#his terrible chuckle <3<3<3<3<3<3<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[tanasha-not-yet]

DAGURR

more skrilling under the cut and in this post

phahahah i love him and his skrill obsession

[joelsgoldrush]

“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Food for thought: imagine lion!mydei with a prey reader!!! Yk, toss in some dub con and predator/ prey dynamics 🤭. Oh, the way us floofy ears would twitch and his tail would wrap around your leg!!

I'm absolutely convinced mydei is 10000% mean man when it's between the sheets.

Have a good day/night <3. I rlly luv your works and what's your secret to writing rlly good smut? Teach me your ways professor!

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 warnings : nsfw/smut, bunny fem!reader, creampie, multiple of rounds, spanking, size kink, breeding kink, biting, huge dubcon alert, multiple of orgasms and tit slapping and other stuff. ^.^

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 note : tysm! i’m glad you enjoyed my writing sweetie. And I don’t really have a secret lmao! i’ve been writing long stories ever since I was 11. also reader is implied to be chubby and curvy! also not proof read (as always).

The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

You should have noticed it earlier—the way the birds had stopped singing, the way the wind had died down as if holding its breath. But you were a bunny, and a very stupid one at that. Soft and slow and terribly, terribly unaware.

That was why you didn’t realize you were being hunted until it was far too late.

A branch cracked. Your ears twitched, your breath hitched, and then—

A massive force slammed into you from behind, knocking you down into the dirt. Your heart pounded as you scrambled to flee, but it was useless. Large, clawed hands pinned you down, pressing your softer, squishier body into the earth. A deep, rumbling growl ghosted over the shell of your ear, and your instincts screamed.

Predator.

Your body locked up in fear, trembling beneath the sheer weight of the beast above you. You had heard the stories of the lion-king before—the ruthless ruler of the wilds, the monster who tore through his prey with teeth and claw. And yet, when he dipped his head, sniffing along the side of your neck, he didn’t bite.

He inhaled. Deeply.

And then, to your absolute horror, he groaned.

“Fuck,” the lion rumbled, his voice thick, heated, laced with something primal. His heavy tail coiled around your thigh, holding you in place. His hips rolled against yours, and you felt it—the thick, hard shape of him pressing against your ass. “You smell too sweet to eat, little rabbit.”

His tongue flicked out, running a slow, wet trail up your throat. You shuddered, trying to shrink away, but his hands only gripped you tighter, claws grazing against your skin.

“You’re lucky,” Mydei murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’m hungry for something else.”

Your breath hitched when he grinded against you again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel just how big he was. Your body betrayed you, heat pooling low in your belly despite the fear still prickling at your spine. His hand moved, fingers dragging down your stomach, teasing at the plush softness there before dipping lower.

“Gonna ruin this dumb little bunny cunt,” he growled. “Make you scream for me.”

You whimpered, but there was no escape.

The lion had caught his prey. And he wasn’t letting go.

A rough hand forced your back into an arch, making you whimper as your ass lifted higher. Mydei chuckled, low and dark, his heavy tail coiling tighter around your plush thigh. The fur was deceptively soft against your skin, a contrast to the ruthless grip he had on you.

“Look at this,” he murmured, his large palm sliding over your hips, groping the softest parts of you like he was testing his prize. “Built to be fucked. You were never meant to run, little thing—just to be caught.”

A sharp smack landed across your ass. You yelped, lurching forward, but he dragged you back with ease. Another slap—harder this time—sent a hot sting rippling through your body, making your legs twitch. Your fluffy tail twitched too, betraying you, and he laughed.

“Sensitive,” he mused, palming your sore flesh before delivering another punishing slap. “You get wet from this, don’t you?”

You shook your head, ears flopping as you whimpered, but you both knew the truth. His fingers slid lower, past the heat pooling between your thighs, and—fuck—he found you already slick.

“Stupid little thing,” he purred, rubbing slow, teasing circles against your clit. “What kind of prey gets wet for their predator?”

You gasped as he slid a thick finger into you, then another, stretching you open in cruel, lazy strokes. Your walls fluttered, trying to take him deeper, trying to milk something that wasn’t even inside you yet. Mydei groaned, nosing against the base of your fluffy ears, dragging his teeth lightly along them.

“Bet you’ll take my cock just as easy,” he murmured. “Gonna make you mine. Stuff you so full, you’ll never be able to run again.”

Your thighs trembled as he pulled his fingers away, leaving you empty and aching. Then—something hotter, heavier, pressed against your entrance. You gasped at the sheer size of it, instinct screaming again, but his tail tightened around your thigh, holding you still.

“You’re made for this,” Mydei rasped, rubbing the thick head of his cock against your slick folds. “Made to take my seed, to be bred nice and full.”

He thrust in, stretching your pussy open, forcing a ragged cry from your throat. Your fingers clawed at the dirt, your ears pressing flat against your head as your walls clenched around him, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him.

"That’s it," he groaned, his grip on your hips bruising. “Gonna make you all mine, little thing.”

And with another rough thrust, he set a brutal, unrelenting pace.

Each thrust was brutal, knocking you forward only for Mydei to yank you back onto his cock, forcing you to take him deep. Your plush thighs shook, your body burning with overstimulation, but he didn’t let up.

“Ngh—too much—” you gasped, voice breaking between ragged moans. Your ears twitched wildly with each slam of his hips, your tail fluffing up in distress.

“Too much?” Mydei echoed, voice dripping with mockery. His claws dragged down your sides before settling on your tits, gripping them roughly, squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers. “You’re dripping all over my cock, little thing. You love this.”

You whined as he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers before slapping your tits, making them bounce from the impact. Your body betrayed you—each slap sent a fresh pulse of heat straight to your core, making your walls clamp down even tighter around him.

"Fuck," he growled, his tail curling possessively around your thigh. “Look at you. Dumb little prey, taking my cock so well. Taking it like you were made for it.”

Your arms gave out, leaving you to slump forward onto your elbows, tits pressing into the dirt. Mydei loomed over you, his golden mane brushing against your back as he fucked you harder, deeper, his breath hot against your nape.

"You’re mine," he groaned, one clawed hand gripping the back of your neck, keeping you in place. "Say it."

You could barely think, barely breathe, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His cock was splitting you open, dragging against your walls in a way that had your stomach twisting in knots. Making your ears flattened as your tail fluffed up.

“Mydei—“ you whimpered.

His hips snapped forward, making you scream.

“Say it.”

“I—I'm yours!” you sobbed, voice breaking into a desperate wail. “Yours—your prey—your—ahhh!”

His teeth sank into the side of your throat, claiming you fully, and your vision went white as you came hard around his cock, your walls milking him greedily.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarled, his thrusts turning erratic. His hands clamped down on your hips, holding you still as he drove into you one last time, pressing himself deep.

Heat flooded your insides as he spilled inside you, thick and so much—your already-sensitive body trembled as you felt it seep even deeper. His cock throbbed, pumping more and more into you, and Mydei let out a pleased growl, licking over the fresh bite mark on your throat.

“Mine,” he murmured again, his hands smoothing over your plush body, possessive and satisfied. “And now… you're bred.”

His tail remained wrapped around your thigh, keeping you close.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Your body trembled beneath him, overstimulated and wrecked, but Mydei wasn’t done with you. His cock still twitched inside your soaked, swollen cunt, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he shifted his weight over you. His tail curled tighter around your thigh, keeping you spread open, forcing you to take every last drop of his seed.

“You look so fucked-out already,” he murmured, one large hand smoothing down your spine before gripping your hips again. “But I’m not done with you yet, little prey.”

You shivered as his hand ghosted lower, spreading your ass to watch his cum leak out of you. He groaned at the sight, his claws digging into your plush flesh. “Already dripping, and I haven’t even knotted you yet.”

Your ears twitched weakly, your breathing still ragged as you turned your head to look back at him. Your wide, dazed eyes shimmered in the dim light, glassy and unfocused—doe-eyed and utterly lost. Mydei sucked in a sharp breath, his cock throbbing at the way you gazed up at him, helpless and ruined.

“Fuck,” he growled. His hand suddenly snaked around your waist, dragging you up off the dirt. You gasped as he pulled you flush against his chest, your legs barely able to hold you up as his cock throbbed deep inside your cunt.

“You’re looking at me like you still don’t get it,” he murmured against your ear. His palm slid up your soft belly before grabbing your tits, squeezing, toying with the sensitive flesh. “You thought I’d stop after one round? Thought I’d just let you go?”

You whined, jolting as he suddenly slapped your tits, making them bounce under his grip. Your whole body jiggled from the impact, heat blooming across your skin, and Mydei “groaned” as his cock twitched inside you.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, rolling your hard nipples between his fingers before giving another sharp slap to your tits, watching them jiggle in his grasp. “Mine to fuck, mine to fill—“

His other hand suddenly slammed against your lower belly, pressing down right where his cock stretched you open. You gasped, your walls fluttering around him as he chuckled darkly.

“Feel that?” he purred. “Right here. My cock, stuffing you so full.”

You sobbed, your hips twitching as he began grinding against your overstimulated clit, pressing down on your belly with every slow, deep thrust.

“Too much—Mydei, please—”

“Please?” he mocked, nosing along your flushed cheek. “Please what, little prey? Please keep fucking you? Please breed you again?"

Your mind was fogged with pleasure, your body trembling in his grasp, but you still managed to choke out a desperate, ruined—

“Yes!”

Mydei snapped.

His tail tightened around your thigh as he slammed you back onto his cock, spearing you open, making your tits bounce wildly with each punishing thrust. You could do nothing but whimper, drool spilling from your lips as your walls spasmed around him, milking him for more.

“Fuck—you’re perfect,” he groaned, licking over your ear before biting down on your shoulder, claiming you. “Gonna fill you up again. Gonna knot you—make sure my seed takes—“

You let out a choked cry as he pressed his palm against your belly again, feeling himself inside you, knowing he was going to breed you until you couldn’t take anymore.

Until you were nothing but his.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[adelliet]

Wolverine x f!reader

5 DAYS IN HEAVEN

Summary: Since Wade is going away on a mission, he asks you to take care of his roommate. At first you will refuse, but in the end you will be so freaking grateful.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, age gap, strong language, masturbation, breast play, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), little blood, reader is smaller than Logan

A/n: This is so freaking long I'm so terribly sorry I got really into it, so I am sorry if there will be some grammar mistakes or some parts that won't make sense, I'm not a native English speaker, anyways enjoy <3

Masterlist

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"Fuck no Wade!" you shut your eyes as you frustrated shouted. "Please I need this!" he kept trying to convince you, reaching for your hands but you flinched. "I'm not going to make you a fucking housewife, have you lost your mind?" you asked, beginning to doubt about men's IQ at this point. “Not for me but for Logan” he corrected you as if that made a difference. “It's literally the same” you turned your back as you walked into the kitchen, Wade following you like a dog on a leash. "Please, I'll do anything!"

You stopped for a second. You've never heard Wade so desperate and you've known him for five years and as a neighbor, you know his behavior very well, this is not like him at all.

"Why do you care about him so much?" you asked, leaning against the fridge with your hands tied across your chest. "He's my bestfriend! I love him-" "Okay now it's getting weird" you turned around again as you poured some water into a clean glass.

"Please I can't lose him because he starved, I need my fuckbuddy-" you almost choked as you heard Wade's words while drinking. Never drink while Wade is talking, noted. "And why can't you just take him with you?" you turn around and furrow your eyebrows. "It's not that easy pumpkin" you rolled your eyes but didn't give up to find some other way.

"So he would order fast food, what's the matter?" "Do I look like I have enough money to feed a giant who eats like a beast?" you sigh in annoyance as you slowly realize that there probably isn't other way to solve this. "Wade, I can't cook for him-" "Why not? You're the best cook I know! Please, just for five days, no more!"

When you saw his beggar eyes, you had no choice. You sigh loudly and close your eyes as your head drops. "Fine." You growl and immediately regretted your decision as Wade grabbed you and spun you around at breakneck speed. "Jesus alright stop I'm gonna throw up!" Wade placed you back on the floor and you struggled to keep your balance. But when your vision was no longer blurry, Wade’s excited face warmed your heart. "Thank you so much! I owe you I swear!"

He gave you one last kiss on the cheek before he left your apartment. You could hear him excitedly screaming in the hallway, even on his way to his apartment. You chuckle and shake your head, he is really a child stuck in a 30 year old body.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You don't really know Logan. You know that he moved in with Wade and they started living together, but you never found out why. Besides, you didn't even have much interaction with him, mainly because of his expression.

He still looks angry and sour, whenever you see him in the hall, you try to avoid him, because his stern expression sent you dread and goosebumps all over your body. Unlike Wade, he didn't look like a friendly neighbor who comes to visit you when he needs sugar or flour.

Rather, he looked exactly like the neighbor who just complains about you every chance he gets. You were a little afraid of the deal, going to cook for him and who knows what will happen if he doesn't like it. What if he spits on you? Or do anything worse?

You were only comforted by the thought that you would only go to him a few times a day and then you could lock yourself away and be safe. Your thoughts about Logan and the whole deal were interrupted by an aggressive pounding on your door. You immediately knew who it was.

You sighed when you saw Wade in the doorway, rudely barging into your apartment without asking. But you're used to it.

"So when are you moving in?" your eyes almost fell out of their sockets when Wade threw this question at you without hesitation. "What are you talking about?!" you tried not to think the worst, unfortunately it was the worst. "Well, you'll be living in my apartment during my absence-" you pointed index finger at him and shook him. "No no no, you didn't say that!" Wade stopped. "I thought it was obvious..."

Your heart was beating a hundred and six and your blood was at boiling point. "Wade! I'm not living with that psychopath!" you lost your shit and started screaming at him. Wade was still calm. “He's not that bad” you were shocked at his words and how easily he was letting them out of his mouth.

"Wade! What if he kills me?" Wade rolled his eyes and shook his head. "He won't kill you, don't worry, if something happens stab him...even though it probably wouldn't help" you started being red from how angry you were. "Why can't I stay here?" you finally asked him the main question.

"You know, I'm afraid something will happen to him, I want you to watch over him" you just started to mock Wade’s patheticness. Oh you are so done. "No….no! I am not gonna do it" "Ah come on sweetheart" Wade grabbed your hands so tightly that you couldn't even break free from his grip.

"I swear I'll give you anything for this, I'll be grateful to you for the rest of my life...just 5 days, please" even as you fought with every nerve and muscle in your body to refuse, his convincing eyes got you again and you let out an annoyed breath.

Wade immediately understood that you agreed and pulled you into a tight hug. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou" he kept thanking you and you started seeing stars for a moment from his tight grip. Again and again you regretted your decision and wanted to get a fake passport, change your identity and fly far away. Unfortunately, this option will not work.

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First day

The time had come for you to introduce yourself to Logan and move in. You only had a small bag over your shoulders, where were your clothes, hygiene items and necessary things. Even if you miss something, you can always go to the apartment next door, aka your home.

“Look, I'm just warning you, Logan can be a little…rude sometimes” Wade told you and you nodded. You already deduced that yourself from his face expressions. Even so, you wanted to be nice and make an impression on him, maybe he'll be a little softer if he sees you smiling.

“Alright, here we go” Wade looked even more nervous than you. When he grabbed the doorknob and went inside, Logan was nowhere to be found. You slowly followed Wade, looking for the grumpy big guy. But suddenly the door to the room opened and the famous, rude Logan came out.

He was wearing a brown shirt and jeans with a belt, now that you had a chance to get a good look at him, he didn't look so bad. "Logan!" Wade squealed excitedly while Logan still had a stern look on his face.

When his eyes landed on you, he didn't move a single muscle, unlike you. You were sweating, your smile was twitching but you tried to keep your cool. "Who is that?" he pointed at you and slowly walked closer. "So glad you're asking, Logan, this is your temporary housewife"

You were quiet but still smiling, while holding your hand for a shake. Logan rolled his eyes and moved his head from your sight in annoyance. That's a nice welcoming. "I don't fucking need her" you would be lying if those words didn't touch you a little, but Wade warned you, so you were at least half prepared for it.

You slowly dropped your hand back to your body and looked at Wade in confusion. "Well if he doesn't need me, I can go-" "No! Stay!" he grabbed your shoulder and looked angrily at Logan. "We already talk about this, be nice" he hissed through his clenched teeth and Logan just sighed. He looked back at you, that annoyed look still on his face. He was literally screaming through that face that he wants to kick you out and he really doesn't want you here. Your smile slowly dropped and you started overthinking, how the following 5 days would look like, with this grumpy rude man.

"Good kitty" Wade complimented Logan who growled back at him. "Well, the kitchen is over there, I'll show you your room and then I'll have to go, the mission awaits!" Wade got behind you and pushed you forward past Logan, who was staring at you but still with an annoyed and slightly confused expression.

"Well, put your things here and I have to go. Bye bye and thank you, I owe you” Wade quickly led you into the guest room, patting you on the shoulders before disappearing out of the apartment, leaving you and the curmudgeon alone.

You just let out a tired sigh before putting your bag on the floor and looking around the room. It was small but cozy. Even the view from the window wasn't bad, certainly better than in your own apartment.

“What's your name again?” you suddenly heard a deep growl and you quickly flinched as you quickly turned towards the voice. Logan was leaning against the doorframe, his hands wrapped around his chest, his biceps nearly tearing through the soft fabric he was wearing.You swallowed before looking into his face again and began to speak.

“Y/N…yours is Logan right? you tried to be nice again, thinking that the beginning was just a misunderstanding. God you are so pathetic. “Guess” he replied arrogantly and you pursed your lips into a thin line as embarrassment flooded your entire body.

"'kay...well it's kinda late, I'll go prepare some food" you informed him and Logan just nodded before walking off to who knows where. You were relieved when he left. As if his presence made you nervous, but not because of fear, but rather because of another feeling that you couldn't quite describe.

You came to the kitchen and started to assemble the ingredients on the counter. You decided to make spaghetti since that was the only thing they had all the ingredients for and looking around the fridge made you want to buy more stuff tomorrow. Apart from milk, some old rotting food and beer, they had nothing at all, men.

When you were almost done with the spaghetti, it was as if the smell summoned Logan without you having to say anything. He suddenly appeared in the kitchen watching you put spaghetti on two plates and pour tomato sauce over them. “I hope you like spaghetti” you said looking at Logan who surprisingly wasn't looking at the food like you thought, but at you. That caught you off guard a bit but not for too long.

"Mhm yeah" he said and immediately grabbed the plate when you finally added the basil leaves. Why are you even trying to decorate the food, you are not in a fancy restaurant here, but at Wade’s home. You just rolled your eyes and put noodles on your own plate. Logan's hungry chewing was making your ears pop and you couldn't wait to enjoy your dinner in quiet in your room.

No sooner had you added the spaghetti to your plate and decided to go into your room to eat, than Logan was already done with his food and obediently put the plate in the sink. Your eyes widened, Wade was right, this man eats like a beast.

"Do you want more?" he just shook his head as he wiped his red mouth with his hand and went straight into his own room. "m'kay" you whispered to yourself and since he left the living room, you decided to change your plan and eat while watching some TV.

This isn't so bad. If Logan answers with two words and doesn't have any long conversations with you where he just taunts you, 5 days will go by like nothing.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Second day

You got up early because of the annoying alarm and went to get ready for work. You changed into comfortable but formal clothes, put on some make-up and took your bag. When you left the room, no one was there. You sighed with a smile and went straight to the front door.

Apparently Logan doesn't go to work, which you were a little envious of. He can sleep as long as he wants, then practically do whatever he wants for days, surely he must be a little bored if he's not saving the world.

"Where you're goin'?" you froze in a place when you heard Logan. You slowly turned around, and your eyes widened even more. He had nothing on than boxers, revealing his muscles, abs, and perfect body, which made your saliva fly from your lips.

You quickly wiped it off and looked back into his face. God he was hot. His hair was messy but fluffy, his face looked relaxed and tired but that stern look wasn't there anymore. "I- I am goin' to work" you answered with a shaky voice, for which you immediately cursed.

"What work?" his voice was also grainy and deep, he was literally hypnotizing you right now. "Why do you care?" you finally gain your confidence back and he rolled his eyes. "Geez just askin'" he went to the bathroom without saying bye or something like that. You didn't mind, the only thing that was bothering your brain was, why was he so interested?

Just yesterday he didn't want you here at all and now he's worried about you, that you'll leave him? You probably just overthinking. You took your keys and left the apartment as fast as you could.

When you arrived at the restaurant, your colleagues greeted you and you put on the fake mask with a smile. You changed into your suit and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes with the others.

"Hey everything okay? You look pretty frustrated" one of your colleagues asked and it took you a while to process his question. "What? Oh no it's nothing don't worry" you added a convincing smile at the end of the sentence and continued washing. Of course you're frustrated when you have nothing but Logan in your head, his body, his speech, his hair... this is going to be a fucking tough day.

When your shift ended, you were surprised you hadn't been fired. You were confused all day, mixing up orders, got in the way of your colleagues and even burned food a few times. Each of your colleagues asked you several times if everything was okay and you always gave the same answer. Yes, it is. You didn't understand it yourself, how could you be so stupid today and burn the food? This hasn't happened to you in at least 5 years...

All this happened because of your constant thoughts about Logan. You don't even know how it's possible. After all, he's Logan, the guy you were afraid of and would do anything to avoid him...but that was before you've seen him shirtless in boxers. God those thighs, just thinking about them makes your core vibrate.

Frustrated, devastated and tired, you arrived at your temporary apartment, threw your bag on the floor and leaned against the door with your eyes closed. "Tough day?" you hear that annoying but really sexy voice again, but this time it wasn't in your head.

You open your eyes and saw Logan, sitting on the couch with a can of beer, at least this time he was fully dressed. You didn't even have the strength to answer him with words, you just nodded your head. After that you crawled into your room where you had to clear your head for a while, you laid in bed and just stared at the ceiling.

After a while you heard footsteps, but luckily they crossed your room. Was it really fortunate, or rather unfortunately? Your head was a total mess. Now you could use a hot bath with rose petals and a candle around. This actually didn't sound bad at all, so you decided to indulge.

You got out of bed and went straight to the bathroom where you filled the bath and let out a tired sigh. You probably won't have rose petals and candles, but the bathtub is more than enough. You closed the door, not even bothering about locking it, and took off your clothes. When the water was almost full, you turned the water off and lay down in it, a pleasant growl left your mouth, when the hot water covers all your body. You feel more relaxed than ever.

You closed your eyes and in the blink of an eye, all of your fails today and thoughts of Logan were gone. You listened to the water and the silence around you which was more pleasant than ever before. You felt like you were going to fall asleep in no time, this was exactly what you needed. Until you heard the door slam open.

You flinched and immediately looked at them in fear. Logan eyes widened a bit, when he saw you in the bathtub, but after that one second look he looked down immediately, embarrassed. "Sorry" he said and left the bathroom before you could react in any way.

You were shocked, did Logan really think you wouldn't notice the quick check out before he looks down? Well, now you will definitely not stop thinking about him and it's all your fault. If you'd just locked the stupid door, this wouldn't have happened.

You came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel holding your clothes in your hand. You got another jumpscare when Logan was standing by the bathroom, leaning against the wall. How long was he there? Was he waiting for you or was he eavesdropping on you? You had so many questions but so little time.

"Hey um sorry for that" he didn't even look you in the eyes, apparently he's really sorry. "It's fine just, did you see anything?" Logan took a deep breath and looked into your eyes, giving you a clear sign that he saw something. "Oh my god-" you slammed your hand against your forehead and started flushing.

"Not everything! Just um..." "Stop. Just, act like it didn't happen okay?" you were even more frustrated than before and Logan could tell. He just nodded and walked around you to get into the bathroom. You cursed under your breath and walked into your room, where you finally locked the door and fell into bed.

Is it some kind of sign or bad karma that this is happening to you? First you see him almost naked, then he sees you, why do you deserve this? But the question that really played over and over in your head was, did he like what he saw?

He would have covered his eyes or closed the door immediately, but he just stood there watching you for a while longer. Maybe he was in shock, just like you, and you're overthinking again, or maybe not…

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Third day

You got up in the morning like you always did, did your morning routine and left for work, this time no Logan, no comments from him and it made you feel better. You knew that today was going to be a lot better than yesterday.

You didn't even have to put on a fake mask at work, you smiled for real because you had peace of mind from Logan both in your head and in the apartment in the morning. "Hey why so happy?" your colleague asked and you just shook your head. "I just slept well" which was not entirely true.

You couldn't stop thinking about that motherfucker all night. The way he looked when he saw you in that bathtub, how embarrassed he felt but also looked shy, which you would never say to such a tough guy. How he talks to you much more warmly now and how he even washes his dishes without you telling him to do it. You even had a dream about him that wasn't exactly innocent with rainbows and roses, rather the opposite. But that didn't stop you from having a bad day at work. Until you heard the familiar grumpy voice again.

"Is she here?!" "Sir, you can't talk to her right now-" "I just want to know if she works here!" oh no. You heard the angry punch into the table and knew you had to intervene. You stopped working and went from the kitchen to the restaurant behind the cash register, where was none other than the ass Logan. When he saw you, he immediately calmed down and straightened up.

"Hey, what's going on here?" you asked confused, trying to ignore Logan as best you could. "Um this gentleman is asking for you, is he your boyfriend?" "Fuck no!" you shouted, maybe a bit too much then was a necessary and looked at Logan. "The fuck you doin' here?!" this time you keep your voice low but still rough. Logan took a breath to speak but before he could, you grabbed him and went to the corner, so you won't bother the other customers.

"I um" you were surprised that he was out of words. "Goddammit just tell me!" "I was just curious where you workin' okay?! That's all..." although you haven't known Logan very long and well, you could tell he was lying. However, you didn't have time to investigate the truth so you just let out an annoyed breath.

"You can't be that aggressive here! If you don't order anything, get out!" and with those words you left him behind while walking back into the kitchen. Not gonna lie but you felt a little confident when you did this but you also felt a little guilty.

You are not the aggressive bad type like him, you find sympathy in people and you are a peaceful person who tries not to have a conflict with almost anyone. Logan is a really tough piece.

"Everything fine?" you coworker asked while frying some vegetables and you just nodded. How could you be so naive to think you'd slip through today without a single thought about Logan? You really are pathetic.

When you finished your last order, said goodbye to your colleagues and went to change clothes, fatigue hit you again. Today was better than yesterday, you were more focused and you didn't burn anything, but you still weren't yourself. You were still consumed by your thoughts and memories that your brain repeated over and over again, it was driving you crazy.

The only thing you hoped for now was that last night and the incident with Logan wouldn't happen again. You still can't tell if you liked it or not, but what you know for sure is that you can't stop thinking about that.

You left the kitchen ready to go home until you saw Logan sitting in one of the dining booths, alone, half asleep. He scared you again, like always, and you didn't know what to do, how to react, or what to say. When Logan saw you, he immediately stood up and was like a fresh fish.

"You're done?" he asked, like it wasn't weird at all that he is there sitting and waiting for you like your dad. "W-what are you doing here?" "I was waiting..." he didn't finish the sentence but he clearly meant that he was waiting for you. "Why?" you furrow your eyebrows in suspicion.

"It's pretty dark out there, something may happen" why is he so caring suddenly? Was he really waiting for you here all day, just to give you a walk home? Why? "I've been walking in the dark for years Logan and nothing happened to me" you informed him arrogantly and headed for the exit. Logan chased you like an obedient dog. "You never know" he added and quickly held the door for you like a true gentleman. You paused at his act for a moment before walking out and Logan following.

It was an awkward silent walk next to each other where you said so much but nothing at all. The street was quiet, hardly any cars passed by, and the glowing lamps around gave a pleasant atmosphere. You felt good, and maybe Logan's presence added something to that. After all, you were afraid to walk alone in the evening, even though nothing had happened to you yet, but with him you felt different, safe.

"What's for dinner?" Logan finally broke the quiet silence and struck up a conversation. "Oh um I don't know...maybe salad? If you don't mind there won't be any meat in it" Logan chuckled, hearing that laugh make your heart a little warmer. "Salad sound's good" he said as you arrive at the building.

When you got into the apartment you expected Logan to go take a shower or lock himself in his room like he always did, but this time was different. When you took off your coat and hung it on the hanger, Logan was standing in the kitchen waiting for you. You raise an eyebrow and throw a confused look at him. "You're that excited for the food or?" he shook his head and smiled. That's right, he smiled. You had no idea when did his tough-guy personality snap, but he is way nicer to you and you can't say you don't like it.

"Nope, I was thinking that I could help you..." you froze and just stared at him, still with that raised eyebrow. You were shocked, you didn't recognize him anymore. Logan notices your behavior, immediately having regrets. "but only if you want to-" "No! I mean yeah s-sure" you finally woke up and walked around Logan to get things ready. However, you couldn't escape the smirk that formed on your face.

As you pulled out the bowls and cutlery, you felt Logan's presence behind you. He was huge compared to you, covering you completely and you almost held your breath when you felt him almost touching your body. "What should I do?" he asked, his voice grainy, deep and low like a wolf, making you tremble from excitement.

You needed a second to answer him without any mistake or stuttering. “You can take the vegetables out of the fridge” you pointed your head at the fridge next to you and without a word Logan did as you told him. He put everything on the counter next to you and you couldn't help but watch his hands, how big and hairy they were and a lot of scenarios automatically appeared in your head of what you would like him to do to you with them.

"That's all we have" he breathed out and finally stood next to you, so that his dick wasn't touching your ass anymore. "That's fine, we can make something from that" you grabbed the cucumber and started removing the wrapper. Logan was watching you, really carefully and constantly watching your hand, the way you were holding that cucumber, the way you were taking off the wrapper, god he immediately started getting goosebumps and his dick started twitching in his pants.

"Give me a sec" he said quickly and left. You looked at him confused and flinched a bit when you heard the bathroom door slam. You just shrugged and continued to unwrap the cucumber. He probably just went to piss or something.

After you had almost half the vegetables cut to a small squares and thrown in a bowl, Logan finally returned. "Finally, I was thinking you ran away" Logan just chuckled awkwardly but said nothing. He watched you cut the pepper and finally decided to help you.

He took another pepper and a knife and started cutting it on the table. You didn't really care if he destroyed the table or not, it wasn't your kitchen after all. After you finished chopping all the vegetables, tossed the salad with the dressing, and Logan gave it a good toss, you were ready to feast.

You split the salad into two bowls, the same amount for each, and dipped a fork into it. Logan waited until you filled the second bowl as well, which was a little unusual as normally he would have already started eating and not even waiting for you.

Aftwr you take your bowl and Logan take his, you decided to go into the room to eat but Logan stopped you. "Hey I was thinking if you wanna watch a movie together?" again, his random nice behavior caught you by surprise. Where did the grumpy guy who literally didn't even want you in this apartment go? Apparently he's gone forever.

“Oh um…sure why not” you smiled and Logan went to sit on the couch where he was already holding the remote and selecting a movie. You obediently sat next to him, but at a sufficient distance so that you had enough space and it wasn't some kind of awkward, uncomfortable situation.

"Do you have any ideas?" he asked you as he kept switching between films. "Umm I don't know, I don't really care" you said as you finally took a bite of the salad, which was really fucking good. "Okay, you asked for it" he said and selected a horror movie called Evil Dead Rise. "Awh man this looks nasty" you said as you still chew the salad and scrunch your face in disgust. Logan just giggled and took his first bite too.

After a while watching the movie, you remembered that you are fucking scared of horrors. That film was chill at first, but after the first jump scare, you knew you are fucked. You tried to focus on the salad and not being some crybaby, but your fear got the better of you. When another jumpscare appeared, you almost throw you salad on the floor.

Logan, on the other hand, didn't move a single muscle the whole time watching. He was like a rock with a stern expression. The second he noticed your reaction, he had to look and intervene somehow. "Are you okay?" He asked and you just nodded, but your body said the opposite. You were shaking, wrapped in a ball and your eyes were bawling, the exact definition of a person being terrified to death.

Logan wasn't stupid and he knew you'd probably be peeing with fear in no time. That's why, regardless of the awkwardness of the situation, he scooted closer to you at first, seeing how you're gonna react. The closeness didn't bother you at all, so Logan put an arm around you, making you feel even safer.

"Is that 'kay?" he whispered in your ear, looking down at you while your eyes were securely locked with the TV. You nodded slightly and laid your head on his muscular chest, covered by gray shirt. It was comforting to hear his regular heartbeat. You felt amazing.

You don't even remember the last time you cuddle with someone like that. You don't care that it's Logan, all you focused on was the feeling. The way his body warmed yours, the way he made gentle circles with his finger on your shoulder and the way he breathed, these combinations made you forget about your fear.

After a while your eyelids started to feel heavy and you felt tiredness coming over you. But you were so comfortable that you didn't want to leave anywhere and that's why you succumbed to sleep really quickly on Logan's body.

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Fourth day

You grunted as rubbed your eyes. You lay in bed with your eyes closed for a while until you realized you had to go to work. Your eyes popped open and you sat on the bed as fast as you could. You looked around rashly, realizing you were in your room under the covers. But when you quickly checked the alarm clock, it was damn late. "Fuck!" you shouted and jumped from the bed like a lightning bolt.

You quickly started changing and getting ready for work, even though you were already 3 hours late. The whole time you were cursing under your breath and your heart was beating in the fastest way possible. If they don't fire you today, they never will.

After you were all ready you ran for your bag and went to the door. You've never gotten ready so quickly before. Suddenly you heard the door open and immidiately knew it was Logan. However, you didn't have time for his comments.

"Hey, what's going on?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. When you quickly glanced at him, he looked pretty tired, like he woke up just now. In addition, he had only boxers again, messy hair and his voice was so fucking rough. When you looked at him you felt a weird feeling in your stomach. "I'm late" you said as you were putting your shoes on. Logan was processing your answer for a bit before he spoke again.

"Oh, work..." he groaned as he realized what you were late for. You just ignore him and give him a quick goodbye before you closed the door and ran to the elevator.

As soon as you opened the door to the restaurant, you ran to the dressing room to change. You tried to be so fast but you were just clumsy and rash. Your chef's suit was crooked and not even all the buttons were on when you appeared in the kitchen, trying immediately blend in. "Oh there you are! Where have you been?" one of your colleagues asked, cutting vegetables next to you. You just shake your head.

"Long night" you sighed tiredly and cooperated with preparing the food. "You're lucky boss wasn't here, you would be cooked" you look at him as he said that and you both giggled at that stupid joke. "Go fuck yourself" you nudged him with your shoulder and shook your head. But he was right, you have much more luck than sense.

You spent last night in Logan's arms and after you woke up and put yourself back together, you realized that he carried you into your room. It's not his fault you overslept, it's yours.

You shouldn't have fallen asleep, you should have just gotten up, said good night and gone to set that stupid alarm clock. But whenever you remember the feeling of him caressing you, how comforting his chest was as a pillow, how his chest smoothly rose up and down, every time your knees got week and you feel that weird feeling in your stomach. You knew what that feeling was and you hated to admit it, but you catched feelings for Logan.

You can't stop thinking about him ever since the first day, you have unchristian dreams about him and you always catch yourself watching him for too long. You never thought you'd like a bad boy, but here we are.

When you were already cleaning the kitchen and getting ready to leave, you noticed a familiar person sitting in the restaurant as one of the last ones.

Your curiosity got the better of you and you peeked more into the restaurant. Of course that the familiar figure was Logan. Again, he didn't have anything ordered, he just sat quietly and stared into nothing. You couldn't help but smile at him when.

You went to change and said goodbye to the others as you headed for the exit. You pretended not to see Logan and ignored him until he instantly came up to you. "Hey, how was work?" he asked as he gentlemanly opened the door for you and waited. You felt your cheeks heat up and you had to look down.

"It was fine, except for the morning..." you chuckle nervously. "Yeah, were you too late?" he asked as he walked closer to the road making you back up a bit. Another discreet gentlemanly move. "3 hours late..." "Damn" his eyes widened as his mouth surprisingly twitches. "Yeah, but luckily I didn't get fired so" Logan laughed and nodded his head in agreement.

"Anyway, any ideas for dinner tonight?" Logan's efforts to keep the conversation going tickled your heart. "Mhmm honestly I don't know…how about pizza?" you looked up at his face waiting for reaction. "Like homemade pizza?" Logan looked into your eyes and you tried to hold eye contact as long as you could. “Of course duh” Logan smiled at your addition and nodded his head. "Sure why not"

You were slicing salami while Logan poured a ketchup mix over the pizza dough. "What about some music?" he asked, still focusing on the smearing. You stopped cutting and looked at him. "Music?" you asked, giving him a confused look. He nodded, looking at you too and when he saw your expression, he stopped his actions and went somewhere.

You were watching him, as he walked to the radio and pressed something on it until a song started playing. Your smile widened and you started laughing, when you saw Logan dancing. He was moving his hips awkwardly and you can see that he really can't dance. His danced moves could be compared to dad style in the 80s.

You needed to cover your mouth and hold your stomach, because the laughter started to hurt, but you couldn't stop. Logan looked at you and held out his hand in front of him as he approached you. You shook your head and almost collapsed on the ground laughing. "Come on!" he shook his hand, convincing you to join him.

After a lot of refusing and giggling, Logan finally convinced you to dance. When you grabbed his hand, he immediately took advantage of it and pulled you a little closer to his body. You squeal a bit at the sudden move, but you immediately cooperated.

You held each other's hands and did little circles with them as your legs scuttle back and forth. You laughed and squirmed, Logan spun you around from time to time and you enjoyed it as much as you could. This is one of those moments that sticks deep in your head. A memory that will always popped up, whenever you hear Logan.

The music pulsed softly through the air, a fast, intoxicating rhythm that seemed to wrap around you and Logan like a delicate thread, pulling you closer. You couldn’t help but glance up at him, your eyes locking for a heartbeat too long, and the intensity there sent a rush of heat to your cheeks.

You tried to focus on the steps, on the sway of the dance, but something about the way Logan’s body moved with yours was deeply distracting. His scent, clean and warm, enveloped you, making your pulse quicken in ways you couldn’t ignore.

Then, without warning, your leg caught the edge of his, and you stumbled, your balance suddenly thrown off. Logan’s arms shot out, catching you before you could fall, pulling you tightly against him to steady you. For a moment, everything seemed to stop, your breath, the world, even the music seemed to fade into the background as you realized just how close you were.

Your faces were mere inches apart, your lips almost brushing his. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his gaze dropping to your mouth for just a fleeting second before meeting your eyes again. The air between you crackled with tension, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. Everything about this moment screamed for you to close that agonizingly small distance, to let yourself get lost in the magnetic pull between you.

Logan’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours as he fought against the same urge. You could see it in his eyes, the desire, the restraint, the way he was holding himself back even though every inch of him seemed to be aching to close the gap. His gaze flickered down to your lips again, and this time, it lingered longer. You swallowed hard, your lips parting slightly, as if you were subconsciously inviting him to make the move.

For a moment, you both stood at the edge of temptation, teetering on that invisible line. Neither of you spoke, afraid that even a whisper might break the fragile tension and push you over the edge. Your bodies pressed together, heat pooling between you, your breaths shallow and in sync.

But then, something held both of you back. Maybe it was the weight of all that had led to this moment, the fear of crossing a line you couldn’t uncross, or maybe it was the unspoken agreement to savor this tension just a little longer. Neither of you moved, though the pull between you was undeniable. The space between your lips remained tantalizingly close, yet untouched.

“Close call,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of humor and the tension he was trying so hard to rein in.

You smiled, feeling your own pulse slowly return to normal, though the lingering heat of the moment still burned between you. “Too close,” you whispered back, your eyes holding his for a second longer before you reluctantly eased back, just enough to regain some space, some clarity.

“We should finish that” Logan gently let go of you and pointed his head to the half-done pizza in the kitchen. You nodded in agreement, still dazed from the situation that just happened and from the feelings you experienced. You were a little disoriented, just as Logan except, he could hid it better.

After you finished the pizza, the atmosphere wasn't so stiff anymore. Logan was telling funny stories about his past and you just laughed and tried not to get overwhelmed by his gorgeous face. Sometimes when you listened to Logan, the world slowed down and everything was black and white except for him. He shone like the brightest star in the darkness.

After enjoying dinner, cleaning the dishes together and saying good night, you couldn't even fall asleep. You couldn't shake the thought of Logan, that moment when your lips were so dangerously close and even though you didn't have any superpowers, you could feel that he wanted it just as much as you did.

Feeling his beard brushing against your soft skin, feeling his tongue inside your mouth, you could just dream about it. Also, tomorrow is the last day. You don't know if it's good or bad, you don't know if you're happy or just afraid, you don't know anything at all. After all, deep down in your head you had a soft spot and a longing for Logan.

Inwardly, you longed to spend a few more days with him, a few nights alone and see what would happen. This overthinking went too far, you kept your eyes open all night and stared at the ceiling, while outside the birds started whistling and sun rising.

It's here, the last morning in this bed, the last dinner with Logan, the last day.

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Fifth day

You stayed up all night, your stomach churning at the thought that today is final day. At the same time, you couldn't get that moment between you and Logan out of your mind, when just a milimeter was missing and your lips would be stuck together. The desire for Logan, the need to always have him with you and not let him go, was growing by every minute. His smell of cigarettes and scotch always tickled your olfactory cells. Every time you felt him, it was like your heart burst with excitement. But now you couldn't smell it, the only thing that tickled your nose was the steam from the food in restaurant.

"Hey, are you okay?" a colleague nudged your shoulder. "Huh? Yeah I am fine, I am fine..." you weren't fine. The thought of packing up your clothes today and moving back to your apartment, alone. That there will be no one here to hug and protect you while watching a horror movie, that no one will help you prepare dinner, these thoughts were pressing all the points to make you cry.

Despite all these emotions, you tried to keep yourself in check and continue working as if nothing happened, as if the world wasn't practically collapsing before your eyes. You tried to think positively and looked forward to Logan waiting for you again in one of the booths and escorting you to the apartment and making dinner together while talking.

When you finally finished your shift and said goodbye to the others, you walked out of the kitchen looking for Logan with hope in your eyes. Unfortunately, you couldn't find him anywhere. There was no one in the restaurant anymore and your positive thinking was gone. You went alone with gloomy face. This is last night and he just ignore you like that?

When you arrived at the apartment, upset, you were a little surprised to see Logan in the kitchen making dinner. He looked behind his shoulder and his corners lifted up a bit when he saw you. "Hey...sorry I didn't pick you up today, I was preparing dinner" he excused himself and your anger towards him was gone immediately.

Your face softened and your heart melted. He's also sad that it's the last night and he wanted to make it up to you somehow. He doesn't even have to say it with words.

"It's f-fine..." you said, still a bit shocked but more flattered. You walked up next to him, curious about what he is preparing. "Spaghetti?" you asked, even though you saw exactly what he was doing.

"Yeah, we had them on a first night, remember?" he looks at you and you chuckle at the memory. "Oh yeah, you were all grumpy and just took it" Logan scoffed and nodded. "Yeah..."

"Well, it'll be done in a bit, so do your stuff and then we'll go eat, hm?" you just nodded excitedly and fought the urge to kiss him on his cheek as a grateful gesture. You literally ran to your room, closed it and wanted to change into some comfortable clothes. The thing was that all your clothes were dirty and even when you tried really hard to find at least a one clean shirt, it was pointless.

You sat on the bed with a sigh and wondered what you were going to do. "Hey um I just go take a quick shower okay?" Logan burst into your room without knocking and you jumped a bit. He was gone before you could even answer him.

"Okay...." you whispered under your breath and immediately got an idea. You sneaked into Logan's room looking for his shirt. After all, he won't notice that you're wearing it, and if he does, you can explain it to him.

You didn't look long and saw a gray shirt thrown on the bed. You shrugged, grabbed it and walked out of his room into yours. You instantly stuck it to your nose and inhaled its scent. Cigarettes and scotch, oh the combination was sending waves of pleasure between your legs and you couldn't take it anymore. You quickly removed all your clothes and put on his shirt. It was huge on you, it touched your knees and you laugh.

You could still feel him as if he was with you, on top of you and that was exactly what you wanted. You laid down on the bed and closed your eyes, your brain immediately cooperating and starting to create million scenarios while you were still smelling him. The vibrating between your legs started being unbearable and you had to stop it somehow.

I slowly moved my hand to the fabric of Logan's shirt. I stopped between my legs and lifted the shirt up, a sigh left your lips as you felt the cold air touching your folds. Your hand moved down, your fingers slightly touching your folds, making gentle friction. Your moves were slow and sweet, just heating up before you started putting more pressure.

Your jaw fall open as you inserted one finger in, twirling inside and stretching your walls. You imagined that it was Logan's finger that worked a miracle, that filled you with emotions and the need to feel something inside you, to feel him inside you. You desperately tried to reach the sponge spot, that whenever you touch your head you go dizzy in a second.

You needed more, that's why you insert another finger inside you, moving in unison with your hips. You tried to catch up with your orgasm with gentle but eager sensations, Logan's images replayed in your head over and over and your sighs got louder and louder.

“Hey have you seen my gray T-shirt anywhere-“ Logan walked in, not bothering to knock. You gasped at the surprise and immediately covered yourself with a blanket. Logan weist was wrapped by a towel, making you even more wet at the sigh.

"Oh shit" he looked away embarrassed, but you were the one who should be. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you knock?" you asked, trying to wash off the embarrassment and replace it with anger.

Logan shook his head, still looking away from you. "Look I'm so sorry I was just looking for my T-shirt" "Well I don't have it so go check somewhere else" you said, your voice calm but your heart beat fast. Logan finally gains the confidence to look back at you, furrowing his eyebrows. "Wait, is that my T-shirt you're wearing?"

You tried to be as calm as possible. “What? No, why would I be wearing your shirt?” All your muscles were tense and you prayed that Logan wouldn't notice. “No that's definitely my shirt” he look at the piece that protruded from the blanket as his corner of his mouth lifted up a bit.

You quickly tried to hide more even tho you knew you were fucked. "No...it's not" Logan came closer to you. "Hey, stop tryna hide under the covers..." he grabbed the blanket and tried to pull it off of you, but as hard as you could try, he was much stronger than you.

"Let me just see it" after an unfair fight, Logan won and tore the blanket off you, revealing his shirt on your body. A devilish smile appeared on his face as he saw you. “So you are wearing my shirt” he narrowed his eyes and you started to panic.

“Yeah and what about it? It's the only clean thing I could find and it's comfortable” although you were telling the truth, it wasn't completely true, because deep down you know very well why you took his shirt. Logan chuckled at your answer and came even closer to you, standing right above you.

"So you're telling me it's just a coincidence that your hands are between your thighs wearing the same T-shirt I was just wearing?" oh you were so cooked. "It's not even like that..." you still tried to save it, but it was already too late. Logan giggled again, grabbing your chin, making you look up at him. "I'm not dumb, I know what you're doing"

Oh he was so freaking hot right now, and he knew it. "You're so fucking desperate" now there was nothing and no one to stop Logan in his way. He completely ripped the blanket off of you and got on the bed above you. In this moment you realize, all your desires are finally coming true.

He didn't hesitate for a second before pressing his lips to yours, aggressively and roughly. You immediately cooperated, your arms wrapping around his neck and your legs unintentionally removing Logan's towel as you wrapped your legs around his weist. You could immediately feel his length, making you whine a bit in the kisses.

Logan's hands were not docile and explored your body. He started from your thighs, continued under your t-shirt to your stomach and finally ended on your breasts, which he squeezed and massaged. You pulled out of the kiss, your eyes shut tightly as you sighed his name. Oh he loved the view he had right now. But he still needed more.

He attacked your neck with aggressive bites, leaving marks that will heal for a long time. "~Logan~" you moaned his name as you grabbed his fluffy hair and tugged them whenever he found that sensitive spot. You could feel his smile forming on his face, while sucking and licking your, now red neck.

Logan felt your wetness, your arousal. How he was grateful for those urgent instincts right now. He finally removed his teeth from your neck, but he definitely wasn't done with you. You opened your eyes as you watched him creeping down. His devilish smile not leaving his face for a second. The image of Logan's face between your legs drives you crazy and you couldn't wait to finally feel him. "You smell so fucking good kitty" he said before his lips leaned against your folds.

His hot breath on your bare core was sending shivers down your spine and you fight against every nerve in your body not to burst your hips into his face. He notices your desperate face and your shaking body, so he decides not to torture you anymore. He licked your fold, incredibly slowly but intensively, that you had to arch your back.

He repeated this move a few times, sucking all the wetness you could give him from the outside, before he burst his tongue inside you without any warning. You scream his name and pull his hair as his sudden move catches you off guard, making him chuckle.

His tongue was swirling inside you licking up all your juice, you were delicious. His nose was poking your sensitive clitoris, sending you even faster to your edge. Your hips were moving along his tongue, desperate for more friction and tried to reach your orgasm.

Logan stretched your walls even more, eating you like you were the best meat he had in years, his speed was unbelievable and the pleasure in you indescribable. You feel the tightening sensation in your lower abdomen and you knew you couldn't hold it in for long. You clenched around Logan's tongue, making it harder for him to continue, but he didn't stop. You tightly shut your eyes and throw your head back, as you almost pulled out some of Logan's hair.

He holds you firmly by your thighs, as your hips lose control and after few more twirl moves of his tongue inside you, the feeling of relief wash over your whole body, goosebombs appeared on your skin and your chest was rapidly rising and falling.

You smile, trying to catch your breath but your eyes were still shut. Logan climbed higher, he was now face to face. You felt his heavy breath against your cold nose, so you opened your eyes and smiled even more. Your juice glistened on Logan's beard and his hair messy, proof of your work.

He giggled as he saw your cheeks all red, your forehead sweaty and your hair destroyed, he loved what he was doing to you. "You're fucking beautiful princess" he said before he kissed you, giving you a taste of yourself. You loved the way he kissed. Hungry and furious kisses, but also sweet and gentle and si was his touch.

He explored you with his massive hands, his fingerprints all over your body. You looked really small in his hands, the sigh makes him even harder.

He couldn't get enough of you, he longed to hear you scream his name.

He quickly adjusted his hips and checked down, before he rammed into you, without any warning. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, as you felt his massive length inside you. The joke was, he wasn't even fully in yet.

You bite your lips, trying to be as quiet as you could but Logan didn't make it easier for you. He was inserting himself deeper, stretching your walls as far as they could go and he finally let out a big sigh, when he was balls deep in.

You felt so full, that every place inside you was now completely filled and there wasn't even room for air. You hold tightly Logan's neck and started making a blood mess on your lips as you dug into them with your teeth.

He chuckled and gave you a few hungry kisses, before backing up to get a good look at you. "Don't hold it in princess, let me hear you" his grainy voice tickles your eardrums and right before he finished this sentence, he started moving his hips. Just small smooth movements at first, he barely got out of you. Even though they were peaceful movements, it sent you sky high.

Your lips parted as you started leaving a quiet whispers and whimpers, barely heard but Logan heard them very well. Those pretty sounds of yours makes his mind go wild and he started gaining speed and strength in his hips.

Those smooth sweet movements? All gone in a second. They were fading into lustful, rough and uncontrollable thrusting, that makes those regular clapping sounds.

You rolled your eyes as he was hitting just the sponge wet spot inside you, you tried to desperately reach yourself before. "Hey, look at me" Logan growled through clenched teeth, and you with a bit of struggle manage to look at his focused face.

His hands find their way to your hips, keeping you in a place while he was pushing into you, desperately trying to catch up with his orgasm. He sat on his knees, looking at you from above, clearly showing who is dominant here.

You just seductively let him do anything with you he just wanted. You loved it, the feeling, the situation, the atmosphere, Logan. Everything together was sending you closer and closer to your edge. Sice you lost your hold spot when Logan sat down, your hands found the sheet around you and held them tight.

The wet sound started to permeate the whole room, after a while even the entire apartment. Your brain stopped controlling your body, which is why you started letting out loud moans and whimpers of Logan's name. It was pleassure to his ears.

He stopped counting how many times he imagined you like this, beneath him, fucking your soul out of you. How tears stream down your face and you beg for more as you scream his name. These thoughts and these dreams kept him awake and he himself is surprised that it took him so long to do this, to fuck you properly.

He feels that he is close and so were you. Another orgasm of the day was approaching very quickly, making your legs started vibrating. Logan growled, sigh softly, keeping his eyes on your face the entire time. Well, not the entire time, just a few times he checkedthe part where you were connected.

You started feeling that familiar urge to pee, while Logan's dick was twitching inside you, but not stopping hitting that juicy spot. You were over the edge now. You tried your best not to close your eyes and not release already, even though you knew it would come in any second. Logan also fought all the demons so he wouldn't cum into you and empty his balls, but he wouldn't last long either.

“Fuck” he huffed, dropping his head down while his hips lost control. His movements defied all laws of physics, the entire bed creaked with you and your entire body tensed.

"Logan I-" you couldn't even finish your though before you tightened around Logan, arch your back and close your eyes, finally letting the climax get you. Logan didn't stop, he couldn't, when he was so close to his orgasm too, his precum already mixing with your juice.

Logan felt it, he quickly leaned forward so his stomach was touching yours and he pressed his face into the pillow right next to your head as he thrust into you one last time with the most force. You moaned by his hit, still feeling dizzy from the recent orgasm. He growls like a wild animal as he cums into you, his fingers digging into your skin, definitely leaving bruises there.

You both breathe heavily, staying in this position for a bit. Your bodies were hot with sweat as you still processed the moment.

When your breathing finally calmed, Logan unhooked his face from the pillow and looked at you with a smile. "Don't look at me like that I look like a total mess..." you chuckle from embarrassment and close your eyes. "Said something bad about yourself again and you won't be able to walk for a month" your breath got caught up in your throat as you heard those words. He said that so casually.

"You're gorgeous" he added at the end and kissed you softly, calming your pulse and heartbeat down. After that he slowly pulled out of you, both groaning from the friction again and Logan collapsed next to you. You didn't wait and scooched yourself on Logans body, your leg laying on his while your head listening to those cute regular beats of his heart.

Logan immediately pulled you closer to his body and caressed your shoulder, making gentle circles on it. Your eyes were closed, trying to rest while being still full of the hormone of happiness. Your smile couldn't leave your face and neither could Logan's.

"What about the spaghetti?" you whisper softly, making Logan giggle. "They're probably cold now" he sigh, keep caressing your shoulder. You just grunted, too tired to answer that or even think of an answer. "Are you hungry?" Logan asked immediately with concern and you shook your head with a bit of burden. He relaxed after that and closed his eyes too. Both of you were tired and too lazy to get dressed.

"Would you look at that!" Suddenly you heard another male voice, this one was annoying and quite provocative. You both knew who it was right away. You quickly jerked away from each other when you looked at the door. Wade was leaning against the doorframe, his hands crossed on his chest and his smile was so fucking annoying.

You and Logan were frozen in shock, not knowing what to say or how to even react. "You take the 'take care of him' a bit seriously, don't you think?" you tried to defend yourself, explain it somehow, but you can't get out of this situation.

"Get out" Logan growled sternly but it didn't scare Wade at all. "Wow I mean damn I...I don't really know what to say-" "GET THE FUCK OUT!" Logan screamed this time, even you got goosebumps when you heard him. That already took its toll on Wade. "Okay okay chill...I'm just happy for you guys" he slowly closed the door but right before the end, he quickly opened them again.

"How many rounds did you have?" "GET OUT!" you both scream in union and Wade finally closes the door fully, leaving you two in a very uncomfortable situation.

You slowly looked at Logan and he did the same, but your staring contest broke as you both burst out laughing. You didn't know if it was the adrenaline you still had in your blood, or just a copy mechanism when something really embarrassing happened, either that you were crying from laughing, still laying next to each other, still naked and still in love with each other.

No one warned you that these five days would be the best of your life.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── AEROPHOBIA ✈︎

✈︎ pairing: ceo!rafe x housewife!reader

✈︎ summary: rafe has an idea for how he can distract you from your fear of flying.

✈︎ warnings / tags: fluff, smut, pet names, fingering, oral (fem. receiving), orgasm denial, unprotected piv, breeding kink, praise, rafe being a wife guy but also dumb <3, prescribed medication, MDNI! WC: 3K

✈︎ author's note: this is the longest smut i've written,, NEE-NAW NEE-NAW WARNING! freakrina is defrosting for hot girl summer. hide your mans, hide your minge and hide your gals. don’t say i didn’t warn ya!! for the person who wanted airplane sex with rafe <3

HOUSEWIFE MASTERLIST ♥︎ RAFE MASTERLIST

you'd never been good when it came to flying; every time you knew you'd be faced with the displeasure of having to step on a plane, you popped a xanax you'd been prescribed with an hour before you'd fly, the pill being the only thing that had a somewhat calming effect on you. you really didn't know what caused the terrible pit in your stomach whenever you felt the plane start to ascend, lasting all throughout the flight and even a few hours after it had landed.

but rafe knew you weren't used to flying, knew it stressed you out so much you couldn't sleep for the night before you were supposed to get on a plane. your sweet, utterly clueless husband had thought he was doing you a favor by surprising you with a nice getaway. with a ten-hour flight.

but the moment your driver had pulled up to the airstrip where rafe's company's private jet stood, you burst into laughter. he had to be joking? turns out that he wasn't. and after thirty minutes of you arguing about how much you didn't want to do it, and your husband arguing that you'll be fine, that he'd be right there with you, you reluctantly agreed.

"this freaks me the hell out." you whispered sharply, buckling your seatbelt and gripping onto it, already feeling your stomach starting to churn. one would think that flying private would actually make an aerophobe feel more relieved, but it had the opposite effect. private jets are 30x more likely to crash than commercial plane. you'd looked it up when rafe had mentioned going away for a business trip on the jet you were currently on board of.

besides, if you were to crash in the wilderness, regular airplanes would have multiple people on board. strength in numbers. however, this jet had five people in it, including you and rafe.

it would drive anyone insane to have to spend an extended amount of time with five people, but to have to do that after having to endure something as traumatic as a plane crash, and if there was no food except whatever food the plane has on board, everyone would slowly start to starve to death. and with the statistics on how many men leave their wives when they discover they have a terminal illness, how far-fetched is it to say that if it comes to a man's survival over his own wife's- no.

you took in a deep breath. you felt rafe gently peel your hand away from the seatbelt that had started digging into the skin of your palm. you looked at him with doe-eyes, your husband looking back at you with a kind smile as he uncurled your fist, bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there and intertwining your fingers together.

"i didn't even get to take anything..." you mumbled quietly, your lips turned down in a frown. your husband let out a breathy chuckle, making your pout even more pronounced in confusion. he pressed his thumb onto button on the side, and soon, a woman's voice sounded out in the speakers above you, making your eyes widen slightly, "yes, mr. cameron?" "could we get a glass of the macallan, 25, as well as a glass of château d’yquem?" "right away, mr. cameron." rafe let go of the button, turning back to face your confused gaze.

soon, a flight attendant brought over a tray of drinks. "here you go, mr. and mrs. cameron." she said with a kind smile, handing rafe a glass of whiskey and handing you a glass of wine, and you thanked her sheepishly, the woman going leaving you two alone again. you looked at the golden-yellow liquid with suspicion, "this is one of those fancy wines again, isn't it?" you narrowed your eyes at him, "i've told you i don't like it when you spend money on something as frivolous as wine for me-" "just try it."

you stuck your tongue out at rafe playfully for a moment before taking a tentative sip of the drink, your eyes widening in surprise at the taste, your husband taking a sip of his own whiskey with a slight grin, "don't get cocky." you nudged him softly.

"stop stroking my ego so much." rafe brought his hand to your jaw, and you automatically followed his touch as he brought your face closer to his, your lips connecting, the sweetness of your wine mingling with the smokiness of his whiskey as rafe's tongue pushed into your mouth. the pit in your stomach feeling lighter and warmer, the entire world muting around you, the only thing you could hear being your own heartbeat and the sounds of your lips joining.

rafe's hand tangled into your hair, and you let out a muffled moan into your husband's mouth, your hand going to rest on his cheek, feeling the warmth in your stomach starting to slowly turn into a flame as he kissed you like he was starving and you were the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, only for your husband to pull away from the kiss, leaving you breathless with your pupils blown wide and lips swollen, some of the lipstick having gotten onto his lips, "why'd-" "i knew i could find a way to distract you." rafe smiled softly, making you furrow your brows.

and only then did you notice that the engine was humming, and that you were actually in the air. "did you just... oh, you play dirty." you shake your head, feigning offense. your husband simply grins, before pulling something out of his pocket. rafe takes hold of your hand, placing a small tin box onto the palm of your hand, "what's this?" "you think i don't know my own wife?"

you opened the lid of the small tin box, seeing two xanax bars inside, and you turn to look at him with an appreciative smile. "you remembered." "yeah, i remembered. i also remember the time you forgot to take one and had a panic attack in mid air." rafe tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. you rolled your eyes at him affectionately, popping the pill into your mouth and washing it down with the wine rafe had gotten you earlier.

"the thing is, though..." you purse your lips, "it takes around an hour to take effect..." you brought your manicured finger to the base of his jaw, glancing down at rafe's lips, hearing the slow intake of breath as you slowly trailed you finger down his jaw, looking back up at his eyes, "we should come up with something to distract me." you stuck out your bottom lip in a sultry pout, leaning into him as your finger arrived at his chin, your thumb taking hold of it, "i mean, what if i get anxious?"

rafe didn't need to be told twice.

your husband's head was between your legs, your shirt long gone, your nipples straining against the white lace of your bra, your skirt bunched up over your hips, matching lacy panties in the back pocket of rafe's back pocket. one of rafe's muscular arms was wrapped around your thigh as they rested on his shoulders, his button-up shirt unbuttoned, the sleeves pulled up to his elbows in a way that showed of the slightly bulging veins, "oh, fuck!" you moan, your hand tugging on his hair, bringing his face closer and closer to your bare sex.

he'd been on his knees in front of you for what felt like forever, and every time you'd felt like you'd been close, rafe would pull his fingers out of you and pull his face away from between your legs and look up at you, his lips coated in your arousal as he grinned up at you, enjoying the desperate whines you were letting out, "thought you wanted to be distracted, sweetheart."

but now you felt his middle finger and ring finger curling inside of you, the coldness of his wedding ring inside your tight, warm walls a contrast that caused shivers to run up your spine, his tongue switching between teasing your clit by rolling the throbbing bud in his mouth and sucking it in a way that made you gasp each time,

"please don't stop..." you pleaded, your eyes squeezed close, rafe letting out a hum of a laughter against your clit that made you shiver. you felt his fingers starting to scissor inside of you, stretching you out in a way his cock always did, your manicured nails tugging on his hair harder.

rafe's lips attached them onto your clit now, making you arch into his mouth, his mouth responding to your hard tugs by sucking on the poor bud harder, his long digits curling inside of you, hitting that sweet, spongy spot inside of you each time, unashamed moans leaving your lips.

"please, don't stop, please..." you begged, "please, 'm so close..." you cried out, practically grinding your pussy against his face, your walls slowly starting to clench around his fingers, your husband only picking up his pace, heavy breaths and moans escaped you as you were starting to feel it, the heat in your abdomen threatening to break the dam building inside of you, and the flick of rafe's tongue against your clit was the breaking point.

you cried out your husband's name as you started clenching more rapidly around his fingers, rafe's affections slowing down as he helped you get down from your orgasm, the high slowly turning into relaxation, rafe pulling his fingers out of you with a squelch, his head becoming back into visibility as he pulled back and grinned at you, both fingers and mouth covered in your slick, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"baby..." rafe chuckled, pulling his fingers apart yet they still were connected by your arousal. "you're like a fucking faucet. i think we're really gonna have to get these seats reupholstered." you felt your face grow hot at his words, only for your husband to bring his fingers to your mouth, "clean these up for me, won't you?"

you obeyed, pulling your lips apart, rafe slowly pushing his fingers into your mouth, and you automatically sucked on them, tasting yourself on his fingers. "that's a good little wife..." he cooed, slowly pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

rafe rose to his feet, and you watched with hunger as he grinned down at you, casually shrugging his shirt off and showing off his muscular chest, your bottom lip catching between your teeth. you watched as his ringed hands started working on his belt buckle, a visible bulge in the front of his pants, until they were in his ankles, the bulge even now more visible through his black calvin kleins.

you squealed when rafe picked you up by your thighs, your arms automatically locking around his neck. he then sat down on the seat you'd just thoroughly soaked, making you straddle him, "i think it's fair that you do all the job. since i spent, what," rafe's eyes flicked to the watch on his wrist, making him let out a grumbled chuckle, "forty minutes between your pretty little legs."

"i think that's only fair." you said, grinding down your soaked pussy against the bulge in his boxers, making rafe throw his head back slightly. "and i also think," he brought his hand to your pebbled nipple, pinching them through the flimsy lace of your bra, "this should come off."

with one hand, rafe unclasped your bra, and you let it slide off onto the ground, rafe letting out a groan, his hips bucking up into you, the friction of his hard-on against your pussy making you shiver, "you see how hard you get me?" he mumbled, his hands attaching onto your breasts, kneading the soft flesh while his thumbs pressed against your nipples, worshipping your tits as if this was his first time seeing them.

after a moment, he let go of your tits, moving them to your back as he pulled your body to him, twirling his tongue around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, the sharp nip he gave to the gorgeous thing causing you to let out an equally sharp gasp as you threw your head back, rafe relieving the slight sting with his tongue.

"please, rafe..." you whined, your hands in the back of his head, "don't... don't tease me... i need you..." at your words, rafe let go of your nipple with a pop! the man shuffling slightly underneath you as he took his cock out of his boxers, holding onto the shaft with a grin on his lips, precum leaking from the pink head of his cock.

"yeah?" he chuckled breathily, "you need me?" rafe slowly rubbed the head of his cock against your obscenely wet slit, making you whine with desperation, "how much, gorgeous?"

"so much..." you mumbled out a gasp when you felt rafe slot the tip of his cock against your painfully needy clit, circling it slightly, "please, rafe." you tugged the back of his hair. he let out a chuckle, guiding his cock over your slit again until it got to your entrance, your walls clenching around nothing, "damn, so that's how much you want it, huh? well, i guess i gotta give my good little wife what she deserves..."

rafe's hands went to your hips, guiding you down so the head of his cock slid into your warm pussy, a gasp of relief leaving your lips at the contact. he let out a grunt as he felt you sinking down some of his length slowly, your walls accommodating yet squeezing him in a way that made him certain you and your pretty pussy were made for just for him.

you couldn't help it, you finally let yourself sink down on him fully, a mix of a gasp and a moan leaving your lips while a grunt left rafe's. "fuck, sweetie..." he groaned, "you feel so fucking good..." he began to move you up and down on his cock, every inch of him stretching you out as he thrust his hips into you, hitting that sweet, spongy spot inside of you. but his pace was too slow.

you took control, starting to move yourself at a quicker pace. "harder..." you whimpered, rafe's lips on your neck as he started meeting your movement with his own thrusts into you, "you want harder, hm? i'll give you harder." he sucked on your neck slightly, biting down on the soft skin as he thrust into you in harder, faster strokes.

one of rafe's hands trailed down to your pussy, the pad of his thumb finding your clit, making you gasp as he started drawing delicious circles over it. "rafe..." you moaned, tugging on his hair while your other hand dug into the flesh on his shoulder. "fuck!" he hissed out out, his hips thrusting into you even harder.

it was like he knew everything your body needed, everything it craved, everything you wanted, the passenger area of the jet filled with the slap of your skin against his along with the heavy breaths, grunts, and moans that left your lips. "rafe, i'm..." you whimpered, "i'm so close..."

"yeah, you close?" rafe started drawing quicker circles on your clit, "me too, sweets... fuck, you're so tight..." your husband groans, "you gonna make me cum in you, huh?" he grabbed your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head so you were looking down at him, "gonna make me put a baby in you?"

"yeah..." you mumbled, picking up your pace, once again starting to feel the fire inside of you starting to spread, "you want me to make you a mom so badly, dontcha?" you could simply nod your head intently as you felt the dam inside of you starting to break once again. "gonna fill you with my babies..."

you threw your head back when you finally felt yourself let go, when you felt every part of your body be filled with the bliss that had been trapped in your abdomen, a moan of your husband's name leaving your lips as he continued to thrust up into you even though your walls were gripping onto him tightly, clenching around him.

"gonna..." grunt, "get..." grunt, "you..." grunt, "pregnant..."

with one final thrust, you felt rafe's cock twitch inside of you and spill his warm load inside of you, painting your walls white as he stilled inside of you, the two of you slowly starting to get down from your climaxes, heavy breaths filling the jet, until they finally slowed down.

rafe was still inside of you, looking up at you, and even though he was starting to soften, he didn't want to pull out of you. he wanted to feel connected to you. your husband tucked a stray hair behind your ear, a small grin on his lips.

"what are you grinning at?" you ask, lifting your brows in amusement.

"just about the fact that i have a whole week with no work that i can spend to get you pregnant." rafe brought his hand to your stomach, making you giggle, "over and over again."

"can't wait."

TAGLIST: @raahosh @purpleplumpudding @rafesheaven @esotericcangel @mattyskies @nemesyaaa @dollyfiles @bakugouswaif @littlelamy @izumis-salty-penis @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @cameronsbabydoll @tinythebunni @inbred-eater

[websterss]

THE HAND THAT’S FORCED (1) — ROBERT REYNOLDS

SUMMARY: You hadn't meant to get attached to Bob, much less fall in love with him. You hadn't meant for things to slip out right from underneath your grasp. Out of your control, much like Valentina holding your love for one another over your heads.

WARNING(S): angst, a slur, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death, a bit of a graphic depiction towards the end, Valentina being terrible

WORD COUNT: 2,739

PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader

A/N: Hope you guys like it.

MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

"What is this, Bob?" Yelena was curious as they all watched a new illusion appear before them.

"M-My memories..."

"Whose the girl-"

"J-Just watch." Bob silenced John.

-

"Hi Bob, remember me?" You smile up from your chart.

"You're Y/n." Bob answers.

"Yes, that's me. Would it be alright if I could draw some blood from you today?"

"You're asking." Bob's head remains faced down. You're highly aware of the two former doctors he's turned into shadows right behind you. "The other's never asked..." His brows crease in wonder.

"Well, I...I think we all deserve to be shown some bedside manners. Some respect for our boundaries. You more so than others..." You trail off.

"Do you think you do?" Bob finally raises his head to look at you.

"Do I think I deserve to be shown respect?"

"Mhm."

"I would like to think so."

"Why's that?"

"I haven't given you any reason to believe otherwise. I'm not here to poke and prob you. I don't have ill intentions, Robert."

"Why should I believe you?"

"I like to think we're a bit alike, honestly."

"Alike...you think we're alike?" He releases a dark chuckle.

You nod. "We're both here against our own will." You place the chart beside him. "My reason, albeit in contrast to your own, I'm under contract to see that you succeed in our experiments. Though if I fail...to meet certain requirements." You inhale shakenly. You muster your best smile, though it's far from meeting your eyes. "My family gets killed. So I can't afford to mess up."

"I don't want to be pricked by anyone anymore..." Bob finally admitted.

"I can work around that." You nodded in reassurance. "Needles isn't the only way. There are cotton swabs we could try..."

"But blood is what you need, though, right?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Blood samples are more effective for the test we want to conduct."

"You got a knife anywhere or a scalpel?"

"What for?" You tense.

"So you can get your blood sample..."

"Oh, yeah, I do!" You scurry around the room in search of something sharp. You instead find a sewing needle, something you found similar to the needles he didn't want anymore. "There's a needle, but I can step out if you want the scalpel."

"That'll work." He gestures it over.

-

"Where are we going?" You peer over your shoulder as Bob guides you into a broom closet. You hold your breath as heavy boots hurry past the door he shoved you both in. You peer at him in curiosity, in wonder as he strains his ear. "Valetina will have my head if she finds us alone-" You gasp as he cups your face. His lips silenced your worries in a matter of seconds. You sigh into the kiss as he backs you up against the metal storage shelves. You raise your hands to rake them through his locks.

"Bob, we can't stay in here-" You push back slightly, only for him to chase the kiss again.

"Shh-"

"Bob, I'm serious we can't risk this-" Your whisper is muffled by another kiss. You go to protest only to see he was quieting you once more with precaution.

"What do you mean you can't find him? Well, where's Dr. Y/L/N? She was the last one to know about his whereabouts?" You both pull back in time to hear and see Valentina's shadow fall below the door. You hold your breath again. "Well, page her now!" You begin to panic as you reach for the device tucked into your scrubs. Before it could emit its alert tone, you feel Bob reach forward and crush it in his hand. "You're all useless!"

-

You had been a former member of the team of scientists that had run tests and experiments on Bob when the team was only at the beginning of their trial runs.

Heavily emphasized as former, when Valentina viewed your empathy towards the man, incompetent to her wretched morals. Your perspective on your team's ethics and your reluctance to keep sticking needles in his veins had guaranteed you your very own enemy. A target on your back if you didn't comply with her wishes.

Bob had grown fond of your sweet nature, having made a friend out of you during your time spent in the lab. That friendship, though, the closeness you garnered, had cost you, cost him your company.

Valentina proposed access to you if he did what was asked of him. He too fell victim to Valentina's manipulation. What small but significant leverage she dangled over your own heads like dogs. You were his demise, as much as he was yours. But you would ensure the safety of one another, go to certain lengths, of what was asked of you to see each other. Then and only then would she bring you up the tower to see him. And she did for what felt like a month's worth of waiting to see him. Though it wasn't like any of the other times she dragged your cuffed hands towards the top floor. Dragging felt like a misconception; she all but shoved you face down onto the ground before Bob's feet. He knelt, brushing the disheveled locks back behind your ears as your fear-stricken gaze met his bewildered one.

This wasn't like your regular visits.

"Your lip?" Bob pointed out. It was busted.

"Bob, don't listen to her-" He helped you onto your feet before the clock of a gun triggered his fight or flight.

You turned cautiously towards Valentina, who directed the end of her pistol right onto you. Bob shoved you behind him, his hands out before him as though to tame a wild beast, in your case, Valentina, who always felt like the devil incarnate.

"Here's what's gonna happen, you two...I'm gonna send some people your way, Bob, and you are gonna deal with them for me, cause I'm getting real tired of having to put up with them. If you don't comply. I'm gonna shoot her dead. Right here." Valentina grinned, thumping her forehead with the butt of her weapon for her example. "And you'll never see her again. Though to be honest, I should have shot her the second she got attached to you. I'd have shot you too, but this won't do shit I'm afraid." Valentina sighed, tired of over-explaining herself. "You just had to go and let your heart win." Valentina glanced at you over his shoulder. Your face was reminiscent of a lost child, scared. Fearing the unknown. Like, where did your future lie in her hands?

"You broke your contract, you little bitch. What was the one thing I asked of you?"

"To not get-"

"What was that?" Valentina turned her face, cupping a hand behind her ear to mock you. "Oh, that's right, to not get attached, to not make a connection. Now look at you." She feigned a gag of disgust towards you both. "I hope you've been smart enough to keep your legs shut. Otherwise, that's a whole other problem that I don't have time for." Though the faint dread that crossed your face had her paling at the sudden realization. "Oh...you didn't, please tell me you didn't? When would you two have even found the time?"

"What kind of people?" Bob tried to shift her attention to anything else besides you.

"No, now I'm mad. When the hell did that happen? God, you're not pregnant, are you?"

"N-No." You promised.

"Well, good. At least you weren't stupid enough to conceive a baby of destruction. The press would have a field day with this!"

"What people?" Bob asked again.

"You'll know when they come. Let's go!" Valentina gestured for you to come over with the gun.

"I don't get my hour with her?" Bob circled an arm around you to keep you behind him.

"No."

"I've done everything you've asked of me..." Bob pleaded.

"Your lover hasn't. Why don't you tell him what I found out today? It'll help explain your fault for ending up shoved against the ground. Let him in on why I decided to bust your lip open."

"Y/n?" Bob turned to face you, confusion written across his features. Hoping your truth wasn't some form of disloyalty towards him.

"I tried to..." Your gaze averts Valetina's, feeling the water works begin. "I tried outing her plans...to the public, what they've done to you. The public should know of her cruelty. I tried reaching out to a contact of mine, but he was struck down in the air last I heard, going through therapy and training, so I was on my own. V-Valentina broke into my house this morning."

That explained your pajamas. His gaze shifted to your slippers.

"And that is why we are here today. Maybe I will give you your hour, to remind you of the good I do to allow you both to be together, since both of you comply so well." Just as she said this, her phone rang. Her mood shifted into one of ease and joy. "Ah, I've got to take this. You get an hour." She waved you off. As soon as she entered the elevator and the door closed behind her. Bob broke the cuffs, freeing your trembling hands that now circled around his neck to hide yourself in the nape of his neck.

"Hey, hey, you're with me now. She's gone, we have an hour again." Bob hurried you off to his enclosed case that remained open now. The single mattress on the ground welcomed you. Bob pulled you down with him. His lips colliding with yours in a desperate rush. Valentina hadn't let him see you for a month. Sometimes a month expanding into three, and before he knew it, three months had turned into more if he acted out. That solemn year without you had set him off. He was on his best behavior now, desperate to even catch a glimpse of you if Valentina was in good spirits.

Your tears hadn't stopped even if Bob kept wiping them away. Whatever grief you were withholding had broken your resolve. He could feel it in the way you gently ran your hands through his locks. Foreign to your usual wanting grip.

He'd never coax it out of you like Valentina would. He'd wait, and he'd be patient with you-

"I-I'm pregnant." You choked back a sob amid another kiss.

Bob's breath hitched at the sudden confession. His gaze neutralized as he continued to caress your wet cheeks with his thumbs. His only response in the moment was to kiss you sweetly, then lift the hem of your shirt, just enough to place a faint whisper of a kiss against your stomach.

His words of comfort only being. "I don't want her to use it against me if she finds out."

"She won't find out..." Your eyes space out as Bob reaches up to push back your hair. His gaze settles over your cut on your lip before he cups your jaw as he begins his light descent of kisses.

"If she touches you again. I'll raise hell. No one would be safe."

"It should just be Valentina. What does anyone else have to do with it?"

"I don't think I'd be in the right mental capacity to determine whose good and whose bad. I'd be too angry to try to be coaxed out of seeing any good morals in anyone."

"All because Valentina touched me?" Your heart felt overwhelmed by how deeply he felt about your safety. It warmed you as much as it almost concerned you.

"Because she hurt you." Bob's soft gaze hardened.

-

“That’s Y/n. My love.” Bob tilted his head with a smile as he showed the thunderbolts another memory of you. “I haven’t seen her since this day. I’m lucky enough to get any time with her throughout the month. Y-You guys haven’t seen her, have you? Valentina said she would bring her by today, but she hasn’t come.”

Yelena felt like throwing up at his words. If your discarded self, which she saw in the broom closet, wasn’t enough evidence to indicate your demise, then she hated the idea of telling him where you really were even more.

Yelena turned her gaze to close her eyes. The heaviness weighed down with the guilt that tightened in her throat. You poor thing. You only wanted to be with him, nothing more than wanting to see him again and again. You were innocent, a helpless life that Valentina took.

"You don't think she's done something to her, right?" Yelena looks up this time to find his gaze has settled onto her.

Bob's gaze was solemn yet imploring as he searched Yelena's expression for reassurance. His hands clenched involuntarily, a visible sign of his anxiety and concern. Her silence only fueled his unease, making the air around them feel heavy with suspense.

"Valentina wouldn't. She wouldn't go that far, right?" Even as he asks, the lingering doubt in his voice exposes his inner turmoil.

Yelena knew the truth, and the weight of that knowledge pressed upon her conscience. The guilt churned within her, and she wrestled with the difficult task of finding a way to break the news to Bob.

"No..." Yelena finally replied, shaking her head as her voice was soft and filled with hesitation. "I hope not..."

You're a bad liar, you know? Bob’s voice appeared in her mind.

Yelena's heart sank as she heard him breakthrough her mental walls, the weight of her deception settling heavily on her conscience. She knew her lie had been detected, and the realization hit her with a pang of remorse.

I know. Yelena silently admitted, unable to meet his gaze. The weight of guilt threatened to overwhelm her, knowing she couldn't bring herself to reveal the truth to him. I don't know how long she's been there...

Bob's expression shifted, his eyebrows furrowing as he read the guilt in her eyes. He could sense the internal conflict that plagued her conscience, the secrets she was wrestling with. It made his heart ache to witness her torn by the burden of his ignorance.

"You…do you know where she is then?" His words cut through the tension like a knife, his voice a mixture of desperation and urgency.

"Know where who is?" John's confusion was evident in his voice as he looked to Bob for clarification. "No one's said anything?" John and the others looked over to Yelena, who kept looking down at her chipped nail paint.

"He just read my mind...Bob, I'm so sorry, but I found her body in a closet. By the looks of it, it could be the same one you dragged her inside of."

Bob's expression paled as Yelena's words hit him like a ton of bricks. His mind struggled to process the news, the weight of her revelation crashing upon him like a tidal wave.

"W-What...? You're not saying-" His voice trembled as he searched Yelena's face for any indication of falsehood.

"I do think Valentina would go that far, and she has."

Bob's emotions flared, a mixture of anger, despair, and disbelief swirling within him. The revelation that Valentina had gone to such extremes struck a chord deep within him.

"Damn it!" The outburst escaped his lips like a strangled cry, his fist clenched tightly as he struggled to come to terms with the harsh reality. "How?" He stopped to glare at her. "How'd she leave her?"

"Knowing won't change any-"

"Tell me!" Bob's voice rose. An echo of darkness mixed with grief, his emotions on the edge of uncontrollable. He was demanding answers, desperate for anything that could help him piece together your tragedy. “Just tell me.”

"T-There was bruising around her neck-" Yelena shook her head, not wanting to think about the state she found you in. "Her face was beaten..." Yelena's shoulders fell. She shook her head at Bob. "It looked intentional. Like it was done out of spite. If she fought back, I don’t think she stood a chance. I'm so sorry, Bob." Yelena's voice cracked.

Bob's world shattered around him as Yelena's words painted a haunting picture of your fate. He couldn't bear the thought of you gone. His anger flared, mixing with a profound heartache, as he processed the cruelty inflicted upon you.

"Out of spite…" He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. The thought of someone, particularly Valentina, intentionally causing you such pain made his blood boil.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Supposed Distraction

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: It’s Bucky’s birthday and you and your friends are planning a surprise party. That leaves you with the task to distract him while the others prepare.

Prompt 1: “I think we need to talk.”

Prompt 2: “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Prompt 3: “Kiss me.”

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: friends to lovers; reader is embarrassed and rather terrible at attempting to distract Bucky; Bucky is smug; Bucky is worried; Sam and Steve are idiots; feels; pining; tension; Bucky is a sweetheart

Author’s Note: This is another entry for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge by @elixirfromthestars ♡ I hope you’re not getting tired of me participating, my dear, but I couldn’t help it. Especially since you were the one inspiring me to write this about college!bucky. I'll have to thank you for that!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Masterlist

You always knock four times.

It’s instinctive at this point, muscle memory more than conscious thought. You don’t even remember when or how it started, but it's always fours knocks.

The door swings open within seconds, revealing Bucky’s easy and bright grin. He leans against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, hair slightly tousled, perhaps from running his hands through it. God, he looks great.

“Hey, doll,” he greets, voice warm. “You’re early.”

You arch a brow, stepping past him when he shifts to let you in. “It’s your birthday, Buck. What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone, huh?”

Bucky exhales a short sigh, but his smile stays in place. “Told you, it’s not a big deal.”

“‘Course it is, Buck,” you argue, almost indignant at the thought. Because if anyone deserves a day where people get to celebrate him, it’s James Buchanan Barnes.

But he doesn’t make much of his birthday. He doesn’t like attention when he hasn’t earned it.

It’s why he loves the mound, standing there under stadium lights with all eyes on him, but loathes things like this - birthdays, personal praise, anything that forces him into a spotlight just for existing. You suppose that’s just part of who he is.

You saw him earlier, in university. You shared one class today. He walked in a few minutes late, baseball cap pulled low, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

You had been waiting for him, barely able to contain your excitement as you nearly launched yourself at him in the hallway with a cheerful happy birthday, Bucky!

He had only blinked, slightly startled at your enthusiasm before huffing out a laugh when you crushed him in a tight hug. But he hadn’t complained, only chuckled softly, winding his arms around you and pressing his hands to your back, waiting for you to be the first to pull away again.

You told him he'd receive his present later the day with a grin and Bucky only rolled his eyes with a fond smile, letting you have your moment.

But what Bucky doesn’t know is that there is a surprise party awaiting him later, planned by you and your shared group of friends - because somebody has to make sure that today doesn’t pass like it is just another day.

Sam’s apartment is the only logical choice, given that his roommate dropped out and no one had rushed to fill the space yet. That means lots of room, plus an open invitation to make a mess.

The only issue is that Sam’s apartment is directly across the hall from Bucky and Steve’s.

Which means you have been assigned a very specific task - keep Bucky in his apartment until it’s time.

Not that you had much say in the matter. The moment the question came up about who would be the one distracting him that long, every pair of eyes landed on you.

You are his best friend, but - and that’s how you see it - so is everyone else. Still, they seemed to believe that you could hold his attention for long enough, that you could keep him engaged enough not to notice the shuffle of footsteps and suspicious voices beyond his door. That it would be you who he doesn’t mind having around, lingering in his space.

Honestly, you didn’t argue.

There is not a reason as to why you should. Any excuse to spend time with Bucky is a good one.

After all, you love the guy. But that’s a problem for another day.

You drop your bag on the worn-out armchair by the window, the same spot you always claim when you are here.

Bucky’s jacket is slung over the back of the chair, and the second your bag lands on it, the scent of his cologne drifts up - clean, something woodsy, something him. It distracts you for a second, but then you turn to face him again.

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans after closing the door again.

“Where’s Steve?” you ask casually, like you don’t already know he is across the hall, making sure everything is set up for the surprise. But you don’t know what he told Bucky.

“He said somethin’ about running some drills with the rookies, helping out the coach, or whatever,” Bucky answers, tilting his head in that unconcerned way. He slowly makes his way toward you. “Guess one of them nearly took his own damn head off trying to hit a curveball.”

One of your brows lifts amused. “And Steve’s the guy to fix that?”

Bucky smirks. “Well, y’know how he is. Someone fucks up a throw, suddenly he’s gotta be the one to teach ‘em how to do it right.” He shakes his head, like the whole thing is ridiculous.

“Yeah, sounds like Steve,” you state, trying to suppress a knowing smile.

You lean your hip against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, trying to keep it casual. The apartment is small, with the kitchen bleeding into the living space, a single couch, and a coffee table taking up a lot of the room. You love it.

“So, what do you feel like doing?” You tip your head toward him. “You’re the birthday boy, you get to decide.”

Bucky scoffs, lips curling, finding your antics amusing. But then, he actually seems to consider it. His hands slip from his pockets, arms crossing as he leans back slightly against the table. His gaze falls to the window. Sunlight spills in, casting golden lines across the floor and making your hair gleam.

“You wanna go get some ice cream or somethin’?” he suggests. “It’s warm out.”

You blink, caught off guard. Bucky isn’t usually the one to propose going out. It takes a little coaxing most days, a push to get him moving and leave his apartment to meet your group of friends somewhere outside. You wonder what he would have said if anyone else were the one distracting him.

But you can’t take him up on it. Because you can’t let him leave and potentially find out.

“Uh-no,” you say, a little too quickly, a little too firmly.

Bucky’s brows lift, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “No?” He huffs a laugh, shifting his weight onto one foot, arms still folded. His voice takes on that slow, teasing drawl. “You just asked me what I wanna do, doll. Thought I got to decide? Y’know, birthday and all that.”

You just started this distracting thing and you are already messing up. Great.

You scramble for a way to walk it back, to keep him here without making it obvious. “Yeah, you know, I just-” You glance around as if the answer is hidden somewhere in the room. “Why don’t we stay inside?”

Bucky watches you, eyes narrowing just slightly, trying to puzzle you out. He doesn’t look suspicious. But there is a curiosity in it.

“Why?” he drags the word out, tilting his head. “Something wrong with ice cream? We could also go get some tacos maybe-”

“No! Nothing’s wrong with ice cream.” You force a laugh, waving your hand dismissively. “I just figured we could chill here for a bit.” You bite your lip, then continue. “We could bake you a cake?”

You would love to face-palm yourself right now.

Why would you even say that?

There will be plenty of cake at the party. Cake that’s already been ordered, picked out, baked yourself, and waiting across the hall. And yet, here you are, offering something completely unnecessary, completely ridiculous.

God, you are terrible at this.

Bucky’s blue eyes are on you, considering, lips parting, about to say something.

Panic rises.

“Or not,” you blurt, stepping forward too fast, too sudden, hands coming up in a vague, dismissive gesture. “Yeah, maybe not. That’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”

You shift where you stand, fingers twitching at your sides. You don’t get nervous around Bucky - at least, not like this. But something hot and uncomfortable starts to creep up the back of your neck.

A slow smirk pulls at Bucky’s mouth as he watches you with so much amusement in his eyes, enjoying whatever the hell this is turning into.

“You alright over there, doll?” he asks, voice warm, teasing.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He tilts his head, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. “Cause you’re actin’ a little funny.”

You open your mouth, a retort or something like it ready, but Bucky suddenly leans in just a fraction, gaze sweeping over your face like he is searching for something. And yeah shit, you need to shut this down. Now. Or you’ll be a hot mess on the floor.

“Just forget it.” You shrug and then move away from him, toward the fridge, suddenly very interested in whatever’s inside. “You want something to drink?”

You don’t look back at him immediately, don’t give him a chance to see the way you feel your face warm up. Instead, you grab two small bottles of orange juice, shoving one in his direction as a distraction.

Bucky takes it easily, but that amused smirk does not waver a tiny bit. He is still watching you.

Bucky is no idiot. And if you’re not careful, he’s going to catch on fast.

You twist the cap of the bottle a little forcefully, the plastic groaning in your grip. The cold of it seeps into your palm, but it’s not enough to steady the way your heart is beating a little too fast. Taking a sip of the juice, you try to swallow past the lump in your throat.

He has always been observant. Even more so when it comes to you. You wish, just this once, that he'd be a little more dense.

“You gonna tell me what’s up with you today?” he asks, voice colored with curiosity, dipping just enough into concern that you flinch internally.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

It’s defensive, but all it does is amuse him. His lips curve, his brows shoot high, the lines on his forehead creasing in exaggerated surprise.

Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, his own bottle loosely held in one hand, he tips his head back and studies you. “That how we’re playin’ it, huh?”

You shrug, taking another sip of your juice, using the movement as an excuse to break eye contact. But you know it does not deter him.

Bucky makes a thoughtful noise, shifting his weight. “Y’know,” he drones out, tone lazy but eyes sharp and smirk sly. “Usually when people get all cagey like this, it means they’re hidin’ something.”

You shoot him a hopefully flat look. “Wow, Barnes. That’s some real detective work. You want to get a notepad? Maybe a magnifying glass?”

His smirk widens. He seems thoroughly entertained. You don’t like it.

“Depends,” he teases, leaning in just a fraction. “Do I need ‘em?”

Your pulse spikes. Bastard.

With an obvious eye roll that unfortunately lacks the conviction you tried to portray, you cross the room, shoulders set, and let yourself drop into the armchair where your bag still rests with a heavy thud. The cushions soften the impact. Trying to feign the usual comfort you feel sitting here, you tuck one leg under the other, leaning back. Your hands tighten around the still cold bottle of juice.

Bucky doesn’t move right away. He is still standing by the counter, bottle in hand, eyes never leaving you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you ask, reaching for the remote, already trying to steer this back into safe waters.

Bucky exhales through his nose, humor lining the corners of his eyes. His stance is easy and relaxed, but he looks at you like he knows something is off.

“Is this me deciding?” he muses, voice smooth. “Or are you just gonna tell me no again?”

There is no accusation in his tone, just that familiar Brooklyn drawl that makes everything sound like an inside joke.

He finally moves, dragging his body toward the couch. He doesn’t plop down like you did. He settles himself with intent and leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his entire focus trained on you like you are the most interesting thing in the room.

You swallow.

“You’ll get to decide,” you promise, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glances at the dark TV screen, then back at you.

“Nah,” he claims. “Let’s talk.”

Your stomach drops.

Bucky never lets things go when he is curious. You see the spark in his eyes, the glint of amusement, the way the corners of his mouth twitch with that smirk. He knows you are acting weird. Maybe he doesn’t know why, but he sure as hell knows something is up and he is going to dig.

You inhale deeply, fighting the urge to groan. But all you do is force a casual shrug, stretching your arms over your head before letting them drop back into your lap. “What do you want to talk about?”

Your fingers fidget with the label on the bottle, a nervous little movement you don’t mean to make. Bucky’s gaze flickers down to your hands and you freeze, immediately stilling them, letting the bottle rest in your lap and shoving your hands between your thighs.

His eyes snap back to yours, lips curving up.

“You,” he says simply.

You roll your eyes, feigning playful annoyance, because if you don’t, you might actually combust on the spot. “Oh, come on,” you scoff.

For the next few minutes, you actually manage to let a conversation drift to normal things. The familiar back-and-forth. You talk about classes, you being annoyed at that one professor who has a habit of trailing off mid-lecture, forgetting what he is actually supposed to talk about. Bucky tells you about his brutal morning training session that left half the team groaning like old men.

You bring up his next baseball game, the one you won’t be able to make because of an assignment, and Bucky whines.

He doesn’t just complain a little but rather goes on about it for minutes on end. Arms flailing, huffing dramatically, groaning like you just told him his dog died.

“You could just skip,” he protests, lounging back into the couch.

“I can’t just skip, Bucky.”

“But I need my lucky charm,” he laments, throwing his head back against the cushion as if this is some great tragedy.

You roll your eyes but there is warmth rising in your chest. “I’m sorry, Buck. But I did come to all your games last month.”

“Yeah, which is why you owe me,” Bucky retorts, sitting up again, gesturing with his hands. “I hit a homer 'cause you were there. What if I suck without you?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you laugh, but Bucky grumbles under his breath, not quite over it.

It starts to feel normal. Easy. You begin to believe that you might actually pull this off. That you can keep him here, keep him occupied, long enough for your friends across the hall to finish setting up.

But then a loud thump echoes from the hallway.

Your spine goes rigid.

Bucky’s head snaps up, his grin replaced with a furrowed brow.

Another thud.

Yeah, so, that was that.

You fumble for your phone and type out a quick text to Sam.

Y: What are you guys doing out there?

The reply comes almost immediately.

S: Just keep Barnes inside.

You would love to curse loudly right now. Because thank you for nothing, Sam.

Bucky is already standing.

“What are you doing?” you ask, standing up as well, your voice perhaps a little sharper than usual.

Bucky glances at you briefly. There is a tiny bit of concern in his eyes. “There’s something goin’ on out there.” He gestures toward the door. “Think I should check. Might be Miss Nelly.”

Something clenches in your gut.

Miss Nelly, the sweet older woman who lives next door to him and Steve. The one they always help carry groceries up the stairs. The one who has trouble with her hip sometimes. If Bucky thinks she might have fallen, or perhaps tried to carry something on her own, of course, he wants to check.

But that is not what is happening out there.

You rush to step between him and the door. “Let me check.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You wait here, doll. I’ll be back in a sec-”

But you don’t let him finish.

You throw the door open and basically slam it shut behind you before he can follow.

Yes, that was perhaps a little rude. Yes, that will probably only make him more suspicious. Yes, you could have come up with something better. But you certainly did not have the time to think about what exactly.

Right outside, Sam and Steve are standing there - in front of the open door to Sam's apartment where a chair lays with its backside on the floor - wide-eyed, looking about as guilty as two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

You would have laughed at the sight if not for the fact that you just slammed Bucky’s own apartment door basically in his face without an explanation.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” you hiss, voice low, exasperated.

Sam lifts his hands in a calm down gesture. “Listen-”

“No, you listen,” you snap, whisper-shouting, barely resisting the urge to grab them by their collars and shake them. “He’s two seconds away from walking out that door.”

Steve grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “We, uh, we miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated?” you repeat, eyes narrowing.

They both exchange a glance.

You sigh in frustration. “Where’s Nat?”

“Out with Bruce getting drinks,” Steve answers, folding his arms. “Wanda, Clint, and Laura are inside, decorating.”

“Look,” Sam starts, raising a brow. “We’re bustin’ our asses for this dickhead, and you’re the one who came up with the whole thing in the first place.”

“That’s not-”

“So you gotta do your part. Go back in and stall him some more” A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know - offer him a good time.”

Your eyes narrow, hands on your hips. “Sam.”

Steve sighs, shaking his head, but there is an unmistakable smirk tugging at his lips.

You glare at them both, spinning on your heel before they can make this worse, yanking the door open and stepping back inside the apartment.

Bucky is exactly where you left him.

Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. Lips parted slightly, caught between confusion and suspicion.

He is wearing that what the hell was that expression.

You swallow and shut the door more forcefully than necessary, the sound echoing slightly.

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just fixes you with a stare so focused, so piecing, seemingly able to look right through you. It makes you shift where you stand, suddenly hyper-aware of every nervous tick in your body.

“Alright,” he starts slowly, carefully, eyes falling to the door before turning back to you. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Not Miss Nelly,” you quip, attempting a light and assuring tone.

It does not work.

Bucky still doesn’t blink. His jaw works. He doesn’t buy a damn thing you’re trying to sell him.

“No, doll.” His voice is lower now, thoughtful, putting together a puzzle in his head. “What’s going on with you?”

You try to press down the lump in your throat.

“You’re actin’ real weird.” His words aren’t harsh, not even accusing. Just observant.

He cocks his head slightly.

Why did the others think you could withstand the way his eyes root you to the spot without flopping down to the ground as a puddle.

You are so screwed.

You push yourself out of the conversation, walking over to the armchair again and trying to find something to keep you busy while plopping down.

“It’s nothing, Bucky.”

Your fingers curl around the juice bottle, bringing it to your lips, but the cold liquid doesn’t do much to cool the heat crawling up your spine. Your thumb works at the label, picking at the paper until it peels away in small, curling strips.

Bucky blows out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face before slowly making his way over to you.

Crouching in front of you, he braces his forearms on his knees, his eyes intently locked onto you.

The sudden closeness forces you to suck in a breath and your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hands.

His expression shifts again, humor creeping into the smirk on his mouth. “Doll,” he starts, voice light, amused. His hands slide up to rest on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. “Did you plan somethin’ for me?”

Shit.

Your next inhale is a little hesitant. The air thickens. “No.” It sounds too stiff.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He is smirking so wide. Enjoying this so much, the way you squirm in your seat before him.

You push forward, shaking your head. “No, Buck. I did not.”

“You sure?” He almost laughs.

“Yes, I just-” You are floundering, drowning in your own words. How can you save this now?

“I’m nervous.” Well, at least that’s not a lie.

Bucky’s expression softens immediately, his amusement fading into something quieter. He straightens up, tilting his head tenderly. His full attention is on you.

A gentle crease in his brows forms. “Why are you nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, lower.

And guilt hits you.

How do you get out of this?

But, hell, he is so close, too close. His eyes are so blue, too blue. His gaze is so intense, too intense. You are feeling hot, too hot - your brain isn’t working, it’s overheating, and your mouth is suddenly moving.

“Because.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Because I think we need to talk.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

The entirety of Bucky shifts and you just want the ground to eat you up right this second.

Because now he looks so worried. So genuinely concerned.

You feel yourself start to sweat. Where is this going? Why can’t you stop this? Why did you even start it?

Bucky’s face drops to a frown so deep, lines are forming. A hand of his moves, palm landing lightly on your knee.

“We can talk, doll.” His voice is even softer now, barely above a murmur. “Is something wrong? You alright?”

You just stare at him.

Your heart is hammering.

What the hell are you doing?

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your fingers keep worrying at the torn label, peeling off strips that crumple beneath your fingertips. It’s the only thing you want to focus on right now with Bucky’s proximity and his intense gaze.

But then his hands replace the bottle and he grasps your fingers, wrapping around them and stilling their fidgeting.

Something electric rushes through your veins so quickly, you couldn’t catch it if you tried.

This is getting way too serious.

Too intimate in a way that sends your pulse skittering up your throat.

You feel like a deer caught in headlights, your body tensing up, lungs forgetting how to work properly. Because this is veering dangerously off course, heading straight for a conversation you’re not sure you’re ready to have. You never thought you’d ever be ready.

But you started this. You walked straight into it with your own words, and there is no backing out now. So you might as well be honest now.

No time like the present.

Bucky must feel the way your hands begin to tremble in his hold, because he adjusts again, shifting closer, his knees pressing against the base of your chair. His thumbs trace over the backs of your hands. His frown deepens.

Why does he have to be so worried? It would make things so much easier if he remained casual and easy. But really, that’s how Bucky always is. Worrying so fast when it comes to you. You can’t really blame this on him now, can you?

His voice drops lower, soft as a whisper. “What is it, sweetheart?” His eyes are full and searching. “Talk to me.”

Air hitches, stalling between your ribs before pushing forward in a rather trembling exhale. Your lungs barely feel full. Your eyes dart away from his, searching the room, the floor, anywhere but him.

“Did I upset you? Is it something I did-”

“No!” you rush out, hastily. “No, you didn’t do anything, Buck.” God, now he even goes that far. This is bad.

Bucky softens a tiny fraction, but he keeps sweeping his eyes over your face, latching on the details, trying to study you, trying to read what this is about. “You can tell me, doll. Always. Whatever it is,” he coos so sweetly, and it makes you want to cry.

How do you even start this?

You open your mouth. You’re certainly not ready to climb the whole mountain, but perhaps you can try a small hill.

“Do you-” You swallow, trying to sound as if you are simply reminiscing. “Do you remember that time after your game last year when it started pouring the second we left the stadium?”

Bucky blinks at the sudden turn. Confusion enters his features but the worry only deepens. “What?”

You push forward, gaze fixed on the arm of your chair as if it might give you the courage you need. “You gave me your jersey, even though I already had a jacket and you were the one soaking wet-”

Bucky’s brows pull further together, his head shaking slowly, not knowing what to do with your words. “Doll-”

“You walked me all the way back to my apartment.” Your voice turns quieter as if you are speaking more to yourself than him. Perhaps you are. Saying those things out loud makes them seem so much more important. “And then you got sick for three days.”

His hands squeeze yours gently. “I mean- Yeah, I remember.” Confusion also settles in his tone. “But what’s that got to do with-”

“I don’t know,” you cut in quickly. “I just-” You exhale a deep sigh. “I think about that a lot.”

Bucky says your name like it is something delicate. Something that might slip away if he is not careful.

“Look at me, please.”

You try, but it’s hard.

It means staring into those impossibly blue eyes that see too much, that strip you bare without even trying, that try to coax something out of you, you didn’t even plan on letting go.

But you force yourself to lift your gaze and it is worse than you expected.

He is watching you with an intensity that makes you stop breathing. His stormy eyes are so full of concern, so desperate to understand what is going on in your head, searching every inch of your face.

His lips are parted slightly. His breathing is sharper. Uneven.

“What’s going on, hm?” he coaxes, so softly, so full of patience you don’t deserve. “What’s this about? You still feelin’ guilty?”

Your heart plummets like a stone.

“Doll, there’s no need to, alright?” His hands squeeze yours, grounding, reassuring. “We talked about this.”

God, why does he have to be so good?

His voice is so warm. Warm like sunlight, like home. It makes the sting behind your eyes grow stronger.

You don’t want to cry.

You don’t want to feel this way. Don’t want to ruin his fucking birthday like this. This is getting so out of hand right now, but what should you do? You are so tangled up in trying to figure out what to say, things you are too much of a coward to finally admit out loud.

Bucky notices your struggles. He sees them. Plain on your face. His thumbs brush over your skin in careful strokes. “And you took such good care of me.” His tone lightens, trying to pull you out of whatever hole you’re sinking into. “Remember that part?”

You nod, swallowing and swallowing but the clump of emotions stays stuck in your throat. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out flat, like you are detached from it. “I do. Sorry for bringing it up.”

Bucky’s lips press together, and then he sighs so deeply, his chest rises and falls profoundly.

“Doll,” he murmurs, straightening up, arms beside you tensing as though he is holding himself back from doing something. “That’s not what you wanted to talk about.”

He’s right.

“Darlin’, please,” he urges, and god, the way that word falls from his lips makes you shudder. His voice is barely above a whisper now, full of something genuine, something tender, something that makes him sound like he wishes you would just talk to him, and it makes you want to shrink down to something he can’t see anymore. “What is it?”

You could lie. Again.

You could laugh it off, steer the conversation away, keep pretending.

You could drag this out further until the others are ready, leaving him worried and slightly upset.

You could tell him the truth about the party.

Or you could finally come clean about the feelings you have held in your heart for so long. Feelings for your best friend.

Drawing in a breath, you straighten slightly. Your hands, still held in his, still shaking, squeeze back. His eyes never waver from your face, tracing the contours of your features.

You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help much. “Uhm,” you croak. “I- I wanted- I need to tell you something.”

His fingers twitch around yours. His features fall into a deep concentration. He doesn’t rush you. Just watches. Waits.

And god, his eyes are pools you never learned to swim in.

You look away, at the wall behind him. “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now, I guess. But-” You inhale a quivering breath. “But I was afraid. Because I don’t know how you’ll react.”

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His chest rises and falls deeply, almost mechanically. There is something almost spellbound in the way he stares at you, completely locked in, completely yours. The only sign that he has heard you is the subtle press of his fingers against yours.

His head dips in a nod for you to go on.

You wet your lips. “I, uhm-”

But then something catches your attention.

The door to Bucky’s and Steve’s apartment opens.

Painstakingly slow.

You stiffen.

Bucky is still so enamored with what you were saying, he doesn’t seem to notice at first. His back is to the door.

You see heads peeking through the small gap, cautious, bodies frozen in an awkward crouch as if that makes them less noticeable.

Steve and Sam.

They are trying to slip in without a sound, their movements so unbelievably slow, exaggerated. They resemble cartoon characters sneaking through a heist.

Sam motions at you wildly, gesturing at Bucky, at himself, at the hallway, mouthing something like distract him! Keep him busy.

They almost make it, but Bucky catches the small reaction of you, the surprise. His senses are too tuned in to every little thing about you and with his brows knit together, he shifts to glance over his shoulder.

You don’t think about anything.

Your hands rip from his, and before he can turn fully, before he can see those two idiots, you grab his face.

Bucky jolts, startled, his breath hitching audibly. His skin is warm beneath your palms, the sharp angle of his jaw fitting perfectly against your hands. His wide eyes snap back to you, dumbfounded, searching.

He blinks at you. Then blinks again. Then simply stares.

His lips part slightly, breath brushing over your skin.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

This is close. Too close. Closer than you’ve ever been. Well, but not closer than you’ve let yourself imagine. But having him here in reality is something else entirely.

Sam throws you a thumbs up over Bucky’s head and a wiggle of his brows and the both of them disappear from sight into the hallway.

But you just made this worse.

And you are still holding his face between your hands.

Bucky’s lashes flicker, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t fight it. Just stares at you like you’ve done something earth-shattering, like you’ve just rewritten every unspoken rule between you in a single, desperate motion.

Your pulse is a drum against your throat.

You see Bucky’s pulse thunder in his neck.

But he doesn’t move. You don’t move either.

He doesn’t breathe. You don’t know if you do.

He watches you. You watch him back.

“Doll?” Bucky practically breathes the question.

You swallow hard. Opening your mouth doesn’t help with finding words, so you shut it again. Slowly, you pull your hands away from his face.

But Bucky still doesn’t move.

His breath is still broken, his lips still parted, his brows still slightly drawn, stuck somewhere between surprise and something so deep, you’d be falling endlessly.

He is leaning in just the slightest bit, as though his body hasn’t quite caught up with his mind, not even realizing he is doing it.

And you hate the way your chest aches at the look in his eyes.

There is so much all at once and the more you stare, the harder it gets.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, dropping your gaze.

But there is movement in your peripheral.

Steve and Sam are creeping back out of the hallway, lugging something that looks like Bucky’s speaker system from his room.

And god help you, they are still moving at a snail’s pace, their motions so exaggerated, so painfully slow and obvious that you want to scream. You grit your teeth.

Fortunately, Bucky is still just staring at you, stunned.

The two are just about to reach the door, so close to getting through this ridiculous charade, when Sam’s end of the box bumps against the shoe shelf.

The sound isn’t loud, but it’s enough. Enough for Bucky’s head to instinctively turn toward the noise. Enough for his body to shift just slightly.

Your brain short-circuits.

Like completely.

Totally.

Lacking any sense.

Not only do you pull his face back.

You pull it in.

“Kiss me,” you blurt, and it’s not soft, not sweet, not anything carefully planted - it’s desperate, panicked.

Bucky’s whole face just goes wide, pure shock filtering out anything else.

Another bump.

You’re not sure Bucky even heard it, but your lips crash onto his with urgency.

Bucky freezes.

And when you say freeze, you mean freeze.

Every muscle in his body turns to stone. His hands flex before going rigid, floating in the air. His breath stalls. His spine goes straight, and the grunt he lets out - so low and gravelly, caught deep in his throat - reverberates into your mouth.

But behind him, Steve and Sam go as still. Dead silent.

You can feel them watching, their eyes practically bulging out of their skulls.

For a full few seconds, nothing happens.

But then, there is a shift. You don’t see it, but you know it. The way their disbelief turns into something smug - something amused and downright delighted. You feel the way Sam’s mouth probably stretches into that toothy and knowing, cocky-ass grin. You feel the way Steve simply looks happy.

You don’t pull away.

Instead, you wave one frantic hand behind Bucky’s back, motioning wildly, trying to get them to move.

You open an eye to see them still staring, Steve blinking rapidly, Sam grinning like a fool, nudging Steve.

But then, finally, they start creeping out of the room again.

They are gone now.

Bucky still isn’t moving.

He’s not breathing.

He’s not reacting.

And the tension stretches so tight, you swear the air could snap in half.

Because this isn’t just a distraction anymore.

This isn’t just a cover-up.

Your lips are still on Bucky’s.

Your hands are still gripping his face.

And his are trembling where they hover near your knees, as if he wants to touch you, wants to move, but his brain is still struggling to catch up with what is happening.

Then the tension snaps.

Bucky exhales against you.

It’s not just a breath - it’s a surrender. A sharp and shuddering exhale that stirs against your lips, warm and tentative, as if he is trying to feel what is happening, trying to understand the shape of this moment.

His hands flex and twitch against your legs, but he is hesitant, as if waiting for something, waiting for you to pull back, waiting for this to be some kind of mistake.

But you don’t pull back.

You don’t want to pull back.

And that’s when he melts.

He sinks into the kiss, his body softening, folding inward toward you. His fingers slide up your legs, brushing tenderly against the fabric of your pants before settling on your hips, cautious, like he doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want to take too much.

Then, his lips move. It’s a slow, searching motion, testing the waters, trying to figure you out. His mouth is warm, his lips so much softer than you imagined. And hell, did you imagine.

He makes a sound - low and unsure, a hum deep in his throat that vibrates against your lips. His movements are careful, almost disbelieving. Like he is afraid this will disappear if he lets himself want it too much.

But then something changes.

Your nails lightly run over his neck, thumbs over his jawline.

And you feel the exact second the hesitation snaps.

He pulls you in.

His hands tighten, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you forward to the edge of the seat, into his chest, his grip growing needy, desperate. He seems to have been starving for this, like something in him has just broken loose.

The kiss turns deeper, heavier, a push and pull of breath and movement. He kisses you with searching urgency, trying to memorize the exact shape of your mouth, the way you feel pressed against him, the way you taste.

His lips part, just for a moment, and then he dares to press in a little more, tilting his head, fitting his mouth more firmly against yours.

He makes another sound - this time rougher, needier - a groan that slips through the space between you.

You can feel the want in the way he kisses you, in the way he angles his head to take more, to taste more, and damn if it does not overwhelm you.

The way his fingers tighten their hold, his thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, needing to feel your warmth.

And the way he breathes you in, each exhale shaky, each inhale sharper, like he is drunk on this, on you.

Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tangling in the strands at the nape of his neck, and the second you pull just so slightly, he makes a sound.

A gravelly noise that shoots straight through you, heat curling at the base of your spine.

He is kissing you like he can’t help it anymore. As if he has been waiting for this exact moment, for you, for so long that he’s past the point of fighting it.

You thought he’d pull away. You thought he’d startle and demand an explanation, eyes sharp with suspicion, voice laced with confusion. But he doesn’t.

His lips only press more firmly against yours, his nose sweeping against your cheek, his chest rising and falling unevenly, breathing erratic as if he is just as lost in this as you are.

Your heart is hammering so violently in your chest, you think he must hear it, must feel it where your body is pressed to his. Your hands are slightly trembling, sliding to curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him. Because you have to hold on. You have to anchor before you fall, before you slip too deep into the intoxicating pull of him and lose all sense of self.

But maybe you already have.

Because he is kissing you as though he’s afraid this is a dream, testing the edges of reality with every careful, exploring movement of his tongue and lips.

He tastes like something warm, something safe, something like the orange juice you two have been drinking, something wholly Bucky. Every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours, is stealing a coherent thought from your mind.

This was supposed to be a distraction. This was supposed to be a lie.

But hell, it’s not.

It’s everything you’ve ever wished for.

When you pull away, both breathless and panting, his forehead stays against yours.

Your pulse is so fast, so fluttering, and you know he can feel it, the way it thrums in your chest, in your throat, in the slight tremor of your fingers still curled loosely in his shirt.

His hot and shuddering exhale fans over your lips and it’s maddening how much you want to taste them again, how much you want to fall right back into him.

You open your eyes.

His are already on you, so close, so intent, so devastatingly blue that they don’t help at all in trying to regain a healthy breathing rate. There is something in them, something soft and devoted, something awed, like he can’t quite believe you are real, that this is real.

A shiver works its way down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its way and Bucky sees it. He feels it. His grin widens, slow and boyish almost, something that makes him look young and light, like something is lifted off his shoulders.

Your name is a breath that leaves his lips with the kind of care reserved for wishes made on falling stars.

It sends another shudder through you, and his grin turns brilliantly wide.

“That the present you were talkin’ about earlier?” he breathes, voice still hoarse, still dazed.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. Smiling. Grinning. Like a fool. God, you can’t stop. It’s lifting your cheeks and making you feel giddy in a way you haven’t felt in so long.

“No,” you whisper back, voice airy.

“Don’t matter,” Bucky’s voice is full of affection, of something certain. His hands slide up, one cupping your jaw, thumb skimming over your cheek, the other finding the nape of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair. Holding you there. Holding you close. “Best damn present I’ve ever gotten.”

His tone is so sincere, so full of adoration, that your breath turns upside down, and you can’t do anything but feel the way butterflies are dancing in your stomach.

Heat floods your face and Bucky’s fingers flex against your skin, his smile turning impossibly brighter.

His eyes are shining with something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in them before. It’s breathtaking. It’s promising. It’s worshipful.

It’s everything.

You guess you owe him a little bit of an explanation.

There is guilt pooling in the hesitation before you speak. “Buck?” you start, voice quiet.

“Yeah, baby?” he drawls, and the way the new nickname rolls from his tongue so seamlessly makes your next inhale shatter midway, breaking into uneven pieces. You almost feel like choking.

His voice is so full of warmth, so soft, so fond. He is smiling at you and his eyes are sparkling as if you’ve just handed him the world. He is kneeling in front of you, patient and content, as though he’s got all the time in the world if it means spending it with you.

Something dizzying rushes through your veins, sparking at the base of your spine. You have to take a moment, a single, shaky pause to shove the giddiness down for later, to not let it explore the wide landscape of your heart and mind.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, still at the edge of the armchair. Your chest almost brushing against Bucky’s. “I, uh- I do have something planned for you.”

Bucky is beaming. His amusement spills over into something so brilliant and blinding. His entire face lights up, so open, so full of adoration that it makes a feeling of pure bliss explode in your chest, sending delightful shivers down to your toes and hell, you don’t think you can handle it.

“Oh, do you?” he muses, dragging the words out slow and teasing. There is something beneath the syrupy sweetness. Something like mischief. His brows raise, eyes glinting, his lips twitch, and you know he is about to be a menace.

Tilting his head, Bucky feigns deep thought, but his eyes stay on you at all times. “Would that involve two idiots tryna sneak around behind my back?”

You blink at him.

Bucky’s grin turns wolfish and he bites his lip to suppress a laugh.

“You were actin’ all off from the beginning, doll. Knew somethin’ was up,” he states, voice a little softer, until he turns on his playful teasing voice again. “Flawless execution, sweetheart. Didn’t notice a damn thing.”

Groaning loudly, you press your hands to your face and Bucky lets the laugh out. It’s full-bodied and wholehearted. His chest shakes, his shoulders lift, his body tilts into it. And it’s such a good sound, such a lovely sound, so rich and free. It makes your own lips curl despite the frustration of the ruined surprise.

Bucky reaches up to gently pry your hands away from your face. His grip lingers, thumbs tracing over your knuckles, his touch so easy and natural.

His expression gives way to something soft. He bites his lip again, before bringing your hands up and kissing them softly, twinkling bright blue eyes trained on you and the deep flush that spreads along your cheeks.

Perhaps Bucky Barnes finally has a reason to start celebrating his birthday.

“But oh baby! Your smile.. Felt like warm sunshine after a heavy storm.. Overdose of it, is still not enough for me..”

- Zankhana

[cressidagrey]

Home Sweet Home

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary:  Oscar Piastri is just happy to be home with his girls. Lando Norris meets Felicity and Bee Piastri.   

Notes: Part 3 of The mysterious Mrs. Piastri verse...

Warnings: one mention of a past eating disorder, also mention of toxic parents.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar had made a terrible mistake.

Somewhere between takeoff and now—now being hour six of their flight home—he had underestimated just how relentless Lando Norris could be.

Six hours into the flight, and he was still in shock. Staring at Oscar like he had personally committed the greatest act of deception known to man.

“A wife,” Lando said for what had to be the hundredth time. “A WHOLE WIFE.”

Oscar exhaled slowly. “Yes, Lando.”

“And a child,” Lando continued, voice rising. “A WHOLE ACTUAL HUMAN CHILD.”

“Yes, Lando.”

Lando sat back in his seat, shaking his head. “I—I just—I don’t even know you, mate. You’re a stranger to me.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“All this time—all this time—I thought we were friends, Oscar,” Lando went on, pressing a hand to his chest like he was delivering a monologue. “I thought we were bros.”

Oscar stared at him. “We are friends.”

“Oh, are we?” Lando scoffed. “Because usually, friends tell each other when they have a wife and a child.”

Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t not tell you on purpose.”

“That’s even worse!” Lando cried. “You just forgot to mention it? Oh yeah, by the way, I have a whole family—DO YOU HEAR HOW INSANE THAT SOUNDS?”

Oscar sighed. “I wasn’t hiding them, Lando.”

“YOU WERE OMITTING THEM.”

Oscar turned to him, unimpressed. “Would you like an apology?”

“Yes,” Lando said immediately. “Yes, I would.”

Oscar deadpanned. “I’m sorry.”

Lando gaped. “You are the worst.”

Oscar just shrugged, unbothered.

Lando groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Alright, you know what? You owe me now. I get to meet them.”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“Felicity and Bee,” Lando said firmly. “I get to meet them. You owe me that.”

Oscar tilted his head, considering. “…Fine.”

Lando froze. “Wait, really?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. Come over for dinner.”

Lando gasped. “Oh my god, this is HUGE. Okay, wait—what do I bring? Do I bring Bee a gift? What do kids even like? What does Felicity like? Should I bring—”

Oscar sighed, closing his eyes. This was going to be the longest flight of his life.

Lando was still talking.

Oscar was certain he hadn’t taken a single breath in the last five minutes.

“Okay, okay, do they like chocolate?” Lando mused, half to himself. “Or—oh! Maybe I should get Bee one of those cool toy cars? Like, you know, start ‘em young and all that.”

Oscar cracked one eye open. “She’s three, Lando.”

Lando scoffed. “So? Max probably had a go-kart before he could walk.”

Oscar sighed. “Yeah, well, Bee’s not Max.”

Lando waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Okay, but—Felicity. What does she like? Should I bring wine? Is she a wine person?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Lando, you’re coming over for dinner, not a royal banquet.”

“But I need to make a good first impression!” Lando insisted. “I need her to like me, Oscar.”

Oscar snorted. “Felicity is going to like you just fine.”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “You say that, but what if she thinks I’m an idiot?”

“Well,” Oscar said, sipping his water, “she’d be correct.”

Lando smacked him on the arm.

Oscar just chuckled, shaking his head. “Seriously, Lando, you don’t need to overthink this. Just bring yourself. Felicity isn’t going to grill you like a job interview.”

Lando still didn’t look convinced. “I just—I wanna be cool Uncle Lando, you know? I feel like I’m already behind since you didn’t even tell me about Bee—”

Oscar sighed. “Are we still on this?”

“Yes, obviously,” Lando shot back. “I am traumatized by the betrayal, Oscar. I am scarred. I am—”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“—I am a victim of your deception,” Lando finished dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest.

Oscar just stared at him, unimpressed.

Lando huffed. “Fine. But I will win over your wife and kid.”

Oscar smirked. “We’ll see.”

***

Grid Group Chat

Lando: EVERYONE SHUT UP. IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.

Charles: Oh no.

Pierre: This can’t be good.

George: If this is another meme, I swear—

Lando: I AM MEETING OSCAR’S WIFE AND DAUGHTER FIRST. ME. BEFORE ALL OF YOU.

Carlos: WHAT???

Pierre: NOOOOOOOOOO.

Charles: HOW??

Max: Bold of you to assume I care.

Lando: DON’T LIE, MAX, YOU CARE.

George: But HOW did you manage this???

Lando: I annoyed him into submission.

Daniel: That is both impressive and unsurprising.

Carlos: I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS.

Lando: You should have seen him on the plane. He was suffering. He had to agree to get me to shut up.

Pierre: I AM SO JEALOUS RIGHT NOW.

Lewis: Lando, if you don’t report back with every single detail, we will never forgive you.

Lando: Oh, don’t worry. I will have a full debrief ready.

Charles: If you get to meet them before us, you have to ask all the questions.

Lando: Already planned.

Oscar: …I hate all of you.

Lando: Love you too, mate. Can’t wait for dinner!

***

The house was quiet when Oscar finally stepped inside. The kind of deep, settled quiet that only came when the entire world was asleep.

He toed off his shoes by the door, rolling his shoulders, exhaustion dragging at his limbs. But instead of heading straight for bed, he turned toward Bee’s room.

Oscar moved through the dark house quietly, socked feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. 

He was exhausted—jet lag weighing heavy on his limbs, the long day of interviews and racing chaos still ringing in his ears—but none of it mattered now. He was home.

And he wanted his daughter.

Bee was curled up in her bed, one arm flung over her stuffed koala, her hair a messy halo of dark waves against the pillow. She looked so peaceful, so content, that Oscar hesitated for a moment, feeling guilty for disturbing her. But then she stirred, smacking her lips in her sleep, and his heart clenched. He needed this.

Gently, he scooped her up, her tiny body warm and pliant against his chest. She barely reacted, only making a sleepy little noise before burrowing into him. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her apple shampoo.

“Missed you, Bumblebee,” he whispered, holding her close as he made his way back to the bedroom.

Felicity was curled up on her side, the blankets tangled around her. She stirred as Oscar climbed into bed, blinking blearily at him. “You stole our child,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Oscar huffed out a quiet laugh as he gently settled Bee between them. “Missed my girls.” 

Felicity let out a quiet huff, but her gaze softened as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from Bee’s forehead. “You okay?” she murmured, eyes flicking up to his.

Oscar let out a breath, sinking into the pillows. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Just… tired.”

Felicity studied him for a moment before shifting closer, her hand finding his under the blankets. “Long day?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Kind of a life-changing one.”

Felicity smirked. “Yeah, well, you did let the entire world know about me.”

Oscar winced. “Sorry.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m not mad.”

His gaze flicked to her, surprised.

Felicity smiled, small and a little tired. “I mean, I wouldn’t have minded a bit more warning, but…” She exhaled. “I guess it was bound to happen eventually.”

Oscar nodded, his thumb brushing absent circles against her palm. “Yeah.”

They lay in silence for a while, the weight of the day settling between them. Then Felicity shifted, resting her chin on his shoulder. “So… how bad was it?”

Oscar let out a quiet chuckle. “Lando is deeply betrayed. Charles nearly had an aneurysm. Daniel screamed.”

Felicity snorted. “Sounds about right.”

Oscar hummed. “They’re all asking about you.”

Felicity sighed. “I bet.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Lando’s coming over for dinner.”

She groaned, burying her face against his arm. “Oscar.”

He grinned. “Too late now.”

Felicity muttered something against his skin that sounded suspiciously like a curse. But she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she just sighed, pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. “Fine,” she murmured. “But if he starts asking about the chickens, you’re handling it.”

Oscar smirked, his hand tightening around hers. “Deal.”

Bee stirred between them, letting out a tiny sigh before settling again. Oscar closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as Felicity’s fingers curled against his palm.

***

Oscar woke up to something warm and small sprawled across his chest, a weight that shifted every few seconds as tiny fingers poked at his face. He groaned, cracking an eye open to find Bee hovering over him, her dark curls a wild mess and her face barely an inch from his.

“Papa,” she whispered dramatically, her eyes wide with delight.

Oscar hummed sleepily. “Mmm.”

“You’re home,” she declared, as if it had just hit her all over again.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I am.”

Bee gasped, like this was the most shocking revelation of her tiny life. “I missed you.”

Oscar reached up, ruffling her curls. “Missed you too, Bumblebee.”

Bee, clearly not satisfied, wiggled up onto his chest and threw her little arms around his neck, squeezing him as tight as her small limbs allowed. “SO much,” she emphasized, snuggling into him like she was afraid he’d disappear again.

Oscar chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. “That much, huh?”

Bee nodded against his shoulder before pulling back slightly. “Did you bring me something?”

Oscar huffed a laugh, brushing a hand over her wild curls. “I did, actually.”

Bee gasped, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

Oscar nodded. “It’s in my bag, but you have to let me wake up first.”

Bee considered this for a moment, then grabbed his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together. “You are awake.”

Oscar let out a muffled laugh as Felicity snorted into her pillow.

“Okay, okay,” he relented, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get up.”

Bee grinned triumphantly and immediately wriggled under the covers, snuggling into his side. “Not yet. Cuddles first.”

Oscar didn’t even hesitate. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as she tucked her head against his chest. Felicity, still half-asleep, sighed and shifted closer, draping an arm over both of them.

Oscar let his eyes slip shut again, exhaling slowly. He was home. And nothing in the world—no podium, no trophy, no race win—could compare to this.

***

Lando had seen a lot of things in his life. He’d seen Max Verstappen get emotional about a cat. He’d seen Daniel Ricciardo take out an entire row of people with a space hopper. He had, unfortunately, witnessed Pierre Gasly getting far too competitive over a game of Uno.

But he had never seen anything like that. 

This was insane.

He had thought he knew Oscar. That he had at least an inkling of what made his teammate tick. 

And instead…instead…

“This can’t be right,” he muttered, checking the address again. 

It was right.

When Oscar invited him over for dinner, Lando had assumed it would be at some sleek, modern place in the city—something minimalist, maybe a bit boring, like Oscar himself. But instead, his GPS had led him here: A farmhouse.

Not just any farmhouse—a whole-ass, fully refurbished, picturesque countryside dream, complete with a long gravel driveway, stables, and, unless Lando was hallucinating, actual chickens. And a long stretch of land that looked like it belonged in a movie about a grumpy farmer learning to love again…

Lando was still hung up on the chickens.

Chickens.

Lando sat in his car for a full minute, just staring.

Then he exhaled sharply and dragged a hand down his face. 

The front door swung open at that moment, and Oscar appeared, looking far too casual for someone who had just been exposed as a secret farmer.

Lando took that as his sign to get out of his car.

“Hey,” Oscar said, like this wasn’t a completely insane situation.

Lando just gawked at him. Then at the house. Then at the literal barn behind it.

“What the fuck is this?”

Oscar blinked. “My house?”

“No, mate, this is a lifestyle,” Lando said, gesturing wildly. “This is—I don’t even know! When did you secretly become a farmer?”

Oscar looked vaguely amused. “I’m not a farmer.”

“You own a barn.”

“It’s just Felicity’s garage.”

Lando waved a hand wildly. “No. It’s a farm.”

Oscar shrugged. “It’s not a farm. We just have a bit of land.”

Lando gestured violently at the chickens. “THOSE ARE FARM ANIMALS.”

Oscar, ever unbothered, just nodded. 

Lando gestured wildly. “Why do you have chickens?”

Oscar sighed like he’d been waiting for this reaction. “Because they lay eggs, Lando.”

“Oh, brilliant, thanks for that. Why do you have them at all?”

Oscar shrugged. “Because they are cheaper than buying the amount of eggs my daughter eats,” he said drily. “And she likes chasing them.”

Lando turned back to the house. Then to the barn. Then to the fenced-in area where he could see a couple of chickens strutting around like they owned the place.

He squinted. “Oscar, is this a bit?”

Oscar frowned. “What?”

“This whole, like, farmer aesthetic—is this some Australian thing I don’t understand?”

Oscar just shrugged. “I just like it.”

Lando exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “I knew you were secretly an old man, but mate, this is—this is next-level. You bought a whole-ass farmhouse?”

Oscar nodded again, completely deadpan. “First McLaren paycheck.”

Lando’s mouth fell open. “You—what?”

Oscar just shrugged. “I bought the house with my first McLaren paycheck. It’s quiet, it has space, it made sense for us.”

Lando dragged a hand down his face. “Mate, I spent my first paycheck on a supercar. You spent yours on a farm.”

“I didn’t need a supercar,” Oscar said drily. “I needed a home for my family.” 

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it, because he had so many questions.

Before he could ask any of them, movement caught his eye inside the house. A woman stepped into view, and Lando faltered.

Felicity.

He had heard about her, of course.  What he hadn’t been prepared for was this.

Lando just… stared.

Felicity was tiny. Max had mentioned him. 

Still, it was something else to see her next to Oscar, when she didn’t even seem to reach his shoulder. 

She looked like she barely cleared five feet, and if she weighed more than one of his tires, he’d be shocked. But that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was that she was startlingly pretty.

Like, really pretty.

Lando blinked, trying to reboot his brain. Felicity had long, dark hair that fell in soft waves down her back, sharp eyes that were both amused and assessing, and the kind of delicate features that made her look like she belonged in a historical drama—not standing in a farmhouse, wiping grease off her hands with a towel.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

Lando blinked back to reality. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was, “You’re so small.”

Felicity blinked at him, then tilted her head. “And you’re very loud.”

Oscar sighed. “Mate.”

Lando ignored him, still eyeing Felicity. “Like, I don’t understand how you exist. You look like you weigh less than my helmet.”

Felicity just smiled. “Nice to meet you too, Lando.”

Lando was about to respond when he spotted the little girl peeking out from behind Oscar’s leg. Bee.

A spitting image of her mother. But her expression was all Oscar —down to the blank stare and the slow, assessing blink. She was clinging to Oscar’s leg, half-hidden, watching Lando like he was some exotic zoo animal.

Lando blinked. “Oh my god. It’s real.”

Oscar sighed. “Lando—”

Bee clung even tighter, burying her face against Oscar’s leg.

Felicity snorted in amusement. “Bee, sweetheart, do you want to say hi?”

Bee shook her head without looking up.

Lando sighed. “Brutal.”

Felicity just smiled, reaching down to gently stroke Bee’s curls. “She’s just a little shy.”

Oscar patted Bee’s back absentmindedly. “It’s okay, bumblebee. Lando’s alright, I promise.”

Bee peeked up at him, whispering, “Are you sure?”

Lando gasped. “Hey!”

Bee clung tighter.

Oscar just looked at Lando, deadpan. “You’re not making a great first impression.”

Bee just blinked at him.

Then she tugged at Oscar’s sleeve and whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear, “He looks like a poodle.”

Oscar pressed his lips together like he was physically restraining himself.

Lando choked. “Excuse me?”

Bee studied Lando with her big brown eyes, then nodded, fully confident in her assessment. “Yeah. A poodle.”

Lando stared at her, then looked at Felicity, who had pressed her lips together just enough to suppress her laughter. He turned to Oscar, who coughed into his fist. “She’s very observant.”

“I do not look like a poodle.”

Bee peeked at him again, considering, then gave a tiny nod, like she had officially decided. “A fancy poodle.”

“Why do I look like a poodle?” Lando demanded

Bee just shrugged. 

Oscar hummed. “You do kind of have poodle energy.”

Lando glared at him. “I do not.”

Bee just looked at him with the same deadpan expression Oscar always had.

Lando stared.

Bee stared back.

Lando turned to Oscar, absolutely horrified.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “She’s you. She’s literally just you, but small.”

Bee studied him for a second, then looked at Oscar. “He’s weird.”

Oscar sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Lando threw his hands up. “You raised another version of yourself. How was I supposed to prepare for that?”

Felicity finally lost it, laughing into her sleeve.

“Why don’t you come in, before the chickens decide to follow along?” Felicity suggested brightly. 

Dinner at the Piastri household was not what Lando had expected.

For one, he had pictured something normal—maybe a modern house, a sleek kitchen, a normal dining table with normal chairs.

What he got instead was a massive wooden farmhouse table, slightly uneven floorboards, and a cozy, lived-in feel that made him wonder if he had stepped into some alternate universe version of Oscar’s life.

Bee had climbed into her seat, still watching Lando like she wasn’t sure if he was friend or foe. Felicity moved around the kitchen with easy familiarity, and Oscar—who was supposed to be a ruthless, calculating driver—was helping her like some kind of domesticated husband.

Lando still wasn’t over it.

He leaned over to Oscar. “I have so many questions.”

Oscar, barely looking up from where he was setting plates, said, “I’m sure you do.”

Lando pointed at him, then at the house. “You live in a farmhouse. You have chickens. And you’re out here—” he waved vaguely at the kitchen “—playing house?”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “What did you think I did when I wasn’t racing?”

“I don’t know!” Lando gestured wildly. “Not this!”

Oscar just smirked. “I like it here.”

Felicity came over then, setting down a dish, and Lando took the opportunity to direct his bewilderment at her. “How did this happen?”

She just smiled, sitting down next to Bee. “Well, Oscar bought the place after he signed with McLaren. We liked the space.”

Lando shook his head, still trying to process it. “You realize you’re both, like, 23 and living like retirees, right?”

Oscar hummed. “You say that, but I don’t see you leaving.”

Lando scowled, mostly because Oscar was right. The place was weirdly nice. Comfortable. Like it had a soul, which was more than he could say for some of the cold, modern houses drivers usually bought.

Dinner had barely started when Lando noticed Bee glancing toward the back door. He followed her gaze and frowned. “You—uh, you guys actually have chickens?”

Felicity hid a smile behind her glass of water. “Yes.”

Bee perked up. “I named them!”

Lando raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What’d you name them?”

Bee took a dramatic breath, like she’d been waiting for someone to ask. Then, with the confidence of a small child who knew she was right, she began listing them off.

“There’s Verstappen, Hamilton, Rosberg, Vettel, Raikkonen, Alonso, Schumacher, Lauda, Mansell, Fangio and Senna!”

Lando blinked.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, unfazed. Felicity looked like she was biting back laughter.

“…I have questions,” Lando finally said.

Bee tilted her head at him. “Like what?”

Lando ran a hand down his face. “For one, they’re all girls.”

Bee nodded. “Yeah.”

Lando waited for an explanation, but Bee just stared at him like that was a perfectly normal response.

He turned to Oscar. “Are you hearing this?”

Oscar shrugged. “What do you want me to do? She likes F1.”

Lando gestured wildly. “Yeah, but she named a chicken after Senna.”

Bee frowned. “Senna is the best one.”

Oscar nodded seriously. “She is the fastest.”

Lando sighed, shaking his head as he picked at his food. “So, what—you just wake up in the morning and Senna’s out there setting purple sectors in the yard?”

Bee nodded solemnly. “She always gets to the food first.”

Oscar, deadpan, added, “She’s got a killer apex around the water trough.”

Lando pointed his fork at him. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or concerned.”

Felicity finally took mercy on him, resting her chin in her hand as she grinned. “Bee likes to time them when she throws out feed.”

Lando let out a weak laugh. “Of course she does.”

Oscar, entirely unbothered, patted Bee’s head. “You get used to it.”

Bee nodded in agreement, then picked up her fork and continued eating like she hadn’t just destroyed Lando Norris in five words or less.

Lando groaned, rubbing his temples. “This was supposed to be a normal dinner.”

Felicity snorted. “I don’t think we do normal here.”

Lando sighed. “No kidding. Do you have any more livestock around here? I don’t know, a herd of goats? Some cows? A donkey?”

“Nope, just the chickens,” Oscar assured him. 

“And the stables?” Lando asked him pointely. Better make sure to actually ask Oscar specific questions so that there wouldn’t be another secret wife or baby disaster. 

“That’s where we fix Mama’s cars!” Bee said brightly. 

Lando blinked. “You’re what?”

“We’re fixing Mama’s Mustang!” Bee repeated proudly. “We took the whole engine apart and put it back together.”

Lando turned to Felicity, expecting some sort of clarification—maybe Bee had helped pass a wrench or something.

Instead, Felicity just nodded. “It’s a ‘67 Fastback. Needed a lot of work.”

Lando squinted. “Wait, you actually know how to fix cars?”

Felicity tilted her head. “Yes?”

“But you’re so—” He gestured vaguely at her small frame. “—tiny.”

Oscar groaned. “Here we go.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I don’t know! You just—don’t seem like the type to be under a car with an oil rag.”

Bee looked deeply offended on her mother’s behalf. “She’s really smart,” she huffed. “She knows everything.”

Lando held up his hands. “Alright, alright, I believe you.”

“She has a degree,” Bee added, as if that sealed the deal.

Lando blinked. “A what?”

Felicity smirked. “Mechanical engineering.”

Lando stared. “I—what?”

Oscar just sighed, like this was all very normal.

“He gets confused a lot,” Bee said sagely, staring at her father. 

Lando threw his hands in the air. “Oh my god, she’s just like Oscar.”

Bee turned to Oscar, beaming, like that was the best compliment she’d ever received. “I am?”

Oscar, laughing, kissed the top of her head. “Of course you are, bumblebee.”

Lando was still reeling.

Oscar—quiet, unassuming, serious Oscar—was a dad. Not in some abstract way, like oh yeah, I have a kid somewhere, but in a fully involved, real-life, cut-up-her-food-for-her-and-check-if-her-drink-is-too-hot way.

And it was weird.

Bee had curled up against Oscar’s side, her tiny fingers absentmindedly twisting the fabric of his hoodie as she listened to the conversation. Every few minutes, Oscar would lean down and automatically adjust her position, like he was making sure she was comfortable without even thinking about it.

And that was the weirdest part.

Oscar wasn’t trying to be a dad. He just was.

Lando stared as Oscar reached for Bee’s fork and started cutting up the last few bites of food on her plate. Without looking, he held up a piece of carrot, and Bee, still focused on the conversation, just took it like this was a thing they did all the time.

Which, of course, it probably was.

Lando turned to Felicity, wide-eyed. “He’s a dad.”

Felicity blinked, unimpressed. “Yes, Lando, I know.”

“No, like—” Lando waved a hand wildly in Oscar’s direction. “Like, he’s a dad dad.”

Felicity arched a brow. “What, did you think he was pretending?”

“No, but like—” Lando leaned forward, whispering like it was a big secret. “He’s doing dad things.”

Oscar, still cutting up Bee’s food, glanced up. “What are you on about?”

Lando pointed at him. “That! That right there!”

Oscar frowned. “Cutting food?”

“Yes! Like a dad!”

Oscar blinked, unimpressed. “I am a dad.”

Lando groaned. “Yeah, I know, but like—I didn’t expect it to be this real.”

Oscar just shook his head, muttering, “Unbelievable,” before turning his attention back to Bee.

“Okay, bumblebee,” he said gently. “Three more bites, then you can be done.”

Bee, still curled up against him, yawned. “’M tired.”

Oscar kissed the top of her head. “I know, love. Just a few more, then it’s bedtime.”

And just like that, Bee nodded and obediently ate another bite.

Lando turned to Felicity. “You see this, right?”

Felicity smirked. “Yes, Lando, I see my husband being a father.”

Lando gestured wildly. “But like, he’s good at it! Since when is Oscar good at dad things?”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “I have been a dad for three years, mate.”

Lando huffed. “Yeah, but I didn’t see it happening. Like, I blinked, and suddenly you’re cutting food and saying bedtime voice things.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Bedtime voice things?”

Lando pointed at him. “Yeah! That thing you just did—‘Okay, bumblebee, three more bites, then bedtime.’” He mimicked, pitching his voice softer, gentler, so annoyingly dad-like.

Oscar sighed. “You’re actually insane.”

“I’m just saying, I thought I knew you!” Lando snapped. “And then I come over for dinner, and suddenly you’re a real-life father figure.”

Felicity snorted. “Did you think she raised herself?”

Lando threw his head back. “I don’t know! I thought maybe she just appeared one day fully formed, and Oscar just followed her around making sure she didn’t fall into a drain or something.”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “Lando.”

“What!?” Lando turned to Bee. “Bee, did you know your dad does dad things?”

Bee, very unimpressed, blinked up at him. “...Yes?”

Oscar, smug, just kissed the top of Bee’s head again. “Okay, sweetheart, last bite.”

Bee, still sleepy, opened her mouth without argument, letting Oscar feed her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Lando stared.

And then, finally, slumped back in his chair with a dramatic sigh.

“I can’t believe it.” He shook his head, defeated. “You’re a dad dad.”

As Oscar stood from the table, Bee still clinging to his hoodie, he shot Felicity a small look. “I’ll get her settled,” he murmured.

Felicity nodded, watching as he carried their half-asleep daughter toward the hallway, murmuring something soft that neither she nor Lando could hear.

Lando stared after them, still looking like he’d been hit by a truck. “I can’t believe he’s an actual dad,” he muttered.

Felicity huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve said that at least ten times in the last hour.”

“Well, yeah,” Lando gestured toward the hallway. “Because he is! Like, full-time, dedicated, knows-how-to-braid-hair dad.”

Felicity smirked. “He does know how to braid hair.”

Lando groaned. “See? That’s exactly what I mean!” He scrubbed a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Like, when did that happen?”

Felicity shrugged, reaching for her water glass. “Somewhere between marrying me and Bee showing up, I suppose.”

Lando let out a strangled noise. “Yeah, about that! You got married at eighteen!”

Felicity took a sip, unbothered. “Yes.”

“You married Oscar at eighteen.”

“Yes, Lando, I was there.”

“How does that even happen? How do you just wake up one day and decide to marry Oscar Piastri?”

Felicity let out a soft hum, glancing toward the hallway where Oscar had disappeared. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

Lando crossed his arms, leaning forward. “Well, I’ve got time.”

Felicity huffed a quiet laugh, setting her glass down. “Alright,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “I guess it started when I met him.”

Lando perked up. “Which was…?”

Felicity exhaled, eyes distant. “When I was 15.”

Lando’s brows shot up. “So you were actually childhood sweethearts?”

Felicity smirked. “Not exactly. I was miserable back then.”

Lando’s expression sobered slightly. “Miserable?”

She nodded. “I was… one of those kids. You know, the ones who burn too bright, too fast. I did everything my parents wanted—ballet, violin, top of my class in school. I skipped grades, got sent to boarding school. I was gifted.” She said it like the word was a curse. “And by the time I was 15, I was burned out, miserable, and running on nothing but caffeine and the sheer force of expectations.” Her lips pressed together. “And I had an eating disorder I refused to acknowledge.”

Lando’s stomach twisted. “Oh.”

Felicity nodded. “Then I met Oscar.” A small smile played on her lips. “He was the new kid…and we were in the same math class. He stole my pen on accident,” she recounted with a smile. “And then suddenly…there was this boy who just—talked to me. Like I was a person, not just an academic achievement my parents could brag about.”

Lando swallowed. “Oscar did that?”

She nodded. “He was kind. Steady. The first person I ever met who made me feel like I wasn’t just a list of accomplishments. And, somehow, before I even knew what was happening, he became my best friend.”

Lando leaned back, blinking. “Wow.”

Felicity let out a quiet laugh. “Yes. And then, by the time we were eighteen, I think we both knew there was no one else we’d ever want.” She tilted her head. “So we got married.”

Lando just stared.

Felicity quirked a brow. “What?”

He let out a long exhale. “You married Oscar at eighteen.”

“Yes.”

“And two years later, you had Bee.”

“Yes.”

Lando rubbed his temples. “You’re twenty-three and you have a whole family.”

Felicity shrugged. “And?”

Lando groaned. “And I still forget to pay my electricity bill on time!”

Felicity snorted. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Lando threw his hands up. “I just—I can’t believe it! Like, I knew you and Oscar were… you know, married, but I didn’t realize it was this.”

Felicity tilted her head. “This?”

“You know!” Lando gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “This! You two, raising a kid, being all married and in sync and doing, like, real adult things.”

Felicity arched a brow. “Would you prefer if we were fake married and doing pretend adult things?”

Lando groaned. “You know what I mean!”

Felicity smirked. “Yes, but I like watching you struggle.”

Lando slumped against the table, groaning dramatically. “I need a moment to process this.”

Felicity just laughed, reaching for her water again. “Take your time, Lando.”

Lando sighed, staring at the ceiling.

Oscar Piastri. Married. A whole dad.

Yeah, he was gonna need a minute.

Lando was still staring at the ceiling when Oscar walked back into the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

“She’s asleep,” he said, then arched a brow at Lando. “What’s wrong with him?”

Felicity smirked. “Existential crisis.”

Oscar sighed, walking over to drop into his seat. “Because of what, exactly?”

Lando flailed a hand toward him. “Because you’re a dad, mate! A whole, full-time, actual dad!”

Oscar frowned. “Yes?”

Lando groaned. “I know that, logically! I know you have a wife and a kid, and I knew about Bee, but I didn’t really know until I saw you doing, like, dad things.” 

Oscar looked at Felicity, unimpressed. “Did you break Lando?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think it was very difficult.”

“Hey!” Lando huffed. “I just—mate, you’re married! And you’ve got this whole little family! And it’s weird because you’re Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I mean,” Lando gestured wildly, “you’re so calm all the time. Like, completely unfazed, but then I come over for dinner and you’ve got a kid clinging to you, and your wife is explaining how she was some genius child prodigy who burned out at fifteen, and you married her at eighteen like it was no big deal—”

Oscar blinked. “It wasn’t.”

Lando groaned. “That’s exactly what I mean!”

Oscar just sighed. “Lando, it’s not that complicated.”

Lando gaped at him. “Not that—mate, you got married at eighteen!”

Oscar tilted his head, unbothered. “And?”

“And—!” Lando turned to Felicity for backup, but she was watching the conversation with obvious amusement. “And that’s not normal! That’s like, Hollywood teen drama levels of insane.”

Oscar just shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“Of course you don’t.” Lando groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.

Felicity huffed a quiet laugh. “Do you need a moment?”

Lando threw his hands up. “Yes! Because apparently, I’ve been friends with a whole family man without even realizing it!” He turned to Oscar. “Like, how do you even do it? The whole ‘married with a kid’ thing while also being a full-time F1 driver?”

Oscar leaned back, thoughtful. “I just do.”

Lando groaned. “Why do I even ask?”

Oscar smirked. “I don’t know, mate. You seem to enjoy the pain.”

Lando sighed dramatically. “I think I need a drink.”

Felicity laughed. “We’ve got juice boxes.”

Lando groaned into his hands. “Unbelievable.”

Felicity smirked and got up, walking over to the fridge. She returned a moment later and slid a juice box across the table toward Lando.

“There you go.”

Lando looked down at it, then up at her, unimpressed. “You are messing with me.”

Oscar grinned. “Nah, mate, that’s prime juice right there.”

Felicity nodded seriously. “Apple juice. Bee’s favorite.”

Lando sighed, picking it up. “I hate both of you.”

Oscar just leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed, while Felicity looked thoroughly entertained. Lando stabbed the straw into the juice box and took a long sip, thinking.

Then he looked at Felicity. “Alright, tell me everything.”

She arched a brow. “About what?”

He gestured vaguely. “You. Oscar. How you met. How you ended up married at eighteen. Because no offense, mate,” he said, looking at Oscar, “you’re not exactly the whirlwind romance type.”

Oscar shrugged. “Yeah, well. It wasn’t exactly a whirlwind.”

Lando just stared at him.

“It wasn’t,” Oscar repeated. “We knew each other for three years by then. It was just logical.” 

Felicity shrugged. “It made sense to us.”

Lando looked at Oscar. “And you didn’t think this was insane?”

Oscar shook his head. “No.”

“Why?”

Oscar just looked at Felicity. “Because it was her.”

And the way he said that…like it answered everything. 

And Lando supposed…maybe it did. 

Lando blinked. He sat back in his chair, staring at them. “I—okay. Yeah. I get it now.”

Felicity smirked. “Good.”

Lando pointed at them. “But I reserve the right to be shocked for at least another month.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Felicity grinned. “We’ll allow it.”

***

Grid Group Chat

Lando: BOYS. You are NOT going to believe what I just witnessed.

Carlos: Do tell.

George: If it’s about Oscar, I probably will believe it by now.

Lando: I met his wife and kid for the first time.

Charles: Oh???

Pierre: And?

Lando: First of all, Bee is terrifyingly smart and also called me a poodle.

Alex: …She’s right tho.

Lando: SHUT UP.

Lando: Second. OSCAR HAS CHICKENS.

George: …What.

Lando: Not just chickens. F1 THEMED CHICKENS.

Pierre: Explain.

Lando: They’re all named after F1 legends. He has a chicken named Senna.

Charles: SENNA???

Carlos: Wait wait wait. How many chickens does he HAVE???

Lando: Enough to fill a grid.

Lando: I met Senna, Prost, Schumacher, and Alonso.

Pierre: Please tell me they have beef.

Lando: Alonso the chicken literally chased me.

Fernando: As he should.

Lando: NOT THE POINT.

George: Where does he even keep all of them??

Lando: Oh. That’s the other thing.

Lando: Oscar lives on a farmhouse.

Alex: ???????

Lando: A FULLY REFURBISHED FARMHOUSE. WITH STABLES. AND CHICKENS.

Carlos: How have we never known this???

Lando: BECAUSE OSCAR IS SECRETLY 90 YEARS OLD.

Lando: Instead of using his first McLaren paycheck to buy something normal, he bought a FARM. 

Charles: You’re telling me that Oscar used his first McLaren paycheck to buy a FARM???

Oscar: It was a good investment.

Lando: OH LOOK WHO SHOWED UP.

Pierre: Explain the chickens.

Oscar: Bee likes them.

Lando: AND SHE NAMED THEM AFTER WORLD CHAMPIONS.

Oscar: She likes racing.

Carlos: But they’re chickens.

Oscar: Fastest pecking order in the yard.

Lando: I CAN’T DO THIS.

Pierre: No but seriously, are we not going to talk about the fact that Oscar has just been living on a farm this whole time like some secret old man???

Oscar: I like the peace and quiet.

Pierre: With a kid AND chickens??

Oscar: You get used to it.

Lando: No. No I will not get used to this.

Lando: You have an entire WORLD CHAMPION GRID OF CHICKENS.

Oscar: And?

Fernando: He’s just committed to the sport.

Lewis: Hold on. Do I have a chicken alter ego?

Oscar: Yes.

Lando: YOU DIDN’T EVEN HESITATE.

Lewis: …What’s my chicken like?

Oscar: She’s a silkie. Very fast. Very dramatic. Squawks whenever she doesn’t get her way.

George: So…accurate.

Lewis: I’m not sure if I should be honored or offended.

Pierre: Who else is on this… chicken grid?

Oscar: There’s a Verstappen.

Max: Oh no.

Charles: THERE���S A MAX CHICKEN?!?

Oscar: Yes, there is. We call her Vera. She’s quick, always charging ahead. If there’s a race between the chickens, she wants to take part every time. And she’s not afraid to take out anyone who gets in her way. Pure aggression, all the time.

Charles: Sounds right.

Carlos: I can’t believe this is real.

Max: …You call her VERA?!

Oscar: Would you prefer me to start screaming VERSTAPPEN on the top of my lungs every time she bullies poor Tiana?!

Fernando: This is the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.

Lewis: No but seriously. Who else is on this grid?

Oscar: There’s a Vettel, but we call her Tiana. Very chill, keeps everyone in check…She’s always making sure there’s enough space for the young ones. She’s got a bit of a soft spot for them.

Oscar: Hamilton, aka Millie, of course. 

Oscar: Raikkonen but we call her Kim. Stands in the corner and doesn’t interact with anyone. She’ll go about her business and only makes a sound when she absolutely has to.

Oscar: Alonso aka Allie…she squares off with Vera every day like it’s 2017 all over again.She’s got all the drama, the charisma, and the attitude. Always the center of attention, whether she wants to be or not.

Oscar: Mansell aka Mandy who has tried to escape the Chicken Coop more than once and also once nearly drowned herself on accient because she does not know fear. 

Oscar: Schumacher aka Minnie. She's quick, she’s determined, and when she’s in the mood, she’ll show you just how sharp she is. Has a bit of that “never back down” attitude.

Oscar: Lauda who we call Niki. She’s all about precision and order. Doesn't do unnecessary things, and she’s very methodical. She only acts when she knows it’ll get results.

Oscar: Then there’s Fangio, or Farah. She’s got that quiet elegance to her. No rush, no drama, just pure class. 

Oscar: Senna, fastest chicken in the yard. 

Oscar: And Rosberg aka Rosie. She’s…a lot.

George: I NEED TO SEE THIS.

Charles: Mate. Same.

Carlos: When are we invited to the farm?

Oscar: …Never?

Pierre: Don’t be selfish.

Max: Yeah, let us see the chickens.

Oscar: If I let you come over, you’ll try to start a championship battle in the backyard.

Max: …No, I won’t.

Oscar: You 100% will.

Lando: MAX, WE COULD HAVE A WHOLE CHICKEN GRAND PRIX.

Max: …Okay, I’m in.

Oscar: I regret everything.

[justmylvr]

everlasting.

new dad!katsuki bakugo x fem reader.

a/n: aaaAH! i know i might have mistyped his personality a little bit but i got so excited.

despite the pain you were in, this was heaven. it was a dream come true when you saw your husband holding your little baby, when he carried her carseat out, and how tender he was with her.

she was perfect. she had the prettiest blonde hair, thick and curly which hadn't been expected. your eyes were practically glued to her during the hospital stay. though katsuki already kicked in protectiveness into gear, not allowing her to leave the room unless he accompanied them. he's heard too many stories about babies being switched or just taken.

it was a week after and you two were so, very confused. she had slept through every. single. night. without an issue. the doctor you guys had visited to check on both you and her found nothing to be wrong. she was perfectly healthy, she just found her perfect rhythm. of course you had to make a bottle up and feed her every few hours, though not being extremely sleep deprived was really beneficial.

katsuki took wonderful care of both you and hayami. he was terribly stubborn in everything, especially with you getting up. he wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as you could be. he would pick you up half the time you needed anything, grumbling something about 'don't be an idiot'.

some of your favorite moments of the day are when the three of you woke up a little earlier than normal. it had been cloudy the past 3 days so you guys would spend the morning outside. this morning was no different.

katsuki had brought out a cup of tea and a bottle for hayami, quickly going inside to grab what remained. he returned with two plates of food, the smell absolutely divine. he set them on the table infront of you, motioning to give him the baby. with a small rag settled against his shoulder, he sat down carefully with the little one in his hands.

"eat before it gets cold, baby." he mumbled, giving you a look before his attention shifted. he looked down at the small baby nestled in the crook of his arm, nothing but love in his eyes.

he grabbed the bottle, giving it a quick shake before angling it into her mouth. once she took to it, he nodded and hummed.

"look, great eater like her mama." he said proudly, nodding at your already half eaten plate. he chuckled as you swatted a hand at him, knowing he was right.

"she gets it from you too. you cook great and eat just as good." you hummed, trying to defend yourself playfully. he simply rolled his eyes at you and focused back on the baby.

once the little one had finished, he held her again his chest, patting her back gently. as he did this, he leaned forward slightly, looking between you and his food. you got the idea as you started to feed him, quiet thanks coming through each bite.

eventually everybody had eaten, katsuki holding your hand as he leaned back. he held hayami against his chest, his right hand settled on her back. she slept peacefully as you two talked quietly. the sight before you was one the would be everlasting.

[stunie]

“YOU CRAZY? I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!”

WIND BREAKER + YOU NOT RECOGNIZING THEM. ft. hayato suo, kaji ren, togame jo, & umemiya hajime x f!reader

filled request : a chunk of it -> “..reacting to drunk reader not recognizing them and they wanna take reader home but reader won’t let them and tells them to fuck off or else her boyfriend (which is right infront of her) will kick their ass..”

notes : aa ! ! i am also a sucker for plots like these !! sorry it took me a while to get to >: thank u sm for sending this in nonnie <3 (cw alcohol ; but the consumption isn’t really mentioned in this)

HAYATO SUO.

“don’t you dare touch me,” suo’s eyes widen when you’re clumsily swatting at his hand, half lidded eyes narrowing into your best attempt at a glare. your words are slow and slurred, but he still manages to understand the gist of what you’re trying to say. “my boyfriend’s gonna make you pay if you do,” you huff, pointing an accusatory finger at him and jabbing it a couple times into his chest for extra measure.

“oh?” his gaze softens a bit, unbeknownst to you, and his smile is back the second he understands what’s happening here. “your boyfriend? where is he now?”

the way your glare immediately falls at your realization almost makes him feel bad, and he’s giving you a smile of pity when your lips tug into a deep pout. “um…” you frown, eyebrows furrowing to rid of the tears already starting to blur your vision, “i don’t know…”

“you don’t know?” suo’s voice is steady, easily hiding the way he’s stifling a laugh at the sudden change in your demeanor. he’s watching with amusement as you start to sniff, hands coming to messily wipe at your eyes with your sleeve as you start babbling, spewing out things about how “you need to find your boyfriend right this second” and how you’re “all lonely now.”

“oh dear,” he chuckles, hands coming to lightly grasp around your wrists, “your boyfriend has told you not to wipe your eyes like that before, hasn’t he? you’re going to irritate the skin.”

“mhm,” you give him a shy nod before staring up at him with confusion, gaze flickering to the thumb he’s bringing to gently swipe at the tears collecting along your lashes a moment later. the way you’re stiffening up at his touch is cute— and it looks like you’ve unconsciously recognized his familiarity even in this state.

“y-you know my boyfriend?”

how endearing.

“sure. i know him pretty well,” suo smiles, hand coming to press against your lower back as you guides you forward, “so let’s find him, okay? come with me.”

KAJI REN.

“huh?” you’ve got kaji completely petrified, eyes blown open as his hands defensively shoot up in front of him the second you’re slowly waving your pepper spray back and forth— the pepper spray he had bought you, by the way. “what do you think you’re doing?”

“i’ll tell you exactly what im doing,” you retort, eyes narrowing at the alleged unfamiliar man in front of you, “i’m gonna call my boyfriend here, and he’s gonna beat your ass if you don’t leave in the next five seconds.”

ah. the slur in your voice is all it takes for the situation to suddenly click in his head. and now that he’s looking at you closer up, he’s surprised that you’re even able to stand in such a state. you’ve only come here with him, so the only way you’ll be going home is if he takes you home.

and that’s not looking very plausible right now.

he’s clicking his tongue before ripping through another lollipop, raking his fingers through his hair as he goes through the potential routes he can go with this. how the fuck was he gonna bring you home like this..? and actually, how would it make him look if people see him forcefully tossing you onto his back and booking it home?

this was a terrible situation through and through.

“um— come here,” he tries coaxing you the way he would with a stray animal, fingers coming to hesitantly pinch your sleeve to lift your arm without technically touching you, and he’s slowly moving it a couple inches to the right. “i’m your boyfriend. let’s go home.”

you shake your head.

his cheeks are flushing red when he realizes there are onlookers now, a handful of people watching the situation unfold, and you’re not helping his case at all— arms crossed across your chest as you eye him up and down suspiciously.

“c-candy,” he grumbles under his breath, deep red spreading to the tips of his ears. “i’ll give you a piece of candy if you come with me. sound good?”

TOGAME JO.

“m-my boyfriend can fight, you know” you stumble backwards, slowly backing up until your back meets with one of the tables, and it’s just great. you’re completely trapped now. he’s looming over you the next second, big hands resting on either side of you as you try to steady your breathing.

togame will be here any minute, you’re reminding yourself. this is fine.

“that so?” there’s a low chuckle from him, and he’s feigning innocence, looking around to locate this boyfriend of yours. “i don’t see him anywhere.”

your breath catches in your throat. your vision’s still dizzy, world spinning each and every time you move your head, and you search around your hips, internally cursing when you realize your purse is gone too.

no phone, and no boyfriend.

he’s moving awfully close to you now, and you can’t move— can’t call your boyfriend. “y-yeah,” you manage to stammer, thinking hard as you decide what to do. “he even taught me how to fight… so don’t test me.”

now that’s a bluff.

“oh. did he now?” togame’s brow raises at your threat, trying to resist the urge to laugh when you’re quickly nodding the next second, cute hands balling into little fists— and oh, that’s not quite how you’re supposed to do it.

but he’ll teach you another time. “so… in that case… you know what to do when a guy does— this?” his fingers wrap around your wrist before you can get a word out, pulling you forward in one swift movement.

you’re gasping as soon as you fall forward, crashing straight into his chest, and his arms are quick to wrap around you, big hand coming to pat at your head like a dog.

“oh, how weird. i didn’t think he’d teach you to hug other guys.”

UMEMIYA HAJIME. cw : he jokingly refers to himself as your kidnapper (he did not kidnap you)

“what now, haji?” your eyes narrow at the phone screen being shoved an inch in front of your face, and ume’s gone puppy mode beside you, excitedly rocking back and forth on your bed as he waits for you to hit play.

“just watch! you’ll see. press play.”

you rub at your eyes, wincing at the way your head starts to throb, still pounding from the events of yesterday. the video that plays out in front of you is completely dark for the first seconds, and you’re quick to grow impatient— seconds away from huffing and pushing his phone away until you finally hear a rustling, followed your own voice.

“haji’s gonna make you pay,” you cringe at the sound of your own voice, and there’s a loud sniffle that follows. “so take me wherever you want, ya goof. he’ll really make you regret it when he finds me.”

no way.

“‘haji’ huh!” you hear umemiya burst into a laughing fit, your face burning at the way he’s poking fun at your past self, and you hear your drunken self scoffing at him a second after. “so what kinda guy is he, huh? your kidnapper’s gotta know!”

there was absolutely no way he recorded himself carrying you home.

“he’s huuge,” the video catches your hiccup, “he can toss you around like nothing. i’m warning you now. so you can put me down if you get it.”

from the muffled sound of your voice, you think ume probably had you tossed over his shoulder, a strong arm wrapped around the back of your thighs to keep you draped over him. “that so?” he chuckles, “what’s he look like?”

“i can’t believe you,” you sigh, fingers rubbing at your temples, “you’re unbelievable.” you’re sneaking a quick glance at your boyfriend, but he’s still focused on the video, soft smile tugging at his lips. “keep listening, ‘kay baby? this is my favorite part.”

uh oh.

“he’s the prettiest boy ever!” your cheeks are immediately filling with heat at your shameless confession, hand slamming over your mouth— there was absolutely no way. “you wouldn’t believe it. you’ll know when you see ‘im. he’s gorgeous. beautiful. i looove him! don’t fall in love with my boyfriend— you better not. he’s mine.”

[wysteria-bloom]

I have a funny little request, How do you think the baldur's gate 3 companions would react or respond to Tav talking to someone and who ever they are talking to asks them something about a husband/Wife and they point to one of the companions say “Yeah that’s my Husband/Wife right here”, Or Tav greeting the bg3 companions and saying “Hello my beautiful Wife or Handsome Husband how are you today?” Idk I think it would be funny you can either do all the companions or just a few and whoever else you want.

P.S One of the companions has to Karlach pls and thank you. Have a good day/night

↪"Say that again?"

Bg3 companions x reader

Warnings : none that I can think of, if there anything triggering please let me know

A/n : this is such a cute idea !!! Thank you so much for the request and ofc I'll include Karlach it's a literal crime if I don't

Characters : Astarion, Karlach, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel, Wyll, Halsin, Minthara, Rolan, Raphael

▢ astarion

Astarion is mid-sip of his wine when he hears it. You’re chatting with a bartender, mentioning offhandedly, "Oh, my husband enjoys that brand of wine!" The words seem to hang in the air. A moment later, he chokes, coughing as he hurriedly sets his glass down.

"Sorry, darling, did I just hallucinate, or did you actually call me your husband?" He grins, sharp and playful, but there’s something else lurking in his ruby eyes—something softer. "How bold of you. I don’t recall signing any vows, though if they involve more pet names and adoration, I might be convinced."

Despite his teasing, there’s an undeniable smirk of satisfaction on his lips, and later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you catch him whispering his name with your last name attatched—testing the sound of it with a chuckle.

▢ shadowheart

Shadowheart stiffens, her hand momentarily pausing over the clasp of her pack as you effortlessly refer to her as your wife in conversation. She recovers quickly, a well-trained mask slipping into place, but you catch the slight widening of her eyes, the way her fingers tighten just a bit.

When the conversation is over, she turns to you, arms crossed, voice a delicate mix of amusement and hesitancy. "Wife, huh? That’s...a rather serious word, don’t you think?" There’s no irritation in her voice, just a quiet wariness.

You lean in and reassure her—tell her it just felt natural—she exhales, her stance softening. "I suppose... it doesn’t sound terrible coming from you." She smirks faintly, then, in a rare show of vulnerability, she murmurs, "Say it again. Just once."

▢ gale

Gale practically beams. He was in the middle of explaining some grand magical theory when you casually referred to him as your husband, and the conversation might as well have ceased to exist. He turns to you with wide, delighted eyes, as if you just handed him the crown jewel of Mystra herself.

"You—you truly think of me that way?" His voice is filled with genuine wonder, his hands twitching as if resisting the urge to pull you into an embrace right there. "I must admit, I rather like the sound of it."

For the rest of the day, he finds ways to bring it up—entirely coincidentally, of course. "Ah, yes, my spouse and I were just discussing that," he’ll say to a trader. Or, "Well, as my beloved has so kindly pointed out..." He’s positively radiant, and when the two of you are alone, he holds you close, murmuring, "One day, perhaps, we could make it more than just words."

▢ karlach

Karlach lets out the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. One moment, she’s hauling a crate of supplies, and the next, she’s throwing an arm around you, laughing loud enough to startle a nearby bard.

"Wife? You think I’m wife material?" She practically lifts you off the ground in a hug, her infernal engine humming warmly. "Oh, babe, you really know how to make a girl’s heart melt."

For the rest of the day, she won’t stop teasing you. "Hey, love, your wife could use a back rub after all that heavy lifting." Or "Shouldn't a wife get extra rations? I think that’s fair." But underneath the playful exterior, there’s a warmth in her gaze every time she looks at you—like you just gave her something precious she never thought she could have.

▢ lae'zel

The moment the word leaves your mouth—wife—Lae’zel halts. Her expression sharpens, golden eyes locking onto yours with an unreadable intensity. The person you were speaking to wisely excuses themselves, sensing the tension crackling in the air.

She steps closer, head tilting, her voice a low rumble. "You claim me as a wife?" It isn’t anger, but a challenge. Prove it, her tone demands.

You meet her gaze unwaveringly and confirm it without hesitation, she exhales, something pleased flashing across her face. "Hmph. Among my kin, such a title is not spoken lightly. If you speak it, you must own it."

Later, when camp is quiet and you were walking towards your tent, she pulls you aside, her hand gripping your wrist—possessive, firm but there was a softness to it that couldn't be denied. She looked flustered, frowning at you with a twitch of her brow," As your... wife. I demand we sleep in the same tent."

▢ wyll

Wyll is in the middle of charming a noble when you casually refer to him as your husband. The words slip from your lips without hesitation, and at first, he doesn’t react—so well-trained in maintaining composure. Only until the noble left did something warm flicker in his bi-coloured eyes, his confident smile faltering for just a heartbeat.

"Ah—your what?" He turns to you, and for the first time in a long while, the Blade of Frontiers looks genuinely caught off guard.

When you confirm it with an easy smile, he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, as if trying to suppress the warmth creeping up his face. "Well, now you’ve gone and made a man blush," he teases, but there’s a softness to it. A part of him that seems to hold onto the word like a cherished melody.

Later that evening, when the two of you have a rare quiet moment, he leans in, his voice lower, more earnest. "You really see me that way?" His hand finds yours, thumb tracing circles against your palm. "Because I could get used to that."

▢ halsin

Halsin is kneeling by a wounded animal, murmuring a quiet spell of healing, when the word husband leaves your lips. It’s said so casually—to another druid, in passing—that at first, he doesn’t seem to react.

But then, as the spell finishes, he turns to you, golden eyes warm with something deeply affectionate. A slow smile spreads across his face, creasing the corners of his eyes. "Husband," he repeats, testing the weight of it, his voice rich with amusement. "That is… a title of great commitment. And yet, hearing it from you, it feels as though it has always been true."

There’s no teasing, no hesitation—only an earnest kind of joy. He steps closer, brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch feather-light. "If this is how you see me, then I will wear the title with pride." His voice drops to a low murmur, meant only for you. "And should you ever wish to make it more than words, I will answer gladly."

From that moment on, he often refers to you in kind—my heart, my love, and, on particularly affectionate days, even my wife/husband/mate. It is not just a title to him; it is a promise.

▢ minthara

Minthara doesn’t react at first. Not outwardly. She merely continues sharpening her blade, her red eyes cold and unreadable as you casually refer to her as your wife in conversation.

The person you were speaking to quickly departs, sensing the weight of silence that follows. Then, without looking up, Minthara speaks, her voice dangerously low. "You called me wife."

It isn’t a question. It’s an evaluation. A test.

You confirm it, she finally lifts her gaze to meet yours, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "How bold of you," she muses, setting her blade aside. "Amongst lolth-sworn drow, such words are not spoken lightly. They are a claim. A promise."

She stands, stepping into your space, her presence as commanding as ever. A hand grips your chin—not harsh, but firm. Possessive. "If you call me wife, then you had best mean it."

And yet, later that night, when the camp is quiet and she believes no one is watching, she lingers at your side a little longer. A rare softness flickers in her eyes before she turns away, murmuring to you just loud enough for you to hear—"Hmph. It does have a certain... power to it."

▢ raphael

The moment the word husband leaves your lips, Raphael goes completely still. The conversation you were having with an unfortunate merchant screeches to a halt as the cambion turns his attention fully on you. The air crackles with something dangerous—something deeply, intensely amused.

A slow smirk stretches across his lips. "My dear, I do believe I misheard you," he purrs, voice as smooth as velvet. "Did you just call me your husband? How delightfully bold of you."

He steps closer, red eyes gleaming with something unreadable—pleasure? Possession? The thrill of a game he suddenly must win? He takes your hand, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. Never breaking eye contact as his lips were curved in that usual salacious smirk of his,"Now, if you are to call me husband, I expect proper treatment. Gifts. Devotion. Perhaps a throne befitting a devil of my caliber."

There’s teasing in his tone, but beneath it? Oh, there’s something else entirely. Later, when no one is around, he murmurs against your ear, "let me hear it again... it sounds so terribly tempting when it falls from those lips of yours."

▢ rolan

Rolan is mid-rant—complaining about some idiot who failed to organise the library books the right way—when you absentmindedly refer to him as your husband. He stops talking. Completely.

His mouth opens. Closes. His tail flicks rapidly behind him, betraying his internal spiral.

"Wha—wait—what did you just call me?" His voice cracks, and he immediately clears his throat, straightening his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain his dignity.

When you repeat it, casual as ever, he stares at you like you just cast Wish in front of him. "That’s… I mean, I am an impressive partner, but—" He crosses his arms, looking away, his cheeks burning a darker, unmistakable shade of red. "You can’t just say things like that without warning someone!"

But for the rest of the day, he’s noticeably smug—standing taller, magic practically crackling at his fingertips. And if you listen closely, you might hear him muttering under his breath: "Husband. Hah... obviously."

[mcrdvcks]

needy pt.2

chapter summary: You're Scott's younger sister and for months you've been secretly dating Logan. How much longer can you and him keep the secret?

word count: 10.9k+ (19.3k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: don't ask how or why this is so long, it was meant to be be less than 10k words but it just kept going. i was having a lot of fun writing this, and if people want to see a continuation or some other part of the story with these two, don't be afraid to ask! for now, enjoy cause there are like 3 smut scenes

the notes and the tags are the same as part 1! this is the second part!

warnings/tags: smut, unprotected piv, slight exhibitionism, slight pain kink, creampie, age gap (that's obvi), oral (f!receiving), slight praise kink, fingering, secret relationship, jealously, some possessiveness, peter maximoff being a little shit, fluff, slight angst

❀ part 1 ❀

Your shirt was tossed to the floor, your skirt pushed above your waist, and Logan was currently kissing his way down your chest, rough hands gripping your thighs, his stubble scratching against sensitive skin in a way that made you shiver.

But every so often, his eyes flicked to the side.

At first, you ignored it, too caught up in the heat of his mouth, the way his fingers kneaded into your skin. But when he stopped—lips hovering just above your stomach, brow furrowed—you huffed out a breath.

“Why do you keep looking over there?”

Logan glanced up at you, then back to the side, exhaling sharply. “…That fuckin’ teddy bear keeps lookin’ at me.”

You blinked before glancing toward your bed—where the massive stuffed bear from the carnival sat propped against your pillows, its black button eyes staring blankly into the room.

You snorted. “Pickles isn’t looking at you.”

Logan pulled back slightly, expression scrunching in absolute bewilderment. “The hell did you just call it?”

You grinned. “Pickles.”

His face was priceless. “You named the goddamn bear Pickles?”

“Yep.”

He shook his head, lips twitching in amusement. “Why the hell would you name a teddy bear that?”

“Because,” you said, smirking, “he’s named after the fried pickles we got after you won him for me.”

Logan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. That’s terrible.”

“You love it.”

“I really don’t.”

You laughed, but before you could tease him further, Logan suddenly sat up and reached over, grabbing the bear by its soft, oversized head.

Without another word, he turned it around so its face was pressed into the pillow, its back to both of you.

“There.” Logan exhaled, satisfied. “Didn’t want him seein’ what I was gonna do to you.”

You burst out laughing, but it was cut short when Logan pounced, his mouth crashing back against yours, his hands slipping under your skirt with zero hesitation.

Pickles had seen enough. And Logan had work to do.

He pushed a thick finger into you, slow, deliberate. Your head fell back against the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as he moved—one finger, then two, curling just right, dragging moans from your lips with every precise stroke. His calloused palm pressed firm against your aching core, dragging a friction that had your breath stuttering.

"Fuck," you gasped, hips shifting instinctively.

Logan huffed a rough chuckle, his lips ghosting along the inside of your thigh. "That’s it," he murmured, voice low, thick with satisfaction. "Knew you’d be this fuckin’ needy."

Your fingers twisted into the sheets, knuckles white as he set a slow, torturous rhythm, two thick fingers stretching you, filling you. Your legs trembled, thighs twitching with every precise curl.

"Logan," you breathed, half a plea, half a warning.

He hummed against your skin, tongue flicking over your hipbone. "What, sweetheart? S’too much?"

You shook your head, chest rising and falling in ragged motions. "No—just—just stop teasing."

Logan grinned against your stomach, lips rough from his stubble. "You think I’m teasin’?"

And then he pressed in deeper, his thumb brushing over your clit at the same time, sending a sharp jolt through you. Your back arched, a choked moan slipping from your lips.

"That’s what I thought," he said, voice smug, rough.

His fingers worked you over with ruthless precision, stroking that spot inside you that had your toes curling, your body writhing against the mattress. Every slow press, every drag of his thumb over your clit wound you tighter, hotter, until you were gripping his wrist, eyes fluttering.

"You gonna come for me?" Logan murmured, breath hot against your skin.

You clenched around his fingers in response, earning a low, pleased growl from him. He didn’t let up, didn’t stop, watching with dark, hungry eyes as you unraveled beneath him.

And when the tension finally snapped, your whole body tensed—then shattered, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your cry filled the room, and Logan didn’t stop until you were trembling, until every aftershock had been wrung from you.

Only then did he pull his fingers from you, slow, deliberate, watching as your body shivered from the loss. His gaze met yours, heated, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you again, his mouth crashing against yours, stealing every word, every thought.

His mouth was all heat and hunger, claiming yours in a way that left no room for thought—just sensation. His stubble scraped against your skin, rough and real, and the taste of you was still on his tongue, mingling with the whiskey he’d had earlier. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel owned.

But you weren’t about to let him have all the control.

With a sharp push, you shifted your weight, rolling him onto his back. He grunted in surprise, his grip tightening instinctively before he let you take the lead, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looked up at you.

"Bossy tonight, huh?" His voice was low, rough with amusement, but his eyes—dark, hungry—told a different story.

"You don’t mind," you shot back, settling yourself over him, your thighs bracketing his waist.

His smirk widened, hands running up your thighs, thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin there. "Hell no, sweetheart. Knock yourself out."

Your hands found his chest, tracing the solid lines of muscle, the ridges of old scars. Logan was all hard edges, rough hands, and sharp words, but right now, beneath you, there was something else—a quiet patience, a slow-burning restraint that only made you want to push him further.

You shifted, rolling your hips over the hard line of his jeans, feeling the heat of him through the fabric. Logan let out a sharp breath, fingers tightening on your thighs.

"Fuck," he muttered, his head tipping back slightly against the pillows. "You keep doin' that, I ain't gonna be responsible for what happens next."

You grinned, leaning down so your lips barely brushed his. "That a threat or a promise?"

His hands slid up, palms rough against your waist as he pulled you down the rest of the way, closing the distance between you with a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and heat. His hands wandered, slipping beneath your bra, fingers teasing over sensitive skin, thumbs rolling over your nipples in a way that had you arching into him, your breath catching.

"You gonna take this off, or you want me to rip it?" Logan murmured against your lips, voice low, teasing.

You huffed a laugh. "Don’t you dare. I like this one."

"Fine," he said, but he still had that damn smirk on his face as he reached behind you, undoing the clasp in one smooth motion. The second the straps slipped down your arms, Logan's hands were on you, rough and greedy, palming your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples just to watch you shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, his voice thick, almost reverent.

You rolled your hips again, dragging a groan from him, and the sound sent heat pooling low in your stomach. You could feel him, hard and thick beneath you, the friction between you just enough to tease, not nearly enough to satisfy.

Your hands trailed down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans. You slowly unbuckled his belt before tossing it to the side.

Then, your fingers worked the button of his jeans open, dragging the zipper down with deliberate slowness, teasing. Logan’s breath hitched, his hands gripping your hips just a little tighter, thumbs pressing into your skin.

"You’re playin’ with fire, doll," he muttered, voice thick, rough with impatience.

"Good," you shot back, fingers slipping beneath the waistband, pushing the denim down over his hips.

Logan lifted just enough to help you shove them lower, his cock springing free, thick and heavy against his stomach. Heat coiled in your belly at the sight of him—flushed, hard, already leaking at the tip.

"Fuck," you breathed, running a teasing finger along his length, just enough to watch his jaw tighten. "You’re already this worked up?"

Logan let out a low growl, hands flexing on your thighs. "You been grindin’ on me for ten fuckin’ minutes, what do you think?"

You smirked, shifting so you were straddling him fully, your bare core brushing against the head of his cock, dragging a sharp hiss from his lips.

"Then quit talking," you murmured, reaching between you to guide him to your entrance.

Logan’s breath was ragged as you sank down onto him, slow, deliberate, stretching around the thick length of him. He was big—he always was—but the burn was just right, just enough to make you shudder as he filled you, inch by inch.

"Christ," Logan rasped, his head tipping back against the pillow, fingers digging into your hips. "Tight as fuck—"

You exhaled a shaky breath, adjusting, rolling your hips experimentally. The stretch, the fullness—it sent sparks dancing up your spine, heat pooling low.

Logan groaned, eyes snapping back to you, dark, hungry. "Move, sweetheart."

You did. Slow at first, grinding your hips in slow, deliberate circles, feeling every inch of him drag inside you, your clit rubbing against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. Logan's grip on your waist tightened, like he was fighting the urge to just flip you over and take control, but you weren’t about to let him.

Your hands planted against his chest for leverage as you lifted yourself up, only to sink back down, setting a rhythm that had both of you panting.

"Fuck, that’s it," Logan groaned, his fingers trailing up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, keeping you close. "You ride me so fuckin’ good, doll."

You leaned down, biting at his lower lip. "You like watching me fuck myself on your cock?"

His response was a guttural growl, his hips bucking up hard enough to make you gasp.

Your pace quickened, riding him harder, chasing the pleasure curling in your belly. Every drag of his cock inside you hit deep, the friction perfect, the angle just right. Logan was watching you, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every moan, every gasp.

"Touch yourself," he rasped, voice wrecked.

Your breath caught, but you obeyed, fingers slipping between your bodies to circle your clit. The added stimulation made you whimper, your thighs trembling as you rode him faster, harder.

Logan was unraveling beneath you, his muscles taut, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there’d be bruises.

"You gonna come for me?" His voice was strained, hoarse. "Come all over my cock, sweetheart?"

The tension snapped. Your orgasm slammed into you, stealing your breath, your whole body shaking as pleasure tore through you. Your walls clenched around him, dragging a curse from Logan as he thrust up into you, chasing his own release.

A few more erratic thrusts, and he was gone—his hips jerking, a growl tearing from his throat as he spilled deep inside you, fingers flexing against your waist, holding you down as he rode out every last pulse.

Silence hung between you, both of you catching your breath, bodies still tangled.

Finally, Logan exhaled a low, satisfied chuckle. "Pickles better not be lookin’ right now," Logan muttered, still breathless, his hands running idly over your thighs.

You let out a weak laugh, your forehead dropping to his shoulder as your body still hummed with the aftershocks. “I don’t think he’s judging you.”

Logan scoffed, his fingers trailing lazily up your spine. “He better not be. Ain’t gonna have some stuffed bear watchin’ while I wreck you.”

You groaned, shoving at his chest. “Can you not?”

Logan chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you in place. “What? You embarrassed now, sweetheart?”

You huffed, rolling off him and onto your back, still catching your breath. “No, I just think it’s weird you’re this bothered by a stuffed animal.”

Logan turned his head, glaring at the bear like it had personally offended him. “He’s just… there. Starin’.”

You threw an arm over your face, shaking with silent laughter. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, a soft thump.

You peeked out from under your arm just in time to see Pickles on the floor, face down, having been very unceremoniously shoved off the bed.

Logan stretched his arms behind his head, looking smug. “Problem solved.”

You snorted. “You are so petty.”

Logan just smirked, rolling onto his side to look at you. “Damn right. Now c’mere.”

You let out a squeak as he pulled you against his chest, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. His body was warm, solid, and you knew you should probably get up—clean up—but right now, wrapped up in Logan, you didn’t want to move.

---

“Hey. Would you mind checking the irrigation system? I just feel like something is wrong with it.” Ororo said, leaning against the counter in the kitchen while you ate a sandwich at the island.

You swallowed your bite and glanced at her. "What's wrong with it?"

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I don’t know exactly, but some of the plants in the greenhouse are drying out too fast. I checked the timers, everything should be working, but something’s off."

You nodded, already pushing your plate aside. "Yeah, I can take a look."

"Thanks." She gave you a small smile. "I’d check myself, but I promised the kids I’d help with their flight training today."

"No problem." You stood, grabbing your water bottle. "I’ll head over now."

As you turned to leave, Logan strolled into the kitchen, looking way too smug for no reason.

"Summers," he greeted casually, nodding at Ororo before his gaze flicked to you. "Goin' somewhere?"

"Irrigation system," you answered, reaching for an apple from the bowl on the counter. "Something’s off with it."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "You callin’ yourself an expert now?"

You smirked. "I literally have a degree for this, Logan."

His lips twitched, but before he could say something smart, Ororo let out a tired sigh. "You know what? Logan, why don’t you go with her? Two pairs of eyes are better than one."

You barely stopped yourself from choking on your water.

Logan blinked. "What?"

"You don’t have anything better to do," Ororo said, giving him a look. "And I’d rather not have to ask Hank to take apart the whole system if it turns out to be something simple."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Logan beat you to it. "Yeah, alright," he said, way too easily, like he wasn’t even remotely bothered. "Guess I could help out."

Ororo smiled. "Great. Let me know if you find anything."

With that, she left the kitchen, completely unaware of the absolute disaster she’d just created.

You turned to Logan, narrowing your eyes. "You are way too happy about this."

Logan smirked, grabbing a beer from the fridge. "What? I can’t enjoy a little quality time with my girl?"

"Not when we’re supposed to be keeping this quiet, you can’t," you muttered, grabbing your jacket. "Scott is literally somewhere in this house right now. You wanna take a wild guess at how bad things will go if he finds out?"

Logan shrugged, twisting the cap off his beer. "Guess we just gotta be real subtle then, huh?"

You groaned. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," he said, smirking as he followed you out the door.

---

The greenhouse was quiet when you got there, the sun filtering through the glass, casting everything in a warm glow. You walked over to the control panel, Logan leaning against the workbench beside you, watching.

"So, what’s the verdict, doc?" he asked, sipping his beer.

You rolled your eyes. "That’s not even remotely the right title."

He smirked. "Still hot, though."

You ignored him, pressing a few buttons on the panel to check the irrigation schedule. Everything looked normal—no skipped cycles, no errors. "Huh," you muttered, frowning.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Bad ‘huh’ or just confused ‘huh’?"

"Confused," you admitted. "The system says it’s running fine, but if the plants are drying out, that means the water’s not getting distributed properly."

Logan tilted his head. "Could be a leak somewhere."

"Yeah, maybe." You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. "Looks like we’re gonna have to check the pipes."

Logan smirked. "So, what I’m hearin’ is, you need me to crawl around in the dirt while you stand there lookin’ pretty?"

You shot him a look. "No. What you’re hearing is that we both have to crawl around in the dirt because this system runs through half the property."

His smirk didn’t fade. "Still think you’d look real cute just supervisin’."

"Logan," you warned, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let’s check your damn pipes."

---

After an hour of checking different lines, you finally found the issue—a cracked section of piping near the east gardens.

"See? Leak," Logan muttered, wiping dirt from his hands. "Told ya."

You huffed, brushing soil off your knees. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell Ororo she needs to replace this part of the system."

Logan stretched, rolling his shoulders. "You wanna tell her now, or you wanna take advantage of the fact that we’re conveniently outta sight?"

You turned, giving him a look. "We’re in the middle of the garden."

Logan stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Yeah. And?"

You swallowed, glancing around. The mansion was a good distance away, and the gardens were quiet. Still, it was risky.

"Logan," you started, but before you could finish, he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"Relax, doll," he murmured, his fingers trailing down your jaw. "Just sayin’, we got a little privacy."

Your heart pounded. You should’ve shut this down. Should’ve reminded him that literally anyone could walk by.

But then Logan’s hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, and every ounce of common sense you had went right out the window.

You let out a shaky breath. "You are such a bad influence."

Logan smirked. "And yet, you keep comin’ back."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours—just a tease, just enough to make you chase him. Your hands curled into his shirt, pulling him in for real this time, kissing him like you didn’t care about the risk.

Because right now, you didn’t.

Logan hummed against your mouth, his grip tightening. "Told ya sneakin’ around was fun."

You sighed, pressing your forehead to his. "You’re impossible."

"And you love it," he murmured, kissing you again.

---

It was late at night when Logan snuck in through your window, one you conveniently left unlocked. It was around three in the morning—he knew you wouldn’t be awake at this time. Your room was dark, save for a soft glow from a nightlight in the corner. What stopped him was you curled up next to that damn bear—Pickles.

Logan stared, standing motionless beside your bed.

You were wrapped around the oversized stuffed animal, arms tucked beneath your chin, your face half-buried in the bear’s fuzzy head. One of your legs was thrown over it, keeping it locked against your body like it was an actual person.

Logan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

You shifted slightly at the sound of his voice, mumbling something incoherent. He watched as your fingers curled into the bear’s fur, pulling it even closer.

He narrowed his eyes. Then, with zero hesitation, he reached down and yanked Pickles right out of your arms.

A confused whimper escaped you as your grip slipped, but you didn’t wake up—just frowned in your sleep, instinctively reaching out to grab at something.

Logan smirked, tossing the bear toward the chair in the corner. Pickles landed with a soft thud, face down, abandoned.

“Not tonight, bub,” Logan muttered, sliding into bed beside you.

Without the stuffed barrier in the way, your body naturally curled toward his, your hand finding his chest, your head tucking beneath his chin. Logan huffed out something close to a laugh, wrapping an arm around you, his palm resting warm against your back.

"That’s better," he murmured against your hair.

He expected you to settle, maybe even murmur some sleepy complaint before drifting back off. What he didn’t expect was for you to suddenly mutter—half-asleep, barely audible, “bring him back.”

Logan blinked. “What?”

Your fingers twitched against his shirt, your face scrunching slightly. "Pickles. Give him back."

Logan stared at you like you’d just insulted his entire existence. "Not happenin’, sweetheart."

You let out a sleepy, frustrated sigh, shifting against him. "He’s soft."

Logan scoffed. "So am I."

You made a small, disgruntled noise, but didn’t argue—just burrowed deeper into him, apparently deciding he was an acceptable substitute.

Logan smirked. "That’s what I thought."

A comfortable silence settled, your breathing even, your body warm against his. He let his hand wander up and down your spine, slow, absentminded. Maybe sneaking around was a pain in the ass, but moments like this?

Yeah. Worth it.

---

In the morning, you found yourself still curled around Logan. His arm was slung lazily over your waist, his body warm against yours. His steady breathing tickled the top of your head, and for a second, you just stayed there, soaking in the quiet.

Then—his voice, still rough with sleep. "You know, if you wanted somethin’ to hold onto at night, you could just call me over instead of clingin’ to that damn bear."

You barely cracked an eye open. "Pickles."

Logan huffed. "Not callin’ him that."

You smirked, burying your face against his chest. "You’re just mad he’s softer than you."

"That right?" His hand slid down, fingers squeezing your hip. "You sure about that?"

You let out a soft laugh, shifting against him. "Mmhmm. You’re all muscle and stubble. Pickles is fluffy."

Logan muttered something under his breath, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your back. "Still don’t get why you sleep with that thing."

You hesitated for half a second before mumbling, "’cause he smells like you."

Logan stilled. You felt the way his fingers paused against your skin, the way his breathing slowed just slightly. Then—his voice, quieter this time. "Yeah?"

You swallowed, suddenly regretting saying anything. "Forget it."

His hand slid up, catching your chin and tilting your face toward him. His gaze flickered over yours, something unreadable in his eyes.

"Nah," he murmured. "Say it again."

You rolled your eyes, but your face was warm. "I said forget it."

Logan smirked, but it was softer this time, less teasing. "So what you’re tellin’ me is… every time you curl up with that stupid bear, you’re actually thinkin’ about me?"

"Don’t make it weird."

"Too late." He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. "That’s real fuckin’ sweet, doll."

You groaned, shoving at his chest. "Ugh, never mind. Give Pickles back."

Logan laughed, tightening his hold around you. "Nope. You lost stuffed animal privileges."

"That’s not a thing!"

"It is now."

You huffed, but you didn’t fight him. Not when he was warm and solid against you, not when his fingers were still tracing slow circles against your hip.

After a moment, Logan murmured, "you really don’t gotta wait for a goddamn stuffed bear to smell like me. Y’know that, right?"

You hesitated before answering. "I know."

His grip on you tightened, just slightly. "Good."

And even though he was an ass about it, even though you knew he was gonna bring this up at the worst possible moment just to mess with you—you still let yourself relax against him, letting his warmth, his scent, his presence wrap around you.

Because, yeah, you could’ve just called him over. But right now, he was here.

---

Later that morning, you were in the kitchen, making coffee when Rogue strolled in, looking far too amused for this early in the day.

“So,” she drawled, leaning against the counter. “Have a good night?”

You didn’t look at her. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Rogue smirked. “Uh-huh. Funny, ‘cause I coulda sworn I saw Logan sneakin’ outta your window when I got up.”

You sighed, sipping your coffee. “Mind your business.”

“Oh, sugar,” she grinned, “this is my business.”

You groaned, setting your mug down. “If I tell you to shut up, will you?”

“Nope.”

You gave her a flat look. “Fantastic.”

Rogue chuckled, stealing a piece of toast from your plate. “So, what’s the deal? You two ever gonna stop sneakin’ around?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around your mug. “It’s just easier this way.”

“For who?”

You exhaled, leaning against the counter. “Scott would lose his mind if he found out.”

Rogue raised an eyebrow. “And? He ain’t your keeper, Y/N. You’re a grown-ass woman.”

You shot her a look. “You don’t have a brother like Scott.”

“True,” she admitted. “But Logan’s actin’ like he’s gettin’ real tired of all the sneakin’ around.”

Your stomach twisted. “…He said that?”

“He didn’t have to.” Rogue smirked. “Man’s already borderline feral for you. Pretty sure the only reason he ain’t dragged you away yet is ‘cause he knows you’d feel bad ‘bout it.”

You swallowed. She wasn’t wrong.

Rogue nudged your shoulder. “Just think about it, sugar. Logan ain’t exactly patient.”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Yeah. I know.”

She gave you a knowing look before grabbing another piece of toast and walking off.

You sat there, staring into your coffee, Rogue’s words circling in your head. This was getting harder. And you had no idea how much longer you could keep up the lie.

---

Every month you and Scott had a designated night where you would play chess and ‘catch up.’ You weren’t sure when it started, or why the game you played together was chess, but you didn’t have it in you to argue or skip out on it.

You sat across from him in the study, the old wooden chessboard set up between you. A lamp cast a warm glow over the pieces, making long shadows stretch across the table.

Scott studied the board like it held the secrets of the universe. You, on the other hand, were barely paying attention. Because Logan was somewhere in the mansion. And you were painfully aware of it.

“You good?” Scott asked, glancing up from the board.

You blinked, snapping out of it. “Huh?”

Scott frowned. “You seem distracted.”

You forced a casual shrug. “Just tired.”

Scott didn’t look convinced, but he moved his knight anyway. “You’ve been acting weird lately.”

You tensed. “Weird how?”

Scott leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I don’t know. You disappear a lot. You keep missing training or showing up late. Jean said your heart rate spikes randomly during dinner—”

Your stomach dropped. “She what?”

Scott waved a hand. “Not in a weird way. She just notices things.”

Yeah. You were sure she did. You picked up your rook, trying to ignore the way your pulse picked up again. “Scott, I have a life outside of training, you know.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

You gave him a look. “Yes, I do.”

He huffed, moving a pawn. “Fine. Who is he?”

Your hand froze mid-air. “What?”

Scott smirked. “Who’s the guy?”

Your brain short-circuited for a full three seconds. “Why would you assume it’s a guy?”

Scott shrugged. “Because I know you. And the only time you get this distracted is when someone’s involved.”

Your stomach twisted. You scrambled for something, anything, to throw him off. “How do you know it’s not a girl?”

Scott snorted. “Because I know you, and if you were seeing a girl, I’d have noticed by now.”

You moved your rook without thinking, mostly just to keep your hands busy. “Pretty sure you just admitted you haven’t noticed.”

Scott narrowed his eyes at you, clearly not letting this go. “So there is someone.”

Shit. “I didn’t say that,” you said quickly, trying to sound bored, like this conversation wasn’t sending your pulse through the roof.

Scott leaned forward, arms braced on the table. “Then say it now. There’s no one.”

You hesitated for half a second too long.

Scott’s smirk widened. “Gotcha.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Scott—”

“No, no, now I have to know,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Who is he?”

“There’s no—”

“Do I know him?”

You exhaled sharply. “Scott.”

Scott ignored you. “Is it one of the new recruits? Someone in town? Oh God, tell me it’s not Warren—”

“Ew, no!” You made a face. “Gross.”

Scott smirked. “That was a strong reaction.”

“Because that’s disgusting.”

Scott chuckled, moving his bishop. “Okay, so not Warren.”

You huffed, leaning back in your chair. “This conversation is ridiculous.”

Scott tilted his head slightly, watching you too closely. “So there is someone.”

You were going to kill Rogue. Somehow, this had to be her fault.

You inhaled through your nose, trying to steady your voice. “Not that it’s any of your business, but if there was someone, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Scott frowned, his entire demeanor shifting from teasing to overprotective in record time. “Of course it’s a big deal.”

You groaned. “Scott—”

“I just wanna know who’s dating my little sister.”

You moved your queen, taking his bishop, and shot him a flat look. “And if I don’t tell you?”

Scott didn’t even blink. “Then I find out myself.”

Your stomach clenched. He wasn’t bluffing. And if Scott started looking—really looking—he’d figure it out. Fast. Logan wasn’t exactly subtle, and you were running out of ways to dodge questions. You needed to throw Scott off your trail, fast.

So, you did the first thing you could think of. You rolled your eyes and muttered, “Fine. It’s Peter.”

Scott blinked. Then he stared at you, his expression somewhere between disbelief and outright horror. “…Peter Maximoff?”

You nodded, keeping your face as neutral as possible.

Scott made a strangled noise. “Quicksilver?”

“Yeah.”

Scott recoiled like you’d just told him you were engaged to a war criminal. “No. No way.”

You shrugged, picking up your knight and moving it. “You wanted to know.”

Scott ran a hand over his face. “You cannot be serious.”

You fought the urge to smirk. “Why not? He’s nice.”

Scott groaned, pushing away from the table like the thought alone was physically painful. “He’s annoying.”

“He’s funny,” you corrected.

“He’s reckless.”

“He’s spontaneous.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed. “He’s immature.”

You shrugged again, making a show of considering it. “I think it’s kind of charming.”

Scott groaned again, rubbing his temples like this conversation was causing him actual pain. “How long?”

You tilted your head. “Hmm?”

“How long have you been…” Scott waved a hand vaguely. “Seeing him?”

You forced a thoughtful look, like you had to think about it. “A couple months?”

Scott let out an exasperated breath, shaking his head. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it,” you said casually, moving your piece. “Check.”

Scott didn’t even look at the board. “We’re not done talking about this.”

You smirked. “Pretty sure we are.”

Scott muttered something under his breath, looking thoroughly unamused, but he didn’t press.

You had successfully dodged the bullet. For now.

---

It had been four days since your little chess game with Scott, and while you’d managed to throw him off your trail with the whole Peter Maximoff thing, you were starting to regret it.

Because now, Scott was watching you and Peter like a hawk.

You knew it had been a bad idea the second Peter found out. He thought it was the funniest thing in the world. He kept winking at you during meals, slinging an arm around your shoulder whenever Scott was around, and making ridiculously suggestive comments just to see your brother’s eye twitch.

And Logan? Logan was not amused.

He’d barely reacted when you first told him, just raised an eyebrow and muttered, “you couldn’t come up with a better lie?”

But as the days passed and Peter continued to mess with Scott, Logan’s patience was wearing very thin.

So, when you walked into the rec room and found Peter sprawled out on the couch, grinning at Logan—who was standing over him with his arms crossed, looking one second away from snapping—yeah, you knew this was about to be a problem.

You sighed, closing the door behind you. “What are you two doing?”

Peter smirked up at you. “Hey, babe.”

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose.

You shot Peter a glare before turning to Logan. “Please tell me you haven’t threatened him.”

Logan’s lips twitched slightly, like he wanted to smirk but was still too pissed. “Didn’t have to.”

Peter propped himself up on one elbow, grinning. “Your boyfriend is jealous.”

Logan’s head snapped toward him so fast Peter actually flinched.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Peter, I swear—”

“What? It’s true!” Peter grinned, looking entirely too entertained by the whole thing. “Big, bad Wolverine doesn’t like that Scotty thinks we’re together.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “You enjoy makin’ my life harder, don’t you?”

Peter gasped, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Me? Never.”

Logan’s fists curled, and you could see the patience draining from his body. Before he could make a very bad decision, you grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. “Alright, enough.”

Peter snickered. “You guys gonna go make out now?”

Logan turned so fast that Peter actually rolled off the couch to avoid him. You yanked Logan out of the room before he could kill him. The second the door shut behind you, you sighed. “You cannot murder Peter, Logan.”

Logan’s teeth were clenched so tight you were surprised they hadn’t cracked. “Give me one good reason.”

You squeezed his arm. “Because Scott cannot find out about us.”

Logan exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, well, if that little shit calls you ‘babe’ one more time, I can’t be held responsible.”

You fought back a smirk, but you didn’t entirely succeed. “You are jealous.”

Logan scoffed. “Jealous? Of Maximoff?” He snorted. “You serious?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. That’s why you were about to throw him through a wall.”

Logan didn’t answer, just crossed his arms and looked away.

You stepped closer, tilting your head up to look at him. “You know Scott’s buying it, right? That was the whole point.”

Logan’s jaw ticked, but he still wasn’t looking at you.

You smirked. “Aww. You mad I haven’t kissed you in public?”

Logan’s eyes snapped back to yours, dark and dangerous. “Sweetheart,” he muttered, voice dropping, “you better be real sure you wanna start somethin’ right now.”

Your stomach flipped. You knew that look. You swallowed, pulse picking up. “Maybe I do.”

Logan’s smirk was all teeth. “Then get your ass upstairs.”

Your breath hitched. “Logan—”

“Now,” he growled, stepping closer, his body heat swallowing you whole. “Unless you want your brother to walk by and see me pushin’ you against this wall.”

Your face burned. You turned immediately, heading straight for your room.

Logan’s low chuckle followed you all the way up the stairs.

---

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since you’d started the fake dating Peter disaster, and while it had successfully kept Scott off your back, it had come with its own set of problems.

For one, Peter was still milking it for all it was worth. He’d taken to calling you babe and sweetheart in the most obnoxious ways possible, always just within Scott’s earshot. He threw an arm around your shoulder in the halls, made jokes about our song at dinner, and once—just to piss Logan off—winked at him across the room while sliding his hand into yours.

You’d nearly died. Logan had nearly killed him. The second problem? Logan was getting real tired of keeping things quiet.

It wasn’t just the usual sneaking around anymore. It was the way he was getting bolder about it. The way his hands lingered too long when he passed you in the hall. The way his eyes followed you across a room, sharp, hungry, like he didn’t give a shit who noticed.

And then there were moments like this. Logan had you pressed against your bedroom door, one hand braced above your head, the other gripping your waist. His mouth was at your ear, voice rough with frustration.

“This bullshit needs to end.”

You swallowed, your breath coming a little too fast. “Logan—”

He leaned in, his stubble scraping against your jaw as his lips brushed your skin. “Tell me you’re done playin’ pretend with Maximoff.”

You were done. You had been for days. But you still hesitated. “Scott—”

“Fuck Scott.” Logan’s grip on your waist tightened, his voice dropping lower. “You’re mine, Y/N. Not his, not Maximoff’s—mine.”

Your stomach flipped. “Logan…”

His teeth grazed your pulse, just enough to make you shiver. “Say it.”

You clenched your jaw. “We still have to be careful—”

“Sweetheart,” Logan growled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze dark, dangerous, “I ain’t ever been careful with things I want.”

Heat coiled in your stomach, your fingers curling into his shirt.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Because Logan wasn’t just some stupid crush. He wasn’t just a fun secret to keep. He was… everything. And the longer you kept this hidden, the harder it was getting to breathe.

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, there was a sharp knock at your door.

Both of you froze.

“Y/N, open up.” Scott.

Logan exhaled sharply, stepping back. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

You shoved at his chest. “Go hide.”

Logan rolled his eyes but moved toward the closet, muttering, “déjà vu,” under his breath.

You smoothed out your shirt, inhaled deeply, and then cracked the door open.

Scott stood there, arms crossed, looking vaguely annoyed. “Why was your door locked?”

You gave him a flat look. “Because I was changing?”

Scott frowned, like he almost believed you, but not quite. “Right.”

You sighed, opening the door more. “What do you want, Scott?”

Scott hesitated, then ran a hand over his face. “Look. I just…” He sighed again. “I need to talk to you about Peter.”

Your stomach dropped. “Peter?”

Scott nodded, his expression tight. “Yeah.”

You felt the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding so loudly you almost didn’t hear what he said next.

“I don’t trust him.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Scott exhaled, crossing his arms again. “I don’t trust him with you.”

You almost laughed. That’s what this was about?

Scott continued, completely oblivious to the actual disaster happening just a few feet behind you. “He’s too reckless. He jokes about everything. I just… I don’t think he’s taking this seriously.”

You resisted the urge to rub your temples. “Scott—”

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Your stomach twisted. Goddamn it. You might’ve been lying to him, but Scott wasn’t the enemy here. He was just looking out for you. And you hated how guilty that made you feel. You swallowed, forcing a small smile. “I am, Scott. I promise.”

Scott studied you for a second longer before sighing. “Okay. Just… be careful, alright?”

You nodded. “I will.”

Scott exhaled, running a hand through his hair before finally stepping back. “Alright. I’ll see you at dinner.”

You nodded again, waiting until his footsteps faded down the hall before shutting the door and pressing your forehead against it.

“That’s it,” Logan muttered, stepping out of the closet. “I’m ending this.”

You turned, brows furrowing. “What?”

“I’m tellin’ him.”

Your stomach plummeted. “No.”

Logan scoffed. “Y/N—”

“No,” you repeated, stepping in front of him. “We can’t just tell him.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “You really think he’s never gonna find out?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you didn’t have an answer to that. And Logan knew it.

His expression softened just slightly. “Sweetheart…”

You swallowed, voice quieter. “I just… I don’t want to fight with him. I hate fighting with him. He’s the only family I have left.”

Logan’s gaze softened, but his jaw was still tight, his hands curling into fists like he was holding back every single thing he wanted to say.

“I know, sweetheart,” he muttered. “But lyin’ to him ain’t gonna fix that.”

You swallowed hard, arms crossing over your chest. “And telling him is?”

Logan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s gonna happen sooner or later.”

Your stomach twisted because, yeah, he was right. Scott was already suspicious, and keeping up this stupid fake thing with Peter was exhausting. But every time you thought about actually telling him—about watching his face change, seeing the way he’d probably look at you like you’d betrayed him—you couldn’t do it.

“I just need more time,” you said quietly.

Logan’s expression flickered, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. “Time for what?”

You hesitated. “Time to figure out how to tell him in a way that won’t make him hate me.”

Logan scoffed, shaking his head. “You really think he’s gonna hate you?”

You pressed your lips together, looking away.

“Doll,” Logan muttered, stepping closer. “Scott’s a pain in the ass, but he loves you. He’s not gonna stop because of me.”

You exhaled shakily. “You don’t know that.”

Logan reached out, his fingers curling gently under your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Yeah, I do.”

You swallowed, staring at him. His hand was warm, his thumb brushing slow against your skin, his grip solid, grounding. But it wasn’t that easy.

“I just…” You shook your head. “I don’t wanna lose him, Logan.”

Logan sighed, his forehead dropping against yours for a second before he pulled back. “You ain’t gonna lose him. But you keep this up, you’re gonna lose your damn mind.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t really funny.

Logan studied you for a moment, then his fingers traced lightly down your arm before he let go. “You do what you gotta do. But I’m done sneakin’ around like some kid hidin’ from his girlfriend’s old man.”

Your stomach clenched. “So what? You’re just gonna start making out with me in the middle of the kitchen?”

Logan’s smirk was all teeth. “Hell yeah, I am.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Logan, I swear to God—”

“What?” he said, tilting his head. “I already told you, I ain’t sneakin’ around anymore. So if I feel like grabbin’ my girl and kissin’ the hell outta her in the middle of the damn kitchen, I’m gonna do it.”

Your stomach flipped, but you scowled. “You’ll get us caught.”

Logan just shrugged, completely unbothered. “Maybe.”

You threw your hands up. “That’s not a good thing!”

Logan huffed a laugh, stepping closer, backing you up against the edge of your desk. His hands landed on your hips, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. “Sweetheart, I ain’t the one lyin’ to your brother. That’s all you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You agreed to this.”

“Yeah, and now I’m un-agreein’.” His hands slid higher, thumbs brushing against your ribs. “Gettin’ real tired of pretendin’ I don’t wanna put my hands on you every time you walk into a room.”

Your pulse spiked, and he definitely noticed. His smirk widened, and you knew you were losing this argument.

You exhaled sharply, putting a hand on his chest. “Just—give me a little more time, okay?”

Logan’s jaw ticked, his grip tightening for half a second before he sighed, stepping back. “Fine. But I ain’t makin’ it easy for you.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan’s eyes gleamed with something downright smug. “Means if I wanna touch you, I’m gonna. If I wanna look at you like I’m thinkin’ about takin’ you apart right then and there, I’m gonna.”

Your mouth went dry. “Logan—”

“And if Summers gets suspicious?” Logan shrugged. “Not my problem.”

You gaped at him. “That’s literally the entire problem!”

Logan just smirked, brushing past you toward the door. “Better start thinkin’ of an exit plan, sweetheart.”

And with that, he strolled out of your room, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, brain short-circuiting.

---

You were, in fact, completely screwed. Because Logan wasn’t bluffing.

It started small—little touches, barely noticeable. A hand resting on the small of your back as he walked past, fingers brushing yours when he handed you something, his knee knocking against yours under the table at dinner. Subtle things that could’ve been brushed off if you didn’t know him.

But then he got bolder.

Leaning in close whenever he talked to you, his voice dropping low enough that it sent shivers down your spine. His hand lingering on your waist just a second too long. The way he looked at you across a room—dark, intense, like he was daring you to react.

And Scott? Scott was starting to notice.

He wasn’t outright suspicious yet, but his eyes would narrow every time Logan got too close, every time Logan made some offhand comment that sounded just a little too familiar. It didn’t help that Peter was still being an ass about the whole thing, grinning like he knew Logan was barely keeping it together.

And then came the moment everything almost fell apart.

---

You were in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, minding your own business when Logan walked in. You knew it was him before you even looked up—the scent of cigar smoke and leather, the way the air in the room seemed to shift.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped up behind you, real close, one hand bracing on the counter beside yours. “You sleep okay?” he murmured, his voice low.

You swallowed. He wasn’t touching you, not really, but the heat of him at your back had your pulse spiking. “Fine,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Why?”

Logan hummed. “Thought maybe you’d have trouble, seein’ as how I wasn’t there.”

Your stomach flipped. Before you could tell him to knock it off, Scott walked in. Logan didn’t move.

Your breath caught in your throat, but you kept your expression neutral, forcing yourself to casually step away from the counter and grab a glass from the cabinet. Logan still hadn’t backed up, still standing too close, but at least he wasn’t blatantly touching you.

Scott paused in the doorway, glancing between the two of you. You braced yourself. But instead of questioning anything, Scott’s frown deepened, and then he said, “I need to talk to you.”

Your stomach sank. “Me?”

Scott nodded. “Now.”

You hesitated, then set your glass down. “Okay.” You didn’t look at Logan as you followed Scott out of the kitchen, but you could feel his eyes on you the whole way.

Scott led you to the study, shutting the door behind you. He didn’t say anything at first, just turned and studied you like he was trying to read your mind.

You crossed your arms. “Okay, what’s up?”

Scott exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s about Peter.”

You barely stopped yourself from groaning. “Again?”

Scott’s expression tightened. “You know I don’t trust him.”

You sighed. “Scott—”

“No, listen,” he said, crossing his arms. “I get that you don’t wanna hear it, but I don’t think he’s serious about this. I think he’s just screwing around, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Guilt punched you straight in the chest. Scott thought he was protecting you, looking out for you. And you were standing here, lying to his face. You swallowed hard. “Scott, I told you—I’m fine.”

Scott frowned. “You don’t even look happy when you’re with him. And I don’t mean, like, in some overprotective big brother way—I mean you don’t act like someone in a real relationship. There’s no… I don’t know. No connection. It’s like you’re just going through the motions.”

Your mouth was dry.

Scott exhaled, looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “So tell me the truth. What’s really going on?”

Your heart pounded. You could lie again. Dig yourself deeper.

Or—

You took a slow breath. “Scott…” You hesitated, stomach twisting, then forced the words out. “It’s not Peter.”

Scott’s brow furrowed. “What?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m not dating Peter.”

Scott just stared at you. “But—you said—”

“I lied,” you admitted, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “I only said it to get you off my back.”

Scott’s expression darkened. “So there is someone.” You hesitated. Scott took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Who?” You opened your mouth—then shut it. Scott’s gaze flickered, sharp, calculating. And then, like a switch flipping, realization dawned across his face. His jaw clenched. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Your stomach plummeted.

Scott took a sharp breath, hands curling into fists. “It’s Logan.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. He knew. Your heart raced as Scott’s entire body tensed, his face twisting into something between anger and disbelief.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, voice dangerously low.

You couldn’t. And that silence? That was enough.

Scott exhaled sharply, turning away like he physically couldn’t look at you. His hands went to his hips, his head dropping forward as he took a moment, his breathing tight, controlled. Then he turned back, expression like stone. “How long?”

You swallowed. “Scott—”

“How long?”

You hesitated. “Eight months.”

Scott inhaled through his nose, like he was trying very hard not to explode. “Eight months?” You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. Scott let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

You clenched your fists. “Scott, I—”

“No,” he snapped, eyes flashing. “You don’t get to explain this away.”

Your jaw tightened. “I wasn’t going to explain it away. I was going to tell you the truth.”

Scott scoffed. “Oh, now you wanna tell me the truth?”

You exhaled sharply. “Look, I get it, okay? You’re pissed, and you have every right to be. But I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react exactly like this.”

Scott threw his hands up. “How the hell did you expect me to react?”

“I don’t know, maybe without immediately jumping down my throat?”

Scott’s glare was sharp. “You’re seriously gonna stand there and act like I shouldn’t be pissed that my best friend has been sneaking around with my little sister?”

Your frustration flared. “Logan isn’t just your best friend—he’s mine, too. And I didn’t plan for this to happen, Scott. It just… did.”

Scott ran both hands over his face, pacing. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

You crossed your arms. “I know you don’t like it—”

“You think?”

You groaned. “Scott, I love him.” Scott’s pacing stopped. He turned, staring at you like you’d just said the most impossible thing in the world. You swallowed hard. “I love him,” you repeated, quieter this time.

Scott’s jaw tightened, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I need to talk to Logan.”

Your stomach twisted. “Scott—”

“No,” he said firmly, already heading for the door. “He wants to be with you? Fine. Then he can explain himself.”

And just like that, Scott was gone.

Your heart pounded as you stood there, frozen, bracing yourself for what came next. Scott was already storming down the hall, and you knew exactly where he was headed.

Shit.

You forced yourself to move, shoving away from the desk and hurrying after him. “Scott, wait—”

He didn’t. He was on a mission, his jaw clenched, shoulders tense as he turned the corner and entered the kitchen, where Logan was still leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world.

Logan barely had time to look up before Scott was right in front of him. “You and my sister?”

Logan set his coffee down with zero urgency, his expression unreadable. “Guessin’ she told you, huh?”

Scott let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Eight months. Eight months you’ve been sneaking around with my little sister, and you never thought to tell me?”

Logan crossed his arms. “Didn’t think you’d take it well.”

Scott scoffed. “Yeah, no shit.”

You stepped forward, pulse still racing. “Scott, I—”

“No, you stay out of this for a second,” Scott snapped, pointing at you before turning back to Logan. “You’re supposed to be my best friend.”

Logan’s face remained infuriatingly calm. “And?”

“And you didn’t think that maybe—just maybe—I deserved to know?”

Logan exhaled slowly, like he was thinking very carefully about what he was going to say. “Look, Summers. You’re pissed, I get it. But me not tellin’ you? That was her call.”

Scott turned to you, eyes flashing. “Seriously?”

You squared your shoulders. “I knew you’d react like this.”

Scott threw his hands up. “Like what? Like someone who just found out his best friend has been messing around with his sister behind his back?”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to something more dangerous. “Watch it, Summers.”

Scott’s head snapped back to him. “Or what?”

Logan’s hands flexed at his sides, but he didn’t move, didn’t take the bait. Instead, he just held Scott’s glare, unmoving. “You really think I’d do somethin’ to hurt her?”

Scott clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

“C’mon, man,” Logan continued, his tone lower now, less defensive. “I get why you’re pissed. I do. But I ain’t some asshole just messin’ around.” His gaze flicked to you for half a second before he looked back at Scott. “I love her.”

Your breath caught.

Scott’s shoulders tensed. “You what?”

Logan exhaled sharply, like he hated repeating himself, but he still did. “I love her.”

Scott’s jaw was tight, his whole body still stiff, but for the first time since he walked in, he didn’t immediately fire back. He was processing.

You didn’t wait for him to figure it out. You stepped forward, voice quieter now. “Scott… I know this isn’t what you wanted, but it’s not your decision. I love him.”

Scott closed his eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. When he opened them, some of the sharp anger had faded, replaced with something more complicated. Frustration. Conflict.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I need a minute.”

You hesitated. “Scott—”

“I just—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I just need a second, okay?”

You exchanged a glance with Logan, who gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Scott sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out. The second he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, shoulders slumping.

“Well,” Logan muttered, reaching for his coffee, “that coulda gone worse.”

You shot him a look. “Are you kidding?”

Logan smirked. “No punches were thrown. I call that a win.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “He’s so pissed.”

“Yeah,” Logan admitted, taking a sip of his coffee. “But he’ll get over it.”

You exhaled sharply. “You sound real confident about that.”

Logan shrugged. “He’ll come around. Might take a bit, but he will.”

You swallowed, staring at the spot Scott had just been standing. You weren’t so sure.

---

Scott avoided both of you for two days.

Not in a dramatic, storming-out-of-the-room way—more like a tight-lipped, jaw-clenched, very obvious avoidance where he refused to be alone with either of you. If you walked into a room, he’d suddenly have somewhere else to be. If Logan so much as glanced in his direction, Scott’s entire body would tense like he was physically restraining himself from starting a fight.

And when he did speak to you, it was short. Civil, but distant.

It sucked.

Rogue had been the first to break the silence, dropping onto your bed the night after the whole blow-up with an exaggerated sigh.

“Well, sugar, I gotta say, it could be worse.”

You shot her a look. “How?”

She smirked. “He hasn’t tried to kill Logan yet.”

You groaned, rolling onto your side. “Yet.”

Rogue nudged your arm. “He’ll get over it.”

You exhaled sharply. “You sound just like Logan.”

She grinned. “Well, maybe he’s got a point.”

You sighed, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not just that he’s pissed. It’s like… I don’t know. Like he’s disappointed.”

Rogue’s smirk softened. “Scott’s a control freak, Y/N. He likes things a certain way, and you dating Logan? That wasn’t in the plan.”

You didn’t answer.

Rogue tilted her head. “You ever think maybe it’s not just about Logan?”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Rogue shrugged. “I think Scott’s got it in his head that you’re always gonna be his baby sister. That he can always look out for you, make sure you don’t get hurt.” She gave you a look. “And now? You don’t need him like that anymore.”

You hadn’t thought about it like that.

Rogue sighed, patting your arm before standing. “Just give him time. And maybe don’t rub it in his face too much.”

You huffed. “Tell that to Logan.”

Rogue snorted. “Oh, I did. He just smirked at me and said, ‘Summers already hates me. What’s the worst that could happen?’”

You groaned. “I hate him.”

“No, you don’t,” Rogue said with a grin, already heading for the door. “Night, sugar.”

You sighed, flopping back against your pillows. Time. You just had to wait.

---

It took four days. On the fifth, Scott finally cornered you outside, catching you by the greenhouse just before dinner. “Hey.”

You turned, heart jumping slightly. You hadn’t talked alone since he’d found out. “Hey.”

Scott shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “You got a minute?”

You nodded, following him to one of the benches near the garden. The silence stretched between you, awkward and heavy.

Finally, Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m still not… thrilled about this.”

You swallowed. “I know.”

“But.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I’ve been thinking. And… you’re not a kid.”

Your lips twitched. “Glad you finally noticed.”

Scott huffed, but his expression softened. “I can’t say I like it. And I definitely don’t like Logan.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I got that.”

Scott gave you a look before sighing again. “But I know he’s not just screwing around with you.”

You hesitated. “No. He’s not.”

Scott’s jaw tightened for half a second, but then he nodded. “And I know you wouldn’t be with him if you didn’t really want to.”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t just want to, Scott. I—” You hesitated before finishing, “I love him.”

Scott exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead like the very idea gave him a headache. “Yeah. I know.”

You bit your lip. “So…?”

Scott sighed. “So I’m not gonna fight you on it.”

Your chest tightened. “Really?”

Scott gave you a look. “I still don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“But… if this is what you want, then I’ll deal with it.”

Something in your throat clenched. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed to hear that.

Scott sighed, shaking his head. “Just—if he does screw this up? I’m kicking his ass.”

You smirked. “I think you’d have to get in line.”

Scott snorted, finally—finally—cracking a small smile.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was enough. And for now? That was all you needed. With a quick dive, before he could push you away, you hugged him.

Scott stiffened for half a second—because, yeah, you weren’t exactly the most affectionate siblings—but then he sighed, relenting, patting your back once. “Okay, okay. That’s enough.”

You grinned, squeezing him tighter just to be annoying before finally letting go. “You’re such a softie.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Yeah, don’t spread that around.”

You smirked. “No promises.”

Scott exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “So… Logan.”

You sighed, already bracing yourself. “Scott—”

“I’m not gonna lecture you,” he interrupted, then paused. “Much.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s reassuring.”

Scott gave you a look. “I’m serious. Just… be careful, okay? Logan’s not exactly the easiest person to be with.”

Your stomach twisted, but you nodded. “I know.”

Scott hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but then he just sighed. “And if he ever—”

“He won’t.”

Scott frowned. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Yes, I do.” You met his gaze. “And he won’t.”

Scott studied you for a second, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. But if he does screw this up, I’m still kicking his ass.”

You smirked. “You can try.”

Scott scowled, but you could see the reluctant amusement in his eyes. “Alright. We good?”

Your chest loosened. “Yeah. We’re good.”

Scott nodded, then exhaled sharply, muttering, “Can’t believe you made me have this conversation.”

You snorted. “Hey, technically, you cornered me first.”

Scott huffed, shaking his head as he turned away. “Whatever. Just… don’t be weird about it.”

You grinned. “Define weird.”

Scott shot you a glare over his shoulder. “I swear to God, Y/N—”

You laughed, and even though he rolled his eyes, you caught the way his expression softened just a little. Maybe things weren’t completely back to normal, but it was close enough. And that was a hell of a lot better than days of radio silence.

---

Later that night, you were in your room, scrolling through your phone when a quiet knock sounded at your window.

You already knew who it was. Rolling your eyes, you got up and pulled the curtain back. Sure enough, Logan was standing outside, arms crossed, looking way too smug for someone sneaking in like a damn teenager.

You cracked the window open. “You know, we have doors.”

Logan smirked. “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

You sighed, but stepped back, letting him climb inside. The second his feet hit the floor, his hands were on your waist, pulling you close. “So?” he murmured, voice low, his breath warm against your temple. “How pissed is he?”

You leaned into him, resting your hands on his chest. “Less than before.”

Logan snorted. “That ain’t sayin’ much.”

You smirked. “Well, he didn’t try to kill you today, so that’s progress.”

Logan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Guess I’ll take what I can get.”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. “Told you he’d come around.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Logan’s lips skimmed your throat, his hands sliding lower. “You want me to tell you that you were right?”

You grinned. “It would be nice.”

Logan huffed. “Ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

You laughed, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him down into a kiss. His hands tightened on your hips, his body pressing closer, and suddenly, you weren’t thinking about Scott or the last few days or anything else. Just Logan—his mouth, his hands, the heat between you.

He pushed you down onto your bed, Pickles’ legs separating you from your mattress. Logan froze. You blinked up at him, still breathless from the way he’d kissed you. “What?”

His eyes flicked down, jaw clenching. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

You followed his gaze and nearly lost it. Pickles was wedged between you two, his oversized plush limbs keeping Logan from pressing you fully into the mattress. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “What, is he in the way?”

Logan’s glare could’ve melted steel. “Move him.”

You grinned, making no effort to do so. “I don’t know, Logan. Maybe he wants to chaperone.”

Logan exhaled sharply, sitting back on his heels. “That’s it. He’s gotta go.”

Before you could react, he grabbed Pickles by the torso and chucked him across the room. The bear hit the chair in the corner, flopped onto the floor, and landed face down. You gasped, sitting up. “Logan!”

He just shrugged, completely unapologetic. “He had it comin’.”

“You are so petty,” you said, glaring at him.

Logan smirked, pushing you back down, his weight settling over you again. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, sweetheart?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m getting him back later.”

He chuckled, dipping his head to brush his lips against your jaw. "Not obsessed. Just don’t like sharin’." His teeth scraped against your skin, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "And you—" His hands slid lower, gripping your hips. "—are mine."

Your breath caught. "Yeah?"

Logan hummed against your throat. "Damn right."

You barely had time to register the shift before he had you flipped onto your stomach, your body pressing into the mattress as his weight settled over you. His hands smoothed over your sides, slow, teasing. "This okay?"

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head back slightly before repeating, "yeah."

Logan made a satisfied noise, his lips trailing along the back of your shoulder as his fingers curled around your wrists, pinning them against the sheets. "Good," he muttered. "Now let’s see if I can make you forget about that damn bear."

You barely bit back a laugh—before his teeth sank lightly into the side of your neck, and any smart-ass response you had completely disappeared. You were definitely screwed.

[pupkashi]

a/n: hi hi !! i hope you guys like this little one shot !! please let me know what yall think :3 <3 not proofread at all oopsies

obsessed with the idea of sung jinwoo, notoriously terrible with names, remembering yours after only meeting once. jinwoo is immediately taken by you, he debates letting himself get injured just so you could heal him.

the debate lasts but a heartbeat in his mind as he lets himself get a couple cuts on his cheeks, smiling as he defeats the beast in front of him before heading over to you. “could you-?” he motions to the wounds and you nod quickly, holding your hands over his wounds and healing them.

“thank you, i don’t think i got your name” he gives you a small smile, stifling a chuckle when he sees your eyes go wide at his statement.

“must’ve slipped my mind” you chuckle, “I’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you hunter sung.” jinwoo is looking at you with more interest than you thought he would, biting the inside of your cheek to try and hide your nerves.

“please just call me jinwoo, y/n” he smiles, liking the way your name fell off his tongue, “I’ll see you around.” there’s a charming glint in his eye that makes your knees buckle as you say a small ‘goodbye’ to him, heart racing as heat rises to your cheeks. you didn’t think you’d bump into jinwoo again, coming to terms with your schoolgirl crush that would go nowhere.

three weeks later you’re sitting in a coffee shop half empty cup in front of you as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone.

“y/n, it’s nice to see you again,” the deep voice pulls your attention from the screen, your eyes meeting jinwoo’s blue ones. he finds it endearing the way your eyes widen a bit upon seeing him, a smile on his face. “may i?” he motions to the seat across from you as you nod with a small smile.

“hunte- jinwoo, hi” you correct yourself, fiddling with your fingers as you set your phone on the table, “how have you been?” jinwoo takes a sip from his drink, pausing before replying.

“I’ve been good, what have you been up to?” he fights the urge to ask if you were waiting on someone, a date? the thought alone makes his heart drop. what have you done to him?

“nothing much,” you say, “was supposed to meet a friend for lunch and catch up but she had to go deal with some dungeon” the tone of dejection in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed, jinwoo frowning at your reply.

“im sorry,” there’s a small pause before he speaks up again, “would you like to join me for lunch? I would love the company.” the charming smile on his face has your knees weak again, your heart racing as you look at your phone, no text from your friend.

“yeah, that’d be nice” you reply, a smile on your face as jinwoo sits across from you, staring at the menu. there’s a small pout on his lips as he struggles to find any food to order. “there’s not many food options here” you speak up, “we were gonna just go somewhere else to eat.”

jinwoo’s ears turn red as he stares back at you, setting the menu down and nodding. “oh, didn’t know that” he mumbles. you smile at him, cocking your head slightly.

“is it your first time here?” you question, jinwoo’s cheeks are now the same pink as his ears, as his eyes go slightly wide before closing slightly.

“honestly, i only came in because i saw you in here” a sheepish smile on his rose tinted face as he scratches the back of his neck nervously. you can’t stop the heat rising onto your cheeks, the butterflies in your stomach going insane as you tried to hide the smile on your face.

“shall we?” jinwoo grins, standing up and following you out of the cafe. you thank him for holding the door open for you, mentally taking note of how much taller than you he was.

after a bit of wandering and small talk the two of you find a restaurant, entering and taking a seat. the conversation flows easily between the two of you, you feel strangely at ease despite this only being the second time you’d spoken to the man.

jinwoo offers to accompany you back to your apartment, you give him a soft smile and nod.

“y’know im a hunter too, right?” you tease, jinwoo laughs, holding his hands up in defense.

“sorry, just wouldn’t feel right if i didn’t even offer to walk to you home” the charming smile on his face isn’t helping your growing affection for the hunter.

there’s a comfortable silence between the two of you, your hands brushing against one another as you walk side by side. the two of you are looking in opposite directions, hearts racing as your pinkies link, a small shock is sent up your hand. neither of you say anything, jinwoo is biting his bottom lip, failing miserably at hiding the smile on his face.

“im kinda shocked you remembered my name” you speak up, breaking the silence and looking at the taller man next to you. “i heard you’re terrible with them” a small chuckle leaves your lips and jinwoo laughs softly.

“oh yeah, im the worst with names” he admits, his face is completely pink now, and he’s avoiding your gaze at all costs as he opens his mouth and closes it, thinking before speaking up again. “you just really caught my attention” he blurts out, trying to ignore igris and beru cheering him on from his shadow.

you’re a bit stunned at his words, heart leaping at his confession and you test the waters a bit by unlinking your pinkies and instead intertwining your fingers with his. “oh?” you giggle, as jinwoo’s blue eyes stare at you, the panic looked on his face morphs into a more relaxed confident one.

“I’ll admit I had a bit of a thing for you too” now it’s your turn to avoid his eyes. jinwoo smiles, humming softly and cocking his head “had?”

you stumble over your words a bit, “have, present tense” you finally say, jinwoo isn’t hiding his smile anymore, not even trying to suppress the small giggle leaving his lips.

the rest of the trip home is filled with giggles and bashful smiles, your stomach sinking a bit when you finally reach your front door.

“thank you for today, and for walking me home” you say, the two of you standing in front of the door. jinwoo is smiling down at you, eyes darting from your lips to your eyes. your heart skips a beat, not wanting your time with him to end yet.

“of course, anytime” he says, clearing his throat and snapping out of the trance like state he was in. the two of you are quiet for a second, giving him a small smile and wave as you unlock your front door. “when can i see you again?” he asks, a lovesick look on his face as he stares at you.

you can’t help but feel excitement bubble in the pit of your stomach, thinking for a moment before replying. “Friday, pick me up at 6?”

jinwoo smiles, nodding happily before waving goodnight to you, waiting for you to close the door before he turns on his heel. the giant smile on his face is enough for igris to tease him, he doesn’t care, he feels on top of the world. he stops dead in his tracks as he takes his phone out of his pocket.

how did he forget to get your number?

[softaestluv]

Guard Dogs

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor!Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2 , Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5

Tags: Angst, Fluff, & Eventual Smut

Summary: You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

Ghost, who won’t admit it, gets a dog because when he’s not on assignments he gets lonely. His home feels terribly empty all by himself; the silence deafening, borderline painful. Adopted him from the local shelter, a German shepherd who he names Riley. Tells everyone that he needed a guard dog to protect his belongings when he’s not home, but everyone knows his prized possessions are far and few in between. Could hold all of them in his palms, carries them with him all the time anyways.

He trained Riley rigorously just like he did in the military. Treated him just as he did his trainees. Until he was obedient and well-behaved, listened to his every command. A perfect sidekick for him. Kept him company in his home that felt too large to be alone in. Always at his feet or curled into his side on the couch. A couch he probably shouldn’t let him on or bed sheets he shouldn’t be tangled in, but Ghost had a soft spot for him. Broke the rules for him because he was his dog after all, made the silence and loneliness a little bearable. Made his home a little more warm.

Riley who seemed to take a liking to you— the pretty bird who lived across the street. Made him think that maybe Riley was more like him than he realized; his own eyes had been drawn to you multiple times. He was usually well-behaved, didn’t approach strangers or jump on them for their attention. Ghost had trained him better than that. However, the first time he crossed your path on a walk, he pulled Simon by the leash, pressed his nose against your calf eagerly in interest.

You stopped in your tracks with a soft noise of surprise, “Oh! Well, hi there!” Your focus shifted to Simon, “Is it okay if I pet him?”

Simon hummed nodding his head in response. You gave him a small smile before squatting down eye level to Riley. Pet down his back and scratched behind his ears, Riley wagging his tail swiftly behind him, would probably purr if he was a cat. Dog hair covered your black shirt as he snuggled into your touch, but you didn’t seem to mind too much.

Cooed baby voiced praises to him that had him whining happily, “What’s your name, sweet boy?”

“Riley.”

“Riley,” You repeated softly, caused him to bark loudly in response. Snickered quietly at the noise, “Nice to meet you too, Riley.”

“Sorry, he doesn’t usually bug people like this,” Simon apologized, tugging on his leash lightly to pull him away.

You stood up at that, shaking your head, “Don’t worry. I don’t mind at all he’s a sweetheart.”

“Got dog hair all over ya now.” Gestured to the hair decorated on your clothing.

You exhaled a chuckle, brushing the fur off as best you could, “No worries, I live up the block. On my way home, anyways, just on a run.”

“Think I might live across from you. Moved in a couple months ago, but haven’t really been around.”

“Oh, yes! Wondered who lived there for a while now,” Held your hand out for him to take, “Nice to finally meet you.”

Riley whined when Simon pulled him away, tried to follow after you when you continued your jog. Sat and watched you run away despite Simon’s tugging or lack there of.

After that there wasn’t a day they didn’t run into you. Simon always woke up too early, military sleeping schedule beat into his mind. Didn’t have pleasant enough dreams to keep sleeping most nights anyways. At least that was the excuse he created in his mind to validate his actions.

Maybe Riley was his wingman, pressed his nose against your calf every time he passed you. Caused you to stop and greet them both, gave Riley endless pets and scratches before you turned your attention to Simon with a pretty smile. Drenched in sweat and frizzy hair from running, but each look from you had his mouth drying. Didn’t care that he wore a balaclava, didn’t even ask, chose to focus on his eyes instead.

It became his favorite part of his days, looking forward to the small interaction he would have with you. No matter how insignificant it was, but nothing seemed to be that way with you. Asked how he was, how did his day go yesterday, and how was Riley doing? How was work? Tiring, of course. Maybe you should sleep more instead of waking up so early!

He would if he could, but then he wouldn’t get to see you. His pretty neighbor, too sweet for her own good.

The only other time he got to see you was through your windows in the evening. It’s not like he was watching you, really, he wasn’t a stalker. He just so happened to be by his living room window everytime you came home from work. 6 o’clock on the dot, 5 on Fridays, started your weekends early.

Watched you slip out of your car, different sundress every time, dressed just like a pretty doll. Flowy and ruffled, hid your figure well enough. Didn’t flaunt it, but he knew what was underneath it all. He had seen your silhouette through the dimly lit curtains, shadows of you peeling layers off to shower.

Simon wasn’t a pervert, he wasn’t desperate for these small glimpses every night. But didn’t you know you should be more careful sweetheart? There were perverts out there, you were lucky he wasn’t one. He only kept looking to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

The evils of other men that you never brought home. No boyfriend in sight. Never stayed out late, even on weekends. Stayed snuggled on your couch or cooked for most of your free time. A proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy.

Cooking he wanted desperately to try, spent hours in your kitchen preparing god knows what. It’s not like Simon would even know what you were making, his countless store bought meals buried in his trash were evident enough. Hoped he might get a taste one day, melt on his tongue because he knew it would be delicious.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar rather than enjoying the warmth of your home and cooking. So he cherished what he could get, the small greetings every morning, and the clockwork of watching you every night. Even if Riley wanted more.

[bunny-jpeg]

love is a kick to the stomach

max verstappen - sequel to: lust is a loaded hand gun

tags: smut/fluff, pregnancy & kids, falling in love, dad!max, body worship, tenderness, plot, cowgirl position

a/n: this was made possible by the support of over a dozen people asking for a sequel! i hope you enjoy it <3

"are you sure you're going to be fine on your own?" your former teammate charles asked as he helped you pack the last of your suitcases. your apartment in monaco was bare, and for good reason, you were going home.

you replied with a shrug, "i'll be fine. i mean if i could sustain a driving career for as long as i did. i can handle raising a baby." you rubbed your lower back a little bit.

charles said,"i guess so, you know, monaco isn't a terrible place to raise a child." he gestured to himself with raised eyebrows.

"as much as i'd love to." you said, "i think people will start to raise eyebrows when they see max's look-alike running around. plus, i guess it's a way to get away from it. something simpler for my kid."

you hadn't spoken to the father of your son, max didn't know you were pregnant. and it was the best for everyone if he never knew that you had a child with him.

you remember the first time you held nicolas in your arms, it took you close to ten hours for you to deliver him. you had to say, the aches and pains of racing were nothing compared to the rising anxiety and pain of delivering a child. didn't help he was stubborn like this father. you tried not to think about max too much during the moments of lessened pain. part of you wanted him there, while you were determined to raise your child alone. the moments of weakness you felt during delivery made you want to hastily unblock max's number and call him before the next contractions came.

"okay, okay. just you and me, baby, just you and me." you told yourself as you laid in the hospital bed with your belly swollen from the months of carrying your son. you hissed through your teeth as another contraction hit.

in the end, you had nicolas. or nico as you called him. tired, over-heated as you pushed out your baby. the nurse told you it was a boy. wrapped in a blanket as he was placed on your chest. you could only describe it as maternal warmth as you cried. this was your baby. your little nico. "congratulations." the nurse told you as you held onto him gently. when you gave birth to your son, max was in monaco streaming with the rest of the redline team. fully unaware that you just had his child.

you lived a quiet life after that, but sometimes you could still feel the rumble of the track in your soul. it pulled you in, there was no reason for it to come back. there was no way you could, nico needed his mother and you made the choice to start a family of your own.

"nico!" you giggled towards your toddler, nico was now close to three years old! you picked him up from his spot at the coffee table, surrounded by papers and markers. you gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "remember uncle charlie?" you swayed a little with the child in your arms.

the little boy nodded, "uh-huh." charles sent you and nico christmas presents every year. he even visited once or twice during summer break and spent a week with the two of you, he loved the time away from the hustle and bustle of racing. nico knew uncle charlie mostly because of leo, you had to teach him how to be gentle with the dog.

"well, he is inviting us somewhere. we're going to see him race, just like what mama used to do." it was the pre-season testing, it would be nice to see everyone. see how things changed in the three years since you left, "i know you've been asking about the cars." you smiled at the little boy.

nico really was the son of two racers, even now he was colouring pages of cars and he learned some of his colours from the cars in your neighbourhood. his expression light up, "the cars?"

you chuckled and said, "yes! we'll see the cars go really fast." it felt somewhat silly to say that raising a child felt more fulfilling than any of the titles you won.

it was almost more challenging with more rewards. driving was intense and lit an inferno in your stomach. but, you were constantly swarmed by the media with people yelling in your ear at all times. you were both hated and loved by the press, the organization and the fans. and while parenthood was harder in a lot of ways, it was nice. it was quieter. you saw friends, you found interest in painting, you read all the books you bought on your travels as a racer. the best part about having a kid was having a travel buddy. you weren't your stats or your trophies, you were just you.

but driving was a drug, and you also wanted to see the cars go very fast. so within a couple of weeks you were on the track for the pre-season.

"and that nico, is a racing car." you pointed towards the red ferrari car. a similar one to the one you drove. and you watched your young son light up the way you did all those years prior.

-

you knew you were going to see max. it was stupid to think that you could not see him. he had won the previous year's wdc, he was everywhere. so while you spoke to lewis and charles, you caught sight of him. and he caught sight of the toddler in your arms.

charles looked over to where your gaze was and said, "oh shit." then tried to shift over to sort of usher you and nico away from the gaze of max. but you reached out and touched your former teammates shoulder.

"it's fine..." you assured him. the past year, as it felt like nico was growing so much everyday. the feelings about max had resurfaced. while you believed that you and your network of friends and family could raise nico just fine. max didn't know that nico existed. a night of passion was just that in max's mind.

you shifted your toddler in your arms and looked over to max. you smiled and gave him a small wave. and you could see the expression cross max's face.

nico let go of the front of your shirt and made child's grabby-hands towards the man. and max took a bold step forward, and then another, and then another before he was crowded in your space. an expression across his face as he looked down at you and nico.

"hey." you said.

"hi." he replied. he raised his hand for a moment, but stopped himself. he swallowed and asked, "who is this?"

you looked down at the boy who was holding onto your shirt once more. you smiled at max, "nicolas. but everyone calls him nico. he's my son."

our son.

max swallowed and looked at the boy. he patted him on the top of the head and smiled, "well, hello nico. your mama was an amazing driver." he looked at you once more before you were pulled away by charles to see the rest of the ferrari team. max watched you walk away, just as he did all those years prior.

-

"can i watch nico?" charles asked while

"i can watch him just fine. i've been doing it for three years." you chuckled as you grabbed a chip from the bag and ate it.

charles crossed his arms and looked at you, "when was the last time you had a break? plus me and alexandra are thinking about, maybe, having a child once my career winds down." he smiled a little, "want to make sure that i can handle a three year old."

you looked to your son on the carpeted floor playing with the duplo blocks that you had brought with you. you then looked to charles and asked, "so you're probably assuming that if you can handle the son of me and him, you can handle your own child?"

charles nodded, "the child of ferrari's princess and mad max. must be a handful." he laughed a little.

"he's not the son of satan, charles." you playfully shoved your former teammate. and he shrugged. you were thankful in a way that you didn't go with charles' plan for him to father your child. you felt like that would've been more complicated than what you had now, since you liked charles' current partner.

"take the night off or at least a few hours. go do something for yourself." charles gave you a sympathetic glance. and you had no choice to concede.

he was right, since nico's birth you had no time for yourself unless he was asleep. but usually you fell asleep too. in the end you dressed nicely, in a pencil skirt and a white blouse. you had your purse on hand and told charles to text you if there were any issues. and you made nico promise you to be good. you kissed the boy's cheek before you headed out.

you ended up at a bar. it wasn't busy and you blended in with the other patrons. the press didn't bother you too much, you had been out of the spotlight for long that it was mostly making the public aware that you still existed and now you had a kid.

"well, well, well." a man's voice caught your attention. you looked up from your phone to see max by your table, "has ferrari's princess finally come back to her castle."

you swallowed, "hi, max."

"where's the little one?"

"with charles tonight."

max nodded, "i was going to make a joke about him being the father... but i know that's not true." he sat down across from you at the table. he rested his forearms on the table, his watch shined in the low light of the bar, "what happened?"

"nothing happened. i just retired."

"with my son... a son i knew nothing about." his voice was low, "why didn't you tell me? do you think so low of me i wouldn't have tried to help? you ran off back home and blocked me..." there was a look in his eyes.

"i didn't want to burden the world champion." you lied as you took a sip of your stiff drink. you felt tension in your shoulders as you took a sip. your heart rattled in your chest, "i didn't expect you to do anything. i didn't need you to."

max reached across the small table and took a hold of your wrist to bring your closer. then he locked his fingers with yours. he said, "maybe i wanted to... did you never think i wanted to be a father?"

you swallowed, "no." you assumed he didn't. not after everything, you heard enough of his father's berating in your karting career. the angry dutch words followed by insults in english so everyone knew what was being said. and that apprently only scratched the surface of what had been done to him. you thought max was a good fit because he would be so disinterested in being a parent. but as he looked at you, hand in yours. you realized you made a grave error. you said, "being a parent isn't easy."

max chuckled, "i know. i'm not stupid. i thought about that night we shared, it comes back to me. i've never wanted someone the way i wanted you. and to know you carried my child, it only pulls me in more."

you took another sip of your drink with your free hand and said, "and what are you going to do about it, verstappen?" you may be a mother now, but you were ferrari's princess, the temptress on wheels. you'd still go toe-to-toe with any man.

max simply smiled.

-

you ended up in max's hotel room. his hands on you like they were all those years ago. he touched you the way a lover would as the two of you passionately made out. you moaned against his lips and you held onto his strong shoulders.

"i thought about you every day of your retirement. i wanted to know what happened. i thought you were sick." he kissed along your neck, his hands at your waist.

"i mean, i did have quite the stomach bug. took ten hours to get him out." you moaned a little bit as his lips grazed over your pulse point. you could feel a surge of pleasure through you. you had been with anyone intimately since max. you didn't have time for dates let alone hook-ups.

"i should've been there. i would've been there in a heartbeat. you, me, nico... a family." he said as he looked to you once more and you toyed with the material of his shirt, "i always had a fondness for you. you let nothing stop you."

you smiled, "i always thought you wanted a model... not a driver."

he pressed his chest against yours and looked into your eyes, "maybe in another time. i wish i could've seen you pregnant." he swallowed as his hands touched your breasts.

you chuckled lowly, "someone wanted a milf?"

he shook his head as he pressed his forehead to yours, "no, no. i wanted to see your body change from what we made. the child we made together."

"but racing..."

he groaned, "fuck it. choose between another trophy taking up space in my apartment... or a home with you and nico. such a hard choice, don't you think?" he chuckled as he held you so close to him. he groped your breasts, "a man who finds more fulfillment in pieces of plastic and metal than having a home to go to is a stupid man."

you chuckled, "i guess i didn't want to be your wag either."

he shook his head, "i don't think you can be a wag if you played the sport. if you are worried about there being expectations placed on you, then don't worry. if you can't drive, then i'll drive twice as hard for us. any ten second gap i have will be twenty seconds, because i know you only expect the best."

you felt warmth in your cheeks. and eventually he led you to the bedroom. you ended up on the bed with max undoing your button up. you giggled, "ah, does someone like mothers?"

he groaned with his nose against your heated skin, "only when they had my kid... nico looked exactly like me." he said as he got the button up off your shoulder.

you moaned, but then yelped as he pushed you back onto the bed. you looked up at him, "i'm on birth control." you licked your lips as you got out of your bra and max took off his t-shirt, "fuck, now i remember why i wanted to have a baby with you."

he put his hands on his hips and smiled. tiny waist, broad shoulders. a certain strength to him, but he didn't look like a dehydrated mess. he was strong in a way that excited you, but you also knew that he loved a good meal. long before he gorged himself on your cunt, he happily ate the meals you cooked. you remember he even said, "you'd make a great wife." which honestly sowed the seed that led to nico.

the night of passion that led to the making of your son. you could feel max's eyes wander across your body and he licked his lips. he said, "you look good. bit more curves than when we last were like this."

"yeah, i had an eight pound baby." you chuckled as you got the rest of your clothes off. max's hungry gaze lingered, "i got a few more curves that a track as carry him for nine months, you know he was three days overdue."

"stubborn." max laughed as he unzipped his jeans, "just like his mama."

you narrowed your eyes, "no, just like his old man." and max was all over you. the kissed became hungry and needy. neither of you had been intimate with another person since the night you made nico. three years ago. you were busy with a baby while max couldn't get you out of his head. he tried to find another woman, he tried to be close to someone. but you always pulled in the back of his mind.

both of you were into the hotel room and max kissed at your breasts. your breasts were roughly average size before you got pregnant. the training and weight guidelines for racing prevented you from having a big chest. but you went up at least a cup and a half during your pregnancy. and max loved kissing the heated skin.

"fuck." you gasped. both naked on the bed, moved against one another. it was like being in a familiar place. you knew max's body just as you did all those years ago. you kissed him and ended up straddled max's waist.

he was up against the pillows and your knees on either side of him. your hands roamed his chest and he shuddered. he looked up at you with those blue eyes, "please, fuck. please, give me a chance. give me a chance to be there for you and nico.."

you swallowed, you never expected that from max. a man on the top like that wouldn't easily quiver at the aspect of being a father. but max wanted it. he wanted the family. he wanted a home. you sighed to yourself, you guessed an apartment full of trophies wasn't enough.

you put a hand on his chest before you sank on his cock, "max. if nico decided not to peruse racing.... would you still love him?" that was a conversation you had to have with yourself. you loved racing, that was your passion for years. but you promised yourself to never be the parent that you saw early in your career. twisting their children to make them conform to the parent's standards. to force them into racing.

he said, those blue eyes gazed up at you, "if nico wanted to race. i'm behind him a hundred percent. if it doesn't, nothing changes... he is still my son. i'm behind him through everything."

you leaned down to kiss max on the lips, "fuck, max." you sank down onto his cock and continued to kiss him. you splayed your hands across his broad chest and continued to move against him.

"shit." he shuddered. he felt a certain euphoria that left him needy for more. never had he had soemthing like this. not since the last time he had you. it was a amazing. to have you so close once more. he wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you. the kisses shared between you two were hot and heavy, it left him feeling tense in a good way. to have you on top of him, close to him was a feeling he wished he could never forget.

even after three years you still occupied his mind in ways that left him shuddering against you. after three years, after all this time, he still wanted to map your body with his tongue. even the changes post-pregnancy. he held onto you and kissed at your heated skin. he wished he was there, seeing the progress of you carrying nico. to be a father. he moved against you, he held you. he loved you, but he had been holding onto that love for some time. unable to properly display it, and to find out you had a child with him only fueled the passion for you. the two of you moved against one another, you both felt the intense pleasure from the heated movements against one another.

this was how you should've been a long time ago. if max had known you wanted a baby, he would've happily had one with you. but he should've been there for every moment of it. even if you couldn't race because of the pregnancy, max would kiss every winning trophy in your honor, he'd race for both of you. and then come to the paddock with you and nico, a family of three. a family he always wanted.

he wanted to kiss you in front of the cameras. even if you were retired, he wanted to make you feel that every winning was for both of you. he kissed at you heated skin and you moaned, he felt the warmth of love in his gut. you two should've been married by now, a house somewhere quiet. it didn't even have to be in monaco. max would happily pack up his racing sim gear and his cats, and move to anywhere you desired. he hoped that you two could be a family.

to come home after a triple header and see you and nico. the boy looked so much like him. those round cheeks, those wide eyes. the excitement on the track and his need to be close to his mother (you). it screamed a young max, but max wanted to be a better father. he wanted to be present, he wanted to be there for his son.

he groaned, "please, please. let me into your little family." he kissed as your larger breasts and moved against you. the pleasure was deep inside of him. to have you once more felt like a dream.

you held onto his short hair for a moment, you groaned a little bit as you felt the immense heat between you two. you leaned down and kissed him on the head with such tenderness. this wasn't the kind of sex you had all that time ago, this was something more softer. more gentle. less like a means to an end, and more like you two were becoming familiar with each other's bodies again.

"you look perfect," he said lowly, "i'm surprised you hadn't picked uo a husband after all the time." he held on a little tighter and worked your body against him. the pleasure shot through the both of you which only spurred you on the move faster.

your bucked your hips against his, you felt the inferno in your belly as you held his face and kissed him once more. if he wanted to be in nico's life then you'd allow it. you'd let max be involved, be the father he wanted to be. you thought his trophies were more important, but seeing him, his eagerness to be in nico's life made you realize that he wanted a family, a home. you kissed him once more as the two of you thrusted against one another.

you knew racing would always pull you back in eventually. it had that effect on people. it was infectious, even tucked away in your domestic life. you still sat on the couch with your rambunctious toddler and watched the races at odd hours.

"why do you want a life with me and nico, you could have any-"

"i don't want to hear it. nico deserves a father and you deserve a loving partner... hell, maybe even a husband." he said with total conviction as he moved against you. the pleasure felt like it was going to boil over soon.

you moved against him, eagerness in your movements. you couldn't think of anymore things to prevent max from being part of your family. your movements staggered and you felt the pleasure bloom into something more. you hissed, "fuck," while you moved against him. you felt the inferno in your soul, the need for him in ways you didn't need any other man.

this was the father of your son, and you carried feelings for him just as you carried nico. the combination of you two, the affection you had for one another in a brief moment. it was something you wanted to expand on. you wanted to love max verstappen.

you held onto the father of your child. you came around his cock and arched your back. you felt the fury of lust through your body as you moved against him. you laid a heavy kiss on his lips as your pussy clenched around his cock, "fuck." you said, words muffled by the kiss. max wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you further. you felt his cock nudge against some of your softest areas and it made you toes curl through climax.

he groaned into the kiss and continued to move against you. a few more heavy strokes and he finished inside of you. he practically melted against you and you smiled against his lips with affection. his brain felt swamped with emotion as he said, "i love you."

and without thinking you replied, "i love you too, max." then kissed him once more with total affection for one another.

max swallowed as he held you as you slowed your pace to a stop. he craned his neck to press his cheek against your soft stomach, "don't leave again... please."

"max." you panted and combed your fingers through his hair. he held onto you tighter as if you were going to slip away.

he said, in a tone you never thought you could hear from a world champion, "don't.. don't leave." this was supposed to be simple. max was a means to a child, but he wanted to be in nico's life. he wanted to be a father.

you wrapped your arms around him and held him close to your abdomen. you exhaled deeply and said, "i don't want to pressure you into being a father... if you're going to be in his life, you're going all in. he needs stability."

max lifted his head to look at you. those blue eyes dazzled in the low light of his hotel room. he held onto you a little tighter, not enough to bruise however. he said, "i'm all in. you, me, and nico." like a promise.

maybe it was the post-orgasm hormones or maybe because you became a tad more in touch with your emotions after having a child. but when max said that, you cried.

-

"go nico! go, go!!!" you shouted as your nine year old sailed past the finish line in first place and you broke into a grin. your husband wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into a kiss. you laughed into the kiss and said to your husband, "oh man. ow, ow. okay, okay!" you looked down at your swollen middle, "someone isn't happy about the excitement."

"sorry there, little one." max's hand rubbed your swollen middle. his wedding band gleamed in the afternoon light. you were welcoming a son in four months and could already feel the commotion of racing.

you smiled at max for a moment before your son got out of the cart and you were moving as fast as you could to greet him. with his helmet off, you cupped your son's chubby cheeks. he was looking more like max every day, but smashed records the way you did.

you were soon a family of four. you didn't live in your home country and max had moved away from monaco when you got married. max was a good father, as he picked up nico with ease.

"you did amazing, nico. good job!" he beamed at the little boy and the boy beamed back at him. you knew that people shouldn't have children to heal a part of themselves. you learned that when you were pregnant the first time. but when max gave praise to your son, he was giving the young boy the support he never got. that if nico was going to eventually end up in formula one, it wasn't going to be the way that max was brought up.

he'd do it right.

stern when he needed to be. you'd both push nico to be the best, but also give him the love a wide-eyed, chubby cheeked boy needed. and as you leaned down as best as you could to kiss your son on the cheek. you felt like a family. it felt like home.

you were confident that you could've raised both nico and your future son by yourself. but it was an adventure you'd rather share with max. <3

[rainrot4me]

Jeff the Killer General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jeff as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw!

Words: 2.6k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- Big isolation guy. He enjoys pestering people or hanging out, but when it comes to personal things like missions or killing sprees, he prefers to be alone. His head’s already loud enough that he doesn’t need to add to it when he’s trying to focus.

- Blunt. Like to the point it’s a drag to even talk to him sometimes. He doesn’t really give a shit about anyone or anything besides himself, so why would he need to hide what he actually wants to say?

- Dangerously short temper. It barely takes one nasty remark or even a hint that you have ill intent towards him before the killer is on your ass. Would rather beat the shit out of you than take the time to reconcile.

- A STARER. Has absolutely no remorse when just boring his eyes into someone, eyes wide and horrifying. He loves to watch every expression as he’s ending someone’s life, every bit of anger or fear, but especially the blank stare in their eyes afterward. You catch his glance all the time, and instead of looking away politely like a normal person would, he just smiles as he glares even harder.

- Loves story based video games that Ben shows him. Life is Strange, Night in the Woods, and What Remains of Edith Finch. Has to play them all in their entirety before he can do anything else, so he’ll be glued to the couch for days.

- Has a difficult time with names, so he comes up with nicknames or terms to make it easier. “Twitch” - Toby, “Sockets” - Jack, or “Glitch” - Ben. Don’t worry, he’ll give you one, too.

- A laugher. When he’s in pain, when he’s sad, when he’s happy, that man is laughing. Choked out dry heaving chuckles or tipsy short airheaded giggles, it doesn’t matter, he will be laughing.

- Terrible sleep paralysis and nightmares keep him up during the night, the most sleep this man will ever get is a little over 3 hours. It really doesn’t help his mood, either.

- The scars on his cheeks used to bleed and get infected so bad he could barely shut his mouth due to the swelling. He would numb it down with pain killers and anything he could find, but it wasn’t until Slender tried to make him into a proxy that they eventually sealed and scarred over, creating wide gashes (weird cryptid powers).

- Thinks about his brother every waking moment. He feels so much pent up regret and sadness concerning Liu, but refuses to search for him or even shed a tear. This sends him into mental breakdown episodes, and sadly, the only relief is just to create more carnage.

- Actually really hates violence unless he’s the one delivering it. Doesn’t like violent movies or music because they romanticize everything he hates about himself. Any media he enjoys is either really bland or really toned down, stuff that won’t trigger him.

- Cuts his own hair, and yes, he’s horrible at it.

- Messed up his appearance to make himself ‘beautiful’, but just ended up so disgusted and ashamed of himself in the long run. When his mental fog gets bad, he’ll just stand in front of the mirror and stare at himself, letting every negative thought wash over. Outside, he’ll brandish it like a weapon, something to get victims to submit. But on the inside, it’s just a nasty reminder.

- Showers only when it gets to the uncomfortable point. He doesn’t have the time or energy or wash himself every day, but when it gets to the point he feels the blood and grime subconsciously, he’ll get over it. Even if he does wash himself, half the time actually in the shower is just letting the water run over him and staring at the tile wall.

- Gets all of his money and random trinkets from victims. Proceeds to spend all that money almost immediately after on a pack of Blue Moons. No orange slice, either.

- Messy, disgusting room. Has no healthy habits of keeping him or his space tidy, so it’s always near disastrous.

- Even though the media and lots of outlets perceive him as this insane maniac killer, those were all big stories from his teenage years. Even though he doesn’t feel like he’s matured, he’s definitely found a happy medium away from spree after spree of slaughter. He still itches to take down a whole neighborhood, but he’s found his ways to cope.

- Very good at hand-to-hand combat. He wields a knife if things get a little rough, but prefers to use his hands to do the dirty work. Makes it feel more personal to him.

- Late-night kitchen demon. You’ll find him rummaging the fridge or making a bowl of cereal in the complete darkness, but he’ll swear up and down it wasn’t him.

- Annoying, painfully so. Hell wrack EJ’s ear off or pester Toby about little things, but he can’t help but get giddy when he sees he’s ticked them off just enough.

- Really agile. Had a thinner build, but muscle definition and tension really adds to the aesthetic. Really defined v-line and hips bones, as well as carved out shoulders and collarbones. Looks like a beefier skeleton, but hot.

- Lip piercings. Snake bites. They’re not healed and they’re not pretty, but he thinks they look badass.

- Scars and jagged pieces of flesh everywhere on his body. They’re either from mission aftermaths, rough targets, or his own doing, but they’re all gnarly and barely healed half of the time. They hurt terribly, but he’s constantly cracked out on painkillers that he doesn’t even care anymore.

- Enjoys the shoegaze music genre. Aldn, Wisp, Elita, Deftones, and surprisingly, The Cardigans and The Cranberries. They remind him of his childhood.

Dating Him/SFW:

- “Baby” “Babe” “Cunt”

- Big words of affirmation guy. He’ll act disgusted and shove you off, rolling his eyes about your sweet words- but in reality, he’s gushing so hard he can’t stand it. Reassurance makes him feel more loved than anything.

- The fastest ‘enemies or lovers’ troupe you’ll ever experience. It’ll only take one face-to-face argument before you both get too close and he’s pulling you in for a rough make out. He’s bad with emotions, what makes you think he wouldn't be bad at reading love/hate signals too.

- HATES to show any sign of weakness or adoration. If you’re laying with him or holding his hand, as soon as someone enters the room he’s shoving you off. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, it’s a deep-rooted fear that someone will use you against him.

- If he’s spent the night in your bed, he will always be gone by the time you’ve woken up. Out of fear of vulnerability, he will only fall asleep after you and wake up before you, otherwise he just won’t stay with you at all.

- He’s like dealing with a little kid. Yes, he’s been through heaps of mental anguish and trauma, but he’s gone through all of that without a hand to hold. In some sad way, he sees something motherly and comforting in you which drives him to latch on and become dependent. It's weird, but so is he.

- Jealousy problems. Big time.

- “He touched you. So I cut his arm off. What is so hard to understand here?”

- Needs to be bossed around. He can and will rot in his bed all day unless you tell him to get up and do something.

- Absolutely melts when you kiss him unprovoked. When he doesn’t force you or tease you into one, but when you decide to kiss his face or hands on your own terms. It’s his favorite thing.

- In his manic brain, he wants something calm, someone who can settle him out. You offer him stability and a chance to unwind and that’s really all he needs.

- As a nervous response, he’ll intentionally push you away if he knows you like him. He holds a lot of regret, so he doesn’t want to drag you along with the rest of his baggage. Will say and do things he knows will hurt your feelings so you leave on your own.

- “And what made you think I’d want you? Because we kissed? Hah! How cute.” Meanwhile, he’s in his room pining himself to shreds.

- Watches you sleep constantly. Doesn’t matter where you are or how far, he will trek through your window or into your bed to watch you snore quietly against your pillow. He likes the vulnerability of it and acting as your ‘protector’, like you have no choice but to rely on him in this state.

- You are the last person Jeff wants to break down in front of, but when it eventually happens, and you’re there with open arms- the killer can barely breathe from how full his heart feels. The feeling of just being able to sob and bury into your shoulder while you rub his back is incomparable.

- Possessive AND protective to a fault. Wants everyone to know you’re his, but at the same time, really enjoys when you flaunt yourself so he can stare down the wandering eyes and really show them who they’d be messing with. Either way, eats it up when you feel good about yourself and safe in him.

- Nasty, terribly toxic relationship. You both bounce off of each other and are constantly arguing, but you both get over it because you’ve grown codependent. There’s nothing ‘casual’ about the two of you, you’re either fuck buddies or desperately clawing at each other for survival. Jeff is an obsessive guy, he either wants everything to do with you or he’ll hide away and tear himself apart over you.

- Jewelry is such a yes for him. If you’re wearing thick earrings or chunky necklaces that brighten your face, he eats it up. He’s such a sucker for silver.

- Does not ask for kisses, he takes them.

- “C’mon baby, I can’t help it. You’re just so fun to mess with.”

- Since he doesn’t sleep much, likes to lay on his back while your head rests on his chest/shoulder. He’ll tangle his fingers through your hair or brush your cheek with his thumb while he stares at you or the ceiling. Even when he has doubts about you loving him, your body always subconsciously shifts towards him while you’re snoozing, and it makes him feel just a little better.

- Fake punches/hits you when he’s bored. Will hold his hands up and box at your face but never making contact, just enough to have you side-eye him. He thinks it’s funny.

- Shoulder kisses.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Can and will touch you inappropriately no matter the circumstances. His rough hands groping your ass or shoving between your thighs to give flirty little touches in front of everyone, his shit-eating grin when you get embarrassed.

- “Stop glaring, sweet cheeks. I know you want me.”

- Will fight to his dying day that he’s a top, but as soon as you even give him a glint of dominance or snap at him, he’s folding so fast. Dominant person, submissive lover.

- Killing machine on the field, pathetic ass bottom in bed. It takes forever to get to that point, but once he’s mentally checked out and half-drooling on the mattress, he’s so pliable and lightheaded he’ll take it with ease. You have to really work for it, but Jeff trusts you/wants it bad enough subconsciously that he’ll force himself to go into a subspace.

- All-time favorite position is laying you out on your back, one leg up on his shoulder while the other is being held down at your side. It really opens you up and gives the nastiest, most lewd noises that have him pussydrunk. Bonus points for reaching a hand in to choke you.

- “And to think you were beggin’ me to stop while your pussy is soaked. I mean, look at you, babe. You’re suckin’ me in somethin’ awful.”

- CHOKING. Either you or him, he gets off on it so bad. Choking you is so satisfying, he loves the resistance and struggle as you gasp for air, face flushed and eyes rolling with his fist around your throat. Meanwhile, if you’re choking him, his body nearly convulses from the pleasure. He loves the lightheadedness and pressure of it, hoarse chuckles as both of your hands grip around his neck and just squeeze. He thinks he could cum just from being strangled.

- “What’s wrong, baby? Lil’ too much? Ah- You’ll get over it, just open up f’me.”

- Hair pulling, strangling, biting, smacking—really anything that’ll cause pain.

- Standing side-by-side in the mirror, his body is littered with nasty cuts and scars while yours is littered with pretty bite marks and hickeys. He loves it.

- Eating you out is so tiring, but it’s all worth it to look up and see your heavy, glassed-over eyes beaming down at him, lips parted as you’re gasping.

- Hard, quick thrusts that have you gasping and yelping. His hips snap against yours rhythmically until you throw your head back, then he leans in close and shifts his knees closer to really speed up. He never has a set pace, but prefers always adjusting to whatever has you making the most noise.

- “C’mon… Louder- Hah- I’m not stoppin’ till you’re cryin’ for it.”

- A bitch fight every time you two get together. Bickering with the other about ‘who can last longer’ or ‘going until you beg for it’ and it irritates the shit out of both of you. Gets you both riled up that you’re more fighting than fucking, but by the end, you’re both dead exhausted and reduced to panting messed laid out on top of each other.

- Refuses to pull out. He can’t get you pregnant, Slender made sure of that (God help if this heathen was allowed to procreate), so it’s either in your cunt, ass, or mouth, nowhere else. Even if he’s jerking himself off, he’ll wait to cum until he can get to you and finish himself out.

- Stands over you and stares hard enough until you’re reduced to your knees, words never even leaving his lips before you’re unbuckling his belt and shifting his jeans down. He’s fought you enough, sometimes you like to just be good for him.

- Pulling him in by his belt >>>>>>>>>

- Eating you out or sucking you off so much that drool leaks from his scars, eyes so hazed and soft as he hums and moans against you.

- “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

- Fucked you with the handle of his knife because you read something about it in a book and wanted to see if it actually felt good. He was weirded out at first, but when he watched you jerking your hips and mumbling for him to fuck you, he’s never fucked his cock in faster while rubbing the blunt of the handle against your drooling clit. Same thing with running the blade against your skin. It just elicits some reaction out of you that he can’t understand, but it turns him on terribly.

- Has a big thing for cop x prisoner roleplay actually.

- “What? Officer, how am I supposed to finger you with these handcuffs, hm? I guess you’ll just have to let me go, yeah? Or do you not want it as bad as your pussy leads me to believe?”

- Really loves fingering you while he’s buried in your ass. Curling his fingers up to make you arch your back just a little more, having your head spinning from the overstimulation… yeah.

- A 2-3 round champion. He’ll never be able to just cum once and be satisfied, regardless if you’re ready to stop or not, he’s forcing his cock back into wherever it was or in a completely different hole and riding himself out to his next orgasm. If he’s not shaking and on the verge of passing out after sex, it wasn’t good enough for him.

- “Jeff, stop! We could get caught!” “Or you could just shut up and take your panties off. You’re soaked, there’s no point in fighting me when I’m already this hard… C’mon, baby, give me your hand or something…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!