idkmanimreallysleepy

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

thinking about how husband!nanami kento is preemptively budgeting for your unborn baby (✿ ) contains. pregnancy 𓏲࣪

on the morning after your second positive test, your husband’s standing hunched over the kitchen table—he’d left bed quietly, with the soft deliberation he applied to most things in life. in front of him sits a mug of untouched coffee gone tepid. a yellow legal pad: column after column of figures in tidy script, annotated with 0.5 uni ball pen.

you hover in the doorway a moment, admiring his profile: barefoot in his slacks, hair slightly mussed. he doesn’t hear you until you shift your weight, floorboard creaking underfoot.

“seven weeks,” you say, by way of greeting.

“approximately,” his gaze drops back to the paper. “which, optimistically, gives us about seven months to account for the first year’s expenses.”

“did you know,” he murmurs, “the average cost of a child’s first year is nearly two million yen? that doesn’t include school fees. or medical insurance. or college tuition.”

you step closer, skimming the columns. food, childcare, emergency savings, medical contingencies. even a line labeled ‘adjusted parental leave income.’

“this one here,” he says, tapping his pen against a neat cell, “is a preliminary projection for an international preschool program. in the event we don’t stay in tokyo. though it’s still early.”

you blink. “ken. our child is the size of a blueberry.”

“irrelevant at this stage. what matters is equity of access.”

you fold yourself into the space between his chair and the table, arms looped around his neck, cheek pressed against his temple. his pen halts midstroke.

“i’m not worried,” he adds finally. “i just want to plan ahead. i don’t want you—or them—to ever need anything.”

you kiss the top of his head. “you’re gonna be a great dad.”

he hums, then under his breath, “do you think two air purifiers would be too much?”

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ when you’re too sick to care for your baby, nanami brings her to the office strapped to his chest—calm, efficient, and completely unfazed as he gives presentations with a pacifier on his tie and a baby on board.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this is ridiculous i’m warning you

nanami doesn’t even flinch when you croak from under the covers, voice raw and pitiful: “ken, i can’t—i think i have a fever, and she won’t stop crying unless i’m holding her.”

your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. you look like a ghost of yourself, half-sunken into your nest of tissues and blankets, hair a disaster, eyes glazed and watery. the baby’s red-faced and sniffling too, sprawled across your chest like a little heater, tiny fists grasping your shirt like she knows you might try to hand her off.

nanami, standing in the doorway, calmly adjusts his watch.

“i’ll take her.”

you blink. “you… you have three meetings today.”

“and now i have three meetings with a baby,” he says, already crossing the room like a man with a mission.

you can’t even protest properly before he’s kneeling beside the bed and gently peeling her off you, expertly switching to his papa voice — warm and low, as if he’s de-escalating a tiny, fussy hostage situation.

“there we go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then yours. “we’ll manage. rest. you know what medicine you should take. call me if you need anything.”

ten minutes later, he’s at the front door in his usual tan coat, baby carrier strapped securely to his chest like she’s a very warm, very giggly piece of office equipment. she’s wearing one of those obnoxiously frilly headbands you swore you’d never put on her — but she screamed when he tried to take it off, and he’s not here to pick battles today.

diaper bag over his shoulder. bottle packed. pacifier clipped neatly to his tie. hair combed, shoes polished, baby securely swaddled and babbling.

“don’t let the interns try to hold her,” you wheeze weakly from the hallway.

“i would rather die,” he replies without missing a beat.

as he walks out, you hear him murmur to her, “no loud commentary during the finance report. we must suffer through it in dignified silence.”

cut to: the morning finance meeting, 9:01 a.m., in a fluorescent-lit conference room downtown.

the projector is humming. spreadsheets fill the screen. half the team is slumped in various degrees of caffeine withdrawal.

nanami kento walks in, perfectly on time, baby on his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t explain it. doesn’t apologize. he walks straight to the head of the table, clicks open his laptop, adjusts the projector, and begins speaking with the same calm, measured cadence he always uses—

except this time, there’s a tiny foot sticking out of the carrier, gently bumping his blazer.

“moving into Q3,” he says, clicking to the next slide, “we’re forecasting a moderate increase in asset reallocation—”

the baby lets out a soft, inquisitive coo.

nanami glances down at her, gives a very small nod, and says to the room, “correct. the Q3 projections are, in fact, unfortunate.”

silence.

well—almost silence.

from somewhere near the coffee machine, an intern tries to whisper, “is that a—?”

nanami turns his head fractionally. just enough to shut it down.

“yes. she’s here in lieu of her mother, who is unwell. please direct all questions to me or her, depending on the topic.”

no one questions it.

she doesn’t cry, not even once. in fact, she seems thrilled. she clutches his tie like it’s her personal emotional support ribbon and waves her tiny hand every time someone shifts in their chair. at one point, she lets out a high-pitched giggle, and nanami simply pauses mid-sentence, gently pats her back, and continues like nothing happened.

someone tries to make eye contact and smile at her—

she beams and throws her toy at them.

nanami takes back the toy and sighs, “don’t encourage her. she’ll never stop.”

the entire time, he keeps presenting with his utmost precision, occasionally glancing down at her to tuck the headband back into place or swap her pacifier like he’s been doing this his whole life.

he wraps up right on time.

“any further questions?”

dead silence.

even the regional manager just gives a tight nod. no one wants to risk being shamed by a baby.

—

back home, it’s late afternoon when the door creaks open.

you’re still buried in blankets, half-delirious and clinging to a half-empty box of tissues. you blearily lift your head at the sound of keys in the bowl.

nanami walks in with the same exact expression he had when he left: calm, unreadable… except there’s a little extra softness at the corners of his eyes.

the baby is still strapped to his chest. fast asleep now, one hand gripping his tie, the other curled against his collarbone. she’s drooling slightly. he hasn’t removed the headband.

“she was very well-behaved,” he says quietly. “arguably more professional than half the team.”

you laugh — or try to, but it comes out as a croaky wheeze.

he crouches beside you, brushing a bit of hair from your face. “how are you feeling?”

“like death.” he nods and kisses your cheek.

you glance over at the baby. “how was she, really?”

“chatty,” he says, straight-faced. “opinionated about quarterly earnings. but otherwise excellent.”

he lifts her hand gently, unhooks her fingers from his tie.

“you’re insane,” you whisper.

he leans in to kiss your forehead, gentle and lingering.

“efficient,” he corrects.

then, after a beat—

“also… she now technically works in accounting.”

you blink. “what?”

he shrugs.

“someone handed her a spreadsheet. she drooled on it. that’s more than my latest intern did today.”

you laugh again, properly this time.

he finally unstraps her, carefully settling her into the bassinet. she doesn’t stir — not even when he tucks her blanket in with military precision.

you lie there watching him move quietly around the apartment, sleeves rolled up, tie chewed, hair slightly out of place, and realize:

papa nanami could take over the world with a baby strapped to his chest and a pacifier in his pocket, and he’d still be home in time to fold the laundry.

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

aftercare with nanami after he fucked the guts out of you

“you okay, love?” nanami asks, his warms hand resting gently on your hip, grounding you, he’s still catching his breath, his chest rising slow, but his focus is all on you, his fingers brushing your skin like he’s checking for damage.

you nod your voice hoarse, a soft whimper escaping as you shift, the soreness making you wince. “yeah, just... damn..” you murmur, a tired smile tugging at your lips, your body still trembling, your heart full but raw.

“you went hard.” he exhales, a faint chuckle, his lips twitching into a rare, small smile, but his eyes are serious, searching yours. “too hard?” he asks, his tone careful, his hand sliding to your lower back, rubbing slowly, soothing circles, his calloused fingers gentle against your flushed skin.

“i got carried away. tell me if i hurt you.” you shake your head, reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers with his, the warmth of his palm steadying you. “no, it was perfect.” you say, your voice soft, honest, meeting his gaze, seeing the relief flicker in his eyes. “just… need you now. stay close.”

he shifts, grabbing a glass of water from the nightstand, holding it to your lips. “drink, love, you need it.” his tone’s gentle, his hand steadying the glass as you sip, slow and careful, your throat cooling, your body relaxing under his care.

“thanks..” you murmur, your voice small, setting the glass down, your hand trembling slightly as you reach for him, needing his warmth.

he notices, his eyes softening, and he pulls you into his lap, careful not to jostle you, his arms wrapping around you, strong and secure. “c’mere.” he says, his voice low, warm, tucking you against his chest, his hand stroking your hair, fingers threading through gently, untangling knots with a patience that’s so him.

“you did so well, so beautiful, taking everything i gave you.” his words are soft, sweet, a contrast to the rough edge he had earlier, his lips brushing your temple, your cheek, each touch a reassurance.

you sigh, a soft, needy sound, melting into him, your body sore but warming up to his touch, your head resting on his shoulder, his heartbeat steady under your ear. “kento..” you whisper, your voice breaking. “you’re too good to me, feel so.. cared for.”

he chuckles, his hand sliding down your back, rubbing slow, firm circles, easing the ache in your muscles. “you deserve it.” he says, his fingers finding a sore spot, kneading gently, making you moan.

“love hearing you like this, all soft and sweet after i've wrecked you.” you laugh, breathless, nudging his chest, your lips brushing his jaw. “wrecked is right.” you tease, your voice hoarse, your body relaxing further under his touch, his hands working down your spine, careful but strong, soothing every ache. “you’re gonna have to carry me tomorrow, you know.”

“gladly.” he says, kissing your hair, his hand sliding to your thigh, massaging gently, checking for soreness. “you sore anywhere specific, love? tell me.” his eyes scanned you, his fingers pausing, waiting for your answer. “just.. everywhere.” you admit, your voice small, a pout forming, and he nods, his lips twitching, not quite a smile but close, his hands resuming their work, gentle but firm, easing the tension in your thighs, your lower back.

“i've got you.” he murmurs, pulling a blanket over you both, tucking it around you, his arms never leaving you. “rest now, okay? im not going anywhere.” his fingers stroke your cheek, soft and slow.

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

𖤐 — his royal high(hair)ness

pairing - dad!leopold mountbatten ft. reader's daughter

summary - who would expect that even a Duke can become a Prince in his princess' eyes?

contents - fluff, soft and domestic, brief Disney-like storyline, humorous

words count - 1450 words

zayn's note - hii! first of all, I'm so sorry for being inactive these past few days, things were a bit rough for me, but all good now! soooo yepp!! this is my gift for y'all and I hope you enjoy <3

The clock ticked softly in the hallway, marking the late afternoon with unhurried grace. The day had wound down gently, as it often did in your household—dinner cleared away, toys scattered like colorful confetti across the living room rug, and the scent of soap and warm towels lingering in the air from your daughter's evening bath.

Upstairs, in the nursery, all was quiet—until a muffled giggle broke the stillness.

You padded barefoot across the floorboards, drawn by the familiar sound: a little girl's laughter, high-pitched and bubbly, like sunshine captured in a sound. As you peeked around the doorway, you had to press a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing too loud yourself.

There, seated with a kind of noble composure on the soft cream carpet, was Leopold—your Leopold—legs crossed, waistcoat off, sleeves rolled to the elbows of his linen shirt. His golden-brown hair, usually so carefully combed, was now being overtaken by a miniature stylist.

Your four-year-old daughter stood behind him, tongue poking out in concentration, holding a mint green bow in one hand and a comb in the other. Her curls bounced with every movement, and her small brow furrowed in the exact same way her father's did when deep in thought.

She was unmistakably his.

From the proud tilt of her chin to the deliberate, meticulous way she chose each hair clip from tin beside her—she was every bit a miniature Leopold. Precise. Focused. Entirely unaware of how disarming that seriousness was when it came in such a tiny package.

"Hold still, Papa," she whispered dramatically, pushing his head slightly to the left.

Leopold, for all his impeccable standards and old-world elegance, did not resist. He sat perfectly still, like a statue under royal command—his back straight, his hands folded primly in his lap as if he were awaiting a portrait.

"I remain at your service, m'lady," he replied, his voice deep and warm, tinged with amusement and boundless patience that only surfaced in moments like this.

You leaned against the doorframe, heart blooming quietly at the sight.

This was the man who once hesitated to hold her, afraid of doing it wrong. The same man who read parenting manuals by candlelight and took notes like a university student studying for final exams. And now—here he was, allowing his daughter to turn him into a living doll, complete with tiny pigtails and butterfly clips.

He glanced up, and caught your eyes. And you swore there was a bit of sparkle in his eyes—a kind of soft surrender that had taken root since fatherhood entered his life.

"She's very committed to her craft," he said with mock-seriousness.

"She gets it from her father," you said with a smile, walking in slowly and sinking onto the edge of the rocking chair near the window. "You make a very graceful subject."

"She said I'm being made into a fairy prince," he added, raising one brow. "Apparently that comes with... hair accessories."

Your daughter huffed behind him. "You said I could pick any kind of prince."

"And I stand by that promise," he replied, bowing his head slightly under her comb.

A quiet hush followed—the good kind, the kind only a peaceful home can carry. Outside the windows, the sun drooped low behind the trees, painting the nursery walls in gold. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting it all soak in—the quiet hum of a sleepy house, the gentle clink of metal hair clips, your daughter's voice humming as she worked.

Leopold didn't move once, not even when she tugged gently at his hair to fasten another bow in place. He let her take her time, let her create her masterpiece on the canvas of his patience.

It wasn't just sweet. It was sacred.

And when she finally finished, she scrambled around to face him, clapping her hands with a proud nod. "Done!"

Leopold blinked with exaggerated seriousness. "May I see the result of your artistry?"

She handed him the small hand mirror from her dresser and he turned it over with care. His reflection looked back at him—pastel bows, a lopsided center part, and a single bright yellow butterfly clip dangling precariously over one temple.

"I must say," he said, adjusting the mirror slightly, "this is the most... whimsical hairstyle I've ever worn."

“You're magical, Papa! You look beautiful.” She insisted, climbing onto his lap and resting her small hands on his shoulders. “You look like a prince from the woods.”

Leopold wrapped his arms around her, a slow, secure gesture, not daring to deny her little princess, not when she looked so bright like this. “Then I am honored to serve in your court, my dear.”

You watched from the side, heart full. This man—once so reserved, unsure how to navigate the messy, bright chaos of parenthood—now allowed himself to be covered in glitter bows without blinking.

She nestled into his chest, thumb going into her mouth, her eyes starting to droop. “I think that's the last one,” she murmured sleepily.

“Then,” Leopold said, brushing a curl from her face. “I am complete.”

You rose and crossed the room, kneeling beside them to press a gentle hand over your daughter's back. “Ready for a story?”

She shook her head sleepily. “Papa tells better ones.”

Your smile faltered for the briefest moment.

You hadn't expected it to sting quite so much.

It was silly—she was four, and he was her favorite playmate, her protector, her prince. But for years now, storytime has been your quiet magic with her: your voice guiding her gently into dreams, your stories laced with love and softness. You'd woven fairy tales with her curled on your chest, just like this.

And now… she wanted him instead.

You let out a quiet breath, brushing a hand over her back, the ache blooming gently, playfully in your chest. “Oh,” you said, feigning a small gasp. “I've been replaced.”

Leopold looked up, the corner of his mouth twitched. “I believe this is a temporary coup. I'm sure the rightful queen of bedtime stories will reclaim the throne tomorrow.”

You shook your head and chuckled softly, letting Leopold take over for tonight. Leopold smiled at you. “Shall I attempt another original tale? Or would the Royal Highness prefer our sixth retelling of The Honey Moon Princess?”

“Sixth,” you whispered and he chuckled.

And so he began—right there on the nursery rug, in a crown of mismatched bows and the arms of a sleepy little girl. His voice dropped into the cadence of storytelling, rich and rolling, spinning a whimsical tale of a woodland prince, an unicorn friend, and a very brave little girl—a fairy tale he'd invented just for her.

As the story wound down, her eyelids drooped. You reached over and took her gently from his lap, cradling her close. She was heavy with sleep now, head tucked beneath your chin, her curls smelling faintly of apple shampoo and childhood.

Leopold stood carefully, brushing imaginary dust from his trousers. “Shall I… remove the adornments?”

“No,” you said with a grin. “You should leave them in.”

“You find this amusing, I gather.”

“I find it beautiful.”

He paused, something unspoken softening behind his eyes. Then he bent down, pressing a kiss to your daughter's forehead and another to your temple.

“She has your will,” he murmured.

“She has your heart,” you replied.

And with that, you carried her to her bed, tucking her on beneath the quilt she insisted kept nightmares away. Leopold straightened the stuffed animals at the foot of the bed, an old habit of his, precise and sweet.

After she was asleep, you both stood at the door for a moment longer, watching her chest rise and fall in that perfect rhythm of peace.

Then, quietly, he took your hand and led you back down the hallway.

You both ended up in the living room—a single lamp casting soft light over the furniture. You curled up on the couch while he poured two cups of tea, his hair still scattered with pastel bows.

“You're not taking them off?” you asked, amused.

He looked over his shoulder with an air of false dignity. “A prince must wear his crown.”

You laughed, head falling back against the cushion, warmth blooming in your chest. He joined you on the couch and passed you a cup, then leaned back beside you, one arm slipping easily around your shoulders. You rested your head against him, your fingers finding his, weaving together the way you always did.

Outside, the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. Inside, the warmth stayed. For a long time, you said nothing.

There was no need to.

You had everything you needed—right here.

tags!! @princessanglophile @themareverine @mcrdvcks @wchswift @briseroyawritingsblog @howlettsangel @dimlylittorch @flowersforbucky @lubdubology @xxladymjxx @sweetverine @tezooks @loganismybodyguard [lmk if you wanna be added or removed!!]

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!!

dividers by: @dollywons

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

Rah Rah || Logan Howlett Smut Drabble

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, fem!reader, roleplay (cheerleader and quarterback), oral m!receiving, deepthroating, Logan is kind of a perv, skirt kink, condescending logan

if you don't like it don't read it!

wc: 883

a/n: Yeah its not long but this has taken over my brain bc i learned that Hugh has a line in his play about cheerleader's and like...idk man don't judge me nklasfd;ljk

Coming back home after a long day at the mansion was nice. He lives off site now, in a cute little apartment he shares with his wife. His amazing, hot, perfect wife. A wife who would do anything for Logan including indulging some of his more interesting fantasies.

Now Logan wasn't an actor by any means but for a bit of role play? He can really turn on the charm. As he walks through the door he notices you aren't there to greet him.

"Sweetheart?" He calls but to no response. He knows you're home, he can smell your perfume. He peers into the bedroom and his jaw almost drops in shock.

"Hey there handsome." You purr. You're sitting on the bed dressed in the skimpiest cheerleader outfit you could find. The skirt barely covers your ass and the top squeezes your chest just right. Your hair is neatly put up in a ponytail and you know how much it drives Logan crazy to see you like that. He's like a fucking dog salivating at the sound of a bell the moment you start to put your hair up.

"Fuck me." Logan mumbles as he licks his lips.

"I'm trying." You tease as you crawl to the edge of the bed. The swish of your skirt draws Logan's attention and traps him.

"Always wanted to fuck a cheerleader in the locker room after the big game." Logan hums as he walks over to you.

His big hands running along your jaw as he tilts your head up. He pulls you up till your on your knees and kisses you messily. His hands groping your chest. He groans when he realizes you aren't wearing anything under it. His hands slithering down to your ass.

Slipping up the skirt as he shamelessly squeezes and plays with your ass. Call him a pervert but there's something about this damn outfit that's driving him wild.

"My big boy deserves a reward for scoring the winning touchdown." You purr, winking as Logan slips into his role as the star quarterback.

"Yeah? Such a good girl for me." He slips his shirt off and wastes no time in shedding his jeans too. Your mouth waters as you see the growing bulge that doesn't even try to hide itself beneath his flimsy underwear.

"Looked for you in the crowd after, couldn't want to have your lips wrapped around my cock." He groans as you slip your hand in his boxers. Grabbing his cock in your hands and stroking it nice and hard just how he likes it.

"Gonna suck my cock pretty girl?" He asks sweetly as he drops his boxers. He grabs your pony tail and guides your face right to his dick. You part your lips and lick the tip of his cock, looking up at him with big eyes.

"Fuck you're so hot." Logan growls as he grabs the base of his cock and slips the tip into your mouth. His eyes roll to the back of his head as you sink your mouth around him. Taking as much of him as you can, choking as he hits the back of your throat.

"Cock too big to fit in your mouth hm? Come on just relax and let me fuck it." Logan growls as he starts to messily thrust his hips.

Your skirt sways and Logan reaches over and slaps your ass harshly. You whine as he fucks your mouth roughly. You squeeze your thighs together as dirty words tumble out of Logan's mouth. He can't help it. Your eyes start to tear up and Logan pouts with a fake sympathy. Wiping it away with his thumb as he shoves his cock into your mouth again.

"So fucking pretty." You hum as you put on your best innocent eyes, pawing at Logan's abs as you suck him off. He pushes until your nose hits his skin. He rubs your cheek as you try and breathe. With a groan he pulls all the way out, spit connecting your lips to his wet cock.

"Turn around baby." He commands and you don't hesitate to listen. He grabs your hips and ruts his cock against your ass. Flipping up your skirt just to get a nice view.

"Panties are soaked through, thought you were a good girl but you're really just another dumb slut." He rips them to shreds and nudges the tip of his cock at your cunt.

"Logan!" You whine as you try and move your hips but he doesn't budge. The skirt is driving him wild and he can't wait to show you every part of his fantasy.

"Shh, I'll show you how to behave baby," He coos as he sinks his cock deep into you.

Your hands clawing at the sheets as Logan gets ready to rock your fucking world. He grabs your ponytail and pulls you up until his lips are at your ear. His husky voice thundering in your ear.

"My pretty little cheerleader."

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

Omg omg love your writing and I think you would absolutely be the best person for this but Logan dating reader whose mutation is to turn invisible and while he’s fucking her she turns her like stomach invisible so they can both see his member inside of her 😂😂

anon anon anon, you have a beautiful mind, but i have a counter-proposal under the cut that I hope you can enjoy...

18+ SMUT MDNI, f!reader

You’re prone to lose control of your mutation when under... intense circumstances.

Like right now. You’re a panting mess, sweat making hair stick to the sides of your face, your lips glossy with that beautiful swollen shade of red he likes—proof that he’s kissed you silly. You lost your clothes while he made you lose your mind with his mouth, and that was not too long ago.

Ruined. That’s how you look. He loves it.

Hasn’t even put his cock in yet and you’re already gone. Came twice. He didn’t give them to you easy. Made you beg and say all sorts of dirty things (“Tell me this pussy belongs to me, honey,” he commands with two fingers curling deep), and even then he didn’t let you succumb fast. You had to earn it by being a good girl for him.

Yeah, he is in some kind of mood tonight. One that yearns to make things last longer, especially torment.

Not that you’re complaining.

When he finally stretches your cunt with his cock, your jaw goes slack, eyes glazing over. God, he’s so big, it feels like the first time you had him all over again. He watches closely, hot breath fanning the side of your face as eyes flicker down to where you’re joined.

His favorite view.

“Feels good, huh?” he taunts through gritted teeth, finally bottoming out and feeling you squirm with pleasure beneath him. “You’re drenched, pretty girl, takin’ big cock so good.”

“L-Logan—”

It doesn’t take long till he thrusts. The movement is shallow, pulling back only halfway before driving his hips into yours, but it’s enough to make you cry out. Your blood sings, nerves alight, and he sees you phase in and out of invisibility, appearing and disappearing a few times in a second like a short-circuiting light.

He laughs breathlessly. Even when he can’t see you, he can feel your tight hole clenching around him.

But that won’t do.

A hand flies to your unseen face, fingers squishing your cheeks. You reappear. The look you wear is delicious—drool escaping the side of your lips, a bead of sweat dripping down your brow, hypnotized eyes...

Heat burns under his skin.

Yes. This is what he likes to see. A true feast for his eyes.

“Focus, sugar,” he purrs, fucking into you again, his hand still forcing you to look up right at him. Your eyes clench shut at the friction of his veiny cock against gummy walls, a wet sound lewdly ringing in your ear. Shit, he feels so good—

You phase out again. Logan huffs. It looks like he’s humping air like this, except for the fact that his dick is clearly sunk into something—the best thing he’s ever had.

Slowly, he pulls out of you, and you sob at the emptiness while your bare body flickers back into sight.

“Don’t fuckin’ hide,” he growls, the hand on your face trailing down to your neck, gripping there. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you the power he has over you.

A languid smirk enters his face.

“If you disappear, I ain’t movin’.”

You whine, a wordless protest—it’s not that you’re doing it intentionally.

“Wanna see this perfect body when I fuck you,” he breathes, hips thrusting into you again, harder this time. You let out a throaty groan, but manage to control your powers to remain visible.

“Turn you into a cock-drunk slut,” he rasps between thrusts. He brushes against a deep spot in you that sends sparks flying in your veins, and you disappear for a split second.

Mercilessly, he takes his cock out all the way, and you feel tears forming in your eyes. The words escape you, airy and rushed.

“Please I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—”

The chuckle that escapes him is dark and threatening, but the way your stomach churns signals something other than fear. Excitement.

“Gonna be a looong night for you, sweet thing,” he murmurs against your mouth, teasingly pressing his tip against your soaked slit.

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

𖤐 — everything good I got left

pairing - old man Logan ft. pregnant!reader

summary - you crave weird foods. he craves quiet. but somehow, in the middle of mashed potatoes, aching backs, and slow dancing in the kitchen—you both get exactly what you need.

contents - fluff! fluff!! domestic!Logan, pregnancy, weird cravings, married life, humor, slight angst, happy ending.

words count - 1637 words

zayn's note - so sorry if this is actually weird because i don't know much about pregnancy thing!! do i want kids? no. do i want Logan's kids? YES. ABSOLUTELY. the idea of Logan as a dad has been in my head, brainrotting me so i need to let it out. enjoy your reading!!

The door creaks open a little after nine.

It's subtle, but enough to make the house shift.

From the kitchen, you pause—spoon mid-stir, wrist flexed over the pot—and listen.

The sounds follow like clockwork.

Click. Keys hit the counter.

Thud. Boots drag across the worn hardwood.

A long, ragged sigh drapes itself across the air, low, and exhausted. The kind that sounds like it started at the base of the spine and clawed its way up, just waiting for a quiet room to collapse into.

Then:

Clang. His keys land in the ceramic dish by the door.

You don't turn around. You don't need to.

You feel him like the weather.

Even from here, you can sense the weight draped over his shoulders, that familiar gravity that follows him after long days. It's in the way the air stills, in the slight creak of the floor under his step. He carries the city with him—its chaos, its noise, its ache.

Still, you stir the pot again. A strange, lumpy mixture of mashed potatoes, crinkle-cut pickles, and a splash of maple syrup. Horrifying to anyone with a normal sense of taste, but to you, tonight, it smells like salvation.

There's a flicker of hope in your chest. You keep it tucked down low, but it's there—fluttering under your ribs like wings.

From behind you, a voice rumbles out, low and rough like gravel under tires.

“That smell better not be what I think it is.”

You smile—small, private. Eyes on the pot. “Define ‘what you think it is.’”

You hear him move again. Slower now. Closer.

Logan steps into the kitchen like a man emerging from war. His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, forearms streaked faintly with city grime and tired veins. His hair is a mess—pushed back like he ran a hand through it a dozen times but didn't win. His eyes, half-lidded and red at the corners, scan the room with practiced fatigue.

But when they land on you—

There's a pause.

He sees it. Sees you.

Back still turned, hips shifting softly with your stir, one bare foot tapping idly to the music playing low from the old radio. You're wearing his shirt—faded white cotton, soft with age, hanging off you like it's trying to remember the body it used to belong to.

It used to hang past your thighs.

Now?

Now it stretches—just barely—over the gentle swell of your belly.

That sight knocks something loose in his chest. He stares, the ache of the day giving way to something warmer, deeper. Something that clenches behind his ribs and makes his hands ache to touch.

“If you're gonna tell me that's mashed potatoes and pickles,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “I'm walkin’ straight back outta here.”

You glance back over your shoulder, grin already blooming. “You're not. You can't. Because I'm pregnant. And adorable. And you're too tired to pretend you have boundaries.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. Not quite a laugh—but close.

You turn back to the pot, acting unaffected. But your cheeks are warm.

Behind you, he's still staring. His shirt. Your belly. The sound of the spoon clinking gently against the side of the pot.

The smell, however cursed, feels like home.

He takes a step. Then another.

You don't look, but you feel him coming closer—his body heat blooming like a campfire behind you. That familiar scent of worn leather, road salt, and cheap diner coffee follows him in.

Then—

Arms.

Warm. Rough. Careful.

They slide around you from behind, one at a time, the way someone might pick up something fragile and half-asleep. His palms settle under your bump, large and calloused, cradling the weight like he's still amazed it's real.

His chin dips to your shoulder. Beard grazes your cheek.

He exhales again, softer this time.

He looks older now. The three years of marriage have been a mosaic of quiet mornings, loud arguments, tearful make-ups, sleepless nights, and hands held through it all. He's grayer—silver streaking through his thick hair and in the beard that brushes your cheek. There are more lines around his eyes, more silence in his movements. But also more steadiness. More love.

“You make a damn science project every time you eat,” he mumbles.

You hum, content. “I like to think of it as art.”

He snorts against your skin. “Art that smells like regret.”

You laugh softly, leaning back against his solid chest. Warm.

He shifts slightly, pressing the tip of his nose to your temple. He doesn't kiss, not yet. Just rests there.

“You eat?” he murmurs, voice still gravel and smoke.

“Mhm.”

“You sit today?”

“I did.”

“You rest?”

“I did not,” you reply, tilting your head back with a mischievous smile, “and you can't prove otherwise.”

Logan lets out a slow, tired groan and drops his head forward, forehead resting against your hair.

“Darlin’, I swear to God…”

“But I did do some very pregnant things,” you offer innocently. “Like crying over a car commercial.”

He doesn't react right away. Just breathes in your scent—then, he lifts his head just enough to ask:

“Was it the one with the dog gettin’ older?”

You nod and he chuckles, voice warm with something unspoken. “Shit. Yeah. That one got me too.”

He goes quiet then.

But you feel his hand shift again—just a slight curl of fingers against your belly, like he's checking to make sure everything's still there. That the world hasn't slipped while he was out driving strangers around in the dark.

You take that moment to turn on his arms.

He lets you. Always does.

Now facing him, you get the full picture.

Logan Howlett—your Logan—looks every bit of his years tonight.

The years are mapped in the creases around his eyes, the furrow in his brow that never fully relaxes. His hair is longer now, thick and wild, streaked silver at the temples and in the beard that lines his sharp jaw. There's a tiredness in his eyes that sleep doesn't fix. But beneath it, always, is something else—something deep and steady and there.

He's the kind of tired that comes from surviving. And somehow, still showing up.

You place your hands on his chest, fingers splaying across the worn shirt stretched over muscles and old scars.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Now the real craving.”

He blinks like he missed something, “...What else could you possibly want?”

You lift your chin, full pout engaged. “I want to dance.”

There's a beat of silence.

He blinks again. “Dance?”

“In the kitchen.”

“You're serious?”

“I'm pregnant, hormonal, and barefoot,” you say, lifting one foot with exaggerated drama. “I deserve one romantic-ass kitchen dance.”

He looks down at you like you've grown a second head.

“Baby,” he rasps, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I just drove around the city for ten hours. Got called ‘hey driver’ by a guy in a flamingo suit. I'm runnin’ on fumes and one questionable burrito.”

You pout harder. Weaponized. The bottom lip trembles just enough to be deadly.

“But I wanna dance.”

He stares. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. Rubs a hand down his face. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Nope.”

“Darlin’, my back hurts.”

“My feelings hurt.”

Logan groans—long and low. You're pretty sure it's not frustration anymore. It sounds dangerously close to surrender.

And then you pull the ace.

You rest your cheek against his chest, voice dropping low. “Please, Logan? Just one slow song.”

That does it. Not the silly argument, not the pout—the soft, tired way you say it. He can hear the ache under your voice. You don't want much. You just want him.

He closes his eyes, runs a hand down your spine like it might steady him more than you. And then—he lets out a breath, soft. Tips his head back. “God, help me,” he mutters before reaching for your hand.

The music's already playing—something bluesy, quiet, like it's been waiting too.

He pulls you in. One arm around your back, one hand clasping yours like he’s done it a thousand times. His steps are clumsy at first.

“I haven't danced in thousands years,” he mumbles into your hair.

But your body knows his. The rhythm finds you. Swaying slowly in a warm kitchen, under yellow light, surrounded by the scent of mashed potatoes and pickles and home.

You're warm in his arms. Breathing steady. Baby between you.

“You okay?” he whispers, because he always asks. Because he always needs to know.

“I am now,” you whisper.

He nods before closing his eyes, just for a moment.

“I've been worried,” he confesses. Quiet. “About you. The baby. This whole thing.”

You lean back to look up at him, hands on his chest.

“You've been incredible, Logan. You worry too much.”

“Someone's gotta,” he says. Not joking. Not even a little. “You're carrying everything good I got left.”

You reach up and brush his jaw with your fingers. “Then, I'm keeping it safe.”

He smiles, before lowering his head and presses a long kiss to your forehead—slow, grounding. One that says ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ and ‘I'm not going anywhere’.

The song ends.

But he keeps holding you anyway.

You smirk into his chest. “So… mashed potatoes and pickles?”

He groans like a dying man. “This kid's got a cruel streak.”

You laugh, soft and free. “Takes after their father.”

He snorts, laughing. “Very funny.”

He turns off the pot before gently guiding you toward the table, still holding you like you might float off without him. “Let's feed you and your weird little alien baby, then I'm crashing on the couch like the old man I am.”

You loop your arm around his. “You are an old man.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, lips brushing your hair. “But I'm your old man.”

that's it!! i hope you enjoy! do let me know about your thoughts on this! feedback are appreciated! reblogs too <3

tags!! @princessanglophile @mcrdvcks @wchswift @howlettsangel @dimlylittorch @briseroyawritingsblog @themareverine @flowersforbucky @lubdubology @xxladymjxx @sweetverine @tezooks [lmk if you wanna be added or removed from the taglist!]

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: That's it. Toji can't listen to the crying anymore.

Warnings: Fluff

*Happy Father's Day to the hottest DILF alive😩 (or not alive)

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Toji is pretty great at tuning out whatever he doesn’t want to hear. Arguing, stupid conversations, crying– Especially when the baby cries, he’s gotten used to that sound so much so that it doesn’t phase him in the slightest. Megumi is a crybaby, and since Toji can’t trade him in for another baby, he has to tune the little sucker out.

Though the task has gotten infinitely harder these days. You’ve insisted on sleep training Megumi, and for some reason, Toji finds himself affected. Megumi cries desperately, hoping for his little voice to be heard by someone but no one comes for him.

“Should we get him? He’s been at it for a while?” Toji can’t help but ask. The shrill cries start to affect him for some reason. The poor baby cries, and no one comes to his attention. Sure, Toji can tune it out during the day because it doesn’t matter; Megumi cries because his favorite spoon is taken from his grubby little hands, but this? This is different.

“He’ll end up self-soothing, Toji. Let him cry.” You groggily answer. You’re trying your best to sleep, but Megumi makes sure he’s heard. Luckily, you’re slowly able to tune him out. Toji on the other hand.

“I’ll just check up on him.” Toji gets up from the bed, leaving you cold without his large frame right beside you. You want to protest, but you’re too tired to speak up. Maybe tomorrow you can keep sleep training the baby, but right now you need precious sleep.

The crying gets louder and louder, until Toji finally picks up the baby. Oh, the cute little thing is a mess. Toji purses his lips together as he brings Megumi up to his chest. He pats the baby’s back as he sits down on the rocking chair. Oh, he’s a monster for letting the sweet little thing cry for so long.

“There, there. Does that make you feel better, stinky?” Toji asks as he rocks back and forth with the baby. He never does this but right now he’ll do just about anything to get the baby to calm down. Toji smells the top of the baby’s head before pressing a soft kiss on it. 

“Your mommy’s mean, isn’t she? No paci, and no rocking you to sleep anymore. She’s treating you like a big boy.” Toji shares as if Megumi could understand. Matter of fact, Megumi’s eyes slowly grow heavy, too heavy for him to keep open. Toji has succeeded once he hears the baby’s low snores.

Toji smirks as he hears the baby’s snores. Like father, like son. He stands up, putting Megumi back in the crib. Toji can’t help but sigh as he notes just how big his baby boy has gotten.Big enough to not need a pacifier anymore, but at least Toji has a couple more chances to rock him back to sleep. Anything to not hear him cry anymore.

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

────۶ৎ clingy cat

x1! logan howlett x teacher! fem! reader

warnings : none!

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: i love wolverine. that's it. that's the plot of this.

♱ *ೃ.⋆

The air in the Xavier School was unusually still for a spring afternoon. The faint rustle of wind played at the windows, sunlight spilled across the hardwood floors, and from down the hallway came the muffled squeals of kids in a game of tag that had already outgrown whatever rules it started with.

You were at the front of your classroom, crouched slightly to rest one elbow on a low reading table, helping a young girl sound out the word “through” on a flashcard. You could feel her frustration mounting—tongue poking out, brows furrowed—but you gently cooed her forward, encouraging every syllable.

Unseen by you, Logan stood leaned against the doorway, arms crossed —watching.

Not just watching. Burning.

There was something about seeing you with the kids. It knocked something loose in him every time. Something raw. Something primal. Something that curled in his gut and clawed at his spine and whispered:

That’s mine. That woman. She’s gonna make me a dad. Gonna give her everything. She’s safe. She’s soft. She’s strong. She takes care of the cubs. She’d take care of ours. Breed. Keep her. Keep her close. Mark her. Now.

He wasn’t thinking in full sentences anymore. Not really. Just sensations. Smells. The sound of your voice wrapping around a child’s name, the kindness in your eyes when you crouched down to help them.

You smelled especially nice today. Logan wasn’t sure what it was — new shampoo? That honey-lavender lotion he liked? — but it was richer, deeper, and dangerously intoxicating. His nose twitched. His stomach clenched. His fingers were already flexing like he needed to dig them into your waist and hold you still until his scent was soaked into your skin.

He didn’t wait for class to end.

“Hey,” came his gravel-soft voice from the door, deep and low enough to vibrate the floorboards.

You turned, smiling brightly when you saw him, and his chest damn near ached. That smile. That softness. The way your hair fell over one shoulder. Home. She smells like home. She is home.

“Logan,” you laughed lightly. “Class isn’t over yet.”

“Don’t care,” he murmured, already stepping into the room. Kids looked up, a few whispering and giggling —“It’s Wolverine!” — but Logan didn’t even glance at them.

He came straight to you.

“Y’smell real good today,” he said against your ear, voice just a breath now. “Better than usual. Sweet. Kinda spicy. S’drivin’ me crazy, darlin’. Can’t think.”

Your cheeks went hot, especially with several wide-eyed children looking right at you. “Logan—”

“Shh,” he mumbled, burying his nose into your neck like an oversized feral cat. “Jus’ lemme—just for a second.”

His arms slid around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest with zero shame. You barely had time to react before he was nuzzling and mouthing lightly at your jaw, his stubble ticklish and his breath warm. He definitely purred. Deep and low, like a jungle cat trying to crawl under your skin.

“Logan, you're—you’re purring,” you whispered.

“No, I ain’t,” he muttered, lips against your throat.

You stifled a laugh. “You definitely are.”

“S’not purrin’. Just rumbly. S’normal.”

A throat cleared beside you.

You looked down to see little Tommy, age 8, blinking up with an eager hand raised.

“Miss, can I ask you a question?”

Logan didn’t even move.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop rubbing his face against your neck. His grip only tightened slightly as he kept mouthing at your skin like he was trying to taste whatever was making you smell that good.

You blinked, unsure whether to be mortified or... flattered?

“I—uh—sure, Tommy,” you said, giving your best teacher voice while your feral boyfriend was actively scent-marking you like an animal in heat.

Tommy tilted his head. “Is Mr. Logan okay?”

“He’s... just having a moment,” you managed.

“Is he gonna eat you?”

That made you laugh —and Logan finally cracked open one eye, glancing lazily down.

“Nah, kid,” he grunted, lips brushing your cheek. “M’takin’ real good care of her.”

“Ew,” a choir of children said at unison.

“Is he always like this?” one girl whispered.

“Only when he smells something good,” another boy added, very seriously.

Logan barely acknowledged them. His full attention was still on you, and every small inhale had him humming deep in his chest again like he was drunk on you.

When the kids wandered back to their desks, used to Wolverine’s weirdness by now, Logan finally straightened a little, though he still didn’t let you go.

“Y’gonna finish class?”

“Trying to,” you teased.

“Y’want kids, right?” he asked suddenly, voice low and serious.

You blinked. “What?”

Logan rubbed his nose along your jaw again, sniffing, groaning faintly.

“Can see it. The way y’are with them. Makes me—” He paused, then grunted, voice thick. “Makes me want to make you a momma.”

You opened your mouth, heart skipping into a gallop, but Logan cut you off with a kiss to your cheek —then your temple— then a whisper right against your skin:

“Wanna make a life with you. Cubs an’ all.”

You stood frozen, warmth blooming like wildfire under your ribs, feeling the weight of his devotion pressing against you. “You’re insane,” you whispered fondly.

He grinned, finally pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. There was mischief there. And softness. And an absolutely unshakeable love.

“Yeah,” he said. “Crazy for you.”

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

✰ MADE OF SILK

→ summary: logan can't help but be obsessed with you in your pretty nightgowns.

⤿ logan howlett x reader / cw: suggestive with sexual tension, soft intimacy, cuddling, loving touch, protective behavior, soft, fluffy, I wrote this with worst!logan in mind but I think you can imagine any logan you want.

⤿ word count! 1k

Logan had always been a man of jagged edges.

A man who carried the weight of lifetimes on his broad shoulders, whose knuckles were more familiar with blood than tenderness. He was built for war, made for the wild—gruff and hardened by the years, by loss, by the ghosts of memories too tangled to unravel.

And then there was you.

Soft. Sweet. Sugar spun into a real, breathing thing. Everything he wasn’t.

Everything he didn’t think he’d ever get to have.

He had no business being with you, and yet, somehow, you had taken one look at the sharp edges of him and decided you weren’t afraid of getting cut. Had smiled that sunshine smile, touched him with hands made of silk and stardust, and looked at him like he was something worth keeping.

Damn if that didn’t ruin him.

You weren’t just gentle—you were delicate in the way flowers bloomed in the spring, in the way lace wove itself into intricate, beautiful patterns, too fine to be touched without care. But that softness didn’t make you fragile. No, you were something far more dangerous than that.

You were warmth. And Logan had never been good at handling warmth.

But oh, how he wanted to.

If he had to pick his favorite thing about you—which was impossible because there were too many—then maybe it’d be the way you dressed at night.

Dainty little nightgowns in all shades of pastels, adorned with lace or silk or sheer fabrics that teased against your skin. Always pretty, always delicate, making you look like something out of a dream. A doll come to life. A vision he didn’t deserve to hold, but one he’d fight tooth and nail to keep.

And you had to know what you were doing to him.

There was no way in hell you didn’t notice the way his breath hitched every damn time you walked in, the way his muscles went taut beneath his skin, his jaw clenching so hard it could crack. The way his hands twitched with the need to grab, to hold, to feel.

Tonight was no different.

Logan was already in bed, lounging with a book in hand, though he wasn’t reading a damn word. His focus was elsewhere—waiting. Anticipating.

And then you appeared.

Padding into the room like you hadn’t just made his lungs forget how to work.

Tonight’s nightgown was a soft blush pink, lace trim tracing the hem and neckline, the fabric sheer enough that the golden glow of the bedside lamp kissed your skin right through it. The delicate straps barely clung to your shoulders, one already slipping down in a way that made his throat dry up.

You weren’t even trying, and yet you had him right where you wanted him.

“Somethin’ on your mind, sugar?” You asked, throwing him the sweetest little smile.

He exhaled sharply, shutting his book with a little more force than necessary. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

You blinked up at him, all innocence and mischief, and his chest ached with how damn much he loved you.

“Whatever do you mean, Logan?” You teased, tilting your head, pretending you didn’t know exactly what he meant.

Oh, you little—

His gaze dragged over you, slow and heavy, drinking you in like the last drop of whiskey in a bottle. And you—perfect, angelic you—just smiled that sweet, knowing smile, padding over to the bed like you didn’t have him by the throat.

Logan ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard through his nose. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You giggled as you climbed into bed beside him, the sound soft and airy, the kind of laugh that made his stomach flip. “Well, I certainly hope not. I’d miss you too much.”

With a low growl, he reached out, catching your wrist, tugging you closer until you half-fell into his lap. You squeaked, giggling as you braced yourself against his chest, palms pressing over hard muscle.

“You’re real cute, y’know that?” His voice was low, rough, like gravel smoothed by whiskey and smoke. His lips brushed against your forehead.

You beamed up at him, all sunshine and mischief. “I like when you call me cute.”

Logan huffed, shaking his head, but his hands—big, warm, roughened by years of fighting—slid down to your hips, thumbs grazing the soft, silky fabric of your nightgown. “You wear these damn things on purpose.”

Your lashes fluttered, feigning innocence. “What things?”

Logan leveled you with a look. “These,” he muttered, tugging lightly at the lace-trimmed hem. “Your little nightgowns.”

You bit your lip, smiling, and he just about lost it.

“I like feeling pretty,” you said simply, and the honesty in your voice made his heart clench.

He swallowed. Hard. Because damn it, you were pretty. You were the kind of pretty that made his chest ache, made his hands itch to touch, to worship, to hold on tight and never let go.

“You’re more than pretty, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough with something too big for words.

Your cheeks flushed, the blush dusting over your soft skin, and Logan swore it was the best damn thing he’d ever seen.

Still holding you close, he let his fingers trace absent patterns along your thighs, the heat of his touch seeping through the delicate fabric. “I ever tell ya how much I love you?”

Your smile softened, eyes shining as you nodded. “All the time.”

“Good,” he muttered, dragging you impossibly closer until you were nestled against him, warm and sweet and everything he didn’t know he needed. “I’m gonna keep tellin’ you.”

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away.

Because here, in this moment, with you wrapped up in his arms, dressed in something soft and sweet just like you—Logan finally felt something close to peace.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

⛥ main masterlist.

taglist: @cruel-as-sin @logaenhowlett @blossomingorchids @kvntonq @tinas111 @mcrdvcks (if you want to be added or removed let me know <3)

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

𓂃 kento x pregnant!reader

the first time your husband got serious mad at you was him cathing you carrying heavy things

kento’s at the grocery store, picking up ingredients for dinner—he’s been insistent on cooking lately, fussing over your nutrition like it’s his mission, you’re supposed to be resting, per his strict orders, but the nursery’s half finished, and the clutter’s driving you nuts.

a box of baby clothes sits by the door heavy with donations from friends, and you figure you can handle it, just one box, up the stairs, no big deal, you’re pregnant, not helpless.

you’re halfway up arms straining, the box wobbling, when the front door opens. “i’m back.” nanami calls but it cuts off sharp when he sees you, the grocery bags hit the floor with a thud and he’s at the stairs in two strides, his face a mask of disbelief.

“what the hell are you doing?” he snaps, his voice low, edged with something you’ve never heard.

you freeze, the box slipping, and he’s there, taking it from you, his hands firm but careful, setting it down with a heavy thump. “kento—” you start but he cuts you off, his voice rising, still controlled but trembling with restraint. “are you trying to hurt yourself?” he says, his words sharp, each one a blade.

“or the baby? because that’s what you’re doing, carrying this—this—up the damn stairs when i told you to rest.” he gestures at the box, his jaw clenched, his hands flexing like he’s holding back from shaking you or the world.

“im fine.” you say, defensive, stepping back, your hand on the railing. “It’s just a box, kento, im not fragile.” your voice is steady, but your heart’s racing, startled by his intensity, the way he’s looking at you like you’ve betrayed him.

“not fragile?” he repeats, his voice dropping. “you’re six months pregnant, and you’re hauling heavy shit like it’s nothing. do you have any idea what could happen? a fall? strain? you think im out here buying groceries for fun while you risk—” he stops, exhaling hard, running a hand through his hair, his composure cracking.

“you’re not fine. you’re reckless.” the word stings, and you bristle, your own anger flaring. “reckless?” you say, your voice rising. “im trying to help, kento. i can’t just sit around doing nothing while you treat me like im made of glass. im pregnant, not useless.”

his eyes narrow, and he steps closer, his presence towering, not threatening but overwhelming. “im not treating you like glass.” he says, his voice low, tight. “im trying to keep you safe, you and our kid. you think i want to come home and find you hurt? or worse?” his voice cracks on the last word, and you see it—the fear behind the anger, the way his hands tremble, the way he’s holding himself together.

you soften, your anger faltering, but you’re still stubborn, crossing your arms. “i didn’t think it was a big deal..” you say, quieter, looking away, your hand resting on your belly.

“i just… i wanted to do something.” nanami exhales, long and shaky, his shoulders sagging, and he steps closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “its a big deal to me.” he says, his hand hovering near your arm, hesitant, like he’s not sure you’ll let him touch you.

“don’t do that to me again. please.” his forehead presses to yours, his breath warm, unsteady, and you feel the weight of his fear, his love, in that simple touch.

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

kento sits cross-legged on the living room floor, his back straight as always, though there's a softness to his posture that only comes when he's with her. your daughter—small, determined, a bundle of focused energy—stands behind him on the couch, tongue sticking out in concentration as she arranges a parade of tiny pastel bows in his blond hair.

he doesn't move, not even when a comb snags or her little fingers tug a bit too hard. he only hums quietly, eyes closed, patient as ever. every now and then, he hears her giggle, delighted at her own handiwork.

"daddy, stay still!" she scolds, slipping a sparkly pink bow just above his ear.

"i am, darling," he replies, his deep voice gentle. "you're doing an excellent job."

she beams, threading another ribbon through a lock of his hair. you watch from the doorway, heart swelling at the sight—kento, the man who shoulders the weight of the world without complaint, now a living canvas for a child's joy and imagination.

when she finally finishes, she scrambles around to face him, clapping her hands. "you look pretty, daddy!"

kento opens his eyes and gives her a small, warm smile. "thank you, sweetheart. i think i look my best when you help."

she hugs him fiercely, bows and all, and he wraps his arms around her, closing his eyes again—not with exhaustion this time, but with quiet, perfect contentment.

A/N: for @gojover :)

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

What's That Smell? ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 3.1k

✩ Content: Worst!Logan and Hairdresser! Reader. Wade acts like he's innocent in this, but he's not. Pheromone perfume. Logan doesn't go feral, but he gets there. P in V. Vaginal Fingering. Squirting. MINORS DNI!!

✩ A/N: I had to write about my man reacting to pheromone perfume. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Commissions

“Happy birthday!”

Wade hands you a pink gift bag stuffed with sparkly tissue paper. “It's not my birthday.”

“You're so silly.” He waves you away with a sensible chuckle. “It's someone's birthday somewhere. Anyway, I saw this and thought of you.”

You pull out a small bottle of perfume decorated in a crystal clear color. The design looked oddly familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint where you saw it. “Oh, thanks. I've been meaning to get some more perfume.”

“Well, the gods answered, and as your friend, I am known for reading my friend’s minds.”

You're pretty sure Logan brought it up to him one day, but you didn’t question it. You thanked him with a hug, and he mentioned something about doing a fashion show for Mary Puppins when he left your apartment.

It was nice of Wade to give you a gift. He's always been generous towards you since you were with Logan, but you didn’t expect something like this.

You even mentioned Wade's generosity to Logan later on, who gave a questionable raise of an eyebrow.

“Really? He bought you perfume?”

“Yeah.” You pull out the bag and show him the bottle. “Wasn't that sweet of him?”

Logan squints at the bottle, still not convinced. “I guess so.”

“You guess so.” You rolled your eyes. “Can’t you believe that he wanted to be nice? He doesn't seem like the type to play a cruel joke.”

“Cruel isn't the word I'd use.” He grumbles.

You place the pink gift bag back on your dresser, reminding yourself to use it the next time you go out.

That next time was for running errands. You had to restock the kitchen, enough to last you and your superhero boyfriend, who loves to eat and drink, for a couple of weeks. Plus, you needed to get more supplies for the salon. Logan would meet up with you at the store since he spent the night back at Wade's to prep for Mary Puppin's first day at doggy school. You could tell from the brief phone call last night that he was worn out.

You throw on an oversized t-shirt, leggings, and sneakers. Not the most attractive outfit. Before you left, your eyes landed on the gift bag. Harmlessly, you sprayed Wade's perfume behind your ears and the space between your bicep and forearm.

Running errands was serious for you. You weren't the biggest fan of spending hours at the store, wasting time grabbing groceries. Logan agreed with you on that front, as he didn’t want to waste time either.

Once you stepped foot inside the store, you were ready. With a list in hand, you were filled with total concentration. A few minutes later, there was a shift.

You received a lot more attention.

Many people coming up to you to tell you smell good. You just started in the produce aisle, and four people approached you. It surprised you the multitude of compliments you were getting despite having the appearance of a bum. Others were making conversation while you were trying to shop, asking you simple questions about good salad dressing brands. Or how many spices you have in your home. Trying to get closer to you.

One man didn't seem to get the hint that you were busy. He offered to help you with your groceries while you were in the cereal aisle. Logan's favorite brand of raisin bran was on a high shelf, causing said man to grab it for you. You were polite, but maybe you shouldn't have been, as he constantly hovered around you. Drawn to you for reasons you can't explain. Talking your ear off about whatever he could think of.

“You probably have your own shopping to do. I don't want to distract you.” You say, hoping politely declining him would make him take the hint.

“No, no, it's alright. I don't want to leave a defenseless person like you.”

You hold back at getting annoyed, “…it's a grocery store.”

“Still, I just think-”

“You got cotton in your fucking ears?” In a blink, Logan grabs the intruding guy by his shoulder, effortlessly pushing him away. “She didn't need any fucking help, bub.”

The guy scoffs, rolling his hips to make himself look more arduous, “And who are you?”

“Her boyfriend, who isn't afraid to make you a pathetic stain on the ground.”

You knew he meant it, but you also didn’t want to get banned as you really liked this store. The guy took the hint, leaving the cereal aisle like a defeated puppy.

“My hero.” You kiss Logan's cheek and see him sniff the air. He turns towards you, pupils almost blown. Before you can ask if he's alright, he grabs your wrist, smelling the space between your bicep and forearm. The action makes you laugh a little.

“What's that smell?” Logan takes a few more sniffs, and you feel blood rush to your cheeks. “It's sweet. Really fucking sweet.”

“O-Oh, I put on perfume today.” You didn't need to ask if he liked it as he was glued to your form, sniffing behind your ears, his breath fanning your neck.

“Is this new? I've never smelled this before.”

“Yeah, it's the one from Wade.”

Logan lets out a groan that sends straight to your core. Goosebumps coat your flesh, and you shudder when his hands creep under your shirt to feel your bare skin. His touch was hot, almost making your back arch. You had to remember you were in a grocery store. There were eyes on you two, and you had to regain some control, or else there'd be two new names on the sex offender list.

“Baby, we got things to do.”

You pull away from him, trying to ignore Logan's dejected face at the fact they had errands to run. He hardly said anything else after that. He delegated his role to being the silent shopper, pushing the cart and responding briefly whenever you talked to him. To anyone else, he gave off the appearance of a man not wanting to go grocery shopping. You knew it was something else when you noticed his knuckles turning white from gripping the cart. Everything in your body warned you not to get close to him until the errands were done.

An unsettled feeling arose inside your stomach when the two of you were outside, a cart filled with groceries. Logan mentioned he brought Althea's car, which is one of the few words he's said since then.

He told you to wait in the car while he put the groceries in the trunk. You wanted to help, but he pushed you to go inside, almost gritting his teeth. There, you sat on the passenger side while waiting for him to finish. Logan was taking his time and acting completely different from your usual outings. At one point, you saw him with his head towards the sky, taking heavy breaths, hands on his hips.

You had a feeling this was your fault somehow.

When Logan got inside, you ask, “You okay?”

“No.” He doesn't start the car yet. You could see the veins across his hands when he gripped the steering wheel. “You don't know how fucking good you smell right now. It's everywhere. My nose, my head, my thoughts. You don't know bad I'm trying not to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the backseat. ”

You didn't know what to say, but you liked it. Your thighs squeezed together at how a couple of spritzes of perfume were affecting him.

“Is it that bad? Do you wanna go home instead?”

Logan shakes his head, “You still have to go to the beauty store.”

“I can get those things another day-”

“No, sugar. I'm not ruining your plans because of a damn perfume.”

Butterflies tangle in your stomach. This man still had ways to make you shiver. You just needed to be a responsible adult for a bit longer.

The beauty store was five minutes away, but being in the car with Logan felt like an eternity. His large hand rested on your thigh, creating heat through his palm. Your thoughts wanted him to go higher, near your sex, to feel how horny you were getting. The car started getting warmer too, sweat forming on your brow. If Logan hadn't smelled you earlier, he would probably have smelled you now.

“I'll go in with ya.” He offers when pulling into a parking spot.

“No need! I'll probably be a bit anyway.”

You rush out of the car before he can say anything else. Practically running inside the store so you can get your mind straight. Your boyfriend's words were hovering in your mind, and you resisted the urge to turn back around and have him go by his word.

You needed to calm your mind. Hopefully shopping for more supplies would help and Logan staying in the car.

“Now, what kind of man would I be if I let my lady go in alone?” Logan's gruff tone sent chills across your spine and his arm around your waist to press against your back. No words escaped you as he sniffed behind your head. “Say something.”

“Logan…” You let out a shaky breath, trying not to falter at the proximity. He couldn’t resist copping a feel on your breast, which made you bite your lip. “There are cameras.”

He grunts, burying his face in your neck as you two stand awkwardly in the shampoo aisle. Thank goodness there was no one nearby to witness it.

“I'm behaving.”

“Barely.”

When you were usually out to restock, you were quick, decisive, a separate list on hand to make sure you had everything you needed for the salon. This time, you were slower and more distracted as Logan was glued to your hip. Giving you extra hugs after picking up an item you need on your list. A gentle kiss to your neck. His arm possessively around your waist. The man wasn't even a massive fan of pda either. Whatever this perfume was had him forgo his usual self.

When people were nearby, he didn't leave your side. His large pupils were on them as if they were a threat as if they were going to take you away from him.

If you had any more errands to run, that would have to wait another day. Once you two checked out from the store, your man was about to snap.

Logan was dead silent when he started the car, his knuckles almost turning white again. The apartment was only fifteen minutes away, and you weren't sure if he would be able to hold on that long. You only noticed deep, heavy breaths that overshadowed the radio you turned on to distract yourself. You weren't sure if you wanted to ask if he was okay again. You had a feeling he was going to go true to his word to fuck you in the backseat.

Once pulling up to your apartment, you were ready to get out, but his hand held yours to stop you.

“I'll get the bags.”

“There's a lot of them, I can help-”

“No.” He cuts you off, bringing your wrist up to his face and taking a long sniff. You squeezed your thighs together at the sight. A whimper almost escaped your lips. “Go wait in our room.”

You had nothing else to say after that.

You did as you were told, sitting on the edge of the bed while holding your hands. Your heart pounding in your chest as you heard Logan bring the bags inside. You weren't sure why you were nervous. You were doing what you were told.

Maybe he told you to wait because the scent was becoming unbearable. That he couldn’t focus, or your scent was dampening his enhanced abilities. Did you mess up? All you did was put on perfume. Or did Wade mess up? Did he accidentally bring you something that affected mutants? You should’ve thought twice before accepting a gift from him.

Slow and heavy footsteps made it's way into the room. You watched Logan close the door and lock it as if there was anyone around to disturb you.

“Take off your clothes.” He starts pulling off his own shirt.

You did so, albeit a bit slower than him. Your thighs clenched as you knew your cunt was wet from all of the waiting, the touches, and kisses from the stores, his filthy words. Logan's eyes scanned your naked body when he got closer. You tried not to focus on his hard cock, red around the tip, cum leaking from it. You wondered how long he was holding that in.

“You got some type of power I don't know about?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer when he presses against your naked body. Heat coming from his chest that was making you flustered. “You secretly a mutant, and you decided not to tell me?”

“No! No, I'm not a mutant. I swear all I did was just put on some perfume-”

Logan silences you with a kiss. Hands on your sides while groaning between your lips. You thought he was mad at you, yet he was sticking his tongue down your throat. His rough hands on your sides. You hold on to him for dear life when he parts, sniffing the air, and you feel yourself getting wetter.

“Motherfucking perfume should not make you smell this good, Jesus fucking Christ.” Logan swears while he's buried against your neck again, licking and sucking along your skin. You whine at how rough he's getting, as if he needs more of you. “I won't get mad if you tell me you are a mutant right now because fuck…”

Logan picks you up and tosses you on the bed. You barely have time to recover when he flips you over on your stomach. A hand presses on your back, keeping you firmly against the mattress. His lips kiss behind your earlobe before giving it a gentle nibble. That makes you shift underneath him, causing him to shush in your ear.

“Hold still.”

You do as you're told, whimpering at the touch of his lips against your nape. A light kiss, one that makes you want to put your head back, which is followed up by a nibble. Logan does the same while trailing down your back. You feel his hands palm the globes of your ass while he does so, creating tiny circles with his thumbs.

You moan into your pillow, and you know you're embarrassingly wet now. Your cunt is pulsing with the need to have him inside you already. His fingers dip inside you, and you gasp in surprise. Logan's able to pump his thick digits into your aching hole while leaning over you again, taking another whiff of your perfume.

“Lift your hips up for me, baby.”

You struggle to move your hips as he’s still two fingers inside you, but he helps you, a firm hand on your hip. When he does so, he moves down to your clit. The two fingers coated with your wetness parted your folds, rubbing that sensitive bud. It was getting harder to do as you were told. Keeping still as he played with your pussy. Taking in how delicious you smelled with the perfume.

“Logan.” You murmured against your pillow, “Please…”

“Please? My lady's begging for me?” Logan lets out a short laugh, not stopping his fingers. “You want me to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, huh?”

“Please…” You were on the brink of tears, that familiar feeling in your stomach about to tip over. Logan didn't show you any mercy, making you sob against your sheets. His fingers rubbed your sensitive clit until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You ached for him to be inside, cunt pulsing for him to slip his cock in. Once again, the tip of his nose brushed against your ear lobe as well as his cock in your sex. Your body quivered as his chest was on your back, hovering over you for complete control.

“Think you can give me another?”

You didn't have time to answer as he started pounding into you. Sticky, wet sounds in your ears as you were pinned. Not having a single thought every time Logan's hips met with yours, mouth wide open as you were being fucked dumb. A hint of your drool staining the sheets.

The headboard banging against the wall, mattress squeaking as Logan kept going. Grunting in your ear, saying that your scent was even better after your orgasm. That he wasn't going to come until you squeezed around his thick cock. And he meant it when he rubbed against your pulsing clit. You shook, moaning at his touch and how his cock pistoned into you.

Logan was angled perfectly to where he started hitting your G-spot, causing your vision to get blurry. Still not stopping on the assault on your clit.

“Lo…Logan…” Your body was getting hotter, another climax on the horizon.

“You almost there, princess?” Your answer was only a whine, and that was good enough for him. “That’s it, that's it. Do it for me, baby.”

This orgasm was different. As you came undone, wetness coated Logan's cock, some dripping down your thighs and his own.

“Oh fuck-” Without warning, he shot up inside you. Grunting in your ear while his seed filled your cunt, mixing with your own arousal and trailing down your thighs as well. Logan lazily pumped into you to make sure you got it all while groping your ass.

You could hardly move with Logan on top of you. Thank goodness he didn't rest his total weight on you, or you'd be crushed. He waited a few moments before pulling out, leaving you to lie on your side, completely docile.

No words were said when he cleaned you up, towel between your legs as he kissed your forehead. You started getting coherent enough to realize the groceries were still out, but Logan said he already put them away for you.

With a sigh of relief, you glanced over at the perfume before reaching for your phone to look up the label. That's when your eyes went wide at the reveal.

Wade gifted you pheromone perfume.

No wonder Logan was acting unhinged all day. With his heightened sense of smell, of course something like this would affect him. That is definitely the last time you take a gift from Wade.

As you showed Logan what the perfume was, his brows furrowed in slight annoyance, calling him an asshole.

“But,” Logan folded his arms, glancing away from you. “I wouldn't mind if you wear this more often…”

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

What's That Smell? ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 3.1k

✩ Content: Worst!Logan and Hairdresser! Reader. Wade acts like he's innocent in this, but he's not. Pheromone perfume. Logan doesn't go feral, but he gets there. P in V. Vaginal Fingering. Squirting. MINORS DNI!!

✩ A/N: I had to write about my man reacting to pheromone perfume. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Commissions

“Happy birthday!”

Wade hands you a pink gift bag stuffed with sparkly tissue paper. “It's not my birthday.”

“You're so silly.” He waves you away with a sensible chuckle. “It's someone's birthday somewhere. Anyway, I saw this and thought of you.”

You pull out a small bottle of perfume decorated in a crystal clear color. The design looked oddly familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint where you saw it. “Oh, thanks. I've been meaning to get some more perfume.”

“Well, the gods answered, and as your friend, I am known for reading my friend’s minds.”

You're pretty sure Logan brought it up to him one day, but you didn’t question it. You thanked him with a hug, and he mentioned something about doing a fashion show for Mary Puppins when he left your apartment.

It was nice of Wade to give you a gift. He's always been generous towards you since you were with Logan, but you didn’t expect something like this.

You even mentioned Wade's generosity to Logan later on, who gave a questionable raise of an eyebrow.

“Really? He bought you perfume?”

“Yeah.” You pull out the bag and show him the bottle. “Wasn't that sweet of him?”

Logan squints at the bottle, still not convinced. “I guess so.”

“You guess so.” You rolled your eyes. “Can’t you believe that he wanted to be nice? He doesn't seem like the type to play a cruel joke.”

“Cruel isn't the word I'd use.” He grumbles.

You place the pink gift bag back on your dresser, reminding yourself to use it the next time you go out.

That next time was for running errands. You had to restock the kitchen, enough to last you and your superhero boyfriend, who loves to eat and drink, for a couple of weeks. Plus, you needed to get more supplies for the salon. Logan would meet up with you at the store since he spent the night back at Wade's to prep for Mary Puppin's first day at doggy school. You could tell from the brief phone call last night that he was worn out.

You throw on an oversized t-shirt, leggings, and sneakers. Not the most attractive outfit. Before you left, your eyes landed on the gift bag. Harmlessly, you sprayed Wade's perfume behind your ears and the space between your bicep and forearm.

Running errands was serious for you. You weren't the biggest fan of spending hours at the store, wasting time grabbing groceries. Logan agreed with you on that front, as he didn’t want to waste time either.

Once you stepped foot inside the store, you were ready. With a list in hand, you were filled with total concentration. A few minutes later, there was a shift.

You received a lot more attention.

Many people coming up to you to tell you smell good. You just started in the produce aisle, and four people approached you. It surprised you the multitude of compliments you were getting despite having the appearance of a bum. Others were making conversation while you were trying to shop, asking you simple questions about good salad dressing brands. Or how many spices you have in your home. Trying to get closer to you.

One man didn't seem to get the hint that you were busy. He offered to help you with your groceries while you were in the cereal aisle. Logan's favorite brand of raisin bran was on a high shelf, causing said man to grab it for you. You were polite, but maybe you shouldn't have been, as he constantly hovered around you. Drawn to you for reasons you can't explain. Talking your ear off about whatever he could think of.

“You probably have your own shopping to do. I don't want to distract you.” You say, hoping politely declining him would make him take the hint.

“No, no, it's alright. I don't want to leave a defenseless person like you.”

You hold back at getting annoyed, “…it's a grocery store.”

“Still, I just think-”

“You got cotton in your fucking ears?” In a blink, Logan grabs the intruding guy by his shoulder, effortlessly pushing him away. “She didn't need any fucking help, bub.”

The guy scoffs, rolling his hips to make himself look more arduous, “And who are you?”

“Her boyfriend, who isn't afraid to make you a pathetic stain on the ground.”

You knew he meant it, but you also didn’t want to get banned as you really liked this store. The guy took the hint, leaving the cereal aisle like a defeated puppy.

“My hero.” You kiss Logan's cheek and see him sniff the air. He turns towards you, pupils almost blown. Before you can ask if he's alright, he grabs your wrist, smelling the space between your bicep and forearm. The action makes you laugh a little.

“What's that smell?” Logan takes a few more sniffs, and you feel blood rush to your cheeks. “It's sweet. Really fucking sweet.”

“O-Oh, I put on perfume today.” You didn't need to ask if he liked it as he was glued to your form, sniffing behind your ears, his breath fanning your neck.

“Is this new? I've never smelled this before.”

“Yeah, it's the one from Wade.”

Logan lets out a groan that sends straight to your core. Goosebumps coat your flesh, and you shudder when his hands creep under your shirt to feel your bare skin. His touch was hot, almost making your back arch. You had to remember you were in a grocery store. There were eyes on you two, and you had to regain some control, or else there'd be two new names on the sex offender list.

“Baby, we got things to do.”

You pull away from him, trying to ignore Logan's dejected face at the fact they had errands to run. He hardly said anything else after that. He delegated his role to being the silent shopper, pushing the cart and responding briefly whenever you talked to him. To anyone else, he gave off the appearance of a man not wanting to go grocery shopping. You knew it was something else when you noticed his knuckles turning white from gripping the cart. Everything in your body warned you not to get close to him until the errands were done.

An unsettled feeling arose inside your stomach when the two of you were outside, a cart filled with groceries. Logan mentioned he brought Althea's car, which is one of the few words he's said since then.

He told you to wait in the car while he put the groceries in the trunk. You wanted to help, but he pushed you to go inside, almost gritting his teeth. There, you sat on the passenger side while waiting for him to finish. Logan was taking his time and acting completely different from your usual outings. At one point, you saw him with his head towards the sky, taking heavy breaths, hands on his hips.

You had a feeling this was your fault somehow.

When Logan got inside, you ask, “You okay?”

“No.” He doesn't start the car yet. You could see the veins across his hands when he gripped the steering wheel. “You don't know how fucking good you smell right now. It's everywhere. My nose, my head, my thoughts. You don't know bad I'm trying not to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the backseat. ”

You didn't know what to say, but you liked it. Your thighs squeezed together at how a couple of spritzes of perfume were affecting him.

“Is it that bad? Do you wanna go home instead?”

Logan shakes his head, “You still have to go to the beauty store.”

“I can get those things another day-”

“No, sugar. I'm not ruining your plans because of a damn perfume.”

Butterflies tangle in your stomach. This man still had ways to make you shiver. You just needed to be a responsible adult for a bit longer.

The beauty store was five minutes away, but being in the car with Logan felt like an eternity. His large hand rested on your thigh, creating heat through his palm. Your thoughts wanted him to go higher, near your sex, to feel how horny you were getting. The car started getting warmer too, sweat forming on your brow. If Logan hadn't smelled you earlier, he would probably have smelled you now.

“I'll go in with ya.” He offers when pulling into a parking spot.

“No need! I'll probably be a bit anyway.”

You rush out of the car before he can say anything else. Practically running inside the store so you can get your mind straight. Your boyfriend's words were hovering in your mind, and you resisted the urge to turn back around and have him go by his word.

You needed to calm your mind. Hopefully shopping for more supplies would help and Logan staying in the car.

“Now, what kind of man would I be if I let my lady go in alone?” Logan's gruff tone sent chills across your spine and his arm around your waist to press against your back. No words escaped you as he sniffed behind your head. “Say something.”

“Logan…” You let out a shaky breath, trying not to falter at the proximity. He couldn’t resist copping a feel on your breast, which made you bite your lip. “There are cameras.”

He grunts, burying his face in your neck as you two stand awkwardly in the shampoo aisle. Thank goodness there was no one nearby to witness it.

“I'm behaving.”

“Barely.”

When you were usually out to restock, you were quick, decisive, a separate list on hand to make sure you had everything you needed for the salon. This time, you were slower and more distracted as Logan was glued to your hip. Giving you extra hugs after picking up an item you need on your list. A gentle kiss to your neck. His arm possessively around your waist. The man wasn't even a massive fan of pda either. Whatever this perfume was had him forgo his usual self.

When people were nearby, he didn't leave your side. His large pupils were on them as if they were a threat as if they were going to take you away from him.

If you had any more errands to run, that would have to wait another day. Once you two checked out from the store, your man was about to snap.

Logan was dead silent when he started the car, his knuckles almost turning white again. The apartment was only fifteen minutes away, and you weren't sure if he would be able to hold on that long. You only noticed deep, heavy breaths that overshadowed the radio you turned on to distract yourself. You weren't sure if you wanted to ask if he was okay again. You had a feeling he was going to go true to his word to fuck you in the backseat.

Once pulling up to your apartment, you were ready to get out, but his hand held yours to stop you.

“I'll get the bags.”

“There's a lot of them, I can help-”

“No.” He cuts you off, bringing your wrist up to his face and taking a long sniff. You squeezed your thighs together at the sight. A whimper almost escaped your lips. “Go wait in our room.”

You had nothing else to say after that.

You did as you were told, sitting on the edge of the bed while holding your hands. Your heart pounding in your chest as you heard Logan bring the bags inside. You weren't sure why you were nervous. You were doing what you were told.

Maybe he told you to wait because the scent was becoming unbearable. That he couldn’t focus, or your scent was dampening his enhanced abilities. Did you mess up? All you did was put on perfume. Or did Wade mess up? Did he accidentally bring you something that affected mutants? You should’ve thought twice before accepting a gift from him.

Slow and heavy footsteps made it's way into the room. You watched Logan close the door and lock it as if there was anyone around to disturb you.

“Take off your clothes.” He starts pulling off his own shirt.

You did so, albeit a bit slower than him. Your thighs clenched as you knew your cunt was wet from all of the waiting, the touches, and kisses from the stores, his filthy words. Logan's eyes scanned your naked body when he got closer. You tried not to focus on his hard cock, red around the tip, cum leaking from it. You wondered how long he was holding that in.

“You got some type of power I don't know about?” He doesn't give you a chance to answer when he presses against your naked body. Heat coming from his chest that was making you flustered. “You secretly a mutant, and you decided not to tell me?”

“No! No, I'm not a mutant. I swear all I did was just put on some perfume-”

Logan silences you with a kiss. Hands on your sides while groaning between your lips. You thought he was mad at you, yet he was sticking his tongue down your throat. His rough hands on your sides. You hold on to him for dear life when he parts, sniffing the air, and you feel yourself getting wetter.

“Motherfucking perfume should not make you smell this good, Jesus fucking Christ.” Logan swears while he's buried against your neck again, licking and sucking along your skin. You whine at how rough he's getting, as if he needs more of you. “I won't get mad if you tell me you are a mutant right now because fuck…”

Logan picks you up and tosses you on the bed. You barely have time to recover when he flips you over on your stomach. A hand presses on your back, keeping you firmly against the mattress. His lips kiss behind your earlobe before giving it a gentle nibble. That makes you shift underneath him, causing him to shush in your ear.

“Hold still.”

You do as you're told, whimpering at the touch of his lips against your nape. A light kiss, one that makes you want to put your head back, which is followed up by a nibble. Logan does the same while trailing down your back. You feel his hands palm the globes of your ass while he does so, creating tiny circles with his thumbs.

You moan into your pillow, and you know you're embarrassingly wet now. Your cunt is pulsing with the need to have him inside you already. His fingers dip inside you, and you gasp in surprise. Logan's able to pump his thick digits into your aching hole while leaning over you again, taking another whiff of your perfume.

“Lift your hips up for me, baby.”

You struggle to move your hips as he’s still two fingers inside you, but he helps you, a firm hand on your hip. When he does so, he moves down to your clit. The two fingers coated with your wetness parted your folds, rubbing that sensitive bud. It was getting harder to do as you were told. Keeping still as he played with your pussy. Taking in how delicious you smelled with the perfume.

“Logan.” You murmured against your pillow, “Please…”

“Please? My lady's begging for me?” Logan lets out a short laugh, not stopping his fingers. “You want me to fuck that pretty pussy of yours, huh?”

“Please…” You were on the brink of tears, that familiar feeling in your stomach about to tip over. Logan didn't show you any mercy, making you sob against your sheets. His fingers rubbed your sensitive clit until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You ached for him to be inside, cunt pulsing for him to slip his cock in. Once again, the tip of his nose brushed against your ear lobe as well as his cock in your sex. Your body quivered as his chest was on your back, hovering over you for complete control.

“Think you can give me another?”

You didn't have time to answer as he started pounding into you. Sticky, wet sounds in your ears as you were pinned. Not having a single thought every time Logan's hips met with yours, mouth wide open as you were being fucked dumb. A hint of your drool staining the sheets.

The headboard banging against the wall, mattress squeaking as Logan kept going. Grunting in your ear, saying that your scent was even better after your orgasm. That he wasn't going to come until you squeezed around his thick cock. And he meant it when he rubbed against your pulsing clit. You shook, moaning at his touch and how his cock pistoned into you.

Logan was angled perfectly to where he started hitting your G-spot, causing your vision to get blurry. Still not stopping on the assault on your clit.

“Lo…Logan…” Your body was getting hotter, another climax on the horizon.

“You almost there, princess?” Your answer was only a whine, and that was good enough for him. “That’s it, that's it. Do it for me, baby.”

This orgasm was different. As you came undone, wetness coated Logan's cock, some dripping down your thighs and his own.

“Oh fuck-” Without warning, he shot up inside you. Grunting in your ear while his seed filled your cunt, mixing with your own arousal and trailing down your thighs as well. Logan lazily pumped into you to make sure you got it all while groping your ass.

You could hardly move with Logan on top of you. Thank goodness he didn't rest his total weight on you, or you'd be crushed. He waited a few moments before pulling out, leaving you to lie on your side, completely docile.

No words were said when he cleaned you up, towel between your legs as he kissed your forehead. You started getting coherent enough to realize the groceries were still out, but Logan said he already put them away for you.

With a sigh of relief, you glanced over at the perfume before reaching for your phone to look up the label. That's when your eyes went wide at the reveal.

Wade gifted you pheromone perfume.

No wonder Logan was acting unhinged all day. With his heightened sense of smell, of course something like this would affect him. That is definitely the last time you take a gift from Wade.

As you showed Logan what the perfume was, his brows furrowed in slight annoyance, calling him an asshole.

“But,” Logan folded his arms, glancing away from you. “I wouldn't mind if you wear this more often…”

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

୨୧ nanami is soo bad at hiding his pathetic moans.

“oh, fuck,” he breathed out the tip of his dick stretching your wet pussy, the sensation pulling a raw edge to his voice.

you threw your head back against the pillow, a soft moan escaping your lips, and nanami seized the moment, his teeth grazed your neck, then bit down hard, making you squeal.

the sharp sting was a distraction, a way to ground himself as he fought the sounds threatening to spill from his throth, his dick finally plunged in fully, and he found his rhythm, thrusting faster.

his hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in as he focused on your face, his brows furrowed, lips parted.

you squeezed around him, your pussy tightening, and his rhythm faltered for a split second. “shit honey—” he grunted, his voice low and strained, a pathetic moan nearly slipping through before he caught it with the curse.

he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezing shut as he thrust harder, trying to bury the sounds in the intensity of his movements.

“k-kento…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need, and his gaze snapped to yours, sharp and focused despite the haze of pleasure.

“y-yeah?” he managed, his tone rough but attentive, always attuned to you even in the heat of the moment.

one arm slid behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your face up to meet his eyes.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter, flicker of concern cutting through his focus. even now, he couldn’t help but check on you, his care for you woven into every action.

you nodded, breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders. “keep going,” you whispered, urging him on, his jaw tightened, and he gave a short nod, his hips snapping forward with renewed intensity.

the bed creaked under the force of his thrusts, the rhythm steady but relentless, each movement pulling a low grunt from his chest.

another moan threatened to escape, and he hissed, dipping his head to bite your shoulder, the sharp press of his teeth muffling the sound against your skin.

“goddamn it,” he muttered, his lips brushing your collarbone as he fought to keep himself in check, his hand tightened in your hair, pulling again, not harshly but enough to make you gasp.

“you feel—” he cut himself off with another grunt, his forehead pressing harder against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

he squeezed his eyes shut, a low, desperate sound catching in his throat before he smothered it with a growled, “fuck.” you clung to him, your nails digging into his back, matching his rhythm as best you could.

the way he moved, the way he tried so hard to hide those soft, pathetic moans, only made you want him more, he was unraveling, piece by piece, and you felt it in the way his thrusts grew less controlled, more desperate.

his teeth found your neck again, biting down just enough to sting, and you squealed softly, your body arching into his.

“kento,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, and he responded with a low hum, his lips grazing your jaw. “you don’t have to hold back,” you said knowing how hard he tried to keep himself composed.

he exhaled sharply, almost a scoff, but there was no malice in it. “easier said than done,” he muttered, his voice rough with effort.

his hand slid from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin briefly before he braced himself again, his thrusts growing harder, more erratic.

another moan slipped out, and he cursed under his breath “shit” before burying his face against your neck. “you’re doing fine,” he said, his voice muffled against you, as if he needed to ground himself by focusing on you.

“just—stay with me.” it was as much a plea as a command, his usual composure cracking under the weight of his need.

© written by kaizer | do not copy plagiarize or translate any.

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

you’ve been quiet all evening.

not your usual soft, thoughtful kind of quiet, either. this is heavy, sulking silence. a quiet born from hurt. you won’t look at him when he walks in, and you don’t meet him at the door like you usually do.

you’re on the couch, legs tucked under you, your face barely illuminated by the glow of the tv you’re not even watching.

kento sees it immediately. the damage he’s done.

he exhales. his tie is loose, his shirt half-unbuttoned from a long day, and he doesn’t even take his shoes off before walking over to you. he drops to one knee in front of the couch, large hands finding your thighs, and you flinch.

just a little. but enough.

he closes his eyes and swears under his breath.

“sweetheart.” his voice is rough, regretful. “look at me.”

you don’t.

“i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

still, you won’t lift your gaze. he cups your jaw gently, guiding your face toward him.

“i came home and took it out on you. you did nothing wrong.”

you blink, lashes fluttering like you’re holding back something. maybe anger? maybe tears? either way, it twists in his chest like a dagger.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs. “you can punish me however you want. just don’t shut me out like this. i can’t take it.”

and then he leans in. softly. tentatively. kissing the corner of your mouth like he’s trying not to scare you away.

you don’t push him off.

but you don’t lean in either.

but when his lips brush against yours again, slower this time, his fingers stroking your thigh, he feels you sigh. quiet. resigned. wanting.

he deepens the kiss slowly. like he’s savoring every second. one hand finds your waist, pulling you closer, and the other slides up under your oversized shirt his shirt until his palm is resting just under your breast.

you gasp into his mouth, and he pulls back to look at you.

“let me make it up to you,” he says, voice low and rough. “let me show you how sorry I am.”

and when you whisper, “okay…” it comes out breathy, hesitant. he kisses you again, harder this time. less patient. more desperate.

he carries you to the bedroom, kissing your neck the whole way there, muttering apologies between each press of his lips.

once you’re on the bed, he strips you slow. reverent. like he’s trying to re-memorize your body, like he thinks he’s lost the right to touch it. he undresses himself only after you’re bare before him. flushed and shy but still watching him now, finally.

when he pushes your thighs open and settles between them, he just looks at you.

“you’re the softest thing I’ve ever known,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “i don’t deserve to be this close to you.”

his mouth trails down your tummy, tongue dipping into your navel, teeth grazing the inside of your thigh. you squirm when he kisses lower, and his large hands wrap around your thighs, holding you in place.

he eats you out like it’s penance.

slow, slow drags of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. then again. then again. he flicks it, circles it, sucks gently until your hips buck, and he doesn’t stop. he flattens his tongue and moans low against you when you whimper his name.

“you taste so fucking sweet,” he breathes, voice strained, like he’s losing his mind. “i could stay here all night.”

two fingers slide into you, thick and slow, curling just right until your back arches off the bed. he doesn’t stop when you come, if anything, he gets hungrier. stays there until your thighs tremble, until you're panting, oversensitive and breathless.

“turn around,” he says softly. then, catching your hesitation, adds: “please.”

you do. on your hands and knees now, cheek pressed to the pillow, thighs still shaky from how hard you came. He kneels behind you, one hand smoothing down your back, then gripping your hip as he lines himself up.

“gonna be good for me?” he murmurs, running his leaking tip through your slick folds.

you nod quickly. “yes. please…”

he pushes in slowly. inches at a time.

you both groan when he bottoms out. you’re so tight, warm, wet. he has to close his eyes and grip your hips to keep from losing it immediately.

“fuck,” he grits out. “you always feel like this after i’ve been an asshole to you?”

you whine, half flustered, half desperate. and he leans over you, pressing kisses between your shoulder blades.

“say I’m forgiven,” he rasps. “say it, and i’ll take care of you.”

“i forgive you,” you whisper.

he thrusts once. deep. controlled.

you choke on a moan.

“again.”

“i forgive you– ken– please–”

he sets a rhythm, deep and slow, dragging his dick against every sensitive part of you. one hand slides under your stomach, pressing down right where the bulge forms when he fucks you deep.

“you feel that?” he growls in your ear. “feel me right here?”

you nod helplessly, mouth open, drool slipping down your chin.

he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you upright, back to his chest, fucking up into you from beneath now. one hand snakes between your thighs to rub your clit while the other grabs your throat, tilting your head back so he can kiss your jaw.

“mine,” he breathes. “my sweet girl. i’m so fucking sorry.”

you clench tight around him, moaning his name again and again until your body tensed, shaking, and you come hard, thighs trembling, hips twitching.

he groans, burying himself deep one last time, spilling inside you with a low, broken curse.

afterward, he doesn't pull out. just keeps holding you close, lips brushing your shoulder, your temple, your hair.

“you’re everything to me,” he whispers. “even when I’m too stupid to act like it.”

you murmur something back, barely audible, and he shifts to kiss your cheek.

“what was that?”

“i said…” You glance at him, eyes soft. “you’re forgiven. but you’re making me sore.”

he chuckles low, pressing a kiss to your temple. “then i guess i’ll just have to rub your thighs and draw you a bath.”

you hum sleepily against his chest.

“…and maybe eat you out again before you fall asleep.”

you chuckled. and he smiles for real this time.

because nothing feels better than being let back in.

[idkmanimreallysleepy]

Are you made of Copper and Tellurium? || Logan x Reader

summary: It's Prom at the X-Mansion and Jubliee and Rogue want Logan to ask you out bad.

a/n: So this might be incredibly self indulgent because I never went to my junior or senior prom bc my relationships had ended right before prom happened oop. Sometimes I feel sad knowing I missed out on such a like. Important high school experience and never got to dress up so this was born.

wc: 2.9k

“Logan!” The door to his classroom bursts open as he sees Marie and Jubilee standing at that door with suspicious smiles on their faces.

"Do you two ever knock?" He grumbles as he sets down his book. It was a free period and Logan was not in the mood to entertain any students right now, even his favorites.

"We do but this is important!" Jubilee squeals as she and Rogue surround him.

"It's about prom." Rogue says.

"What about it?" Logan asks.

See the students at the mansion had begged for months to hold a prom. It could be a chance for them to enjoy something that regular high school students get. Just a night of music, dancing, and fun.

Logan was highly against it because he doesn't wanna be stuck chaperoning a bunch of teenagers who are trying and failing to sneak alcohol into the punch. But still it was approved and everyone was talking about it.

"A prom-posal!" Jubilee shouts. Sparks flying out of her hand in excitement.

"A what?" Logan asks in confusion. "A prom-posal, you know making a sign with a pun and asking someone to the dance? Or bringing them flowers or singing or-"

"Okay I get it. Why are you talkin' to me about this." Logan isn't really the man to go to for help with something like this. Rogue rolls her eyes at his question.

"Duh, because of your massive crush on our Chemistry teacher." Logan tenses up, his neck turning red as he glares at the two girls in front of him.

"I don't have a crush on the chemistry teacher." He says. Both of them look at each other and just laugh.

"Come on Logan, It's sooo obvious." Jubilee says as she takes out her phone to show him pictures she had taken at varying school events.

"I mean just look at the way your eyes shine with love." She says with a loving sigh.

"Why the fuck do you have those?" Logan reaches for her phone but she pulls it out of his reach.

"Hey! No swearing this is a school." Jubilee scolds Logan who just rolls his eyes. He knows she's said worse he's heard her.

"You and your damn phone. You know ever since I saw those damn tik toks you make I've considered taking it away from you." Logan growls as Jubilee crosses her arms.

"You're not my dad, you can't do that." "I grounded you last week for blowing up the TV."

"That was...fair but it was also an accident." She argues and Logan just raises an eyebrow.

"That's not important, we needa get back to your crush." Rogue interrupts before the topic is lost.

"For the last time I don't-"

"Logan!" He freezes when he hears your voice.

"Oh hi," You appear in the doorway and see Logan, Jubilee, and Rogue staring at you.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything but I snagged you the last chocolate chip muffin." You place the muffin onto his desk. The girls notice a faint blush creep up on Logan's cheeks and giggle to themselves.

"Thanks, you're a real sweetheart." Logan purrs as he picks up the muffin and takes a bite. The girl's eyes dart from Logan to you, seeing the way you bite your lip and the way your eyes light up at the pet name. Oh you two have it bad.

"Well I'll see you around Logan, bye girls." You wave goodbye as you disappear down the hall.

"See you." Logan says.

"Seriously?? That's it??!" Jubilee groans once you're gone.

"Don't you two have homework or class? Anything that ain't bothering me." Rogue opens her mouth to argue but stops.

"Oh my we do have a test today. But this ain't over Logan!" She grabs Jubilee by the wrist and drags her out of the classroom.

Logan sighs and leans back in his chair. These damn kids aren't going to let this go. Stupid Chuck for agreeing to this prom and stupid feelings for rendering him so nervous around you. He won't admit it but they're right. He does like you.

But he's a grown man, nearly 175 he doesn't have a crush. He just has feelings and these feelings happen to make his heart flutter. Ugh even just thinking that makes him cringe. Besides, what adult even cares about prom? To the teachers it's just another thing. It doesn't mean as much to them as it does to the kids. Would you laugh in his face if he asked you to prom?

Shit he never even went to prom but he does remember seeing kids in puffy dresses and powder blue tuxedos. Times certainly have changed though. He picks up the muffin, taking another bite as he goes back to grading papers. Wondering if you were even going to be there.

Any talk about prom was unavoidable for Logan. Practically everyone was buzzing about it. He could hear students giggling about their dates or finding the perfect dress or some dreading having to dress up in an itchy tux. Not to mention Rogue and Jubs would not get off his back.

"Okay what about this one? Are you made of Copper and Tellurium because you are cute! Go to Prom with me." Jubilee shows him a list of stupid pick up lines she had googled and that was her top one.

"No." Logan grumbles as he chops another log of wood.

He's outside chopping wood to get away from the overstimulation of the mansion and yet, Jubilee has still found him.

"Come on, you have to give me something." She whines and Logan drives the axe into the stump.

"Look kid, Why are you so hell bent on this stupid prom proposal shit?" Logan wipes his forehead with his tank top as Jubilee sighs.

"Okay so, don't get mad but me and Marie might have overheard that their prom sucked. Like Carrie level of suck."

"How do you know about Carrie?" Logan asks.

"I'm cultured. I know my female led cult classic movies thank you very much." Jubilee huffs.

"Anyways, basically it was like straight out of an 80's movie. Shy nerd gets asked out by the popular guy only to be stood up and made fun of in front of the whole school." Logan frowns at that. A low simmer of anger just hearing about it. He sighs as he crosses his arms.

"Were you eavesdropping again?"

"Not on purpose, but come on Logan. You could be the knight in shining armor! Create the prom experience that they never had." Jubilee pouts as she pleads her case to Logan. “Jubs, this dance ain’t for us. It’s for kids like you. And I heard that Jonothon kid asked you to the dance.” He smirks as Jubilee starts to stutter.

“Who told you?!” She squeaks out.

“No one, super hearing remember?” He teases.

“Now do I need to have a chat with this boy?”

“No! No it’s fine, it’s nothing." She says quickly, making Logan laugh. Her eyes dart to the side and a wide grin appears on her face

"You know I gotta go I promised Rogue we'd go dress shopping so I'll see you around but think about what I said!!” She yells as she sprints back to the mansion. Logan tilts his head, wondering why she ran away so quickly, until a familiar scent appears. Floral shampoo and the faint hint of chemicals.

"Hi Sweetheart, what are you doing out here?" Logan turns to see you approaching him with two glasses of lemonade.

"One day I'll sneak up on you." You huff as you hand him one of the glasses. Your eyes are glued to his arms, bulging out of his shirt and just a little sweaty from chopping wood. Fuck it's not fair how good he looks just doing a simple task. You spotted him out there and decided to find an excuse to come talk to him. Plus you were sick of hearing about prom.

"Not happening, but you can keep trying if you like." He says with a smirk.

"So what was Jubilee talking about?" Logan nearly chokes on his lemonade. Damn Jubilee and her loud mouth.

"Nothing just prom stuff."

"Ah, are you going?" You ask, a slight hopefulness in your voice.

"Don't think I got a choice, Chuck made it pretty clear that we all had to be chaperones for this damn thing." Logan grumbles.

"Have you ever been to a prom? Was that a thing back in medieval times?" You tease and he rolls his eyes.

"I ain't that old. And no I never went to prom but I've been to a handful of dances." He says thinking back to his very long life.

"You aren't missing much, prom isn't really...it's not all people think it is. At least for me it wasn't." You say and Logan furrows his brows. He hesitates to tell you that he knows what happened to you but you end up telling him anyway.

"I had a crush on this guy, he was pretty popular I guess but not star quarterback popular." You explain and Logan listens. You're smiling but he can see a hint of sadness in your eyes.

"I guess he liked someone else and they devised this plan to humiliate me."

"Bunch of fucking assholes." Logan growls.

"Tell me about it, if it makes you feel better he's still living in his moms basement." You joke.

High School had been over for a long time but you never quite forgot the sting of rejection. You can laugh about it now but Prom was supposed to be the best night of your life at the time and it wasn't.

"Still, that's not right." Logan feels this pull in his gut and he knows what he wants to do. He just has to make sure that Jubilee and Rogue never find out or else he's never hearing the end of it.

"We should go together. You know. I never had a prom and yours sucked." The words don't come out as nice as he wanted but it gets the message across. You snort at his blunt ask but hey, that's just Logan.

"Are you asking me to Prom Logan?" You tease as you sip your lemonade.

"Hold on." He looks around, spotting a few wild flowers growing in the field. He leans down and unsheathes his claws, slicing through the stems to create a makeshift bouquet.

"Here, will you go to prom with me?" His words are awkward but the sentiment is there. You take the flowers and smile, this was already better than high school. Plus your date won't be a complete asshole.

"I'd love to Logan, I'm wearing blue by the way. Just so you know." You hear someone call your name from the mansion and see Hank by the door. You were supposed to meet him to discuss merging the advanced bio and chem students into a sort of AP biochem.

"I have to go but I'll see you later!" Without thinking you lean in and kiss his cheek leaving both of you just a little stunned.

"What kind of blue?" He calls after you as you walk away.

"Mm blue like the blue in your eyes." You call back and he just frowns.

"The fuckcolor is that?"

Unfortunately, Logan had to ask for Jubilee and Rogues help. After a few minutes of squealing so high pitched he swore even a dog could hear, they take pity on the man and help him. Dragging him to a million stores to find the perfect outfit. He refused to try on a damn suit but he eventually caved into at least wearing a tie. It took about 20 minutes of holding up blue colored ties to his eyes before they settled on the perfect one. Which is how he finds himself now.

Outside of your door in jeans, a button up, and a blue tie that matches his eyes. Plus some flowers he bought this time. A soft knock on the door and he can hear your footsteps. The door opens to reveal you all dressed up in a gorgeous blue. You look fucking amazing.

"Hi." You say softly. Man you feel like you're a teenager again. A cute guy at your door bringing you flowers and all you can do is say hi.

"You look stunning." Logan says as he hands you the flowers.

"Thank you. You look handsome. Didn't think you'd be wearing a tie." You reach out and feel the fabric with your fingers, pulling him just a little closer.

"The things I do for you sweetheart." He hums as he admires you.

The faint pout of your lips and your kind eyes. Yeah, he's got it bad. He holds out his arm and you lace your hand through it, letting him lead you down to the party. It's quite noisy but fun by the time you get there. You've never seen the kids so happy before. Being chaperones the two of you stay around the snack table but your hands stay linked together.

"That kid better watch it." Logan growls when he sees Jubilee and Jonothon together. His hands holding her too tight for Logan's liking.

"Hey don't bring out the claws, it's prom, let her have a little fun." You whisper.

"I don't like the look in his eyes." Whether he wants to admit it or not Logan has always been extra protective of Jubilee. So much so that you can tell he wants to go all father figure on that poor boy.

"Let's go outside for a bit, I'm sure Scott can monitor the punch bowl without us." You say to get his mind off of interrupting Jubs prom night.

"Fine, but If we come back and that boy has his hands any lower I'm clawing them off." The cold air hits your face as you open the door. It feels nice to cool off after the heat of the living room.

"So Logan, is it everything you thought it would be?" You ask as you take a sip of your punch.

"Nah, it's even worse. But being here with you is making it better." He hums as he leans against the wall. He glances up at the sky and sighs.

"You know, the girls were trying to get me to ask you out with a...what the hell is it called again? A prom proposal?"

"Oh yeah, those signs with bad puns and stuff." You say. They had shown you a few videos of those before prom got announced.

"They even made a list of horrible puns to try." "

Like what?"

"Are you made of Copper and Tellurium, because you're cute." Logan says, flashing a stupid smile. You snort and burst out laughing. Cheesy but you kind of like it.

"Oh yeah that's horrible. My favorite one is Are you a carbon sample? Because I want to date you." You giggle and Logan chuckles along. The music shifts from upbeat pop to a slow and steady hum. Logan grabs the cup out of your hand and sets it down on the floor.

"Dance with me." He says.

"Oh I don't really know how to." You say nervous. Logan just shrugs and grabs your hands, placing them on his shoulders as he places his own on your hips.

"That's alright, I'll teach ya." You can barely look him in the eyes as you start to move. His shoulders are so broad.

"Hey, look at me for a second." He tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

"This prom is so much better than my old one though the bar was pretty low." You joke softly as you reach up and cup his face.

"Yeah? Am I better than that jackass?" Logan puffs out his chest just a little when you say yes. He spins you around and dips you as the music gets louder. You can't wipe the smile off your face as he pulls you closer to him. He brushes your lips with his thumb as he leans in.

"If I was smart enough I'd come up with my own pun to tell you that I really fucking like you, but I'll settle for this." He whispers, his hand holding the back of your head as he kisses you. Your hands tug at his hair as he slowly walks you back into a wall. Out of sight of any prying eyes.

"Logan..." You whine as he nips at your lip.

"Yeah sweet thing?" He hums as he nuzzles his face into your neck. Leaving kisses along your jaw.

"I like you too." Despite his kisses, you still feel a little shy admitting your feelings and Logan takes notice.

"Damn you're cute." He presses a kiss to your nose as he glances back at the party.

Man he's going to have to endure Jubilee's endless teasing after this. But he looks back and sees the smile on your face and decides it's worth it.

"Let's ditch this dance."

"Won't they notice?" You ask as Logan wraps his arms around your waist.

"Doesn't matter." He grins as he slips his hand under your clothes to feel bare skin.

"How about we take part in another prom tradition? Always wanted to do it in the backseat of a car anyways." He purrs as he pulls you towards the garage.

You let out a shocked squeak as heat fills your body. It's a terrible idea but... Logan is very persuasive. Besides, what's the harm if you disappear for an hour or two. Maybe more with Logan.

"Come on sweetheart, let me give you the full prom experience."