at your nipples. He’s speaking to you but you’re drowning in the feel of him and you don’t know what he’s saying. His hand slides up to your jaw, cupping it and twisting your head so he can shove his tongue in your mouth. Your combined breaths are heavy as your tongues tangle and you can feel Benny’s hands flexing as he reaches his end. His mouth is all over yours, his teeth nipping at your jaw and earlobe with his fingers digging slightly into your skin and you’re so close.

Just as you are about to hit your peak, a soft tongue pokes its way through your pussy and you cry out. You look down to see Frankie looking up at you, his mouth glued to your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit and timing up with Benny’s thrusts and you come. You come so hard that Benny stutters before he shoves all the way in, coating you with his come.

His head drops between your shoulder blades again and he whispers into your skin, “I love you, I love you. Loved you first, before the others,” but you can’t concentrate on that right now because Frankie has pushed him back and replaced Benny’s cock with his fingers and you can’t stand. You collapse and Frankie rolls you, slides into the opening of your thighs, catching your tac pants with his elbow and pushing them down to your ankles. There’s a ripping sound and a rational part of your brain hopes they’re still wearable after this but the non-rational part of your brain is focusing on Frankie. Then his mouth is on you and he’s got two fingers shoved inside you and you can’t think of anything else.

“Frankie!” You cry out and here’s Will, strong dependable Will, and he shoves his tongue down your throat to swallow your cries. You’re all in it now, so deep in the throes that you don’t know how you’ll find your way out but you don’t care. “Will,” you say and he looks down at you with love and adoration partnering with the lust in his eyes and you open your mouth and stick out your tongue out to convey what you want.

“You sure?” And you can’t answer, you can only nod as Frankie pushes another finger inside you and you cry out his name, spasming around his fingers. Will places his cock on your tongue and you suck him down, relishing in the sound of his groan. The cramps worsen in your belly and you can’t think, can’t speak but Will notices. “Fish. Fuck her, she needs it.” Frankie pushes up, lining himself up with you and pushes in. Even though Benny already fucked you, Frankie is a tight fit and you relish the burn as he splits you open. His mouth sucks marks on every part of your body that he can reach and you can’t concentrate on Will anymore. Which is good because he’s gone anyways but then someone is untying your boots, stripping you of your pants and you know it’s Will. Your rock. The one you can always count on. You almost smile but then Frankie sinks his teeth into the soft outer flesh of your breast and it almost sends you over the edge. Your hand comes up to twist in his hair, knocking his hat off as he pounds into you and he growls your name. Santi appears and shoves his hands between your bodies, gathering the slick from you and Benny and Frankie and rubs circles on your clit, his cock pressing up against your cheek as he shoves his tongue down Frankie’s throat. That part sends you spiraling and you cry out, coming as Frankie fucks you stupid. Santi breaks from him, bending to shove his tongue in your mouth instead. Frankie watches you both so intensely that Will worries about him, but then his brow furrows and he groans your name as he cums inside you, dropping his head to rest in the crook of your neck as he whispers in your ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he tells you and god, you really cannot unpack this right now.

Will replaces Frankie between your thighs, his beautiful blue eyes full of concern as he presses in. You sob and Will is there, “what do you need?”

“God, harder. It’s starting to hurt,” you tell him and are so thankful when he obliges. Will ruts into you, even in his lust-filled haze he’s calculated, and he brushes up against that patch of nerves with each stroke. You drag his mouth to yours, hearing the sounds of the others as they try to fuck the powder out of their system.

“Benny isn’t the only one who’s loved you,” Will breathes into the hot cup of your mouth. “He loved you first, but he’s not the only one,” and his admission makes you clench around him. God, you love them too, more than just brothers in arms. More than should be legal. “Fuck your pussy is so wet,” he groans, moving you so that you’re on your knees for him. He slides back inside you, groaning about how fucking hot and tight you are for him and you bear down. The feeling of drowning only seems to intensify the longer and harder they fuck you and fuck each other, but all you can concentrate on is Will. Will, with his lists and tallies and need to keep track of everything. Will, who is making you see stars with every punch of his cock into you. Will, who is asking so sweetly if he can stick a thumb in your ass and there’s no way on this Earth that you’re going to tell him no. He does and you’re so full of William fucking Miller that you collapse to your chest, hips held up only by the hand on your waist and that fucker has the audacity to chuckle. You’re close, so close and when Frankie crawls back to you, his lips wet and swollen as he shoves a hand between your thighs to pinch your clit, you’re gone again. Will fucks you through it, Frankie talks you through it.

“That’s it baby,” he says, “come all over Ironhead’s cock. Soak him, princesa. Let him feel how good that pussy is.” Frankies words have an effect on more than just you and Will finishes, gritting his teeth and saying your name. He takes gentle fingers and runs them down your spine but his hand is knocked away by Pope’s, coming to take his turn.

“God, I’m so horny,” you whine, pressing back against the length of Pope.

“It’s the powder, sweet girl,” Will says, still hard as he presses up next to you.

“Poison, more like,” you groan as Santi presses the head of his cock against your clit. You can’t think, can’t breathe, unless someone’s, everyone’s hands are on you. Benny’s come to slide across your ass and Fish’s fingers toy with your tits. Will’s fingers slide in your puffy cunt, fucking you open while Santiago rubs his cock across your clit. You’re so overwhelmed by them, so entranced, that you don’t even realize you’re speaking to them.

“I love you. All of you. Have for years. God, I’ve dreamed of this,” you say, the head of Santi’s cock catching at your hole. You press back onto him and he hisses, his hands working around Benny’s and digging into your skin. You start your own rhythm, fucking back on Pope’s cock and from the sound of his moans, he likes it. Words drop from his lips, his fingernails digging into the soft skin of your hips.

“That’s it, princesa,” he snarls, his voice thick and husky with lust and need. “Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how bad you want it,” and god do you want it bad. They’re overwhelming you, hands and mouths everywhere as you fuck Santi. It still hurts so much, makes your nerve endings catch fire and your pussy so slick and when you say that out loud, Pope takes over. He’s so strong and he beats your pussy up with long, hard strokes. You come once with two of Benny’s fingers in your ass and then another time when Fish manages to get his face in between your thighs and lick your swollen clit. Will never leaves your side, his cock red and weeping. You try to suck at him once or twice but you can’t seem to concentrate enough to get him off. Pope has stamina and it feels like it’ll never end and right now you’re glad for it.

After what feels like hours, Pope pushes everyone back and flips you over, hitching a leg over his shoulder as he bends down to kiss you. His lips are soft but insistent against yours, his tongue dipping into your mouth as he fucks you. His hands come to rest on your ribs and his fingers touch the scar there. “I’m sorry, for everything,” he tells you, bending to kiss the spot. It’s such a touching moment in the heat and sweat and slick of the powder that it cracks your heart open. Then Pope is back at it again, moving quicker and all softness is forgotten. Santi still hasn’t come and the feel of him pounding into you sends little shocks of relief into your nervous system.

You briefly think about what that informant said and snort a laugh, which makes everyone stop. It’s the only lucid moment you’ll all have for several hours.

“The fuck are you laughing at?” Benny says, pulling his mouth off Frankie’s cock.

“Thinking about that informant. That one that told Redfly that Pope made her see God every time. I see what she’s talking about,” Santi huffs a laugh in your ear and you know you’ve inflated his ego but the longer he pounds into you, the more it makes sense.

“You’re going to make him insufferable, sweet girl,” Will says in your ear, pulling at your nipples. You gasp and clench, which makes Santi groan.

“I’m going to cum, fill up this pretty pussy with all our cum and then fuck it back out of you,” he grunts and you like the sound of that. Santi screws up his face and buries his head in your neck as he cums, pressing as deep into you as he can get. He kisses you as he comes down and then all four of them are there, taking turns capturing your lips. “I love you.” You don’t know who says it and who doesn’t, you only know that you say it a thousand times but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

It goes like this for hours, them taking turns fucking you until slowly you all come back to yourselves. Santi and Will are first, making sure to ply the rest of you with water and protein bars and MRE’s after they shower. Frankie is next and he joins their little party in the communal space, letting you and Benny work out the last of the poison. You two had it the worst, the effects are lasting. They don’t speak but they can hear the grunts and moans coming from the only bedroom in the place. Eventually, the noises stop and they wait patiently to see if they’ll start back up again.

Finally, it’s Will that speaks. “Do you think we ought to check on them?” Santi nods, getting up and grabbing water and a couple MRE’s from his pack. He comes back shortly, wrappers in his hand.

“They’re both out. Or they were, until I woke them up. They had a full bottle each and some food. I’d be shocked if they didn’t fall back asleep.”

“When she wakes up, are we going to talk about this?” Will asks.

“I don’t know,” Santi says, his face in his hands.

“I think we all told her we loved her. Fuck, she even said it back,” Frankie says. He’s not sure he said the exact words but you knew what he meant, right?

“Yeah but this is unconventional. Normal people don’t do this.”

“Since when are we normal, Ironhead?” Pope snaps, but Will isn’t offended. He knows that lashing out is Santi’s way of showing fear. “We killed people for a living. That was our job,” and Will nods. He knows. He was there. But then there’s motion down the hallway, a soft shuffling sound and you appear, Benny hot on your heels.

Will catalogues you as you come in, you look exhausted but also content. You managed to get dressed back in your tac pants and tank but you’re barefoot and braless as you pad into the room. He counts 6, no 7, hickeys on your neck and chest and he knows Fish left at least a three more on your breasts. And when you turn to grab a chair and sit he sees a bite mark on your shoulder blade that’s already purpling. He’s pretty sure that one was Santi.

“Hey,” you say softly to them, sitting in a chair backwards, your legs spread around the back of it. Benny grabs a chair and shoves it up behind you, keeping his body as close to yours as he can get. Will searches for the jealousy in his bones from earlier and is surprised but relieved when he doesn’t find any.

“Hey,” Pope replies, his hair mussed from shoving his fingers through it. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t know what it was,” and Will hears the helplessness in his voice, that feeling of being out of control. None of them are accustomed to that but at least they’ve been out of the life long enough to adjust, Santi hasn’t.

Frankie watches as Benny drags his lips across your shoulder, his hat backwards, and Frankie feels a hot shot of arousal through his spine. How the fuck is he horny right now? They just fucked for literal hours and you and Benny fucked for at least another hour after that. But he watches Benny watch all of them with hooded eyes, his arm wrapped around your waist, and Frankie wants to press you between them again. He wants to see if you make the same pretty noises that you did earlier before they lost track of everything. But then you’re speaking and he’s got to focus on your words.

“So,” you start and everyone leans forward, anticipating your next words. “That was……interesting,” Benny barks a short laugh from behind you, nosing your hairline.

“That’s a good word for it, Honeybee.”

Frankie clears his throat and four pairs of eyes slide to him. “Did anyone say….anything….they didn’t mean?” He asks, choosing his words carefully. He knows Benny and Will and Santiago all told you they loved you and he said something close, or at least he tried to. He looks pointedly at you because this whole thing hinges on you and how you feel about this. There is no them without you.

“You don’t have to give us an answer right now, sweet girl,” Will tells you, dragging a hand over his jaw. “But I don’t care how strange it may seem to other people, I’m in.”

“Me too,” Frankie says.

“I am as well,” Benny says, nosing up against your jaw, whispering an ‘I love you’ in your ear that no one else can hear.

Four pairs of eyes slide to Santiago and he drops his face in his hands and you move to go to him but Benny’s arm keeps you caged. “Let him figure it out on his own,” he whispers.

“I’m going to fuck something up,” Santi finally says after several moments of silence.

“To be fair, Garcia, I think we’re all going to fuck this up,” you say as you snort a laugh. “This won’t exactly be easy.” Santi lifts his head to look at you. “We’ve known each other so long. We’ve been through so much together. This, all of us, feels…natural?”

“Yeah, there’s so many things that could go wrong. So much we could fuck up,” Benny says. “But we all love our girl here, right?” Three other heads nod at him. “And our girl loves us, right?” And you nod your head, which is a little difficult because Benny has his cheek pressed up against yours. “Then fuck it, I don’t care what society or other people think. Let’s make this shit work.”

It makes sense, Benny’s little speech, and everyone is nodding and agreeing and you only have one thought and you huff a laugh when you think it.

“What are you laughing at this time, princesa?” Frankie asks.

“I’m so glad Redfly couldn’t make it on this mission.”

[bobafetts-princess]

THIS WAS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING IVE EVER READ OMG THANK YOU

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind. 

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words. 

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?” 

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out. 

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture. 

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them. 

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable. 

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position. 

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes. 

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know. 

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[bobafetts-princess]

I have nothing to add, these reaction pictures say it all 🙌🫶🏻

slippin' and slidin' all over you!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, sweating, mutual masturbation, sweat licking (i don't know???), not-so-dry humping, p in v, JUST THE TIP RAHHH, creampie, fingering (fem!recieving), oral sex (fem!receiving), come swapping, come eating, literally over four thousand words of pure nasty smut, this is gross lowkey, idk i'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: very much not the winner or even an option of the poll i posted last week but...shhh don't hate me. it’s october and over 80 every single day, what the fuck is that? only good thing that came from this heat is thoughts of nasty sweaty sex with logan. once again shoutout to my wonderful husband @ebodebo for reading this over for me (i successfully changed her vendetta against sucking up some man sweat...which was the real point of this fic tbh) go give her fics some love if you're a slut for ghost! kisses!

logan forgot to fix the ac...

It's too hot out to be alive. 36°C and sunny.

One of the hottest days in recent memory for Alberta, and you're really feeling it.

"Remind me," you say slowly, the first words spoken in almost ten minutes. "How many times did I ask you to fix the air conditioner?"

"Don't start," Logan says from his spot across the room. His head is tipped back to rest on the couch cushion, eyes slipped shut.

You ignore him, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at him through squinted eyes, your brows furrowed in thought. "Was it ten? Or maybe thirteen?"

Logan huffs a breath, slow and heavy, but he doesn't move--doesn't even open his eyes. “I said don’t start,” he mutters again, though there’s the faintest edge of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't worry baby," you say, voice pitched lower in a terrible impersonation of Logan. "I'll get to it, promise. Won’t get too hot for another couple months."

Logan finally cracks an eye open, just enough to give you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching with amusement. "You done?"

You hum noncommittally, the sound lingering in the air like the lazy summer breeze doing nothing to cool the temperature outside. Your gaze slips down the side of his face to trace the jut of his jaw, then lower to the sweaty column of his neck. 

Both you and Logan lost most of your clothes earlier in the day, too hot to bother wearing anything but underwear. You trudged around the house like zombies until you finally gave up on trying to be productive, you both ended up in the living room. 

All the windows are cracked open, trying in vain to let in any cool air. You claimed the armchair closest to the fan, refusing to be anywhere near Logan and the massive heat wave he constantly gives off.

Logan’s on the couch, stripped down to the thinnest pair of sleep shorts you’ve ever seen. His chest is bare, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that mats the dark hair dusted along his pecs to his skin. 

You can’t help the way your eyes follow the drops of moisture that slide slowly down the contours of his abs. A low heat starting to swirl through your gut when it disappears into his happy trail.

It's funny. When you basically peeled yourself off your mattress this morning, sex was the absolute last thing on your mind.

Now, as your eyes glide over the strong expanse of Logan's body on full display, you're having second thoughts.

Maybe it just comes with the heat. That sort of slow, syrupy feeling that slides along your overheated skin to pulse pleasantly between your thighs.

A bead of sweat slides down the length of your spine slowly, falling until it soaks into the damp waistband of your panties. You try to not notice how Logan is halfway across the room, not touching you.

You fail.

“It’s just a shame, though,” you start, fingers idly toying with the hem of your tank top. “If it was cooler, I could come over there.”

You slide a leg up, letting it rest against the wooden rest, newly exposed skin gleaming under the sunlight filtering in. 

The move isn't lost on Logan. You see his jaw clench slightly, the tiniest shift in his posture.

"Something you wanted?" Logan asks, his voice going low and teasing. "Looks like you've been gettin' yourself all worked up over there."

“Just thinking,” you reply, shifting slightly on the sticky leather of the chair.

Logan’s fingers twitch at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes slide the rest of the way open, his gaze heavy and lingering as it ventures down to where your thin shirt sticks to your skin, outlining every curve.

“Oh yeah?” he prompts, his voice a little rougher now. “Thinkin’ about what, baby?”

“You,” you say easily, fingers slipping down to your thigh. You bring your other leg up, perching it against the opposite armrest. Your thighs spread wide enough that you know Logan has a full view of the wet spot growing along the gusset of your panties.

The hitch in Logan’s breath has you stifling a smug smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch the way his chest starts rising faster.

"That's real sweet, sugar," he drawls, an unimpressed look on his face as he drags his eyes back up to your own. "But if you're tryin' to get me over there, you're gonna have to do better than that." His voice slides through the air heavy and warm like molasses.

You bite back a grin, enjoying the slow game that's unfolding between the two of you. 

"Maybe I don’t want you to come over here," you let your fingers trail a little lower, just to the edge of your panties, teasing. “Maybe I like you right where you are.”

Logan’s brow raises, his thighs tensing before he spreads them just a touch wider. The fabric of his boxers goes taut over the strong muscle, riding up to expose even more hairy skin to your greedy eyes.

"You're playin' with fire, kid," he warns.

The tent in his shorts is obvious now, the hard length of his cock pressing against the fabric where it lays across his thigh. Your other hand twitches by your side at just the sight, your pussy throbbing with the sudden need to be filled.

"Am I?" you murmur, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, just enough to make sure he knows exactly where this is headed. ”It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it, you’re too busy pouting."

With a deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers lower, brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to let out a soft gasp at the contact. You arch your back slightly, relishing in the way the air feels against your skin, hot and sticky.

You want him to see how badly you need him—how his heat is the only thing that could truly satisfy the insatiable ache building between your legs.

Logan's nostrils flare, jaw tightening and eyes darkening at the sight of you teasing yourself. His restraint is slipping, and you can practically feel the tension building in the room, thick and stifling like the oppressive summer heat. 

But he still doesn’t move, doesn’t rush over like you expect him to. Instead, he shifts his hips slightly, spreading his legs wider and letting his hand fall on his thigh. 

You can’t help the way your breath quickens at the sight, the way his fingers drift dangerously close to his own growing bulge, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him. 

You tilt your head to the side, gazing at him through your lashes. “You're really just gonna leave me hanging?” you goad, fingers circling lazily around your sensitive clit. “Come on stud, whip it out.”

Logan chuckles low, a sound that sends shivers through you. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asks, voice thick and taunting, a smirk curling on his lips. “You want me to whip it out for you?”

“Yeah,” you murmur breathlessly, biting your lip as you maintain eye contact, your breath starting to come in short bursts. “I need to see you, Logan. Need to see how hard you are for me.”

“Need to, huh,” he muses slowly, fingers finally grazing over the hard length of his cock. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about this?” You slip your hand out from your ruined panties, fingers glistening with your own wetness as you hook your thumbs on either side and drag them down your legs.

You let the soaked cotton fall to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Logan’s pupils dilate, an inky black completely swallowing the warm hazel. He licks his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth like he wants to sink them into you. His cock twitches visibly beneath his shorts, the growing tension in the air between you thick enough to choke on.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly, more of a growl than a word.

You smile, shifting in the chair to give him an even better view, your legs spreading wider. "Yeah?" you purr, running your fingers over your slick inner thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your own skin. “You like what you see?”

Logan swallows hard, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, palming his cock as he watches you. “You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than before. 

You let your hand trail back down to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as you hold his gaze. “Then show me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea now. "I wanna see you."

Logan lets out a low, rumbling groan, his fingers making quick work of shoving his shorts down enough to free his cock. It springs free to slap lewdly against his stomach and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips at the sight.

He strokes himself slowly to start, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction, feeding off the way your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.

"Like this?" he asks, his tone taunting as he strokes himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head with a low hiss. “That what you wanted?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, straining and in his hand. The sight of his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock sends a hot, electric pulse through your body, your hand between your legs moving in time with his slow strokes.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice trembling with need. "Just like that."

You slip your hand lower, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a low moan. Logan groans like he’s the one being touched, his hand speeds up, eyes glued to where your fingers disappear in your slick heat.

His cock leaks pre-come over his knuckles each time his fist passes over the dripping head, the wet sound of it mixing with the low hum of the fan and your own breathy sighs.

"You look so fuckin' good like this honey," Logan groans, his voice rough, strained. "All spread out, playing with that pretty pussy for me."

You whimper at his words, your body aching for more than just your own touch. You need him, need the feel of his rough hands on your skin, his mouth, his cock—anything.

Your fingers move faster, slipping deeper inside with each pump, but it’s still not enough. The stretch is nothing compared to taking Logan, to the feeling of him carving a place for his thick cock inside your pussy, hitting that spot inside you that your fingers can’t quite reach.

Your hips buck up towards your hand, your back arching off the chair as your free hand clutches the armrest tightly.

Logan’s pace quickens, his fist pumping his cock with a new urgency, heavy balls bouncing with every rough tug.

“God, look at you, such a needy fuckin’ thing” he growls, chest heaving as his gaze flicks between your flushed face and the glistening mess you’re making of yourself like he can’t decide where to look. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

"Please," you whine, desperation creeping into your voice. Too keyed up to draw this out any longer. “I need you inside me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore.”

Logan groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand falters slightly on his cock, squeezing hard around the base as your words push him dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you, and with a growl, he stands. 

The last threads of his restraint snapping.

 He crosses the room in two long strides, towering over you where you sit. His cock swollen and hard, sways between his legs with every step, glistening with pre-come that drips to the floor. His eyes, hooded and burning, drink you in as he reaches down, yanking your hand away from your slick heat.

“Thought you said it was too hot to move,” you tease breathlessly, unable to quit egging him on even when your legs start to tremble with need, spreading wider to welcome him.

Logan ignores you, tugging your hand to his lips. Your breath catches in your chest, a weak moan escaping you as he takes your soaked fingers in his mouth. His tongue swirling along your skin to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.

“Changed my mind,” he growls, strong hands rough and possessive as they drop your wrist and haul you out of the chair so he can spin around, collapsing into it with you in his lap. The wood gives a warning creak beneath you but neither of you care.

Not when his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding as he slides his tongue past the seam of your lips. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, but you welcome it—craving the weight of him on you.

You melt against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, every inch of him alive and pulsating with need. Logan’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a rush coursing through you.

It’s intoxicating, the way he devours you, his hands exploring every inch of your back, grasping and pulling you impossibly closer. 

The hard jut of his cock presses against your thigh, a thick plane of heat that makes your pussy throb with need. You shift your hips, grinding down on him in messy circles.

“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “That’s all for you, darlin’.”

“Need you,” you whimper, grinding down against him faster, desperate for the friction that sends pleasure rippling through you. “Please, Logan, I need you inside me now.”

“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending sparks all up your spine.

He dips his head, capturing your lips again, while his hands roam hungrily down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs to urge your legs open wider. “You wanna tease me, you’re gonna have to get off just like this.”

Logan angles his hips so that his cock slips between your drenched folds the next time you roll your own down.

The hot, slick glide sends electric shocks of pleasure racing through you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You gasp against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair as you push down, desperate for more.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, his voice dripping with lust as he watches your movements with hungry eyes. “Just for me, huh? She’s droolin’ just for me.”

You nod breathlessly, chasing the friction, craving the feel of him so close. You lift your hips and rock back down again, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your swollen clit, and you feel your body pulse in response. 

“More,” you plead, leaning in to nibble at his lower lip. “I need it.”

Logan pulls away, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Come on, tough shot,” he says, giving your ass a quick smack and kneading the tender flesh in his hand roughly. “You’re gonna come like this, you can do it baby.”

You whine, dropping your chin to your chest. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the strong muscle. Your chest slips slickly against his, the front of your tank almost entirely soaked with sweat.

Yours or his, it doesn't matter. The white cotton turned transparent enough that your breasts are on full display, nipples hard and visible.

You watch a single bead of sweat make its way down the length of his throat. It trickles down and down and down until it dips between the pronounced muscles of his chest.

You duck your head, dragging your tongue up the valley of his pecs. A deep moan bursts from your lips, pussy drooling more slick over Logan’s cock at the coarse feel of his thick hair on your tongue, at the heady taste of his sweat filling your senses.

Logan groans, hands tightening their hold on your waist. The dull ache his strength leaves behind is enough to let you know that two hand shaped bruises will be blooming over your skin by tomorrow morning. 

“Come on, girly,” he encourages, nipping at the sweaty column of your throat, the sharp points of his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin deliciously. “Fuck me, give it to me good.”

Your hips speed up, his hard cock sliding through the slick folds of your cunt faster. The tip bumps against your clit deliciously with every move, smearing pre-come along the way to add even more to the mess between your legs.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he groans, breath puffing warm and hot agasint the slick skin of your lips. “Pump you so full of my come you’ll be leakin’ for a goddamn week.”

He shifts underneath you, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance just enough for it to push inside on the next grind of your hips.

The barely there fullness has you coming with a sharp cry, nails roughly dragging down Logan’s back hard enough to leave red welts that heal as you go.

The pain mixing with the pleasure of finally getting to feel the warm, wet suction of your pussy has Logan coming with a rough shout of your name. He throws his head back, hands tightening their grip on your hips enough to have your bones grinding together as he pumps you full of his come. 

“Logan…” you mewl, your pussy fluttering over the tip of his cock, greedy little clenches like you're trying to suck him the rest of the way in. Drunk on the way his release paints your insides, how you can feel each thick spray coating your walls to claim you in the rawest way.

Logan pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watches you squirm in his lap.

"You’re not tapping out on me already, are you?" he teases, his voice rough and gravelly. "I thought you were tougher than that."

A weak, breathy laugh escapes you, but it’s cut short when he applies just a little more pressure, making your thighs quiver. "Not tapping out," you manage between shallow breaths, your head falling back against the chair. "But you’re—fuck—you’re insatiable."

Logan smirks, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to send shivers coursing through you.

"When it comes to you, baby?" he murmurs against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over your pulse point. "Fuckin’ always."

A lazily smile takes over your lips as you tighten your core and push, the rest of Logan’s come leaking out over his fingers. Logan groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder to try and ground himself.

His cock throbs where it sways heavily between his thighs, still hard and ready to go even after he just came. His hand slips down your body, thick fingers running through the creamy mess of come and slick to messily push it back inside you.

“Fuckin’ shit, honey,” he groans lowly, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

Before you can respond, he stands again, gently placing your trembling form back into the chair and dropping to his knees in front of you.

Your breath hitches, legs widening despite the way your pussy shakes with overstimulation, like you can’t help but spread your legs for Logan anytime he wants.

Logan smirks up at you from between your legs, his lips already ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Look at you," he growls, voice low and filled with lust. "Still so needy."

The slick heat of his tongue runs along your folds, lapping at the mess he just made of you. You let out a sharp gasp, thighs trembling as your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer.

The sensation is overwhelming—the rough, demanding pace of his tongue as it swirls around your clit, teasing you, while his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, keeping you spread open for his tongue.

Your body arches off the chair with a loud cry, every nerve alight with raw pleasure as he feasts on you, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin.

"Fuck! Logan," you moan breathlessly, head falling back as you try to keep up with the sensations he's pulling from you.

The heat that was pooling low in your belly reignites, stoked by the way his tongue flicks faster against your clit, each stroke sending you higher.

Logan doesn’t let up, his tongue delving deeper, drinking in every moan, every shaky gasp as he drives you closer to the edge. He moans into your pussy, his own arousal clear in the way his hips buck into the air, seeking any kind of friction.

You tug on his hair harder, desperate for more, for release. "Logan, please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with need.

"Atta’ girl," he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come for me again?"

Every lick, every rough squeeze to your thighs, every teasing stroke sends you spiraling closer to that edge you’re dying to reach again. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your soaked skin and driving you wild.

“Logan, I—” You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, urging him closer, closer, closer. “I’m so close—”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, nose and jaw glistening in your juices.

"Give it to me," he growls, the rough rasp of his voice sending a shiver through your overheated body. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."

It’s all the encouragement you need. With a strangled cry, your body tenses, thighs quaking as the orgasm crashes over you.

Logan keeps his mouth on you, tongue working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, your body boneless in the chair.

When you finally come down, panting and spent, Logan pulls away. With one last kiss pressed over your clit, he makes his way up your body, not dropping eye contact as he settles over you.

His hand comes up to your face, thumbs meanly hooking into either side of your cheeks to gently force your mouth open. You part your lips willingly, the heat still radiating between you, a mix of lingering pleasure.

Logan leans in, and the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex surrounds you as he spits what he collected from between your legs back into your own mouth. 

Your cheeks burn with shame, a broken moan ringing through the space between you. Your glassy eyes stare into Logan’s, his own gaze so intense and all consuming you fight the urge to squirm.

"Swallow," he commands, unwavering. 

You hesitate for just a moment, caught off guard by the pure audacity, but the way his eyes darken with hunger makes your resolve crumble. With a breathless whimper, you obey, tasting the remnants of your own pleasure mingling with his, the act both humiliating and intensely arousing.

Logan watches you closely, his gaze never straying as you swallow, a dirty smirk creeping onto his lips. “That's my girl,” he praises, his tone thick with satisfaction.

As the taste lingers on your tongue, you can feel the weight of Logan’s stare like a physical touch.

“Think you can handle another round?” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “I don’t plan on letting you off that easy, kid. Not with all that mouthing off earlier.”

You catch your breath, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re relentless,” you whisper, a hint of laughter in your voice, though your body betrays you, already craving more.

“Only for you, baby” he replies, brushing the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty forehead behind your ear. “Only for you.”

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mini nat's note: i started my period today chickens...that explains it...

[bobafetts-princess]

This made my put my PHONE DOWN Jesus Christ thank you 🙌🙌🙌🙌

Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

truly

summary: After seeing Scott and Jean's newborn, Logan gets baby fever. word count: 6.6k+ pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader notes: here was the request that inspired this! i will say, anon who requested this, it got a little out of hand, lol. so enjoy 2 smut scenes. this is set in the same world as Deck The Halls and i just need this love spiral but you don't have to read those to understand this! (title is a song by cigarettes after sex) warnings/tags: reader and logan have a bio kid, laura, fluff, talks of having a baby, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, fingering, cum play (?)

The four of you were visiting the X-Mansion to see the new addition to the family, Rachel Summers.

Laura and Sierra had already dashed off to the backyard with some of the other kids, leaving you and Logan alone with Jean and Scott.

"Here," Jean said, carefully transferring Rachel into your arms. "She's fed, changed, and hopefully about to nap."

You grinned, gently settling Rachel against your shoulder. "I've got her. Go take a break."

Jean let out a relieved sigh. "You’re amazing, Y/N. I haven’t had an hour to myself in days."

Scott chuckled softly. "More like weeks."

Jean lightly elbowed him. "Be quiet."

"Go," you insisted softly, waving her away. "We’ve got this."

Jean nodded gratefully, already backing out of the room. "Thank you."

Scott followed behind her, offering Logan a quick grin. "Don’t let the girls destroy the place, please."

"No promises," Logan said dryly.

As they left, you gently rocked Rachel, smiling down at her. "Hey, pretty girl. You gonna sleep for your Auntie Y/N?"

Logan watched from a few feet away, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his eyes fixed on you and Rachel. "Looks good on you."

You glanced up, raising a brow. "What?"

He tilted his head toward Rachel. "That. Babies. Always did."

You laughed softly, moving slowly back and forth. "Yeah, well, I’m just glad ours are finally sleeping through the night."

He snorted. "Mostly."

"Mostly," you agreed.

He stepped closer, leaning against the table next to you. Rachel’s tiny fingers curled sleepily against your shoulder, eyes blinking drowsily before finally shutting. Logan’s eyes softened just slightly.

"I forgot how small they are at this stage," he murmured quietly.

"Yeah," you sighed, gently smoothing Rachel's hair. "Time goes by fast."

Logan watched the baby settle peacefully in your arms, his eyes thoughtful. "Laura and Sierra used to do that too."

"What, sleep?"

He smiled faintly. "Be quiet for longer than five minutes."

You grinned, keeping your voice low. "They're not that bad."

"Not that bad," he repeated dryly. "Laura's probably climbing a tree right now, and Sierra’s probably giving her ideas."

"True," you conceded with a chuckle.

Logan’s gaze drifted again to Rachel’s peaceful little face, the faint rise and fall of her chest. A tiny pang of something tugged deep in his chest, something he wouldn’t dare admit out loud.

"You want to hold her?" you offered gently, sensing his quiet contemplation.

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Looks like she's comfy with you."

You smiled softly, carefully swaying back and forth. "Suit yourself."

Logan shifted, still watching. A beat passed before he cleared his throat. "Scott and Jean seem good."

"They are," you said. "Exhausted, but good."

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "A newborn’ll do that."

You gave him a curious look. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Logan straightened slightly, clearing his throat again. "Just... thinking."

Your lips curved into a knowing smile. "Thinking about what?"

He shrugged lightly, voice careful. "Nothin'. Just... been a while since we had one this little."

You chuckled softly, shifting Rachel gently. "Someone’s getting nostalgic."

He snorted quietly. "Maybe a little."

"Well, you can always babysit Rachel," you teased softly. "Jean would probably be thrilled."

He cracked a faint smile, shaking his head. "Think I'll leave that to you."

"Mhm," you hummed knowingly, still watching him closely. "Sure."

Rachel stirred slightly, fussing softly in her sleep. Logan moved instinctively closer, a hand coming up to carefully rub the baby’s tiny back, helping soothe her immediately. He paused when he noticed your raised brow.

"What?" he muttered defensively. "Ain’t lost my touch yet."

You smiled, tilting your head. "No, you haven’t."

He watched Rachel settle down again, peaceful and warm against your chest. That gentle tug deepened quietly, making him sigh softly under his breath.

"I'll go check on Laura and Sierra," he muttered, pulling back carefully.

You smiled gently, letting him retreat. "Okay."

Logan paused at the doorway, glancing back once more. The sight of you holding Rachel—so natural, so easy—was etched warmly into his mind. He shook his head slightly, hiding a smile as he disappeared into the hall.

---

The house was quiet—after getting back to the cabin late, Laura and Sierra took their showers then got into bed.

You stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, Logan sitting on the bed with a notebook in his hands.

“You ever think ‘bout ‘nother one?” he asked, still lazily doodling.

You glanced at him, pausing with your towel still wrapped around you. “Another what?”

Logan looked up, meeting your eyes. “Baby.”

You smiled faintly, resuming your movements as you searched for clothes. “Not much. Maybe a few times.”

He hummed quietly, his pencil pausing. “Today got me thinkin’.”

You chuckled softly, pulling a shirt from the dresser. “Seeing Rachel gave you baby fever?”

He shrugged, setting the notebook down. “Maybe a little.”

You turned to him, amusement on your face. “You’re serious?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so shocked, darlin’.”

“Not shocked,” you said, pulling the shirt on over your head. “Just surprised, I guess. Thought you liked finally gettin’ sleep again.”

He snorted. “Sleep’s overrated.”

“Easy for you to say,” you teased, tugging on a pair of shorts.

Logan watched you, quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Wouldn’t be so bad though, right?”

You paused, looking up to meet his eyes. “Another baby?”

He nodded slowly, leaning back against the headboard. “Yeah. Sierra’d probably like bein’ a big sister.”

You smiled softly, moving toward the bed. “Laura already is one.”

“Yeah, but she’d probably love bossin’ around another sibling,” he smirked. “And Sierra’s gettin’ pretty independent.”

You climbed onto the bed beside him, crossing your legs and looking thoughtful. “You’re really thinking about this.”

“Like I said,” he murmured, eyes gentle as he studied your face, “today got me thinkin’.”

You tilted your head, a soft smile curving your lips. “Are you saying you want another baby?”

He reached out, tugging you gently closer until you settled across his lap. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed softly, sliding your arms around his neck. “Logan Howlett, secretly a softie.”

He rolled his eyes, brushing his thumb along your hip. “Keep it quiet. Got a reputation to uphold.”

You hummed, leaning in, lips brushing his gently. “Another baby, huh?”

He kissed you softly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Only if you want.”

Your gaze softened, fingertips trailing lightly along his jaw. “Wouldn’t be so bad.”

He smiled slowly, hands slipping beneath your shirt, warm against your skin. “That a yes?”

You laughed, pulling him closer. “Yeah, Logan. That’s a yes.”

“Good,” he muttered, lips ghosting along your neck. “Figured we’d better get started.”

“Now? I just took a shower and put my clothes on.”

Logan’s lips barely brushed yours as he murmured, “Good thing I’m the one who takes ’em off,” voice low, teasing, full of promise. His hands were already sliding under your shirt, warm palms grazing bare skin as his mouth found your jaw, then lower—kissing along the line of your throat like he had all the time in the world.

You sighed, eyes fluttering as he eased you back against the pillows, but a flicker of something practical snuck in through the haze. “Did you lock the door?”

He groaned, forehead dropping against your chest for a second. “Fuckin’—” He sighed, kissed you once, then reluctantly shifted back. “You ruin all my fun, y’know that?”

You grinned, tugging the hem of your shirt up. “Go lock it, old man.”

He muttered something under his breath about being cockblocked by fatherhood and stomped off toward the door. A second later, you heard the lock slide into place. Then a scrape—he was dragging the chair under the knob.

You laughed, covering your mouth to muffle it. “Paranoid much?”

“Sierra picks locks now,” Logan growled as he returned, eyes dark and determined. “Not takin’ chances.”

Before you could say another word, he was back over you, hand splayed on your stomach, pressing you into the mattress. He shoved your shirt up to your ribs, mouth finding the underside of your breast, stubble scraping along your skin, tongue hot and slow as he sucked a mark against your ribs.

“Still smell like soap,” he muttered against your skin. “Gonna fix that.”

You gasped when his teeth grazed your nipple through the fabric, your hand flying to his hair. “Logan—”

He shoved your shirt up over your head and tossed it aside, then sat back on his heels, tugging your shorts and panties down in one rough pull. “Been thinkin’ about this since the second you held that baby. Looked like a fuckin’ dream. Like I needed to put another one in you.”

You flushed, heartbeat pounding as he lowered himself between your thighs, spreading them apart with firm hands. He kissed your inner thigh first—slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, teasing heat.

Then his tongue flicked—slow, deliberate, dragging up through your folds—and your breath caught hard.

You reached down, tangling a hand in his hair. “Thought you were impatient.”

His voice was muffled against your cunt, lips slick, tongue dipping low. “Can still enjoy it, sweetheart. Gotta get you ready, don’t I?”

His mouth was hot, deliberate, tongue sliding in slow circles around your clit, then back down, teasing your entrance, sucking one of your lips between his teeth just enough to make your thighs twitch. One of his hands slid up, spreading you wider, while the other held your hip down when it bucked.

You let out a breathy moan, biting your knuckle to stay quiet. “L-Logan—”

He didn’t stop. He groaned low against you like you were his favorite meal, tongue flattening and dragging hard and slow right over your clit again—wet, unrelenting pressure that made your eyes roll.

Your hips jerked and he growled, fingers digging into your thigh. “Stay still.”

You whimpered, breath catching. “F-fuck—”

He pulled back just long enough to say, voice all gravel and heat, “That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me taste you.”

Then he dove back in, and this time he didn’t hold back—tongue pressing deep, lips sealing around your clit and sucking with filthy precision. The wet, obscene sounds of it filled the room, and your thighs trembled as heat snapped up your spine.

His hand moved, one thick finger sliding into you slow and curling just right, and your back arched off the bed, a helpless cry breaking from your throat.

“Fuck—Logan—oh my god—”

He moaned against you like your taste was the best damn thing he’d had all year, and when he added a second finger, stretching you, working you open, it was almost too much. You squirmed, gasped, toes curling as heat bloomed sharp and fast in your belly.

"A-ahhh—fuck, Logan—"

His tongue didn’t stop, his lips slick with you, beard damp against your thighs. “Mmhhhn,” he growled low, the sound vibrating right through your clit like a goddamn electric current. His fingers curled again, slow and dirty, dragging along that spot that made your back arch like a bow.

You reached down blindly, tangling your fingers in his thick hair, gripping tight. “S-shit—Logan, I’m gonna—”

He didn’t even lift his head, just sucked harder, lips locking around your clit, two thick fingers buried deep and fucking slow, pushing you right over that edge without mercy. It hit like a damn freight train, ripped the air from your lungs.

"Logan—ohmygod—"

Your hips jerked, your thighs clenched around his head, and you came hard against his mouth, a helpless, strangled moan punching from your chest as your body shook apart under him. He didn’t stop—kept licking, slower now, easing you through it, savoring it like he wanted to bottle the sound of your wrecked breathing.

"Good girl," he rasped when he finally came up for air, voice dark and hungry, mouth glistening with you. "Fuckin' love when you fall apart on my tongue."

You were still panting, trembling slightly, your skin flushed all over. “Y-you’re a menace,” you managed, trying to blink him into focus as he crawled up your body.

He grinned, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned in to kiss you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. Hot. Filthy. You moaned into it, hands tugging him closer.

"Not done," he murmured against your lips. "Not nearly fuckin' done."

You reached down between you, felt him thick and hard through his sweats. He hissed between his teeth when your palm pressed against him, his hips twitching.

“Get these off,” you whispered, tugging at the waistband.

He didn’t waste a second, shoved them down and kicked them off, his cock springing free—thick, heavy, flushed at the tip and already leaking. You bit your lip at the sight, reaching to wrap your hand around him, stroking slow. He groaned, low and rough, head dropping to your shoulder.

"Fuck, darlin’... been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day."

"Yeah?" you murmured, breath hot against his neck, hand still moving. “About knocking me up again?”

He growled, deep and hot in his throat, hips rolling into your grip. “Mhm. Watchin’ you hold that baby—made me wanna bend you over right there and fill you up. Stuff you full, see if it takes.”

You shuddered, moaned softly, your thighs squeezing together. “Logan…”

He grinned, dark and wild, then reached down and hooked your leg over his arm, lining himself up with your entrance. His cock nudged against your soaked folds, teasing the head through your slick. "You want it?"

"God, yes—please—"

That was all it took. He pushed in slow, dragging a deep groan from both of you as you stretched around him. Inch by thick, fucking inch, he sank into you, filling you up with no resistance, just wet heat and pressure that made your head spin.

"Shhhhit," he breathed, eyes fluttering shut, jaw clenched tight. "Tight as ever… fuckin’ perfect."

You whimpered, clutching his arms as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. The stretch, the fullness—it burned in the best way, had you writhing under him, thighs already trembling again.

"Move," you begged softly, voice catching. "Please—Logan—"

He did. Slow at first—rolling his hips in smooth, dragging thrusts that had your eyes rolling back, the head of his cock grinding deep, right where you were still sensitive. You gasped, clawed at his back.

"That what you need?" he rasped, breath hot against your ear. "Want me to fuck another baby into you?"

You nodded, whimpering, too far gone to answer with anything but a broken moan. “Uh-huh—ahh—yes—f-fuck—”

He picked up the pace, thrusts harder now, deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room. You could hear the chair scraping faintly under the doorknob every time the headboard knocked against the wall. Didn't matter. Let it fall. Let it shatter.

“You’re gonna take every fuckin’ drop,” he growled, one hand sliding under your thigh to lift it higher, angling deeper, harder. “Gonna make me a daddy again, sweetheart?”

You cried out, eyes wide and hazy. “Y-yeah—yeah—want it—want you—”

"That’s my girl," he groaned, slamming into you, pace relentless now. "Gonna breed this pretty pussy till you’re knocked up. Fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll still be leaking me tomorrow."

You moaned, helpless under him, his body caging you in, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside. It was too much, too good—your second orgasm building sharp and fast. Your nails bit into his back.

"L-Logan—gonna—I'm—fuck—"

"Yeah, baby, I got you," he panted, snapping his hips harder, faster. "Come on my cock—"

You shattered around him with a scream, back arched, body clenching down so tight around him he cursed loud against your throat.

“Fuuuck—you’re squeezin’ me—shit—!”

He slammed in hard one last time, then froze, cock twitching deep as he spilled into you, growling loud and low through gritted teeth, his whole body shaking. You felt it—hot, thick spurts of come painting your insides, filling you up just like he promised.

He stayed there, buried deep, chest heaving, his weight warm on top of you as both of you tried to catch your breath.

Then he chuckled, breathless, voice still wrecked. “That’s one hell of a start.”

You snorted, weakly swatting at his arm. “You're insatiable.”

He smirked, nuzzling into your neck. “With you? Damn right.”

His cock was still twitching inside you, and he didn’t move—just held you, sweaty and tangled, not caring about the mess between your legs, the heat of your skin sticking to his. You stroked a hand through his hair, still dazed and sore in the best way, heart thudding against his chest.

You didn’t say anything else for a long moment. You didn’t need to.

Then Logan shifted, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were warm, wild, a little wicked. “Round two’s gonna be messier.”

Your breath hitched. You smiled. “Good.”

---

A few weeks later, Sierra sat at the kitchen table drawing a picture for Rachel with her crayons. You were at the stove, making a pie for Jean and Scott.

Logan and Laura sat with Sierra, both of them reading—Logan a newspaper, and Laura a comic.

Then, Sierra spoke up. “Daddy, how are babies made?”

Logan choked on his coffee as Laura let out a snort. "What?"

Sierra tilted her head, blinking at him innocently. "How are babies made?"

Laura snickered again, hiding behind her comic. "Yeah, Dad. How are they made?"

Logan shot Laura a pointed glare. "Not helpin', kid."

You pressed your lips together, fighting to stay serious as you turned to Sierra. "Why do you ask, honey?"

"'Cause Rachel is a baby, and Jean said she grew in her tummy," Sierra said, still coloring carefully. "How'd she get in there?"

Laura’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Yeah, Dad. How did Rachel get in Jean’s tummy?"

Logan’s jaw ticked. "You’re grounded."

Laura rolled her eyes, clearly not taking his threat seriously.

You sighed softly, leaning against the counter. "Well, Sierra, when two people love each other very much—"

Laura snorted again, louder this time. Logan shot her another look. "Laura."

"Sorry," she said, not sorry at all.

Sierra looked at Logan expectantly. "So how'd she get in there?"

Logan rubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "Magic."

Sierra's eyes widened. "Magic?"

Laura laughed outright this time, ducking behind her comic to hide it.

You shot Logan an amused glance. "Really? Magic?"

Logan shrugged defensively. "You got somethin' better?"

You walked over, gently brushing Sierra’s hair back. "Babies come from love, sweetheart. When two grown-ups love each other very much, they decide they want a baby. Then one grows in the mommy’s tummy."

Sierra frowned thoughtfully. "Like planting flowers?"

Laura snorted loudly again. "I’m gonna die."

Logan leaned toward Laura, lowering his voice. "Keep it up, kid, and you’re gonna have this conversation next."

Laura immediately sobered, returning quietly to her comic.

"Sort of like planting flowers," you said gently. "A seed gets planted, and it grows into a baby."

"How does the seed get there?" Sierra asked, eyes big and curious.

Logan cleared his throat loudly, folding his paper. "I’m gonna go chop some firewood."

You shot him a pointed look. "Logan."

He sighed, looking resigned as he turned back to Sierra. "The seed... just gets put there."

Sierra narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "By who?"

Logan’s eye twitched slightly. "The... other grown-up."

You smiled sweetly at Logan. "Good job, honey."

He shot you a dry look. "Thanks."

Sierra seemed satisfied enough, nodding thoughtfully. "Oh. Okay."

Logan exhaled in relief, taking another careful sip of coffee. Laura smirked behind her comic.

"So, Daddy put the seed in your tummy when you had me?" Sierra asked suddenly, eyes brightening with realization.

Logan promptly choked again.

Laura burst out laughing. "Amazing."

Logan pointed a finger at her, voice rough. "Grounded. For real."

Sierra smiled happily, oblivious to Logan's distress. "Right, Mommy?"

You patted Sierra's head gently, trying not to laugh at Logan's red face. "That’s right, sweetheart."

Sierra grinned, returning to her drawing. "Daddy’s good at planting seeds."

Laura howled with laughter, dropping her comic. Logan groaned, covering his face with his hand.

You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. "Maybe let’s talk about something else now."

"Please," Logan muttered weakly. "Anything else."

---

The next afternoon, Logan walked into the living room, wiping sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt. He paused when he saw you sitting cross-legged on the couch, sorting through a box of tiny baby clothes.

He raised an eyebrow. "Ain’t wastin’ time, huh?"

You glanced up, smiling softly. "Just figured I’d see what we still have from Sierra."

He stepped closer, peering into the box and reaching down to lift a small yellow onesie. His expression softened as he ran his thumb over the tiny fabric. "Forgot how little these things are."

You chuckled quietly. "You said that about Rachel."

"Yeah," he murmured. He looked up again, studying you carefully. "You feelin’ alright?"

You smiled reassuringly. "I'm good."

He nodded, thoughtful. "So we really doin' this, huh?"

You tilted your head playfully. "Second thoughts already?"

"Nah," he said, voice firm. "Just makin' sure you're sure."

"I'm sure," you said warmly, tugging gently at his hand until he sat beside you. "How about you?"

His eyes softened. "Darlin', I was sure the second I brought it up."

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Good."

Logan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he watched you fold a tiny shirt. After a quiet moment, he cleared his throat softly. "Laura asked me about it earlier."

You glanced up curiously. "What did she say?"

"Asked if we were really thinkin’ about another kid," he said. "Think she likes the idea."

"That's good," you said softly, smiling. "Sierra already acts like a mini-mom anyway."

He snorted gently. "She bossed me around for fifteen minutes earlier ‘bout how to feed Rocky. Pretty sure that dog ain’t listenin’ to anyone but her now."

You laughed quietly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Well, at least we know she’s ready to help."

He hummed softly, fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. "Yeah."

There was a comfortable silence between you, Logan's steady heartbeat soothing beneath your ear. Then—

"Mommy," Sierra said from the doorway, her expression deeply serious, "Rocky ate my crayons again."

Logan sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Told you, he don’t listen to anyone but her."

You chuckled softly, sitting up to look at Sierra. "How many did he eat?"

She held up her fingers. "Three. And one was blue."

Logan grunted, standing up with a resigned sigh. "I'll handle it."

"Thank you," you said sweetly, earning a faintly amused glance from him as he headed toward Sierra.

"You're lucky you’re cute," he muttered affectionately to Sierra, ruffling her hair gently as they disappeared into the hallway.

You smiled to yourself, settling back against the couch and resting a hand lightly on your stomach, already looking forward to the chaos ahead.

---

Just a week later, you got your period. You weren’t necessarily disappointed—you and Logan had only tried once.

You stepped out of the bathroom, catching Logan’s curious glance from where he sat on the bed, tying his boots.

"No luck?" he guessed.

You shrugged lightly, unbothered. "Not this month."

Logan raised a brow, mouth curling into a faint smirk. "Guess I'll have to try harder."

You snorted, rolling your eyes playfully. "Yeah, I guess you will."

He leaned back on the bed, studying you carefully. "You good?"

"Yeah," you assured him, stepping closer. "Took a few months with Sierra too, remember?"

"I remember," he said quietly, pulling you toward him until you settled comfortably against his chest. "I ain't worried."

You smiled, fingers playing lightly with his collar. "Neither am I."

He brushed his thumb along your hip. "Besides, practice makes perfect, right?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Always looking on the bright side."

"Hey," he teased, voice low and warm. "Never heard you complain."

You hummed, leaning up to kiss him lightly. "Guess we'll just have to try again."

"Exactly my plan," he muttered, lips brushing yours softly. "Tonight?"

“Mmh.” You scrunched your brows together. “No. Sorry, honey. I just wanna lay in bed and eat ice cream.”

Logan chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "Ice cream, huh?"

"Mmhm," you hummed, settling comfortably against his chest. "Salted caramel."

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Pretty sure Laura ate the last of that yesterday."

You groaned dramatically. "Seriously?"

"Yup," he said, voice low and amused. "Saw her sneakin’ the tub back into the freezer."

"She’s your kid," you muttered. "Stealin’ my ice cream."

"Our kid," Logan corrected, thumb stroking lightly along your side. "And Sierra steals your cookies."

You sighed heavily. "I never get anything around here."

Logan snorted. "Welcome to my world, darlin’."

You smiled faintly, tilting your head to look at him. "Can you go to the store?"

He raised an eyebrow. "For ice cream?"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

You gave him your best pleading look. "Please?"

Logan groaned softly, head dropping back against the pillows. "Fine."

You grinned, kissing him quickly. "You’re the best."

He rolled his eyes playfully, shifting you carefully off his chest as he stood. "I’ll remember this next time I need a favor."

You stretched lazily across the bed. "I’ll be here waiting."

Logan gave you an amused glance as he grabbed his keys from the dresser. "Don’t doubt it."

You heard his footsteps fading as he walked down the hall, followed by Sierra’s curious voice. "Daddy, where you goin’?"

"Your mom needs ice cream," Logan answered gruffly.

"Ooh," Sierra said excitedly. "Can I have some?"

"Nope," Logan said firmly. "You and your sister ate hers already."

There was a brief pause. Then Sierra called toward your room, voice filled with concern, "Sorry, Mommy!"

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. "It’s okay, baby!"

Then, the front door opened and shut, and a few seconds later, Laura’s head appeared in the doorway of your bedroom, eyebrows raised.

"Dad went out just for ice cream?" she asked skeptically.

You shrugged innocently. "He loves me."

Laura smirked. "You’re spoiled."

"Jealous?" you teased.

Laura shrugged lightly, a grin tugging at her lips. "Maybe."

You chuckled softly. "Good. You should be."

Laura shook her head, turning to leave. "I’ll tell Sierra to leave you alone ‘til he’s back."

"Thanks, Laura," you called after her.

A moment later, the house was quiet again, and you relaxed into the pillows, smiling to yourself. A quiet night, ice cream, and Logan—exactly what you needed.

---

A few nights later, the house was finally quiet. Laura and Sierra had both been asleep for at least an hour, and Rocky was curled up contentedly on his bed in the living room.

You stood by the kitchen sink, absently rinsing dishes from dinner, lost in thought until Logan’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you back gently against his chest.

“Kids asleep,” he murmured softly against your ear, voice low and warm.

You smiled, leaning into his warmth. “Mm. I noticed.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck, lingering softly. “Rocky’s passed out too.”

You laughed quietly. “You sound like you’re plotting something.”

“Maybe I am,” Logan muttered, teeth scraping lightly along your pulse point, making your breath hitch.

You set the dish down, water dripping off your fingers as you turned in his arms, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Feeling lucky tonight?”

His eyes darkened slightly, hands tightening around your hips. “Yeah, darlin’. Pretty damn lucky.”

You chuckled, fingertips brushing lightly along his jaw. “Confident.”

Logan’s mouth curved into a faint smirk. “Got every reason to be.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth softly, the kiss slow and deep. You melted into him, fingers gripping his shirt as he pressed you back gently against the counter. When you finally broke apart, breathless, you smiled against his lips.

“Guess we should make the most of a quiet house,” you whispered.

“Exactly what I was thinkin’,” he agreed, voice rough.

He didn’t waste another second. Logan lifted you easily, setting you onto the counter and stepping between your legs. Your breath hitched as his hands slid beneath your shirt, tracing warm paths along your skin.

“You think tonight’s the night?” you asked quietly, eyes locked on his.

Logan smiled softly, brushing your hair from your face. “Hope so.”

You laughed, hooking your ankles around his waist and tugging him closer. “Then we better get started.”

Logan’s eyes sparked with amusement and heat. “Yes, ma’am.”

He leaned in again, kissing you hard and deep, hands gripping your hips firmly. You let yourself get lost in him, warmth curling low in your stomach as he pulled you flush against him, grinding slowly, deliberately, the friction making you gasp softly into his mouth.

He broke the kiss briefly, his voice ragged against your ear. “Gonna take this to the bedroom, darlin’. Counter ain’t exactly comfortable for what I got planned.”

You laughed breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair. “Lead the way.”

He lifted you easily off the counter, keeping you wrapped securely around him. You pressed slow kisses along his neck, smiling against his skin as he carried you toward your room.

“Better lock the door,” you teased quietly.

“Way ahead of ya,” he muttered, kicking the door shut and clicking the lock into place.

You didn’t even get a word out before Logan’s mouth was on yours again—hot and demanding, like he hadn’t just had his hands all over you ten seconds ago. He walked you backward toward the bed without breaking the kiss, one hand gripping your ass, the other tangled in your hair.

By the time the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you were already gasping into his mouth, dizzy with heat. He eased you down onto the bed, crawling over you slow like a fucking wolf, all heat and weight and hunger.

You slid your hands up under his shirt, fingertips brushing hot skin and hard muscle. “Off,” you mumbled, tugging at the fabric.

Logan grinned against your neck. “Bossy tonight.”

“You love it.”

“Damn right I do.”

He sat back on his heels, yanking his shirt over his head in one smooth pull. You reached for your own, but he caught your wrists.

“Nuh-uh, lemme do it.”

His voice had gone low, dark—gravel scraped through honey. He peeled your shirt up slow, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. Stomach. Ribs. The underside of your breast. He paused there, nuzzling warm against you, lips dragging over the swell. You arched into him with a soft gasp, fingers tightening in the sheets.

Then he wrapped his mouth around your nipple, sucking slow, deep—just once—before switching to the other, tongue flicking in lazy circles until your breath hitched and your thighs rubbed together on instinct.

“Logan…”

“Shh. I got you.”

He kissed down your belly, thumbs hooking into your waistband, dragging your shorts and panties off in one slow pull. His gaze never left yours. Even with the heat low in his belly and the tension buzzing through his limbs, he wasn’t gonna rush a damn thing.

“You ready?” he asked, fingers trailing up the inside of your thigh.

You nodded, breath caught somewhere in your chest. “Please.”

That smug little smirk curved across his face, and he leaned in, kissing you again—soft this time, like he was savoring it—while his fingers slid down and dipped between your folds.

You moaned into his mouth, your hips rocking up as he rubbed slow circles over your clit, his fingers slick and teasing. Then he pushed one inside—slow and deep—and you gasped, clutching at his shoulders.

“Fuck—Logan—”

“That’s it,” he muttered, sucking on your bottom lip. “Already soaked for me. You really want this, huh?”

You nodded again, barely coherent. “Want you. Want you to fuck a baby into me.”

He groaned low, forehead dropping to yours. “Jesus, sweetheart…”

He added a second finger, curling them just right. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, body trembling as his fingers fucked into you slow and steady.

“I’m gonna knock you up tonight,” he growled, kissing down your throat again, biting at your collarbone. “Gonna make you a mama all over again. You’re gonna feel it, darlin’. Gonna know it took.”

Your walls fluttered around his fingers, your thighs clenching. “Logan—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped. “Gimme one. Right here. All over my hand.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit and you broke—moaning, shaking, clinging to him like you’d fall apart without him. Your pussy clamped down on his fingers as you came, soaking his hand with a whimper that died against his shoulder.

He eased you through it, kissed the top of your head, then reached for the pillow, shoving it under your hips with practiced ease.

You blinked up at him, still breathless. “Logan—”

He was already stripping out of his sweats, his cock thick and flushed and heavy in his hand as he lined himself up, eyes locked on yours.

“You want it?” he asked, voice wrecked. “Want me to fill you up?”

You bit your lip and nodded, legs spreading wider. “Please.”

He sank into you with a deep, guttural groan, one hand gripping your thigh, the other planted beside your head. His body was hot, heavy, every thick inch of him pushing slow and steady until he bottomed out, hips flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he hissed, forehead resting against yours, breath hot. “This pussy’s gonna take all of me tonight, huh?”

You whimpered, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “Always does…”

“Yeah?” He rocked his hips, slow, deep, grinding against your cervix until your back arched. “Gonna take my come too, sweetheart? Gonna let me put a baby in you?”

“God—yes,” you breathed, hands clutching at his back. “Wanna make you a daddy again.”

That sound he made—half growl, half moan—went straight through you. “Fuckin’ hell, you say that again and I ain’t gonna last long.”

“Do it,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. “Come inside me. Fill me up. Knock me up.”

Logan snarled, hips snapping forward, hard. “You filthy little thing… beggin’ to get bred.”

“I want it,” you gasped, breath catching with every ruthless thrust. “Need it.”

He fucked you harder then—rough, relentless, the bed creaking beneath the rhythm of his hips slamming into yours. His hand left your thigh and pressed against your belly, right above where he was buried inside you.

“Right here,” he growled. “Gonna fill you up so full you’ll feel it for days.”

You cried out, nails dragging down his back. “Please—Logan—fuck—don’t stop—”

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he panted, grinding down. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good. This tight little cunt’s made to keep me in, yeah?”

You could barely breathe, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs, pleasure spiking sharp and high. “Gonna—gonna come—”

“Yeah?” He leaned in, mouth against your ear. “Then do it. Milk my cock, sweetheart. Get yourself good and ready to catch.”

You shattered around him, legs locking tight around his waist, your whole body pulsing as you screamed his name into his shoulder. He kept going, driving through your climax, chasing his own with that low, animal growl rising in his throat.

“Fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so tight—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” you begged. “Come inside me—please, baby, I need it—”

Logan slammed deep and stayed there, cock throbbing as he came hard, spilling into you with a choked moan, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, body trembling. “That’s it—fuck, that’s it, take it all…”

You felt him twitch inside you, his come hot and thick, filling you until it leaked out around him.

He didn’t move for a long moment—just laid there, buried deep, one hand splayed across your lower belly like he could feel it taking.

Then he lifted his head, eyes half-lidded and dark. “That oughta do it.”

You gave him a dazed little smile. “Think you got it in one?”

Logan grinned, kissed you lazy and slow. “Maybe. But better be sure.”

His hand slid down, slow and sure, knuckles brushing between your legs—right where you were still stretched around him, messy and slick with the load he’d just pumped deep inside. His eyes stayed locked on yours as two fingers pressed to your swollen folds, spreading you open just enough to watch it drip out.

“Fuckin’ shame,” he muttered. “Wastin’ good it like that.”

You shivered, hips twitching as he eased a finger back inside, slow and deep. You gasped, back arching slightly. "Logan—"

"Shh," he murmured, voice low, gravel-smooth. “Lemme make sure it stays where it belongs.”

He added a second finger, thick and insistent, curling them inside you like he knew every sensitive spot by heart—and he did. His thumb rubbed lazy circles over your clit, just enough to make your breath catch, not enough to push you over yet.

Your hips rocked into the motion instinctively, body still greedy for more. “God… you’re not done with me?”

He snorted, lips brushing your cheek. “Sweetheart, I’m just gettin’ started.”

His fingers pumped slow, deliberate, his palm slick with a mix of your arousal and his come, still leaking out around his knuckles. You whimpered, clenching down on him, thighs shaking.

“You feel that?” he muttered, dragging his lips down your neck, letting his teeth scrape lightly across your skin. “That’s mine. All of it. Gonna keep pushin’ it in ‘til your body holds on tight.”

“Logan—fuck—” you moaned, legs spreading wider for him. “You’re gonna make me come again…”

“Good,” he growled. “I want you to. That sweet little pussy soaks me every damn time, ‘course you’re gonna come.”

He curled his fingers again, hitting just the right spot, and your whole body jerked, toes curling. You could hear the wet, obscene sound of it—his hand working between your legs, your pussy clenching greedily around him like it knew what he was trying to do.

“I can feel you pulsin’ around me,” he rasped, kissing down your chest. “Just like that. Keep squeezin’. Gonna milk it all up inside you.”

You bit your lip, desperate to hold it back, but your body had other plans. With a sharp cry, you came hard, thighs clamping around his wrist as your cunt spasmed around his fingers, milking them like it wanted to keep every drop of him inside.

“There it is,” he breathed, watching your face like it was the only thing that mattered. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty when you come for me.”

You twitched beneath him, breath ragged, and Logan gently eased his fingers out, slick and dripping. He watched the mess on his hand for a second, then brought it to your mouth.

“Taste what you’re takin’ in,” he muttered.

You opened obediently, sucking his fingers between your lips, tasting salt and heat and something that made your whole body ache with want all over again.

He groaned, leaning in to kiss you slow, deep, filthy. “You’re gonna get pregnant from this,” he whispered against your mouth. “I fuckin’ know it.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, breath still catching in your throat. “Think so?”

He grinned, cocky and warm, brushing his fingers lightly over your belly. “I’d bet on it.”

You gave a tired, blissed-out laugh. “You always so sure of yourself?”

He nuzzled close, lips grazing your ear. “Only when I know I’m right.”

[bobafetts-princess]

Logan Loves to Bite

Summary: This is quite literally an homage to how I feel that Logan Howlett fucks and that’s all there is to it.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Established relationship, Logan bites sometimes hard enough to break skin, hair pulling, ass smacking, choking, oral (fem!receiving) rimming (fem!receiving), no condoms on this blog

A/N: Welcome to my most popular AO3 fic! If you’ve seen it there, I’m the same person! This one is my favorite Logan fic, it makes me unhinged every time I read it. I hope yall like it here ✨

It was just in his nature as a feral mutant. He bit. He bit when he was nervous or scared, and he bit when he got off.

He was lucky you had a great healing factor, while it wasn’t as quick as his (no ones was), it was still fast and your ‘love bites’ disappeared in a matter of hours. His mouth was always on you when the two of you fucked and Charles even had to sound proof your room because Scott and Jean kept complaining about all the noise.

His favorite way to fuck you was from behind, either his hand wrapped in your hair to give him leverage, or your body pulled up against his so he could bite his way along where your neck and shoulder met.

He was animalistic like that, wanting to take you from a position where he had the most power, the most control. He’d pull your body up so it fitted against his and wrap a hand around your throat, nose buried in your hair as he pounded up into you. His increased sense of smell was his secret kink. He could smell your arousal from rooms away and sometimes you would see if you could get yourself off before Logan found his way to your shared room, sniffing the air and taking over.

Every once in a while he would let you ride him, but it wouldn’t take long for him to pull himself up to you, sinking his teeth into the soft spot where your jaw and your neck meet. He would turn your head, whispering dirty words in your ear as he fucked up into you. He said he loved the scent you released when he was fucking you. He would bury his nose where you released the strongest scent, between your breasts or behind your ears or along the hairline on the back of your neck.

He loved to go down on you too, burying his nose in the crotch of your panties, inhaling deeply and telling you how fucking sweet you smelled. He was always leaving marks on the insides of your thigh as he worked his way towards the apex of them.


He’d grunt and groan, eating your pussy for all it was worth, pausing only to bite your inner thighs or dig his fingers into your hips. He always said he loved to bite the skin on your inner thighs the most. The part where it always seemed to be soft and pliable, no matter how hard you worked to make it go away. The bruises always faded faster than the bites, but he loved seeing you covered in them anyways.

Then he’d flip you over, smacking your ass and leaving red marks before he’d sink his teeth in the soft flesh. If he was feeling especially dirty, he would work his tongue towards your puckered hole, massaging the tight ring at the same time his hands did the same with your cheeks.

Logan would slip inside you, pressing until he was fully seated and you felt him in your throat. He’d give you a couple sharp thrusts, relishing in the way you’d gasp when he’d hit that spot. He’d pull your upper body backwards, fitting it against his hard chest as his teeth scraped along the edge of your ear and he would tell you how fucking good your pussy felt clamped around him. Logan liked to fuck and he liked to fuck dirty. He loved to get you so fucked out so you just fell asleep on his chest when he finally came, spent from hours worshipping your body. He loved to make you scream his name, loved when the only logical thought you could come up with was “Logan, Logan, Logan.”

He loved seeing the way your pussy looked stuffed with his cock, the way he stretched you as you gripped him. He loved the whimpers and whines you let loose when he had your hair fisted in his hands, or his fingers wrapped around your throat. He loved getting you so worked up you were begging for him to give it to you, begging for it harder, rougher, dirtier.

You’d long since given him the okay to bury himself in you if he woke up from a nightmare and you’d lost track of the amount of times that you’d been woken from Logan pushing into your wet heat, hands gripping tightly at your hips as he used your body to drown out his nightmares. He’d pin you down to the bed, needing the control as he pounded into you, teeth scraping along your shoulder blades until he finally bit down, grunting against your skin as he spilled himself into you.

He loved the little sigh of pleasure as he drove home for the first time, filling you completely. He loved the little gasps you released as he nibbled his way across your shoulders, the way you arched in for more. He loved the way that you arched when you came, highlighting your breast’s and making him all the more ready to nibble on them. He especially loved the way when he finally came, biting down hard enough to break skin, you would always let loose this throaty groan that shot straight to his groin. Because when it came down to it, you loved to be bitten as much as Logan loves to bite.

[bobafetts-princess]

Noah Wyle answering Very Important Questions with Los Angeles Times

[bobafetts-princess]

SHAWN HATOSY as DEPUTY CHIEF CHARLIE REID Chicago P.D. | Vows (12.22)

[bobafetts-princess]

Ooh thanks for the tag!! 🥰🥰

This is what I’ve got:

He’s hard as glass underneath you and his muscles feel strong under your hands. You can’t see him, he’s got everything on except his armor, but you can feel him.

Me, writing bucket fucker material in the year of 2025? Who is sheeeeeeeeeeeee

Open tags, let me see what you’re writing!

WIP Last Line

Rules: post the last line that you wrote and tag someone for every word in the line. (Or as many as you want)

Thank you for the tag @queen--kenobi I am veeery much intrigued of yours 😅

Here's a line for my Thorn x OC fic "Neon Lights and Satin":

For a brief moment Caja is sure he must be joking. Cause there in the small room isn’t anything more than a bed, a table and a chair.

...

"Didn’t say I'm going to sleep," Thorn answers.

No pressure tags: @saradika @twistedstitcher27 @marierg @eternal-transcience @feral-ferrule @lonewolflupe @sunshinesdaydream @freesia-writes

[bobafetts-princess]

The Mandalorian and Grogu's Pedro Pascal reunites with Grogu during Star Wars Celebration. (source)

[bobafetts-princess]

[bobafetts-princess]

Good Luck Charms

Months 13-14

Pairing: Fem!Reader/OFC (Clover) x Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: they fuuuuuuucckkkkkkkkkk, oral (fem!recieving) fingering, no condoms exist here (make good choices).

Also, major character death. Not Benny or Clover but someone dies(d) and Benny and Clover talk about it. It causes trauma for Clover so be heeded!!!!!!!!!!

A/N: I know this isn’t covering a lot of timeline, but I promise there’s a lot that happens!

Months 1-6

Months 7-12

This month brings with it a vacation. Sort of. You take an entire week off work and don’t warn anyone, except Big Nick. You’re still on desk duty and not able to do any field work, so it works out perfect.

When the guys start questioning where you are, Benny is confused. He’s surprised but also not, he knows you’re private, but he did think you’d at least warn him, especially with how close you’ve gotten the last few months. So, if you took a week off work without telling anyone, there’s a good reason for it. (Benny ignores the hurt deep in his chest that you hadn’t said anything to him)

But he’s also your partner and he wants to make sure you’re okay and there’s no emergency, so one day he takes the afternoon off and heads on over to your apartment. He hears a flurry of commotion before he knocks and his brows furrow as he hears shouts. His hand is back slightly, inching toward his gun on the chance that this is worst-case-scenario. But then the door opens and he’s floored when he comes face to face with an absolutely stunning woman who looks just like you, only 20 years older.

“Oh! Sweetheart! There’s a man here! And a handsome one, if I do say so myself,” she winks at Benny, who blushes. Benny hasn’t blushed since he was a fucking teenager.

“Mom!” He hears you shout and he can’t help the grin that crosses his face.

“Who are you, if I may ask?” Your mom has a soft accent that Benny can’t place but he has a feeling he’ll find out.

“I’m Benny, her partner,” he tells her and her eyes go wide but Benny doesn’t get the chance to clarify because an older man pops up next to her.

“Hello,” he says, holding out a hand for Benny to shake.

“Honey, this is Pooh’s ‘partner’,” she says, giving her husband big eyes.

“Oh, well, it’s very nice to meet you. I didn’t realize that she was seeing anyone out here in LA,” he says, giving Benny a skeptical look that has him almost grinning.

“Oh my god, you two are insane. He’s my work partner, we’re working the same case,” you fly out of your kitchen, pushing between your parents and staring Benny down. “Why’re you here, Ben?”

“You took the whole week off and didn’t tell anyone why. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, pointedly. (That stupid hurt is back in his chest as he says it out loud) Your track record hasn’t great so far (you’d been shot twice), so he had a fair reason to be concerned.

“Oh, well come in! We’re just getting ready to have lunch!” Your mom says, grabbing him by the forearm and yanking him inside the apartment. He sees you drop your face in your hands and he desperately tries to rack his brain to figure out a way out of this. It’s not what he expected and he wasn’t prepared to meet your family and you look frustrated.

“No, no. I’m okay. I already ate and I was just getting ready to head back to the office. I only stopped by to make sure everything was okay,” he splutters, holding his hands up.

“I know you haven’t eaten this morning, shut up,” you snap, “my brother is a professional chef and he’s making steak sandwiches and homemade fries. Come eat,” you tell him and he nods before he follows you into the kitchen.

“Pooh Bear,” your mom calls from down the hallway and Benny has to suppress a chuckle as you head towards her voice. Pooh Bear? Oh, he definitely needs the story behind that one.

Your dad introduces him to your brother, who’s standing at your stove and basting steak in a skillet. He’s tall but he doesn’t carry the same presence in a room that you and your mother do. When the two of you are in a room, the energy revolves around you. Your dad, John, makes small talk with him as your brother, Tom, cooks and plates sandwiches. Tom calls for you and your mother, Kara, eventually and Benny watches as you make your way down the hallway. God, you are so gorgeous and he’s so enthralled with you that he doesn’t notice your dad and your brother sharing a look with one another.

“How long have the two of you been working together, Benny?” Kara asks.

“A little over a year,” he responds, keeping his answer short because he wasn’t sure how much your parents knew about your job.

“So you started working with our Pooh Bear right after she moved here!” Kara says and you groan.

“Mom, you have to stop calling me that. I’m a grown woman who works for the FBI,” you complain and Benny can’t help but ask.

“Where did the nickname come from?” He’s rewarded with a pleasant laugh from your mom that trails off in a way that makes his chest hurt.

“Her sister,” Benny’s eyes dart to you because while you’ve never mentioned a sister, he knows there is one. “Her name was Winnie. Winnie and Pooh,” the room quiets and Benny’s brain latches onto the use of was and everything clicks. “They were identical twins, you see, Pooh Bear was older by 3 minutes. When they were about 1, they became obsessed with Winnie the Pooh and demanded to watch it all the time. So the nickname was born and even after we lost Winnie, it stuck.” Kara’s voice is full of emotion and John reaches over and places his hand on hers, giving his wife support.

“It feels like a way to honor her,” John finishes.

“I’m sorry,” Benny says, “I didn’t know.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, honey. Pooh is a private girl and I’m not surprised she didn’t tell you,” Kara smiles at him and he can’t help but smile back.

“Tom! What did you make?!” Your voice is loud and fake and Benny feels so much guilt.

“Pooh Bear. The therapist said it’s good for us to talk about her,” Kara says, gently.

“Mom,” your voice is sharp as you address her.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Kara says but she’s soft with you. “We all miss her,” you stand as she speaks and shove back your plate, taking off down the hall. Your mom moves to follow you but your dad stops her, giving her a look.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Benny offers and he’s not sure he can help but he wants to at least apologize. You’re standing in your room, in front of a picture he’s noticed before. It’s a picture from Halloween, you and Winnie, he now knows, look to be about 4 and Tom looks less than 3 months old. You and Winnie are in matching Winnie the Pooh costumes and Tom is in an Eeyore onesie. Kara is dressed as Tigger and John is Piglet and he notices your shoulders are shaking. “I’m sorry,” he says, brushing his shoulder up against you. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known,” you can only nod and he sees the tears streaming down your face. The guilt and the sympathy hit him and before he can regret it, he’s pulling you into his arms. You break out into a sob, pressing your face into his shirt and god he’d give anything to take this pain away. Benny lets you cry and cry, never letting go.

“She was abducted from school, the week before we were supposed to graduate high school,” you start after you’ve calmed down. “A guy cornered her as she was walking to her car and shoved a gun in her back and told her to get in his car or he’d kill her. I had softball practice and she’d been passing out caps and gowns to other seniors so she was alone when she left the school.” Benny nods, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down your back. “He drove her across state lines and killed her when she tried to escape. The FBI found her the day before we were supposed to get our diplomas,” your fingers are tight in his shirt and he can’t help but press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “They said he’d been stalking her for weeks after she smiled at him at a gas station when he held a door open for her,” another sob breaks loose from your chest. “Why did she have to be so goddamned nice to everyone?” Bennys chest thumps with pain as he thinks about how much your family has been through. “I’m mad at her. I’m mad at him. I’m mad at me for being mad at her. It wasn’t her fault,” you say, voice cracking.

“I’m so sorry,” Benny says and he is. He’s so sorry you had to deal with that, he’s sorry your parents had to go through that. He wishes he could take away your families pain and give it to people who deserve it. He remembers this case, it made national news after all the local channels in South Carolina had run the story. It happened right after he’d been promoted to detective with a smaller precinct, he’d only been 22 at the time. He couldn’t imagine going through a major loss like that at an even younger age. He never made the connection that Winnie and his Clover were related, he was sure that his coworkers hadn’t either. The family had chosen to speak only through representatives in order to prevent their other children being recognized. Benny had always thought it was a noble thing for them to do, worrying about the future of their other children whilst dealing with such a great tragedy.

“She was going to LSU on a soccer scholarship,” you tell him, your voice taking on a tone of pride. “She was leaving to go to a camp with the U20 national team after we graduated. She had a real shot at making the squad,” you say. “It would’ve been the longest we’d ever been apart. Now we’re apart forever,” your tone turns bitter as you drop your face into his chest.

“Pooh?” Your mom’s voice comes down the hallway and you scramble to wipe your face.

“I’m fine, mom, I-we’ll be out in a second,” you tell her and Benny prays she listens and heads back down the hallway. Your mom is silent for a moment but then you both hear her footsteps shuffle back down the hallway. “I’m sorry,” you say and you shush him when he starts to protest. “I should’ve told you I was taking time off, I just didn’t want the guys to ask questions. Mom and dad are insistent on talking about Winnie because their therapist told them it’s healthy but some days I just can’t handle it.” You look up at him while you speak, his arms still wrapped around you and your hands are still curled into his shirt. “I didn’t want them showing up at my apartment trying to be funny and then have to repeat that story over and over so I thought it would be easier to just do it secretly.”

Benny nods, he understands. He knows that even telling him was hard for you and he is thankful that you trust him enough to do that. “Thank you for listening,” you say, reaching up to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. Bennys heart races as you press against him and he feels the softness of your lips press against the stubble of his beard. It’s a quick kiss but when you lean back and look him in the eyes, he can see the desire for more. It takes only a half a second for you to pull his face down to yours, sealing your mouths together and Jesus, Benny has dreamed about this for months. But you’re vulnerable and your parents are in the next room and your brother made lunch but then your tongue swipes across his bottom lip and your breasts are pressing against him and he can’t think. He opens to you, allowing your tongue to tangle with his and his hand slides up to cup the back of your head. His other hand clutches at your waist and your hands come up to circle around the back of his neck.

But he has to pull away. God, he doesn’t want to. More than anything in the world he doesn’t want to, but you two cannot do this right now. “Clover,” he says, pulling back, and you drop your face to his chest. “It’s not that I don’t want to, because I really fuckin’ want to. But this isn’t the time,” he says and you nod.

“I know,” you say, “I want to, but my parents. And the trauma,” you chuckle a little and he smiles.

“C’mon,” he says, tangling your fingers together. “Let’s go eat,” and he leads you down the hallway, back to your family.

“You know,” Tom says, “my food is better when it’s warm,” clearly put out and Benny can’t help but chuckle.

“Shut up. It’s going to be delicious even if it’s cold,” you snipe and Benny loves this side of you. It’s how you treat the guys and he finds you so funny. Kara starts to talk but you shush her. “Mommy,” and Benny loves that you call her mommy, not just mom. It feels genuine and like you never outgrew the child-like love and adoration of your mom. “I love you. I’m glad you’re here, but I’m not in the mood to talk about Winnie right now. I miss her so badly some days that it feels like I can’t get out of bed.” Kara reaches over and grabs the hand that Benny isn’t holding, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m glad we can talk about her but I just…. I can’t right now,” you say and Kara nods. “Benny knows the basics and I talked about her more today than I have in almost 2 years. I miss her so much”, you say and a soft silence falls over the group and Benny isn’t sure how to excuse himself and let your family be together but then Tom clears his throat.

“I thought you two said you were just work partners,” he says, pointedly eying your hands that are clasped together.

“We are just work partners. Sometimes work partners hold hands when they talk about something that makes one of the work partners cry,” you say all matter-of-fact.

“I’ve never held hands with one of my work partners,” Tom grumbles.

“That’s because you’re a chef and you’re all emotionally stunted,” and Benny snorts as you take a big bite of your sandwich. Regardless though, you release Benny’s hand so he can eat too.

“So how long are you guys in town?” He asks and everyone launches into their plans and what they want to do while they’re here and when they go home and Benny listens intently, eating the best steak sandwich he’s ever had.

—————————

“So Benny,” Kara asks after he’d cleaned up all the dishes and let your family be together for a while. “How long have you lived in LA?”

“Born and raised, ma’am,” he says, drying his hands on a dish towel and throwing it over his shoulder.

“So you’re very familiar with the city?” She asks and Benny nods, explaining that he’s about as familiar with the city as someone can be.

“Do you have any PTO saved up?”

“Weeks worth.”

“Mom! No! We are not making Benny take time off work to drive us around the city!”

So, that’s how Benny ended up taking four days off to drive you and your family around the city, visiting all the big tourist sites. The group chat loses their absolute minds about your dual PTO, of course.

Zapata: Borracho and Clover, sitting in a tree.

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Clover: ……

Henderson: First comes cases, then comes marriage!

Benny: wtf is happening

Connors: then comes baby Borracho with a detective badge!

Of course, they don’t know it, but you’re standing in line with your parents and Benny at Disneyland wearing a pair of Mickey Mouse ears when you both get the texts. And of course you deny deny deny.

Clover: that doesn’t even rhyme

Clover: also, what are you talking about?

Big Nick: you mean to tell us that the two of you took paid time off during the same week by COINCIDENCE?

And you have to admit that it does sound fishy as hell.

Clover: I’m not even in the state?

Benny: my dad had surgery, I’m helping him and mom right now

Zapata: you two are full of shit

Clover: don’t push your hopes and dreams onto me. I know you all want to date Borracho.

You wince when you send the text because you never call him that, you know how much he hates it but the situation calls for it.

“Sorry,” you say when he reads the text but he shrugs you off.

“It’s no big deal. Just…not all the time?” And you smile at him when another barrage of texts come through.

Big Nick: I don’t believe you.

Henderson: Borracho is a catch, Clover, and you would be LUCKY to date him!

Connors: you mean to tell me you wouldn’t date such a fine specimen??

Zapata: how dare you. Borracho, man, I’m sorry she’s insulting you like this.

The two of you laugh aloud at the last one and your family exchanges a glance.

Benny: how do I leave a text group?

Zapata: INSULTS ALL AROUND

Big Nick: this is giving me a headache

Connors: Borracho I’ll date you if Clover won’t

Clover: byeeeeeeeeeeee I have important things to do!!!

But you’re both idiots and forgot that you turned on your location for the group one time and never turned it back off again. So when Zapata gets nosy, he checks both your locations and sends a screenshot to the two of you. You’re on ride when it comes through and don’t see it right away but when you do? Panic from the both of you.

Zapata: *screenshot* out of state, huh Clover? I’m pretty sure out of state is Disney WORLD not Disney LAND. Benny, I know your dad is in perfect health. That guy never gets sick.

Clover: don’t tell anyone please.

Benny: Z, don’t be a dick.

Zapata: What’s your story then?

Clover: my family is in town and Benny is driving us to all the tourist sights. It’s nothing crazy, I just didn’t want to be harassed about y’all meeting my family

Zapata: I won’t say anything but you idiots should turn off your locations before someone else gets smart.

Zapata: we wouldn’t have harassed you but I understand. See y’all Monday

Benny: thanks man

You both turn your locations off immediately, before anyone else realizes they might be able to look at them and enjoy the rest of your day with your family.

——————

Year 2 Month 2

Your family has finally headed home and while you were happy to see them, you’re also happy when they leave. They’re….a lot. And they insisted on Benny going absolutely everywhere with you while they were here and you know he needs a break too. Tom only got one week off but your parents decided to stay for two. Which means you haven’t worked for almost two weeks. And you haven’t seen Benny for three days. He had to get back to work, he didn’t have a choice. Someone had to work this case.

The guys have been suspiciously silent in the group chat but you know they’re razzing Benny to hell and back in the bullpen.

You’ve just finished cleaning and putting the guest room back together when a knock sounds at your door and you groan, you’re not sure you can handle any of the guys or a traveling salesman or whatever the other side of the door holds for you. But when you open the door it’s Benny, holding a pizza, wings, a bottle of your favorite wine, and a six pack for himself.

“I thought you might need food and wine to relax,” he says, almost sheepishly.

“God, I appreciate you,” you say, taking the food from him and to your kitchen. He follows you inside, shutting and locking the door before kicking his shoes off. He brings the wine and beer to the fridge and sets it inside. A prickle runs down your spine as you think about him pressing you up against the counter and skimming his lips along your neck. Unfortunately, he doesn’t do that, but he does pull up Netflix on your TV and get your show queued up. You make him a plate and he heads into the kitchen and pops the cork on the wine for you and it’s so disgustingly domestic that you almost want to tell him to leave so you don’t have to deal with the feelings in your chest. He pops the top on a beer, pours you a glass of wine, and follows you into the living room where he sits directly next to you on the couch. You lean against him, taking the wine glass from his hand and putting a plate of food there instead.

“Tired?” He asks and chuckles when you nod. “My family is the same way. They always mean well but sometimes it can be….a lot.”

“I love them so much but my mom doesn’t know when to press the off switch. She wanted all three of us to get up at 6 AM every day and go for a hike. Then spend a few hours driving the coast. Then go to tourist sights. She tried to convince me to go see Madonna’s house at least three times,” you sigh and Benny can’t help but chuckle.

The two of you fall into an easy silence, eating and drinking and watching your show on Netflix. Benny gets up and refills your wine glass twice and your plate once. When you’re done eating and you only have a wineglass in hand, you tuck up next to Benny. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently drawing patterns on your arm.

After the third glass of wine, you fall asleep against his chest, only waking when he takes you to bed. He tucks you underneath the covers and moves to leave but you reach out and stop him.

“Stay. Please,” you whisper and he hesitates before he nods. He strips out of his flannel before he slides under the covers with you in his jeans and white t-shirt. “I know you sleep almost naked, Benny,” you point out, exasperated. The group texts finally come in handy.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says stiffly.

“It will make me more uncomfortable if I know that you’re uncomfortable. I’ll be up all night worrying about whether you’re sleeping okay. So please, get comfortable so we can go to sleep.” Benny can hear the exhaustion in your voice, so he wriggles out of his jeans and sits up to strip himself of his t-shirt and lays on his back. You’re still next to him and he wonders if you’ve fallen asleep until you sigh, annoyed, and back your body up against his. You hold out a hand behind you and Benny, confused, puts his hand in yours. You yank on him, pulling him to his side so that he’s essentially spooning you and you tuck the hand he was holding against your stomach. “Better,” you say, more to yourself than to him. “I run cold. I need extra heat when I sleep,” you tell him as an explanation, your words punctuated by yawns.

Once you stop shifting, Benny does his best to relax. He doesn’t press against you for fear of awakening his libido but he’s trying not to be tense either. Only until he hears you softly snoring does he fully relax and allow himself to enjoy the feel of you in his arms. It doesn’t take him long to settle down and fall asleep and when he finally does it’s still and dreamless.

You wake first, still wrapped in Benny’s arms and are not at all surprised to feel him hard against your back. In fact, you were hoping he’d wake up just like that. Hard and ready and pressed against you. You shift a little, trying to subtly wake him up and it works. You hear him take a deep breath and then his hips thrust, just a touch, before he comes back to himself and stops. There’s a small groan from him and you can feel how much he’s restraining himself from grinding against you.

“I need to get up,” he whispers, his naturally deep voice all kinds of raspy first thing in the morning. He says it but he makes no motion to follow through, so you press back on him and hear him groan. “I really need to get up,” he tells you, fingers flexing from where they rest on your stomach.

“I think you should stay here in bed with me,” you tell him, pulling his hand up your body to cup at your breast. He does, rubbing a thumb over your nipple.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks. “I don’t want you to regret this.”

“I could never regret anything I do with you, Benny.” And you’re being honest, the difference between from when you first met to now would’ve been almost impossible to imagine. You may have always found him attractive but to have him in your bed? Unfathomable 6 months ago.

He shifts you, rolling you on your back and pressing his lips against yours. His hand slips under your shirt, rolling your nipple between his fingers as you open for him. Your legs spread at the same time as your lips do, and Benny takes the opportunity to slip between both. His tongue tangles with yours and even with morning breath, he tastes delicious. He tastes husky and heady and something so wonderfully male. His hips press against your own, and you grind down on him, desperate to feel him.

His cock presses up against your clit and you gasp, pulling back from him enough that he trails his lips down your neck. His hands move to push your shirt up and over your breasts and his mouth continues south as he wraps those perfect lips around a nipple. His big hands find your waist as his tongue flicks your nipple and make you cry out.

“I want you,” he grunts into your skin, thrusting his cock against you, hitting your clit as he does. “I’ve wanted you for ages,” he admits. He’s trailing kisses along your ribs, kissing the side you got shot with reverence and taking a mental tally of all the other scars so he can ask you about them later. “Since that first raid,” he says, thumbs brushing the sides of your breasts. “That pretty pink button up you had on?” He asks and you nod. “I dreamt about peeling that off you and tasting your skin,” he says.

“You didn’t shave that day,” you say and he stops moving, he wasn’t expecting a response. “You had on that grey shirt? That one that’s almost too small,” you say and he chuckles. Your hands traverse his biceps, reveling in their strength.

“Here I was, thinking you didn’t notice,” he smiles, rubbing his stubble on your sternum, making goosebumps break out along your skin.

“You were all but busting out of it, of course I noticed. I may not have liked you as much but I’ve still got eyes,” you say, gasping as he takes a nipple in his mouth and that’s the end of your conversation for now. His fingers slide along your leg, pressing into you and it makes you cry out.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says in a lust-filled tone, pulling out so he can taste you. You can’t take your eyes off of him when he sticks his fingers in his mouth. You love the way his eyes roll back in his head at your taste. He presses back into you again, curling and searching for the spot that makes your brain stop working. When he finds it, your head drops back against the pillows and you let out a long moan. You let out another when you feel the warmth of his tongue against you, searching for your clit as he does his best to make you cum. “You like that, baby?” He asks, pulling back to kiss your thighs.

You nod at him, fingers flexing in the bedsheets as you struggle for control. Benny takes one of your hands and places it on his head, his eyes encouraging as you tangle your fingers through his hair, the feeling helps ground you. His tongue and his fingers work together to bring you to the edge and it doesn’t take long for you to tip over it. Your fingers grip his hair, pulling in a way that makes his eyes roll back in his head.

Benny groans as you come, the feel of you squeezing his fingers has him itching for it around his cock. He works you through it, tongue lapping at your clit until he’s sure you’re finished, then he kisses his way up your body, removing your shirt completely before he kisses you. He tastes like you, the salty, heady flavor exploding on your tongue. Benny lays across you, pressing his cock between your thighs, still covered by his boxer-briefs but it doesn’t take you long to get them off with your toes. His thick cock brushes up against you, still sensitive from your orgasm. He’s hot between your legs and there’s nothing else on earth you want right now than to have him inside of you. He grabs himself at the base, ready to press into you but he stops.

“I’m clean,” he says. “I get tested for that every month along with the drugs,” he says and you nod.

“Me too,” you tell him, feeling his head pressing into you. “I want to feel you.” And feel him you do, he’s thick and every inch he gives you is a delicious torment.

Benny goes slow, giving you time to adjust. He knows you haven’t had sex in over a year, since you moved here. His lips are everywhere as he presses into you, skimming along your jaw, shifting up to suck your earlobe into his mouth. When he bottoms out your mouth drops open and he nips at your chin before he dips his tongue into your mouth. “You good?” He asks, voice tight. If you weren’t otherwise occupied, you’d notice how taut his neck was, how hard he was working to hold himself back.

“Fuck,” you grunt, wrapping a leg around his back. “Benny, you’re so big,” you tell him and he huffs a laugh in your ear.

“Keep sayin’ shit like that and I might get a big head.”

“It’s true. I feel like you’re in my throat,” you groan, trying to shift and get some friction between your bodies. Benny groans too, the image of him being in your throat plays in his brain. His hips start to move and Benny relishes the small gasp you release every time he thrusts forwards. He’s never had complaints before but he’s not gotten a lot of compliments either. He usually hooks up with women whose name he doesn’t remember or doesn’t need to know. It’s not personal, there’s not a lot of talking or kissing. This is the most personal sex he’s had in a long time and he finds that he’s getting ready to blow before this even truly starts. He changes his motions to giving you deep strokes, at least as deep as he can get with every inch of your bodies pressed together. He’s got his elbows braced on either side of your body, chests pressed together and you feel so good that he drops his head into your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan in his ear and your hot breath on his skin makes goosebumps erupt along his back. He deals you a particularly sharp thrust that makes you whimper and the sound shoots straight to his groin.

“Keep makin’ those noises in my ear and this won’t last, mamí,” he tells you but you don’t care. You’re so keyed up right now and it won’t take you long to finish again. Benny must’ve felt it because he slips a hand between your bodies and strokes your clit. Once, twice, three times and you break, breathing heavily in his ear and punctuating it with a moan. “Shit,” he grunts, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Come inside me, I want it,” you tell him, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck as you whisper in his ear. Your tongue flicks his earlobe before you nibble slightly and that’s all Benny needed. He presses all the way inside, groaning your name as he cums. The two of you stay like that for several moments, nearly a minute he thinks, before you start to disentangle. Your leg slides down and he lifts up on his hands, pressing a kiss to your lips, your collarbone, your sternum.

You didn’t take the time to appreciate him earlier and now you’re glad you have the chance. He’s built, thick muscle layered underneath a soft padding. His biceps are huge and so are his shoulders, strong and solid. He glances down at where your bodies are connected, sucking in a sharp breath as he pulls out.

“Shit,” he says, drawing out the “I” and then he stops. “We should’ve used a condom,” he says and you can see the barely concealed panic in his eyes.

“I’m on birth control,” you tell him, feeling his cum leak from you. He nods, his features relaxing before he pads to the bathroom and you take the moment to admire his back as he walks. He comes back with a washcloth, slightly damp with warm water and he cleans you up with gentle hands. After he’s done, he crawls back into bed with you, curling his body around yours.

“That was even better than I imagined it would be,” he whispers in your ear, his stubble rubbing against your shoulder.

“You imagined this?” You say, flushing.

“Hell ya, mamí. Every night for the last 6 months,” he tells you.

“Me too,” you admit. The two of you lay like that for hours, curled up against one another and it’s not until the morning light begins to overwhelm your bedroom do you get up. Benny makes breakfast and you dip out for coffee and you eat in calm, companionable silence.

“I don’t want the guys to know about this,” he says, taking your plates and cleaning up. You roll your eyes at him.

“Obviously,” you tell him, smiling when he turns to give you a look.

“I’ll have to take you on dates out of the city,” he murmurs to himself but loud enough that you can hear.

“Dates?” You say over your mug of coffee, trying to hide your smile. Benny saunters towards you, grinning as he wraps himself around your back. His face dips to nuzzle in your neck as he whispers in your ear.

“Of course, you didn’t think this was a one time thing, did you? I want to do this over and over and over again,” he tells you and you twist to kiss him. He deepens it and before you know it, you’re having round two on your kitchen floor.

@darlingtulips @dizzybee03 @boomclapxox

[bobafetts-princess]

Bee Stung

Pairings: Benny Miller x Fem!Reader x Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x Will Miller

Word Count: 8.3k (I cannot even explain what happened. My fingers started moving and never stopped)

Warnings: Sex pollen. Dubcon because of sex pollen. PiV, little butt stuff, oral (fem!receiving), love bites. There’s a little boy on boy action.

Is not killing Tom a warning? He isn’t on our mission but he also isn’t dead so

A/N: This is 100% inspired by @/charnelhouse’s Bloomverse. Char is an incredible writer and I can only hope to live up to her writing standard 🙏🏼

(She also has a book out, you should definitely check it out)

“Are we all in?” Santi asks, glancing around at his brothers. Brothers in arms, brothers in life, brothers in every way but blood.

“I’m down,” Benny says, jumping at the chance to be in before Will.

“I’m in,” Will shrugs, “so long as Fish is in.” The eyes around the room glance at Fish as he contemplates.

“I’m trying to get clean, man,” he says, palms up.

“No drugs. None for us. Recon and get the fuck out,” Santi says, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. They can’t do this without Fish. Their pilot. Their way out. Fish nods before dropping his head. It’s silent for several minutes as he thinks, Pope’s breath caught in his throat. He’s about to try to plead again when Fish glances up and nods.

“I’m in.”

Santiago lets out a heavy breath. He’s got three of his four on board but his toughest test has yet to come. You.

“We can’t do this without her,” Will muses, hand on his stubbled jaw. “We need her,” and Santiago knows. He fucking knows okay?

Will is their leader, their planner. Benny is their cheerleader, he’s got their backs no matter what. Frankie is their escape. Their way out, always. Santiago is the glue that holds them all together. But you? You’re their anchor. When shit goes south and Jesus it always goes south, you hold them together. Figuratively and literally. You’re their medic, you’ve saved their lives more times than they can count. You’re also their sharp shooter. You’ve taken as many lives, if not more, than the rest of them.

Honeybee, sometimes known as Honey. Sometimes known as Bee, depending on the situation. When you’re patching up their bullet wounds or knife cuts, you’re Honey. When you’re 500 feet away and sniping an enemy, you’re Bee. When you’re sugar sweet and smiling at them as you do a shot of tequila, you’re Honey. When you’re spitting mad and cussing because they’ve done something stupid, you’re Bee. That time Benny lit your truck on fire because he ‘was curious about whether metal burned’, he got Bee and boy did Bee sting. But when Frankie needed someone to bail him out of jail because he got busted, Honey showed up without a second thought.

Santiago can’t do anything but think about that awful mission 2 years ago when everything went sideways. When they almost lost you and because of that they did end up losing you. It’s a long drive to the farm where you live now and Santi can’t stop his racing thoughts. He told the other three to follow a half hour behind him, give him time to apologize and soften up their Honeybee before they descend and ask the unthinkable.

——————

You know who it is the second you see a truck turn down your driveway. Who it is and why he’s here. Not the specifics, of course, but you know why he would show up on your doorstep nearly 2 years to the day after he last spoke to you. He steps out of the truck, as disarmingly handsome as he smiles at you.

“Hey, Honeybee,” he greets you like he last saw you a week ago and it pisses you off.

“Pope,” he used your call sign, you’ll use his. He can’t see all of you, only your shoulders and head because you’re hidden in your garden.

“How are you?” He asks like he doesn’t know. Like he hasn’t been keeping tabs on you. Of course, you have connections too and they tell you when Santiago checks up on you. When you step out from behind the tomato plants and stalks of corn, he’s almost knocked over at the sight of you. You’re as stunning as ever and Santi gulps down the sight of you.

“Fine,” you’re short with him. And he knows you have every right to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stepping towards you and stopping when you move your basket from your hip to in front of you. A clear sign for him not to get closer.

“For what, Garcia?” You prod. You both know what he’s apologizing for but he’s the one that needs to admit the wrongdoing.

“For that mission,” his head drops in shame and your eyes narrow at him.

************

2 years ago, you’d been on your final mission as Delta Force. Redfly was set to retire and be followed by Ironhead and Catfish. Benny followed his brother into everything and wanted to start his boxing career. The level of respect that was given to you by these five was hard to come by, so you retired too. Pope was the only one who couldn’t give it up. Couldn’t stop. ‘One more mission’, he’d say, every time. But this one really was the last mission as a team, a unit. One that had spent nearly every waking hour together for 10 years. (Not really, but it felt like it some days) Some, like Redfly and Ironhead, had been together longer than that.

Pope had been charged with watching your weak side, your job was to snipe their sharpshooter, make him disappear while the others take the operation down from the inside out. But Pope got distracted, eyeing something and went to investigate. While he was gone, the enemy had managed to get someone behind your lines, intending to stop you. Their footsteps were quiet and you had your eye through the sights, drowning out everything else. By the time you heard them it was too late for you to do anything except roll. The knife intended for your neck embedded in your ribs instead.

“Honeybee down,” you remembered saying through your comm, right after putting one bullet through the skull of your attacker. There was so much activity over the comms, shouts from Ironhead and curses from Redfly and Benny. Fish, unknown to you, was already on his was to your location and Pope, Pope was frozen with fear and shame and guilt. You heard his voice over the comms, taking responsibility for the situation as you tried to remember your medical training.

Keep pressure on the wound. Don’t remove the knife. Fuck. Where’s my med pack. Jesus this hurts. Damn, I missed my target. This is going to blow the entire mission.

Catfish found you first, gently removing your bloodied hand as he pulled supplies out of your med pack and bandaged you up as best as he could. Ironhead was next, whispering gentle words in your ear as you bobbed in and out of consciousness. Benny and Redfly came together, Benny cussing up a storm and demanding you stay awake as he gently cradled your face. The wound was deep and you were bleeding like a stuck pig. Which, to be fair, you kind of were. It took all of them to get you and your shit out of there without you dying, but it was close. By the time Pope arrived, you were out, your body protecting itself from the pain and blood loss.

But the thing was, you weren’t even mad at Pope because he abandoned his position. They’d all made mistakes and they’d all gotten injured before, it was part of the job. But what pissed you off was the fact that he never called. Never checked up on you himself. He did it all through the others or through your doctors when they got you to a hospital. You’d scraped by, the wound nothing but an ugly puckered scar now. The true pain lay somewhere in your chest when you thought of them. Thought of all you’d given them and they’d given you. And the fact that none of them called anymore, none of them stopped by or checked up. Even Redfly, who was always the most unattainable of the group but also the most reliable, quit contacting. And that shit hurt. You’d given them 10 years and they’d given you nothing in return. You knew life was hard, they were all learning to live without the army.

Shaking your head of the memory, you focused on the man in front of you, the one hanging his head in shame and finally speaking to you.

“I mean, what the fuck Pope?” You snapped, taking a step towards him.

“I made a mistake, I left my position,” he said and you sighed out loud.

“You’re a fucking idiot, do you honestly think that’s what I’m mad about? You’ve got a thick skull,” and his head lifts to look at you.

“You’re not mad you got hurt?”

“Fuck no, I’m not mad I got hurt!” You explode, 2 years of hurt and anger flying to the surface. “I’m pissed because you never checked up on me. When I got medically discharged, everyone but you was there. No letters no phone calls, no get-well flowers, just silence,” the rage in your bones is making the scar on your ribs twinge and you subconsciously rub the skin there. Santi winces as he watches you, taking the tongue lashing he deserves. “Don’t you remember that time I missed a shot and alerted an enemy to Fish? He almost died because I fucked up and Fish forgave me without a second thought. I didn’t even have to forgive you for making a mistake, Santi, because it happens to the best of us. I’m not ready to forgive you for choosing to shut me out the next 2 years.”

“I’m sorry,” he says once there’s been several beats of silence between you. “I was so embarrassed and ashamed. Redfly ripped me apart for making that mistake and I couldn’t handle the guilt of knowing I was the reason that you nearly died. I-,” he falters for words, his palms up in defeat. “I just couldn’t handle feeling so responsible,” he nearly chokes on his words as he remembers that day, in a different light than you do.

**************

He saw a shadow, he would swear by it to this day and in fact he did when the army investigated the situation. You were so damned capable, so smart and aware, there’s no way you could get hurt if he checked it out, right? He gets there and there’s nothing but another shadow, a little further off. He follows again, gun at the ready and his senses in overdrive. He hears a pop and the shadow darts into an opening and it’s just a fucking alley cat and he thinks ‘Bee got her shot’.

But then your voice comes over the comms and its scratchy and breathy and not at all like the rich one he’s used to hearing. “Honeybee down,” and his brain explodes and his body freezes. He’s supposed to be watching your six, your back, keeping you safe. The comms explode with noise, all five men dropping their individual missions to make their way to you. He hears Redfly come over the comms demanding to know who fucked up and Santi’s hands shake as he takes responsibility. He’s closest, he should get there first but he can’t fucking make his feet move. Fish is the only one not speaking and Santi knows that he’s already on his way. Ironhead is shouting, demanding to know what the fuck happened and Benny is cussing up one side and down the other. Santi knows how he feels about you but in that moment he knows how the others feel about you too. Well, except for Redfly. He’s married and sees you like his baby sister, but the other four? They see you as something more.

Catfish comes over the comms and confirms that he’s got you but you’re in a bad way. Your attacker got you with a knife and didn’t hold back. You’ve done a damn good job of keeping pressure on and Santi feels a rush of pride that you’re so good at your job that you’re saving your own life. A feeling that is immediately followed by guilt as he remembers that it’s his fault. Ironhead is next in and Santi would never tell him this but when he leans over you, he presses your comm and broadcasts what he’s saying.

“Come on my sweet girl, stay with me. Let me see those beautiful eyes, that’s it. Look at me. Stay with me. Please,” he’s pleading and then here comes Benny’s voice.

“Honeybee, you’d better fucking be awake. You’d better fucking stay with me, goddamnit. We’ve done too much for this to be the thing that takes you out. You’re fucking tougher than that knife,” and the longer Benny talks, the more desperate his voice gets and that’s finally what gets Pope’s feet moving. He gets there as they’re putting you on a makeshift stretcher and his gut twists as he looks at you, unconscious with your breath rattling in your chest. They told him later that you had a punctured lung that nearly collapsed and you’d lost a significant amount of blood and he donated so much he almost passed out. Santi shakes the memory away, bringing himself back to the present as he looks at you.

“I’m so sorry,” he says and this time he uses your name. The way his tongue curls around it makes something go hot in your bones and you nod at him. He’s not truly forgiven but you also know Santi and know how responsible he feels. Anything that will make him feel something that deeply needs to be pushed down or it might overtake him.

“Your apology isn’t quite accepted but you’re moving in the right direction,” you smile at him and it’s disarming. He hasn’t see that smile in too long and it nearly knocks him over. He takes a step toward you but then a noise distracts him. Before he can get to you, wrap you up in a hug, run his fingers over the softness of your thighs, he hears the rumble of a truck. It’s the guys, his half hour must be up.

“I knew you were up to some shit, Garcia,” but your tone isn’t one of anger, in fact, you sound almost amused. The guys get out of Frankies truck, heading to you but Benny, sweet fucking Benny, can’t contain it and he breaks out into a full run to get to you. He’s wrapping you up and you’re laughing, Benny’s hands clasped under your ass as he spins you in a circle. Will is next, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug before he cups your jaw and takes a moment just to look at you. Frankie is next, burying his face in your neck as he inhales your scent, holding on just a beat longer than the others. You look at them, your boys, and catalog how they look.

Santiago has more gray in his hair than you’ve ever seen, his beard speckled with grey as well. He got his call sign early in his time with DF when one of his informants told Redfly that he fucked so good she saw God every time he came around. He’s got wrinkles by his eyes and he’s so undeniably handsome.

Catfish, who got his call sign because he refused to shave and Redfly said that he looked like he had catfish whiskers under his nose, has put on weight. It looks good on him, the way his shirt stretches just a little bit around his midsection. His hair has gotten long, curling around the edges of his hat as he smiles at you and it makes your heart thump.

Will, who got his name Ironhead from actually getting shot in the head. A bullet ricocheted off a piece of metal and lodged itself in the back of his skull and if he gets really drunk he’ll let you touch it. He’s still fucking stacked, you can see his muscles under that little polo he’s wearing. He’s golden, the golden boy of Delta Force, their face if they needed one. His facial hair is longer than he used to keep it and it makes your chest ache.

Then there’s Benny, who followed his big brother into everything in life. He’s grinning at you like you hung the sun and maybe for Benny, you did. Benny had a call sign once upon a time, he was Baby Miller until he got hammered once and admitted to you that he hates it. You made everyone stop using it after that, sticking with only Benny and even though he’s never thanked you outright, you know he appreciated it. His hair has gotten long too, you can see it when he moves his cap to run his fingers through it.

They’re all so devastatingly handsome and you have to do something to distract yourself. “No Redfly?” Tom got his call sign because he was like a fly on the wall. He seemed to always know what the enemy was doing and how to handle it.

“Nah,” Will says, scratching a hand across his jaw in a way that’s so familiar that it makes your chest ache. “He had that back surgery last year to repair a disk and it didn’t fix the problem. He has to have another one in a few weeks. He sends his best though.” Tom was the only one you’d kept up with, until the last six months or so, he was a good man who has had some bad breaks. A soft silence settles over the five of you and while you don’t mind it, there’s an elephant in the room.

“Why are all of you on my farm?” You ask, eyes flicking between them. Benny and Will share a glance and Frankie’s eyes narrow at Santi. “What are you not telling me? I know y’all didn’t show up after all this time just to look at me like I’m a ghost.”

Santi swallows, “there’s a mission…” you knew that, you just wanted him to admit it. So you cut him off with a raise of your hand and start dishing directions. You may not lead them into a mission, but this is your home and you give the orders here.

“Pope, grab my basket please. I’ve got some steaks we can grill tonight. I made fresh bread this morning and I just picked tomatoes and basil, so I’ll make the bruschetta if someone can cook the steaks,” you tell them and almost laugh at the way they jump into action. “You can tell me about this mission over cocktails,” you say, heading up to your house, “which I’m not making.”

It’s so easy, you notice, to fall into a rhythm with them. Will grills and Santi tells him everything he’s doing wrong. Frankie washes all the vegetables you harvested and Benny makes sure that everyone’s drink is always full. You eat on your patio, everything but the steaks from your farm, and the boys are sure to compliment you on it. You spend the evening catching up on everything you’ve missed as a group and once everyone has a full stomach, you give Santi a pointed look. He explains everything and you listen intently, throwing a leg over the arm of your chair and letting your red toes dangle. “Can we do this without Redfly?” You ask and Santi nods.

“We don’t have a choice. He wouldn’t miss this unless he absolutely had to,” Will says and the group nods at you.

“Who runs point?”

“Ironhead,” Santi confirms what you already knew. It makes sense, he was Tom’s second hand and watched the way he worked more closely than the rest of you.

“And you’re all in?” You ask, looking each man in the face and wait for them to confirm. A soft hand lands on your ankle before it moves up and wraps around your calf. It’s Will’s and you breakout in goosebumps at the feeling of his warmth on your skin.

“We can’t do this without you, Honeybee,” He says and the other three murmur their agreement.

“I’m in,” you say and Santiago breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m also not cleaning up,” you tell them, gesturing to the food on the table. I’m going to sit here and watch you four do it,” and as you watch them, you can’t help the thoughts that sprint through your mind. Wondering what it would be like to have them all here with you, in this house. How fucking soft and domestic it would be. An image flashes in your brain at them in your bed and you quickly shake it away. You’re heading out on a mission where there’s a real chance you won’t all come back, you cannot get distracted.

The five of you chat and hang out, drinking until well-past dark and you’re the first to call it quits and head to bed. You’ve barely gotten to sleep when your bed dips and you know who it is without opening your eyes.

“Benny,” you whisper as he curls around you, just like old times. Benny runs warm and the two of you always ended up together on nights you had to cold camp.

“Couldn’t be in the same place without some tactile cuddles,” he says and you open your eyes just to roll them.

“We don’t need to snuggle for warmth in my house, Ben,” you say and he shrugs.

“I’m already here, might as well stay.”

You both drift off, Benny snoring softly in your ear, but before you get into a deep sleep the bed dips again. “Can I join?” Frankie’s voice rasps, his hot breath fanning across your face and you nod, keeping your eyes closed. He kisses your cheek and then flops down, making Benny grunt and hold you tighter. You reach out to Frankie and he takes your hand, curling your fingers in between his and he’s out in seconds.

A little while later you hear the door open but you’re so damned tired that you don’t even look up. A pair of soft lips press against your temple, Will’s, and he whispers a ‘good night, Princess’ before you hear the couch in your bedroom strain as he drops his weight on it. Another pair of lips press against your cheek moments later, the stubble rubbing gently against your skin and Pope is the only one it could be. The rocking chair that sits beside the couch creaks gently when he sits in it. You wait until you hear the soft breathing of all four of them then you relax completely and drift back off into your own sleep.

——————-

Pope, leave it to fucking Pope, lied about this mission. It was initially recon, like he said, but it quickly morphed into something else. Instead of passing intel over to the national government, Santi said to just use the intel yourselves and kill the bastard in charge. “We would never have to work again,” he pleaded. “Lorea is ruining this country and no one will question why he’s dead. We can have money and this country can have freedom.”

So, here you are, strapped down with guns and your med pack, stalking through the house looking for this guy. He wasn’t where Santi thought he should be, so you offered to sweep the house while they loaded the money. You’re the quickest shot anyways. Turning a corner you see movement, and slow your steps, lifting your gun. You and Lorea catch sight of each other at the same time, but you already have your weapon ready while he has to reach for his. It takes one shot and you communicate that over the comms. You move towards him, grabbing the plastic ball on the table next to where he was and inspect it. It’s not a bomb, too flimsy, but there’s definitely something inside it. When you gently squeeze it, it explodes in your face and you scream.

Santi’s stomach drops when he hears that scream, it’s one he’s never heard from you before. Not when you’ve been shot or stabbed. Not that time Benny threw you in the pool fully clothed or that time Fish scared you so bad you peed yourself. It’s gut-wrenching and they all drop what they’re doing to run to you. Benny reaches you first, skidding across the floor on his knees as he grabs your face and you can see the panic in his eyes. You’re covered in white powder that smells sickly sweet, like the scent of dying lilies. “Fuck, Honey, talk to me. Are you okay?” The powder burns your sinuses and makes you go cross-eyed as you try to spit and snort it out. The extra hangs in the air and settles on the skin and in hair as Benny tries to wipe everything off your face.

“Load up, time to go,” Will says, sniffing the air and Benny is already on it. He’s got you hauled over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and Frankie is so worried, his brain so focused on you, that he doesn’t notice another ball on the floor. He steps on it and it explodes, launching more of whatever it is into the air. It settles in the air as they load up, leaving a sick scent and haze in the air.

They’ve all got white powder in their hair, on their clothes, tracked in the treads of their boots. They don’t know what it is or how anyone is going to react to it and all Santi can think about is how they’re probably going to have to burn their clothes. Will can’t stop checking behind him, Benny’s face wrenched up as he tries to cough it out of his lungs. You’re choking on it, trying to get it out of your mouth and your nose and your eyes and you can’t concentrate on anything except the fucking scent.

“Safe house, we have to get to the safe house,” Santi is saying as they get to the van and Will and Benny are tending to you. Frankie is driving, trying to remain calm and rational as Santi gives directions and not glance back at you every two minutes to make sure you’re okay. A burn starts low in your belly as you try to focus on Will, his blue eyes and golden hair filling your vision. You get a flash of what you think those blue eyes would look like in between your thighs and have to shake it away. He hands you a water bottle and you dump it over your head, keeping your eyes open so you can wash the substance out. You feel better, but the substance fucking reeks. Benny is there next to Will, raking fingers through his long hair as he panics. He’s rambling, he tends to do that when he’s scared or nervous and it takes everything in Santi not to tell him to shut the fuck up.

“That’s why you’re not the team medic, Ben,” you say with a laugh and it seems to calm them all down. “No good under the pressure of a medical emergency,” you tell him, smiling, and Benny exhales deeply. It can’t be that bad if you’re cracking jokes and poking fun at him. “How long to the safe house, I want to wash this all off,” you say but as you finish you get a hot flash. Without thinking you start to strip yourself of all your tac gear and get some air. The burn starts to take over your body, the flush creeping up your neck and when Frankie calls your name from the drivers seat all you can think about is how husky it might sound when he cums.

“What’s going on?” Will asks, taking your vest as you get it undone. Your sweatshirt is next, followed by your long-sleeve.

“I’m so hot,” you tell him, that burn intensifying as you take a deep breath. Everyone begins their descent into panic again with every layer you strip off. You’re down to tac pants and a tank and Will can see your pebbled nipples through the material.

“Pope, any idea what the fuck that powder was?” Will asks, fear lacing his voice. He’s never seen you like this, you’re always in control. But Santi shakes his head.

“Nothing I’ve seen before. How do you feel, Bee?” But you can’t answer. You’re looking at all of them and contemplating the repercussions of your next action. You’re slowly losing your grip so you need to make your mind up and quick. You want them, all of them, and damn everyone who might not understand.

“William,” you purr in a voice that sounds so unlike your natural that Ironhead whips his head back to you.

“Pope,” his voice is full of worry as he watches your pupils dilate and your face flush. “I need some answers,” but then you’re pressing up against him and his voice falters. You settle over his lap, rubbing your face against his neck like a cat. You call his name again, your voice husky and needy and he’s really panicking now. His hands are in the air, away from you and god he wishes they weren’t. He wants to settle them on your hips, press you down on himself but he doesn’t think that’s the right choice.

“Captain,” you purr again, and he’s so scared but he gets a hard flash of lust too. But he’s scared about what will happen if he gives into desire, scared about what that powder was. Scared for you. But he’s taken too long to make his decision and you’re off and moving to your next target.

“Benjamin,” you say in that same sultry tone and his eyes are wide and nervous. You straddle him and his hands come up instinctively around your back, cradling your head as you run your tongue along the column of his throat.

“Fuck-“ he stutters, jerking his hips upwards. “Pope, what the fuck is happening?”

“I-goddamnit. It’s a rumor down here! I didn’t think it was real!” He shouts, and Frankie is driving faster now, unable to keep his eyes off the scene in the back of the truck but needing to keep them on the road. “There were rumors that some of the drug lords were making an aphrodisiac powder, you could snort it like cocaine. I didn’t think it was real! We’ve never encountered anything like it!”

“Fuck,” Will says, they’ve been hit with an aphrodisiac powder? Who comes up with this shit? You took a face full of it so god knows how you’re going to react. He glances over and you’ve got your tongue shoved down Benny’s throat, making these hot little whines as you grind down on him. “We have to get to the safe house, now.” Benny took a good bit of it too as he attempted to clean you up, and Frankie stepped on the other one and shot more in the air.

“We’re here,” Frankie says two minutes later, his eyes starting to dilate as he pulls the truck into an underground garage. All three of them are hard as glass listening to you and Benny rut against each other. Santi and Will manage to get the truck covered up as Frankie wrestles you and Benny inside, limbs so tangled up in one another that he can’t tell who’s who but he knows he needs his hands on you. Will starts to feel the heat you were talking about and tries to tamp down the jealousy as he watches Fish and Benny sandwich you in, Benny’s hands on your ass and Fish’s on your tits. Santi takes a look at Will, in all his movie-star handsomeness, and knows this is going to change all their lives.

You feel like you’re under water and Benny’s mouth is the only thing keeping you afloat. You’re drowning in the need, the desire. But then Frankie is behind you, his soft lips on your shoulder as he tugs at your tank. You gasp as his hands find your tits, pulling and pinching and twisting at your nipples.

“Frankie, baby,” you cry out, breaking your kiss with Benny as you twist to shove your tongue down Frankie’s throat. Frankie growls, shoving at Benny, trying to make him back up and Benny snarls. “No, no fighting,” you plead and the desire starts to make your stomach cramp. “I need someone, anyone, everyone. Fuck, please,” and Benny sets you down so he can yank down your tac pants. He can’t get your shoes off, doesn’t have the concentration for that, so he spins you instead. He enters you in one thrust and you both sigh in heavy relief. Benny’s hand is on your hip and his head drops between your shoulder blades as he breaths you in. “Benny,” you plead, “Move. Please,” and he gives you exactly what you ask for, he can never refuse you. His pace is quick and you’re clenching hard around him, savoring the relief his cock is providing.

His pants in your ear sound pained as he moves inside you and his hand cups your tit, thumb and index finger pulling at your nipples. He’s speaking to you but you’re drowning in the feel of him and you don’t know what he’s saying. His hand slides up to your jaw, cupping it and twisting your head so he can shove his tongue in your mouth. Your combined breaths are heavy as your tongues tangle and you can feel Benny’s hands flexing as he reaches his end. His mouth is all over yours, his teeth nipping at your jaw and earlobe with his fingers digging slightly into your skin and you’re so close.

Just as you are about to hit your peak, a soft tongue pokes its way through your pussy and you cry out. You look down to see Frankie looking up at you, his mouth glued to your pussy, his tongue flicking your clit and timing up with Benny’s thrusts and you come. You come so hard that Benny stutters before he shoves all the way in, coating you with his come.

His head drops between your shoulder blades again and he whispers into your skin, “I love you, I love you. Loved you first, before the others,” but you can’t concentrate on that right now because Frankie has pushed him back and replaced Benny’s cock with his fingers and you can’t stand. You collapse and Frankie rolls you, slides into the opening of your thighs, catching your tac pants with his elbow and pushing them down to your ankles. There’s a ripping sound and a rational part of your brain hopes they’re still wearable after this but the non-rational part of your brain is focusing on Frankie. Then his mouth is on you and he’s got two fingers shoved inside you and you can’t think of anything else.

“Frankie!” You cry out and here’s Will, strong dependable Will, and he shoves his tongue down your throat to swallow your cries. You’re all in it now, so deep in the throes that you don’t know how you’ll find your way out but you don’t care. “Will,” you say and he looks down at you with love and adoration partnering with the lust in his eyes and you open your mouth and stick out your tongue out to convey what you want.

“You sure?” And you can’t answer, you can only nod as Frankie pushes another finger inside you and you cry out his name, spasming around his fingers. Will places his cock on your tongue and you suck him down, relishing in the sound of his groan. The cramps worsen in your belly and you can’t think, can’t speak but Will notices. “Fish. Fuck her, she needs it.” Frankie pushes up, lining himself up with you and pushes in. Even though Benny already fucked you, Frankie is a tight fit and you relish the burn as he splits you open. His mouth sucks marks on every part of your body that he can reach and you can’t concentrate on Will anymore. Which is good because he’s gone anyways but then someone is untying your boots, stripping you of your pants and you know it’s Will. Your rock. The one you can always count on. You almost smile but then Frankie sinks his teeth into the soft outer flesh of your breast and it almost sends you over the edge. Your hand comes up to twist in his hair, knocking his hat off as he pounds into you and he growls your name. Santi appears and shoves his hands between your bodies, gathering the slick from you and Benny and Frankie and rubs circles on your clit, his cock pressing up against your cheek as he shoves his tongue down Frankie’s throat. That part sends you spiraling and you cry out, coming as Frankie fucks you stupid. Santi breaks from him, bending to shove his tongue in your mouth instead. Frankie watches you both so intensely that Will worries about him, but then his brow furrows and he groans your name as he cums inside you, dropping his head to rest in the crook of your neck as he whispers in your ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he tells you and god, you really cannot unpack this right now.

Will replaces Frankie between your thighs, his beautiful blue eyes full of concern as he presses in. You sob and Will is there, “what do you need?”

“God, harder. It’s starting to hurt,” you tell him and are so thankful when he obliges. Will ruts into you, even in his lust-filled haze he’s calculated, and he brushes up against that patch of nerves with each stroke. You drag his mouth to yours, hearing the sounds of the others as they try to fuck the powder out of their system.

“Benny isn’t the only one who’s loved you,” Will breathes into the hot cup of your mouth. “He loved you first, but he’s not the only one,” and his admission makes you clench around him. God, you love them too, more than just brothers in arms. More than should be legal. “Fuck your pussy is so wet,” he groans, moving you so that you’re on your knees for him. He slides back inside you, groaning about how fucking hot and tight you are for him and you bear down. The feeling of drowning only seems to intensify the longer and harder they fuck you and fuck each other, but all you can concentrate on is Will. Will, with his lists and tallies and need to keep track of everything. Will, who is making you see stars with every punch of his cock into you. Will, who is asking so sweetly if he can stick a thumb in your ass and there’s no way on this Earth that you’re going to tell him no. He does and you’re so full of William fucking Miller that you collapse to your chest, hips held up only by the hand on your waist and that fucker has the audacity to chuckle. You’re close, so close and when Frankie crawls back to you, his lips wet and swollen as he shoves a hand between your thighs to pinch your clit, you’re gone again. Will fucks you through it, Frankie talks you through it.

“That’s it baby,” he says, “come all over Ironhead’s cock. Soak him, princesa. Let him feel how good that pussy is.” Frankies words have an effect on more than just you and Will finishes, gritting his teeth and saying your name. He takes gentle fingers and runs them down your spine but his hand is knocked away by Pope’s, coming to take his turn.

“God, I’m so horny,” you whine, pressing back against the length of Pope.

“It’s the powder, sweet girl,” Will says, still hard as he presses up next to you.

“Poison, more like,” you groan as Santi presses the head of his cock against your clit. You can’t think, can’t breathe, unless someone’s, everyone’s hands are on you. Benny’s come to slide across your ass and Fish’s fingers toy with your tits. Will’s fingers slide in your puffy cunt, fucking you open while Santiago rubs his cock across your clit. You’re so overwhelmed by them, so entranced, that you don’t even realize you’re speaking to them.

“I love you. All of you. Have for years. God, I’ve dreamed of this,” you say, the head of Santi’s cock catching at your hole. You press back onto him and he hisses, his hands working around Benny’s and digging into your skin. You start your own rhythm, fucking back on Pope’s cock and from the sound of his moans, he likes it. Words drop from his lips, his fingernails digging into the soft skin of your hips.

“That’s it, princesa,” he snarls, his voice thick and husky with lust and need. “Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how bad you want it,” and god do you want it bad. They’re overwhelming you, hands and mouths everywhere as you fuck Santi. It still hurts so much, makes your nerve endings catch fire and your pussy so slick and when you say that out loud, Pope takes over. He’s so strong and he beats your pussy up with long, hard strokes. You come once with two of Benny’s fingers in your ass and then another time when Fish manages to get his face in between your thighs and lick your swollen clit. Will never leaves your side, his cock red and weeping. You try to suck at him once or twice but you can’t seem to concentrate enough to get him off. Pope has stamina and it feels like it’ll never end and right now you’re glad for it.

After what feels like hours, Pope pushes everyone back and flips you over, hitching a leg over his shoulder as he bends down to kiss you. His lips are soft but insistent against yours, his tongue dipping into your mouth as he fucks you. His hands come to rest on your ribs and his fingers touch the scar there. “I’m sorry, for everything,” he tells you, bending to kiss the spot. It’s such a touching moment in the heat and sweat and slick of the powder that it cracks your heart open. Then Pope is back at it again, moving quicker and all softness is forgotten. Santi still hasn’t come and the feel of him pounding into you sends little shocks of relief into your nervous system.

You briefly think about what that informant said and snort a laugh, which makes everyone stop. It’s the only lucid moment you’ll all have for several hours.

“The fuck are you laughing at?” Benny says, pulling his mouth off Frankie’s cock.

“Thinking about that informant. That one that told Redfly that Pope made her see God every time. I see what she’s talking about,” Santi huffs a laugh in your ear and you know you’ve inflated his ego but the longer he pounds into you, the more it makes sense.

“You’re going to make him insufferable, sweet girl,” Will says in your ear, pulling at your nipples. You gasp and clench, which makes Santi groan.

“I’m going to cum, fill up this pretty pussy with all our cum and then fuck it back out of you,” he grunts and you like the sound of that. Santi screws up his face and buries his head in your neck as he cums, pressing as deep into you as he can get. He kisses you as he comes down and then all four of them are there, taking turns capturing your lips. “I love you.” You don’t know who says it and who doesn’t, you only know that you say it a thousand times but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

It goes like this for hours, them taking turns fucking you until slowly you all come back to yourselves. Santi and Will are first, making sure to ply the rest of you with water and protein bars and MRE’s after they shower. Frankie is next and he joins their little party in the communal space, letting you and Benny work out the last of the poison. You two had it the worst, the effects are lasting. They don’t speak but they can hear the grunts and moans coming from the only bedroom in the place. Eventually, the noises stop and they wait patiently to see if they’ll start back up again.

Finally, it’s Will that speaks. “Do you think we ought to check on them?” Santi nods, getting up and grabbing water and a couple MRE’s from his pack. He comes back shortly, wrappers in his hand.

“They’re both out. Or they were, until I woke them up. They had a full bottle each and some food. I’d be shocked if they didn’t fall back asleep.”

“When she wakes up, are we going to talk about this?” Will asks.

“I don’t know,” Santi says, his face in his hands.

“I think we all told her we loved her. Fuck, she even said it back,” Frankie says. He’s not sure he said the exact words but you knew what he meant, right?

“Yeah but this is unconventional. Normal people don’t do this.”

“Since when are we normal, Ironhead?” Pope snaps, but Will isn’t offended. He knows that lashing out is Santi’s way of showing fear. “We killed people for a living. That was our job,” and Will nods. He knows. He was there. But then there’s motion down the hallway, a soft shuffling sound and you appear, Benny hot on your heels.

Will catalogues you as you come in, you look exhausted but also content. You managed to get dressed back in your tac pants and tank but you’re barefoot and braless as you pad into the room. He counts 6, no 7, hickeys on your neck and chest and he knows Fish left at least a three more on your breasts. And when you turn to grab a chair and sit he sees a bite mark on your shoulder blade that’s already purpling. He’s pretty sure that one was Santi.

“Hey,” you say softly to them, sitting in a chair backwards, your legs spread around the back of it. Benny grabs a chair and shoves it up behind you, keeping his body as close to yours as he can get. Will searches for the jealousy in his bones from earlier and is surprised but relieved when he doesn’t find any.

“Hey,” Pope replies, his hair mussed from shoving his fingers through it. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t know what it was,” and Will hears the helplessness in his voice, that feeling of being out of control. None of them are accustomed to that but at least they’ve been out of the life long enough to adjust, Santi hasn’t.

Frankie watches as Benny drags his lips across your shoulder, his hat backwards, and Frankie feels a hot shot of arousal through his spine. How the fuck is he horny right now? They just fucked for literal hours and you and Benny fucked for at least another hour after that. But he watches Benny watch all of them with hooded eyes, his arm wrapped around your waist, and Frankie wants to press you between them again. He wants to see if you make the same pretty noises that you did earlier before they lost track of everything. But then you’re speaking and he’s got to focus on your words.

“So,” you start and everyone leans forward, anticipating your next words. “That was……interesting,” Benny barks a short laugh from behind you, nosing your hairline.

“That’s a good word for it, Honeybee.”

Frankie clears his throat and four pairs of eyes slide to him. “Did anyone say….anything….they didn’t mean?” He asks, choosing his words carefully. He knows Benny and Will and Santiago all told you they loved you and he said something close, or at least he tried to. He looks pointedly at you because this whole thing hinges on you and how you feel about this. There is no them without you.

“You don’t have to give us an answer right now, sweet girl,” Will tells you, dragging a hand over his jaw. “But I don’t care how strange it may seem to other people, I’m in.”

“Me too,” Frankie says.

“I am as well,” Benny says, nosing up against your jaw, whispering an ‘I love you’ in your ear that no one else can hear.

Four pairs of eyes slide to Santiago and he drops his face in his hands and you move to go to him but Benny’s arm keeps you caged. “Let him figure it out on his own,” he whispers.

“I’m going to fuck something up,” Santi finally says after several moments of silence.

“To be fair, Garcia, I think we’re all going to fuck this up,” you say as you snort a laugh. “This won’t exactly be easy.” Santi lifts his head to look at you. “We’ve known each other so long. We’ve been through so much together. This, all of us, feels…natural?”

“Yeah, there’s so many things that could go wrong. So much we could fuck up,” Benny says. “But we all love our girl here, right?” Three other heads nod at him. “And our girl loves us, right?” And you nod your head, which is a little difficult because Benny has his cheek pressed up against yours. “Then fuck it, I don’t care what society or other people think. Let’s make this shit work.”

It makes sense, Benny’s little speech, and everyone is nodding and agreeing and you only have one thought and you huff a laugh when you think it.

“What are you laughing at this time, princesa?” Frankie asks.

“I’m so glad Redfly couldn’t make it on this mission.”

[bobafetts-princess]

‘lucy gray baird disappeared and we don’t know what happened to her’

false, she took up residence in coriolanus snow’s head and lived there rent free for the next 60+ years

[bobafetts-princess]

[bobafetts-princess]

can’t believe suzanne collins called north america “a land full of Capitols” in tbosas and set the reaping on the fourth of july and people still don’t get that the hunger games is a critique of american capitalism. how much more direct is she gonna be in sunrise on the reaping.

[bobafetts-princess]

Maysilee would have humbled Young Coriolanus so badly. I can see her insulting him in different colour ways until he cries. She would call him "cabbage breath" "Coriolanus the anus" "rich wannabe". The possibilities are endless really.

[bobafetts-princess]

some things about sunrise on the reaping/the hunger games universe i'm thinking about today

haymitch was close friends with katniss's father when they were teenagers... how many times did haymitch see her at the hob or around town and do a double take?

burdock everdeen is lenore dove baird's distant cousin, meaning katniss is connected to lucy gray's bloodline... literally snow's worst nightmare come back to haunt him, down to genetics

reaping day is on the fourth of july. idk what else to say about this one i think we're all on the same page about this

katniss wanting wiress, beetee, and mags as allies despite over half of the victor tributes wanting to pair up with her... the three victors who helped haymitch win his games

haymitch, the victor of a games with twice as many tributes, bringing two victors home as a mentor in the 74th games

despite having the most tributes and therefore the most deadly, with the least odds of survival per tribute, the 50th hunger games had the most alliances out of any other games

beetee's son being a tribute in the quell- i know we're all there already and it's been talked about endlessly but i'd like us to recall in catching fire when katniss tells the reader that the children of victors are reaped at a disproportionate amount... ampert was not the first nor was he the last. how many tributes were reaped to punish previous victors? "you tried to take away control from the capitol... look what we can take from you"

the circumstances of ampert's death: mutts that were engineered just for him, just for beetee, designed to literally strip him of anything that made him recognizable while they killed him. beetee and his family didn't even have a body to bury, just a pile of bones

we also know that at the end of sotr, beetee's wife is pregnant, but when beetee comes to district 13 in mockingjay his is alone. was his family killed in the uprising, or was yet another one of his children sent to the games as punishment for beetee's actions before and during the 2nd quarter quell?

effie was the last person haymitch saw before the games began. she came into his launch room before he went into the tube... she was the last face he saw, the last person he touched, before the games changed him forever. she was the last person to know the "old" haymitch

maysilee didn't even like the mockingjay pin- it wasn't a beloved token that had a deep meaning to generations before katniss. it meant nothing until katniss made it mean something- until madge, maysilee's niece, made it mean something

gale mocking madge for wearing an especially nice dress and trying to present herself well on reaping day, and her defending herself by saying "i want to look nice if they send me to the capital" - maysilee being scorned by haymitch for her nice clothes and her necklaces until he realizes it's her own way of rebelling against the capitol... "i am going to make you see me as human too if it kills me" (they all try to dress their best for reaping day but gale & haymitch were bothered by madge & maysilee’s clothes as a status symbol)

haymitch mentions that hattie used to tell him "fire is catching", which later became one of the slogans of the rebellion via katniss's propos with plutarch

haymitch's token being a flint striker, and katniss being the girl on fire. katniss inciting the rebellion by succeeding at the exact task at which haymitch failed- destroying the force field. she wasn’t special, she was just in the right place at the right time and got enough support

we've always seen the quarter quell as a way of snow getting back at katniss for her rebellion in the 74th games, but after sotr we know she is hardly the first victor to rebel against the capitol. beetee was already a rebel in his own right, wiress and mags were instrumental in haymitch's victory in the 50th games, we can infer from johanna's characterization as loud and outspoken and certainly less than palatable to the capital's propoganda that she may have had a less than ideal (to the capitol) history... how many victor tributes were reaped on purpose? how many of them won their games through an act of defiance that was covered up?

similary, we know plutarch's plan with katniss was similar to his plan with haymitch... but surely they weren't the only two. how many other tributes, district 12 or otherwise, did plutarch and co. try to use as weapons, simply by being victims of circumstance? how many families of rebellious tributes, whether they were victors or not, were punished, because they went along with plutarch's plan thinking they had nothing left to lose seeing as they were probably going to die anyway? so much of haymitch's games was covered up and rewritten to hide his defiance of the capitol,,, how many other games were significantly or almost entirely fabricated by the capitol because of "unruly" tributes? was any of it real?

anyway i may be reaching with some of these but suzanne collins just gave us so much to think about with sotr!!! i've seen some dissent about how some of sotr disrupts the canon of thg but i think that's entirely the point... none of what katniss knew about haymitch's games was real to begin with, it's just what was fed to her by the capitol.

don't let media literacy die friends there are too many stupid people in the world already!!! mwah