I don’t know if This is the place where people make requests but I was thinking Katsuki and y/n have been friends since childhood but as they grow up Katsuki takes the hero path and y/n chooses the villain path it’s like the 2nd year of UA Katsuki knows y/n is a villain and keeps it a secret she’s also in the class. I don’t know how much I’m aloud to ask but hiiii and if this gets picked thank you
ouuuu this is such an interesting request ! i luv me some angst once in a while ! this is also probably the angstiest fic ive written rn lmfaoo ! i tried to honour your request as best i could and i hope you like it ! (also yall keep enabling my katsuki friends to lovers addiction its not me its yall sooo🤥..) also here, reader’s family is part of a crime syndicate sorta like the chie hassaikai !
fem reader, blood n injuries, kinda angsty but i cant bring myself to fully write angst so take the bittersweetness <33 katsuki claims he hates reader but he doesn’t, reader has a sorta traumatic backstory but if u squint HARD, reader feels guilty, slight miscommunication trope, lemme know if i missed something !
"how long are you gonna keep doing this ?"
you're rolling up your bloody sleeves when you hear the question you'd been expecting fall from your best friends lips.
"what do you mean ?" you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.
he narrows his eyes at you, you ignore him "don't give me that shit." he all but growls at you "how many more times are you gonna come to me all fucked up like this ?" you'd expected him to be louder, but you blame that on the fact it’s so late. angrier isn't the term you're looking for, you've known him long enough to know he's trying to hold back his anger. for you. you feel your stomach twisting at the thought.
"as long as you'll have me" you jest, smiling at him. you never took anything seriously. from the time you were kids until now, katsuki hates that about you. "you'll keep taking care of me, won't you suki ?"
you're spoiled, you think everything is a fuckin' joke. katsuki hates that about you.
he huffs, grabbing your outstrechted bruised and bloodied arm "i won't if you keep wakin' me up so late. we've got school tomorrow, you dumbass." his actions are softer than his words, like they always are. he cleans at your injuries with the med kit he has stashed away in his room for emergencies, emergencies being you. you snort and katsuki can barely cover the smirk growing on his face at the sound.
"you're such a goody two shoes." you sigh playfully, but your tone is more loving than playful like you'd hoped.
you'd been hiding your lifestyle from kastuki until you no longer could. coming to him one night heavily injured because you thought he was the only one you could come to, a decision you regret to this day, even as you sit here in his bedroom again.
you'd never meant to get him involved in your mess. katsuki, who's future was so promising. katsuki, who since the ripe age of 5 with starry eyes and bandaged cheeks proclaimed he would be the best. katsuki, who had wanted you to be together when that moment came.
but you had to ruin it. and you're sure that even as he sits there with you and cleans up your wounds, a part of him hates you for it. you don't blame him, how could you ?
you ruined everything. you always do—
you feel a finger flick against your forehead and when you focus again katsuki's eyes bore into yours.
"don't go zoning out on me, idiot. don't go falling asleep on me either. 'f i can't sleep, neither can you." you huff out a laugh at his petulant demand. you hum as he bandages your arm up carefully. " i think i can do that." you sigh.
"i wasn't asking." he retorts, looking up at you seriously "don't go knocking out on me."
you're left speechless at his words. because despite what he says, you know what he means. you've known katsuki for too long not to.
it’s stupid that such a simple sentence has you blinking rapidly, sniffling away the tears forming in your lash line. katsuki sighs. even when you tried acting tough, you’ve always been such a crybaby.
neither of you say a word as he finishes bandaging up your wounds. he insists on rewrapping up your hand and your heart squeezes because you know he’s stalling and it would be time for you to go soon.
it’s for the better, you think. despite your heart tying itself in knots, you won’t allow katsuki to get caught up in them.
he finishes and no words are exchanged. he stares at you, pleading for something you’re not quite sure about, or at least that’s what you tell yourself (you’ve known him way too long not to know what he wants). you avoid his gaze, your eyes growing misty again when you hear him sigh in defeat before he gets up from his bed and leaves the room.
while you’re throwing your jacket on and tugging your dirty boots back on (katsuki was a stickler about keeping his room clean) you can’t help but look around his room. it makes you giggle how he hadn’t really changed that much at all.
he’s thrown out most of his action figures but it seems he just couldn’t separate himself from the all might one’s. he’s still got the all might poster, his pride and joy that he never stopped showing off when you were kids. and then you see something on the shelf where he keeps all his manga.
katsuki walks back into the room and his shoulders visibly sag when he sees you ready to go. you don’t see it though, you’re focused on something on his shelf, he raises a brow.
before he can ask you anything though, you turn to him with a sly little grin, the grin he knows you have when you’re about to say some dumb shit. he hates that about you.
you’ve got a small rubber band looking thing pinched around your finger and katsuki feels his stomach drop.
"you still have this ? " you twirl the braided friendship bracelet you’d made for him when you were kids around your thumb and index finger, giggling when you see katsuki’s expression morph from curiosity to embarrassment. faster than you could blink, he’s already stomping over to you. he wobbles around a little on his bed to reach over your shoulder to snatch the bracelet back.
“don’t go snooping through my stuff !” his fingers are inches away from the bracelet when you switch it over to your other hand. a struggle breaks out where you push and shove at each other. you end up underneath him with him trying to open up your hand tightly clutching onto your bracelet.
“s’not snooping—if it’s just sitting out in the open !” you giggle. he finally manages to snatch his bracelet out of your death grip with a huff and a pinch at your thigh. you don’t miss the way he inspects it carefully before deciding it was unharmed and placing it right back where you’d found it. your heart squeezes despite yourself.
“either way, don’t go puttin’ yer dirty paws on my stuff. you’ll get your germs on them.” he snickers childishly. you’re just as if not more childish because you blow a raspberry at him. katsuki squishes your cheeks out with his hand in response.
you realize you feel a little too comfy, then realize you’re laying in katsuki’s bed and suddenly spring up to try and leave but a hand pushes at your chest, stopping you from doing so. “where the hell do you think you’re goin’, huh ?”
“home ?”
“don’t think so.” he utters simply, pushing you down onto his bed harshly “you’re not going anywhere.”
“katsu—“
“shut up. none of that bullshit you spout all the time” he leans down until your noses almost brush against each other, you inhaling sharply and katsuki grips the sheets next to your head “ if you get yourself in trouble again, i’m the one you’re gonna come bother and i’m trynna sleep. you’re staying.”
the asshole knows exactly what to say to make you feel bad, even if he doesn’t mean to. so you swallow the lump in your throat and concede “okay, fine” you nod “but i gotta leave super early, so don’t be surprised to see me gone when you wake up.”
“s’less trouble for me if you are.” he quips. he’s mean, he’s always been mean. yet his eyes tell a different story. there he goes again with those pleading eyes. the ones that make you want to spill your entire heart and more, to give your life and soul to him. you turn your face away from him.
“stop that.” he whispers, nosing at your neck, your heartbeat picks up and his does too.
“stop what ?” you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.
“stop trying to act all hard. you know i won’t fall for that shit. those other extra’s might, but i won’t.” he’s awfully quiet. it almost gives you whiplash how he’d went from wrestling you to doing..whatever this was. you don’t mind, despite yourself. “known you too fuckin’ long, unfortunately.”
“yeah” you choke out “yeah, unfortunately.” you feel tears burning in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, that’d be unfair. you’re not allowed to be upset over something you’d caused.
“for fucks sake’s, yn” katsuki goes from gripping his sheets to gripping your wrists, you close your eyes. “ just—fuckin’—“
“i’m sorry.” you whimper, he pauses.
“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have come tonight, or any other night” you sniffle “i should’ve—you should’ve forgotten about me.”
you’re babbling, you always do when you get in your own head. when you refuse to tell him what’s bothering you, determined to do everything yourself, katsuki hates that about you. though it’s something he can’t really get too angry at you for, cus he does it too.
you’re babbling and you’re crying like you always do because you’re a crybaby despite acting like you’re not, and katsuki hates that about you. that’s why he sighs and flips you both over so you’re laying on top of him. immediately despite your better judgment, despite claiming he should’ve forgotten you, you cling to him like he’ll disappear if you don’t.
you’re clingy. you’ve always clung to him. you’re annoying, spoiled and bratty. you make dumb jokes and you never take anything seriously and you cry easily and katsuki tells himself he hates all of that about you.
because it’s easier to say than admit he’s hopelessly in love with you.
he doesn’t care about waking up late to treat your wounds, he’d stay up all night even if it meant fucking up his sleep schedule just to take care of you. he’d give everything he has just to hear you giggle at your own stupid jokes and he’d offer up every limited edition all might figure he has just to stay here and bicker with you over nothing. he’d always comfort you cus you cry easily and he wants to breathe the same air you do constantly, he’d swallow you whole and keep you safe right next to his heart if he could.
you’re clingy, annoying, spoiled and bratty and all of the above but katsuki would do absolutely anything for you.
so he comforts you as you lay crying into his chest. apologizing about something he has no idea about. he’ll ask and he knows you won’t answer him, but he doesn’t care. as long as you’re here.
you fall asleep soon after and you’re still clutching onto him. he reciprocates by holding onto you just as tightly, hoping it keeps you safe as you dream. it’s a stupid thought, he thinks. but it seems you’ve gone and wiped your germs onto his heart.
“you drive me fuckin’ crazy.” he whispers into the air. you’re still wrapped up snuggly in his embrace and his black sheets. in his room where you’d spent the majority of your childhood together. until you came to him with a snotty nose and big wet eyes and told him you weren’t allowed to come play at his house anymore.
fate must think it’s so fucking funny, because despite you not coming over anymore you’d ended up going to the same school every year afterwards, even now ending up in the same class. and with you sneaking into his room almost every night to have him clean up your injuries.
he knows you’ll be gone in the morning, somehow untangling yourself from his snake like grip. with tired eyes and some treat from that coffee shop you know he likes, your stupid way of apologizing to him. katsuki wants to tell you you don’t have to do that because he’d forgive any crime you commit. he’ll turn a blind eye to whatever you do even though he’s studying to do the exact opposite because it’s you and he loves you. but you’ll get in your own head and start assuming stuff. so he accepts your chocolate covered croissants and splits both with you.
you must’ve hit your head extra hard during your late night excursion to think katsuki would ever forget about you. you’re stupid that’s for sure, and katsuki wants to say he hates that about you. but that’d make him stupid too.
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— honey, honey
[part ii of sugar, sugar] | [part iii] | [masterlist]
wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader
rated e - 5.2k
tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, miscommunication, immature humor, wingman!wade, light angst, oral sex, spitting, fingering, unprotected PiV, begging, floor sex
Even after you wake up alone, and almost late for work, it doesn’t deter your interest in your neighbor - especially after the night you shared.
(Or - a miscommunication, and the following through of two late-night promises.)
You awake to the blare of Dolly Parton's '9 to 5'.
A time you wish your work schedule followed. Groggy with sleep as you reach for your phone, hitting snooze on your way-the-fuck-too-early alarm.
Collapsing back on your pillows, as the night before comes rushing back to you.
The party. Meeting Logan. Coming back to your apartment after.
An ache between your thighs that you definitely didn't have the morning before. Sitting up with a start, heart racing as your hand stretches out on the right side of the bed.
The sheets are cool, in-between the deep rips in the fabric.
You don't remember him leaving.
Had drifted off with an arm slung around your waist, one of the hardest sleeps of your life. Something inside you twists, leaving behind the sharp tang of disappointment.
It's not unusual, you suppose. You'd had your fair share of fuck-and-go's, and had even committed a few yourselves. But you thought last night had felt different.
There had been a connection, you were sure of it. The way he had touched you, kissed you-
You had just hoped...
The snoozed alarm goes off, and you catch the time. Forty-five minutes before than your usual alarm - the numbers shocking you into action.
Set earlier to accommodate a last minute change for a wedding - all of the cupcakes needing to be repackaged before the mother of the bride came at seven.
And you had volunteered, do-gooder that you were.
"Shit!” You hiss, scrambling out of bed. A whirlwind as you throw clothes on, banging into the bathroom to get ready.
Still muttering as you blow through the kitchen, snatching up your bag and keys.
"Why the fuck did I do that?" You grouse to yourself, skipping your usual morning coffee - you'll have to grab it on the way, "God, I'm fucking dumb, I always regret it."
The door slams behind you - as you rush down the steps, and out into the streets.
His claws unsheath with the bang of the door. Awakened from a dead sleep, his heartbeat jolting as he's thrown back into another life, in another world.
It takes him a full minute to come back down. His surroundings unfamiliar, the room still bathed in darkness.
A groan, when he remembers. The claws slipping back beneath, a sharp twinge as his skin knits back together.
It's too early for the late night he shared with you. Should have thought about you working in the morning, might have held back from the extra round the night before.
Had meant to wake up before you, slip back into bed as you dozed. You had dropped off in his arms the night before, lulled to sleep after he had coaxed two more orgasms from you, with the slow pump of his hips and circle of his fingers.
Dragging himself out to the couch once your breathing had gone steady. Tugging the homemade afghan off a nearby armchair, wrapping it around him as his eyes fixed on the door. Keeping watch, as he did next door.
Lulled to sleep, thinking about you. His eyes flutter shut for a moment now, the slightest pull of his lips at the memory.
Flinching again, when you barrel out of the bathroom. The light makes him squint - you haven’t seen him yet, as he pushes himself up on an elbow. Your name soft hush on his lips, until he hears your angry muttering.
"Why the fuck did I do that?"
"God I'm fucking dumb, I always regret it."
Your tone laced with anger, woven in with the sharp tang of remorse.
The realization is a douse of ice-cold water, rising away the last dregs of sleep. Leaving him staring at the door as you yank it shut behind you.
Scowling, as he pushes himself up.
Nearly ripping the denim as he tugs his jeans back on. Finding his white tank and discarded flannel in your room, right where he had stripped them off the night before.
His jaw works, replaying your words.
He should have known. Shouldn’t have listened to Wade. Shouldn’t have listened to you. Shouldn’t have let himself hope.
And for the second time, your door slams shut.
You think about Logan all morning, even as you put out fires at work.
The boxes exchanged - two-hundred and fifty rustic, individual cardboard carriers exchanged for sleek and shiny white ones, tied with a bow. The memory that runs through your mind even staves off your irritation at the last-minute work, a peppy smile and wave as you hand the boxes off.
The 'tied-up-in-knots' is a feeling that echoes in your belly. Your fondness for Wade is starting to come back, after the way you were ready to write him off for that absolute debacle of an introduction.
You'd been expecting something a little more... natural. Normal. A "hey, have you met my neighbor?" not one of the most embarrassing things you've had to live through with a near-stranger.
Maybe you should have known better.
But with the way the night ended, you can't bring yourself to be mad. Letting yourself get distracted as you replay the night, again - almost grabbing the wrong tube of icing as your mind wanders back.
Not only thinking about the way he felt - those wandering hands and how perfectly he fit inside you, how he had completely fucked your brains out - but him as well.
The conversations. The tiny crack you had made in his armor, the way he had shown you his claws. The drift of his fingers against your skin, when he had asked why you had gone to Wade.
You’re thankful you’re working in the back today, with the way your skin heats from chest to ears. Quiet mutterings to get it to together.
And as the afternoon finally starts to lull, you find yourself gathering ingredients.
It wouldn't take long to make something small. The recipe is one you know by heart.
Maybe you can drop it off tonight. Maybe it will erase whatever you did to drive him from your bed and back to his apartment in the middle of the night. Maybe it will be a nice way to let him know you’re thinking of him.
Vanilla, flour, powdered sugar. Fresh, sliced strawberries.
Maybe you have it bad.
The box is tucked under your arm when you knock on Wade’s door. It’s still early in the afternoon - the hallways bright, traffic buzzing outside.
You fidget with the strap of your dress - something breezy, but still a little cute. An attempt to look like you have it together with looking like you tried too hard - something easier said than done.
There’s a fluttering twitch behind your ribs when the door opens. That curl of hope squashed when it’s not Logan that answers, but Wade.
You’re quick to fix your expression, offering him a smile, “Morning! Late night?”
“Is it a late night if it’s still going?” A yawn, as he scratches at his ribs - fingers digging into the fabric of his cropped tee, “We’re four seasons deep into a Supermarket Sweep marathon. If I could go back in time again…”
The tv blares in the background, Al sitting in an armchair. The couch from the night before still sits empty, no sign of Logan.
Not that you’re checking.
“You’d… want to host?” You offer, eyebrows raising.
“God no. Can you imagine me in those sweaters? Way too much polyester.” He chuckles, “No, Blind Al and I would sweep. Pun intended.”
Your head tilts, nose scrunching.
“I see you make that face, but that woman knows every goddamn aisle.” Wade sighs fondly, before he’s jolting - eyes fixing on you, “But enough about the biggest regret in my life, how was your night?”
“Oh,” You manage, “It’s was good-”
“Just good?” He scoffs, “He gave you the greatest show and you’re saying it’s just good?”
A huff, muttered under his breath, ”Can’t remember the last time I took the skin boat to tuna town like that. Surprised you’re still walking.”
The noise you make is ugly - a broken groan. Embarrassment flooding with your nerves, cheeks heating, “If you must know, it was great. Lots of wholesome, adult conversation.”
“Uh huh. And a good, old-fashioned railing.” His tongue tucks against his teeth, “I get it! I’ve had him inside me too, it was quite the experience.”
That has you pausing. A beat, as curiosity wells in you, “You mean…?”
“Well, it was his claws,” Wade sighs wistfully, “But how different can it be?”
You huff.
“I don’t think that’s the same thing.”
His brow lifts, “It is, according to the internet.”
“Sure, Wade. The Internet.” Your eyes roll, as you shift - adjusting the box as it rests against your hip, “Speaking of though, is he, uh, home?”
Wade doesn’t hear you. His eyes have already dropped, just noticing what you’re carrying. A tilt of his head as he peers through the transparent film on top.
“What is that?” His finger pokes the box, and your eyes dip down
“It’s nothing,” You start - but you know he won’t let it drop, “Well, actually, it’s - I uh, made him a-”
The words peter out lamely, as you hold up the box. Wade’s teeth sink into the side of his lip, as he bites back a cackle.
“Did you seriously bake him a ‘thanks-for-the-sex’ cake?”
You blink, “No!”
A pause, as mortification wells in you.
“Oh my god,” It’s a whisper, as your hand drags across your face, “Oh my god, Wade. I baked him a sex cake.”
You shove at him as he laughs - his hands sneaking beneath your arm to wrestle the box away from you, “Mm, you’ve got it bad, girlfriend. This is pretty embarrassing, real hard to come back from.”
“There was context!” You insist, reaching for it, “Give that to me.”
Wade twists - pivoting away from you, “Oh ho, not a chance, Sugarplum.”
Your forearm presses into his chest as you lunge at him, but it’s all too easy for him to set the box on the cluttered end-table, barring you as he closes the door - trapping you both out in the hallway.
“He earned it, from what I heard,” He chuckles, “And are you really gonna take it away from him?”
You’re still mentally, and possibly physically, cringing. Leaning against the wall, while he blocks the door.
Wade is still grinning, a sigh as his arms cross,“God, I wish he was here.”
And for the first time all day, you’re glad he’s not. It had seemed like a sweet idea but you’re left feeling like an idiot now - already planning on trying to sneak back in and grab it when Wade isn’t looking.
“He’s not?” You’re fishing. Hook and bobber, a flick as you cast out your heart, fingers on the reel. Pathetic, perhaps, but you can’t resist, “You think he’ll be back tonight?”
“Ooh, the real reason you stopped by. I see how it is.” He sniffs, “But no, I’ve got no idea. Left this morning with Laura, something about a job.”
A beat, before he adds, “Which about time, bee tee dubs. Great face card, but Old Wadey here is about to go into overdraft.”
“Laura?” You parrot, without thinking. A frown creasing your brow, the slightest downturn of your lips.
He catches the expression immediately.
Wade smirks, “Ooh, you are looking so green, Sugar. Never took you for the jealous type.”
An inhale of air between his teeth, head tilting as his hands brace on his hips, “God I could make this so complicated right now. Drag this whole thing out to another chapter, but I won’t, because I just so happen to like you.”
A beat, before he puts you out of your misery, “Laura’s his daughter. Well, this world’s Logan’s daughter. Well, he’s the baby daddy, but there’s no mom. Well, it’s complicated.”
“Oh.” You manage. Another detail to keep up with, something you tuck away with the rest. To ask Logan about later, when you see him - a feeling that he might be a little more coherent in his explanation.
“I’m sure you’ll meet her.” Wade smiles, “Good kid, I mean, as good as you can be with that as a father figure. So much trauma.”
You hum. He had hinted at that. You couldn’t believe that his world didn’t want him. Not sure what could have happened to have him all but warn you the night before.
As if it would make you not want him.
There’s a beat, before his hands are resting on his hips, “Okay. I need to go back to the apparently-contextual-sex-cake.”
You groan, slumping against the wall - the heels of your palms digging into your closed eyes.
“I thought it was embarrassing but I gotta admit that I’m jealous. It’s really bothering me that no one’s ever baked me a cake, because I’m a very tender and generous lover.”
“That wasn’t why. He seemed interested in trying a non-phallic version of the cake I made for you,” You try to keep it professional, but he’s already smirking, “Which thank you for bringing up by the way, really broke the ice.”
“Without me you’d still be at ‘favorite colors’,” Wade’s smile widens, before he sighs longingly, “And god, that cake was good. Best dick I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
You snort, “So far, right?”
His eyes widen.
“You little slut, are you shopping for a third already?” Wade twists the doorknob - opening it a crack with his yell, “Al, it’s happening!”
“No,” You laugh, “I just meant-, I meant I might get better.”
“Can’t beat perfection. And I would know, with a face like this.”
There’s a high-pitched yap then, the sound of nails scratching at the wooden door.
“Ooh, duty calls. Pun intended. Again.” He thumbs over his shoulder, “I’ll tell him you stopped, by if-”
You give him a look, but a grin still tugs at your lips, “If I do that other thing you’re always asking me to do.”
His hand presses against his chest, in mock-offense.
“I can’t believe you’d say that! I was going to say if you don’t see him first.”
It makes you smile. Fondly, even.
“Thanks, Wade.”
His hand pats your shoulder.
“Any time, Sugar. My holes are always open.”
You sigh.
You don’t see him until late in the evening.
The afternoon ticking by. Telling yourself you don’t care - to play it cool - only to turn around and try to convince yourself that open communication is the way to go.
Vegging out in front of the television for a while - trying to figure out what to order for dinner. Narrowing it down to two takeout locations when there’s a series of bangs in the hallway.
Layered voices.
You can’t help but look. Half-nosy and half-worried for Wade, even if he did have mutant powers. Even if you can’t offer much for backup, it doesn’t stop you from cracking open the door.
“-open the goddamn door right now, I’ll break it down.”
The growling voice is one you’ve come to know, even if it’s angrier than you’ve ever heard.
The side of Logan’s fist colliding with the door frame, his shoulder pressed up against the wooden door.
“Not a chance, Jack Torrance.” Wade’s voice is muffled, “Always wanted to be an uncle and you are not ruining this for me-”
The doorknob rattles under his grip, as he snarls, “You roped me into this, shithead. All that talk about getting to know-“
“New York’s Cupid is never wrong! Don’t you dare ruin my streak!”
It’s then that Logan sees you - the snarl on his face flickering. Expression going flat.
A final filthy glare shot at the door before he steps away. The calculated look he throws your way makes you think he’s considering making for the end-of-the-hall staircase instead.
What is happening?
A beat, before his jaw grits. Hand shoving into the pocket of his jeans. Closing the gap between you only to thrust out a rolled-up bundle of bills, secured with a rubber band.
“For the mattress.”
There’s a frustrated rumble in his throat when you don’t take it - too busy frowning, your eyes flicking from the bills to his face.
“I don’t want that?” It comes out like a question, as you try to put the pieces together.
“Just take it.” He grits. Eyes dropping, “You can replace your mattress and we can forget last night happened, if you regret it so much.”
You blink.
“I don’t regret last night, Logan.” Your hands brace on your hips, “You were the one that left. Which is fine, if that’s how you like things to go, but don’t you dare point your finger-”
Logan scoffs, interrupting you.
“I didn’t leave.” His tongue licks against his teeth, as his head shakes, “I slept on the couch. Perfect place to hear your rant this morning.”
Your hands brace on your hips, “My rant?”
“Yeah, Sugar.” He’s stepping into your space - and it shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but something about how you’re bumping up against the door has your heart racing, “Heard everything you said. How ‘fucking dumb you are’, how you regret it.”
A beat, as you process - a thunk, as you head tips back against the door. Everything becoming clear, and you almost laugh.
He hadn’t left.
“I wasn’t talking about you.”
His frown deepens.
Your face softens, “How could I think that? I spent all day thinking about you. I was mad at myself for taking an early shift, instead of getting that extra time with you.”
There’s still a jut to his jaw. Defenses and hackles raised - your words as useless as his fist against the door.
Your hands spread wide, “I even baked you a cake, which is apparently something I do when I like someone.”
He goes still at that, eyes dark. A lithe roll of his shoulders as he steps closer - voice dropping, “Say that again.”
“I baked you a cake?” You repeat, distracted by his proximity.
“Mm,” Logan hums, “Not the beginning. The last part.”
Your cheeks heat, as you realize what you said, “When… when I like someone.”
There’s the touch of his fingers against your chin. Tipping your face towards his, even as your eyes drift to somewhere over his shoulder. Too embarrassed to meet his gaze just yet.
“Is that right?” Logan husks.
The word slips from you, “Maybe.”
“I like maybe.”
That emboldens you to look. He’s close now, a mimicry of the night before - just on the other side.
The hand still hovers, in that narrow gap between you. Fingers flexing around the bundle of bills, “I still want you to take this.”
“Well, I don’t want it.” Your head shakes, “Maybe just for some new sheets, but I thought-“
There’s a different intent in the way he crowds you, now. A softer slope of his shoulders, the sweep of his thumb against your skin.
“Thought what?”
The low husk makes you squirm. His eyes half-lidded when you glance at him. The heat of his anger morphing into a much different kind of fire.
“Thought that if it was already ruined…” You trail off, as you smile.
As you hope.
“….maybe you’d want to ruin it a little more with me, sometime?”
There’s the slightest pull of his lips, as he smirks.
You make it inside, but no further than the couch. It’s familiar, the way his hand cradles the base of your neck. The muted sigh, when your lips part at the sweep of his tongue.
Laid down against the cushions, legs spread to fit him between them. Hips that dip down, the meat of his thigh nudging against your core, sending your heart racing.
How he chases after you, when you forget to breathe. Leaning in you as your fingers twist in his hair, tugging him closer.
Need pounds in your vein, matching the pulse in your throat when his lips press against it. Wandering hands, one that palms the curve of your breast. A throaty hum when he can feel the tight peak through the fabric, pinching it between thumb and forefinger.
The other skating up your bare thigh, raising goosebumps. Slipping beneath the hem of your dress, his leg shifting to make room. Fingertips stroking against your inner thigh - the soft crease as you whine into his mouth, feeling how his lips curve as he kisses you.
You’re wet already. You know you are - since that spark of realization, then the moment when his mouth pressed against yours. Fueled by the heavy weight of him as he guided you beneath him, smelling like smoke and wood and the sharp bite of leather.
Wound up by this teasing, and it’s enough that your hand is catching his wrist, pulling his palm flush with your core.
The moan it pulls from you is ragged. Logan’s hand is warm where he cups you, curling fingers against the curve of your ass, heel pressing against your seam.
Another rock of his hand, until there’s a soft “please” slipping from your lips. Fingers slip beneath then - a ragged curse muttered against your lips as they part you.
Slipping against where you’re wet and warm. The tips of two pressing against your opening, feeling how you give for him.
“Should let me make it up to you.” Logan’s voice is ragged, as he sinks to the knuckle. A slow pump as you clench down around them, a lift of your hips as you try to take more.
It’s on the tip of your tongue to protest.
Remind him it was just a misunderstanding, but then your eyes are fluttering open, seeing how his dark gaze is fixed on you.
Your answer is quiet, “Okay. S’long as you don’t stop.”
There’s the flash of sharp teeth. You mourn the weight of him as he eases off of you, fingers slipping free. But it’s only to catch your thighs - smearing slick across your skin as he moves to the floor. Tugging you until legs spread wide for him, hips at the edge of the couch.
There’s a hitch of your breath, as you hold it. His lips pressing against your knee, as his hand bundle up the fabric. A slow reveal as he fists it around his fingers, bringing it up to rest against your abdomen.
His kisses follow the path his fingers took. Open-mouthed against your thigh, until his tongue dips out to taste the soft skin where your leg meets hip.
“Logan,” You huff - needy, “Don’t tease.”
His eyes lift from where they lingered - the darkened patch of fabric between your thighs.
“Been teasing me since I left. Couldn’t stop thinking about this.” It comes out rough, his eyes flicking back down.
“But I thought-,” You start. It’s hard to think when he’s this close, the press of his thumb into the joint of your knee - keeping your legs spread, “Thought you were mad.”
Logan huffs. Lips ghosting against your skin, as he inhales, “At the thought of never having you again.”
It’s like being struck by an arrow, piercing clean through. The little gasp turning long, as his hand slips up your thigh. Catching at the waistband of your panties - tugging them down so he can get his mouth on you.
The tip of his tongue meets you before his lips do. A low groan as it flattens against your slit, tasting your arousal. His nose pressing against your mound as he teases at your clit. Slipping down to dip inside you, as your nails scrape against the cushions.
Slicking you up with his tongue. The buzzing groan of his lips against your skin as he eats you - open-mouthed kisses against your core. Tight licks against your clit, before his lips close around and suck.
It leaves you a mess. Short panting breath, as he gives you what you need. His name melding in with your gasps, as that string inside you winds tighter and tighter.
The pressure eases and you whimper as he leans back, jaw working. Lips shiny where he’s smeared with you - watching how you clench for him as he lets spit pool on his tongue, before it’s dropping against your folds.
It’s filthy, the way he rubs it into your skin. Coating his fingers before the two are notching again, before sinking deep into you.
A moan is pulled from you, with the stretch. Stealing your breath, even with how eager you are. Giving you more. That dull ache easing as his mouth returns to you. Hungry in the way he groans against your skin, as if he was getting off to your pleasure.
The time before doesn’t compare to now. The full focus of his fingers, buried deep and crooking. Pointed flicks of his tongue - the way his eyes are so fixed on your face.
Catching the pull of your brow and the way your teeth sink into your lip. Keeping the pounding pace steady when he sees how you gasp, your fingers fisting in his flannel. Relentless in the way they stroke against the spot that makes you see stars.
It sends you higher and higher. A groan against your skin when you buck into his mouth. Another one, louder, when your hand slips to his hair and tugs.
“Feels so fucking good, Logan,” You’re babbling now - desire slurring the syllables, “I’m so, I’m so close-”
Those dark eyes settle over you - his mouth busy but it’s not hard to imagine the way he’d encourage you. The husk of his voice, that tough timber as a low command melds with praise. The thought is enough to send you over - with the soft suck of his mouth, the way his fingers fill you.
Your knees dig into his shoulders as you curl inward - that hand at your belly pressing you flat against the cushions as you come. Making you take what he gives you - the flick of his tongue going lazy as the tight pulse around his fingers ebbs.
The tension leeches from you, turning to glitter in your veins. That tight knot of worry slowly unfurling - giving you something to grasp, hold onto, as you come back down. A sigh when his fingers slip from you. The hungry press of teeth against your inner thigh, a reminder that he’s there. Soothing it with the swipe of his tongue after.
Easing back as you push yourself up - his shoulder pressing into the edge of the couch as he sits on the floor. Your limbs are liquid as you slip down to join him - Logan’s broad hands gripping at your waist, your thighs splitting as you throw a leg across his lap.
“You’re too good at that.” You hum, as you settle in his lap bare, spit-slick against his jeans. Against where he strains, a breath hissed out as you tug at his belt. Reaching to help you - loosening the button, tugging at the zipper.
A lift of his hips to push his jeans down, his cock full and hard where it rests against your belly. His hands reaching for the hem of your dress, tugging it from you. Fingers slipping around to loosen your bra as your mouth meets his.
He tastes like you, as he licks into your mouth - a sweet tang that blends with him. His shaft pressing against your pussy as he lifts his hips, grinding himself into you. You push yourself up onto your knees - his lips parting with a groan as your fingers circle him, holding him steady.
It breaks off - a sharp hiss, when you sink down.
There’s no slow slide this time. Too eager, in the way you drop down. Taking half of him at once, with a breath that chokes you. His fingers pinching hard enough to bruise, as his brow knits.
“Easy, sweetheart.” He grits, “Not going anywhere, alright?”
It soothes you, as your nails bite into his shoulders. Pink marks that ebb away by the time you start moving - a slow bounce until you’re sitting flush on his lap, cock speared inside you.
It’s also different than last time. He’d been deep, then. Your faced pressed into the mattress as you had panted - but now -
Now, his mouth is at your shoulder. Lips pressed against the fading mark he had left. That tight grip of his hands loosening, as he guides you - letting your hips rock. A shallow drag of his cock inside you, feeling like he’s in your ribs.
Another press of his mouth against your sternum. Hands slipping down to wrap around your thighs, encouraging you to lift a little more. Enough that he can get his mouth on you - his tongue laving across a nipple. Groaning as you press your chest against him, leaning into the suck of his lips, the nip of teeth.
His thrusts like this are shallow, punctuated by the occasional deep thrust that has you panting. Has your fingers loosening to slip between your thighs, pressing against your clit.
You can feel the scrape of his facial hair. The ease of his hands as he lets you drop, until he’s buried in you again. Catching at your wrist, tugging your hand back to his shoulder.
“Uh-uh.” Logan tongue clicks, eyes dark, “Just keep riding, honey.”
His fingers replace yours. Slick circles, a pressure that makes you clench down hard around him.
A soft coo, as your breathing shortens - turning to whimpers.
“Lemme make you feel good.”
And this is new, too - how close he is. Those hazel eyes focused so singularly on you, it’s almost too much.
“You do make me feel good,” You breathe, letting your lips press against his cheek, ‘You’re, oh-”
His hips stutter, where he flexes into you. Your own pace sloppy - grinding instead of bouncing, chasing the building pleasure in your core. The soft sounds you make growing louder. His legs flexing beneath you, feet going flat against the floor so he can drive himself up.
There’s that tell-tale clench. The way your vision starts to go blurry, words slipping into sounds.
“Logan.” You, “I’m-,”
He can feel it - the way you tighten as he pounds into you. The glaze of your eyes, the throaty moan as you start to string stiff in his arm.
“That’s it,” Logan rasps, face tipped up to yours, “You gonna come for me?”
Your moan pitches high.
He grins.
“Then let me hear how pretty you sound. Come on, sweetheart.”
With the circle of his fingers, you’re shattering.
A soft cry as you come again, gushing against the cock that only pounds harder. Drawing out the flutter of your cunt as he grips your thighs, rocking into you. A ragged moan as he feels how you flutter around him, head tipped back. An arm wrapping around you back as he tips forward, bringing you down to the floor.
You head cushioned on the pile of discard clothes. His knees brace against the rug as the angle changes, sending him deeper. Lifting your hips, eyes fixed on where he drives into you. The gleam of his cock where he’s soaked with your release, how he slips between your puffy folds.
His teeth grit. Fingers flexing against your skin. A rough moan when your hips move to meet his thrusts.
“You want me to come in you again?” There’s an edge to his voice. Eyes fixed on your face, searching.
You nod, but it’s not enough.
His hips snap harder, breath ragged, “Ask me for it, Sugar.”
It makes your stomach clench. Something deep burning, liquid heat in your core. Your legs hitch around his waist, hooking around his back.
“Want you to come in me,” You beg, “Logan, please-”
His eyes flutter shut. The muscles in his neck flex, as he arcs over you - a hand braced on the floor, pricks of silver glinting between his knuckles.
A rough growl that turns into something soft as his hips snap forward - hilting himself as he comes. Hips pumping with each pulse of his cock, as he spills deep inside you. As you milk him dry, until the heavy throb of his cock fades.
He’s beautiful. It leaves you dizzy.
You really might just have to bake him another.
The golden sunset seeps through the windows, spilling across the floor.
“You wanna stay?”
It comes out drowsy. Your limbs are liquid, even more so than last time, “I know a great takeout place.”
You’ll need a little fuel, if tonight goes as it did before.
He hums - the brush of bare fingers down your spine. It’s cramped on the couch, entwined limbs. Sweat-dewed in the summer evening.
“You still wanna get to know me?”
Your nose brushes his throat. Cheek pressed up against the curl of his shoulder - where he can just feel you nod, “I would. If you’ll let me.”
“Yeah,” Logan rasps, quietly.
“Yeah. That sounds nice.”
I can't even express how just - grateful and thrilled and happy I am that so many of you liked sugar, sugar! thank you for the encouragement for this part 2, and I hope you liked it! 💖 I have one more part planned (though open for more!) that I've been working on, along with more for the wade x f!reader x logan fic as well!
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