#navigation landing reveal

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[evie-sturns]

desperate- Matt Sturniolo

summary: matt finds himself desperately horny after seeing you, he obviously has to help himself.

contains: male!masturbation, nsfw, swearing.

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matt frantically undid his jeans, which were now uncomfortably tight. he let the denim pool at his ankles.

he palmed himself through his boxers, flopping back on his bed before pulling them down.

you had just left matt’s house after helping him build his new desk, realistically, matt didn’t need help building his desk, he just needed to see you. he couldn’t help himself when you showed up in the shortest skirt you own.

he clutched his phone in his hand as he tried to navigate through his camera roll, he had a specific picture of you, his bestfriend, which turned him on more than anything.

matt knew it was wrong, masturbating to pictures of his bestfriend, but god he couldn’t help himself.

he finally found the picture of you, wearing a skimpy black top, and a tight denim skirt that hugged your curves perfectly.

he felt himself grow unbearably harder just from one glance at that picture.

matt wrapped his hand around his length slowly,

he always kept his rings on, he loved the feeling of the cold metal against his sensitive skin.

he slowly dragged his clenched hand up his cock, his fingertips brushing over his tip.

beads of sweat spread across matt’s forehead, his breathing became inconsistent as his mind fogged.

he positioned his phone right next to his dick, his eyes fixed on them.

“oh fuck-“ matt breathed out, dragging his index finger over his slit.

his tip was now throbbing, he was desperate to touch himself, but he couldn’t help himself from teasing himself, he loved it.

he loved the way he would increasingly become more sensitive, the way it would feel when he finally started to pump himself.

matt cupped his tip with his palm, it became redder and redder by the second as more blood rushed to it.

his mind raced with thoughts of you.

the skirt you showed up in today, how every time you bent over it would reveal a small portion of your panties. he started to question if you were doing it on purpose, the small smirk you would give him over your shoulder each time you would bend over.

you kept your hand wrapped around the leg of the desk, twisting your fist slightly as you attempted to connect it to the table, he wondered how that hand would feel wrapped around his cock.

matt subconsciously dragged his hand down his length,

a pathetic whimper fell from his lips, “god-“

matt lets his hand fall down to his base, squeezing lightly. his eyes still trained on the photo graph of you.

his eyes were roaming over every single inch of your body, he wished he could see more.

he started to run his hand up and down his cock, his pace quickening with every passing second.

matt felt dirty, he knew it wasn’t necessarily right to masturbate to a picture of his childhood bestfriend. yet he wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop.

“oh my god!” matt moans out loudly, the slick sounds of him stroking himself filled the empty room,

“a-ahh” he whined, his abs tensing as he held back his orgasm, wanting to go for longer.

his heart thumped against his ribs as he realised,

he had starting whimpering your name.

“y/n- oh fuck-“ he arched his back off the bed-

your name was like a broken record player, falling out of his mouth every second as he clutched his phone in his hand.

through his squinted eyes he still managed to look at your picture,

and with a final stroke, matt finished.

“y/n!! oh- fuuuck..” he groaned as spurts of white landed on his stomach,

matt dropped his phone on the mattress beside him, his hand coated in his release.

he panted heavily, before hearing a small gasp.

a familiar voice filled the near silent room, your voice.

“matt!?”

-

@jayz4dayz4 4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathando-64 esgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 9 9 @sturnthepot t t @zayyluvz z z @realuvrrr r r r @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs s @riowritesitall l l l @raysmayhem-72 @sturnsdoll l @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour r @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnn n @sturnioloxlver r @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya a @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney y y @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry y @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees enxtrees @certifiednatelover r r @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast t t t t @yomamaslays4lyfe e @peachmelbaesunpostre @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 9 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc c c c @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise se e @sturni0l0tripletzz z 0 @ratatioulle @sturnsforlife v @mattsonly @justalittle47 7 @sunsetsturniolos s @downbad4reid

[beloveds-embrace]

Please do Simon’s part for the dukedom au😭

dukedom au masterlist

The manor felt too big tonight, its towering walls echoing with a silence that did little to calm your racing thoughts. The faint flicker of candlelight in the corridors barely cut through the oppressive darkness, and your footsteps, though light, seemed to reverberate loudly against the stone.

It wasn’t the first time you felt this way: adrift in a life you were meant to know how to navigate. Tonight, though, the weight was unbearable. The whispers at the latest gala, the suspecting looks, the pointed remarks about your lack of an heir- they’d carved into you deeper than you cared to admit.

John was a wonderful, wonderful man to you. Better than anything you could have ever possibly dreamt of. You were so loved by him and the other men, you were so sure- and yet tonight, you felt so... lacking. You did not want a child now, and felt a guilt heavier than usual for the rumors. That same guilt was the reason why even now, you still slept most nights in your own chambers instead of with them. They did not pressure you, but even the most oblivious of people would be able to tell they were worried.

You didn’t realize where your feet were taking you until you stood outside the double doors.

The library.

You hesitated, biting your lip as you considered turning back. Simon was here, an avid reader late into the nights. It would be improper to be alone with him so late in nothing but your sleeping gown.

But then again, propriety meant so very little with them, who have seen you naked and even been in utmost intimacy with you.

But then again, propriety had become a cage for you lately, one you were desperate to escape, even if only for a moment. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you knocked softly.

The doors creaked open a moment later, revealing Simon’s tall, broad figure. He was dressed in a loose shirt and trousers, his blonde hair slightly disheveled as though he’d not cared for appearances any longer. His eyes softened when they landed on you, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

“Duchess?” His voice was low, steady, grounding. Comforting.

“I… I’m sorry for disturbing you,” you murmured, twisting your hands in front of you. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Simon stepped aside without hesitation, gesturing for you to enter. “Come in, then. The hallways are far too cold now.”

The warmth of the library enveloped you immediately, the soft glow of the hearth casting gentle light over the space he'd been using.

He guided you toward a cushioned armchair near the fire, but when you hesitated, he sat down first and extended a hand. “Come here, darling.”

Your breath caught at the quiet authority in his voice, laced with an undercurrent of care, and your stomach fluttered from the way the nickname rolled off his tongue. Without a word, you stepped closer, allowing him to pull you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you securely, warm and safe, and you let out a shaky exhale as the tension began to drain from your body.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple.

You hadn’t realized you were. “It’s nothing,” you lied softly. “Just… tonight was difficult.”

He didn’t press you for details, simply holding you tighter. One hand traced slow, soothing circles on your back while the other rested on your thigh through the soft fabric of your gown, grounding you with his steady presence.

“Let them talk,” Simon said after a moment, his voice a low rumble. You were not surprised by him knowing what you were talking about. “They don’t know you. They don’t see what we see.”

You turned your head slightly to look up at him, your cheek resting against his chest. “... And what do you see?”

Simon’s gaze met yours, piercing but gentle. “I see a woman who’s stronger than she realizes. Who’s kind, clever, and far more deserving of respect than those petty fools could ever comprehend. Their unwanted concerns over the lack of an heir is blinding them.”

Your throat tightened, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is,” he replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You don’t have to prove yourself to them. You’ve already proven yourself to us- to me. They will talk. They will always talk, but that is nothing new and nothing worth getting upset over. Should any of them take it too far, John will handle them."

The sincerity in his words broke something in you, and before you could stop yourself, a tear slipped down your cheek. Simon caught it with his thumb, his touch achingly gentle. You hadn't known how much you craved this gentleness until it was freely offered to you, and you can't help but lean into his touch.

“It’s all right,” he said quietly, his lips brushing your forehead in a gesture so tender it made your heart ache. “You’re safe here. With me. With us. Rest, my Duchess."

And you believed him.

In Simon’s arms, the world outside faded away- the judgment, the expectations, the endless pressure. Here, there was no pretense, no performance. Just warmth and safety, and the quiet assurance that you didn’t have to carry it all alone.

You nestled closer, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into a sense of calm you hadn’t felt in weeks. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to simply be- to rest, to breathe, to exist without the weight of the far too expectations pressing down on your shoulders.

And as sleep began to pull you under, you realized that maybe- just maybe- you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And in the morning, when you awake in their arms, you will realize where you truly belong.

[zeroseuniverse]

heyy first of all dont listen to anyone sending hate no one deserves that and specially you🫶

so ive been inactive for a couple of days and i was just catching up with your fics and i was wondering if you would consider doing a part2 for lovesick fool?

i was thinking like rival gang kidnaps reader and cheol goes all crazy looking for her BUT i was thinking (since i get baddie energy from her oops) that maybe he shows up to save her but girlie already saved herself like a girlboss

just a thought haha

i hope you have a great day and remember that you deserve good things 😚🫶

Lovesick Fool III

Word Count: 1.1K Summary:“No,” he mumbled into your shoulder, wrapping himself around you like a human blanket. “You almost got kidnapped today. I deserve this.” Pairing: S.coups X reader

Taglist: @haaruki  @agaha127 @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120  @ltfirecracker

Navigation

The warehouse reeked of gasoline and sweat, the flickering overhead light casting eerie shadows across the concrete floor. A group of men stood around, some pacing, others leaning against crates, each one glancing nervously toward the chair in the center of the room.

Their hostage sat there, bound and blindfolded, head tilted slightly as if listening.

“You sure this was a good idea?” one of the men muttered.

“Boss said to grab her,” another replied, though his voice wavered. “Said it would bring Choi Seungcheol to his knees.”

At the mention of that name, the air seemed to grow heavier.

Everyone knew Seungcheol was terrifying. Everyone knew messing with him was a death sentence. But no one had ever dared to lay a hand on you.

Until now.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor made them all tense.

And then—

A soft laugh.

Slow. Amused. Dangerous.

“Bring him to his knees?” your voice cut through the silence like a blade. “You really thought this was going to work?”

The blindfold slipped, revealing sharp, unreadable eyes. The ropes that had bound your wrists lay loose at your sides.

The realization hit them all at once.

You weren’t waiting to be saved.

You were playing with them.

Someone moved first—bad decision.

Before he could react, you grabbed the chair leg and swung it, knocking him to the ground. Chaos erupted. One reached for his gun—too slow. You ducked, sending an elbow into his ribs before grabbing his wrist and twisting, forcing him to drop the weapon.

Another lunged, but you sidestepped, using his momentum to slam him face-first into the crate behind you.

By the time the last man standing realized what was happening, you were already in front of him, pressing the stolen gun beneath his chin.

“Go ahead,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Make a move.”

He didn’t.

The only sound in the room was his shaky breathing—and the unmistakable click of a safety being turned off.

Then—

BOOM.

The warehouse door flew open with a resounding crash, the walls practically shaking from the force of it.

A storm in human form stood at the entrance.

Choi Seungcheol.

Gun in hand, eyes blazing, chest heaving as if he’d torn through hell itself to get here.

His men flooded in behind him, weapons drawn, ready for blood.

And then—he saw you.

Standing in the middle of a room filled with groaning, barely-conscious bodies, a gun still poised under one man’s chin.

His eyes flicked over the scene. The broken chair. The scattered weapons. The men who had dared to take you.

And then—back to you.

Untouched. Unbothered.

Unapologetic.

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping slightly, though the fury in his eyes remained. “Are you kidding me?”

You smiled. “Took you long enough.”

He dragged a hand down his face, stalking forward with slow, deliberate steps. The remaining conscious man whimpered as Seungcheol’s gaze landed on him.

Without breaking eye contact, you leaned in and whispered, “Run.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Seungcheol watched him go, then turned his full attention to you. “Are you hurt?”

“Do I look hurt?”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not an answer.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer until you were standing chest to chest. “I’m fine, Cheol. They were sloppy.”

Seungcheol inhaled deeply, forcing himself to breathe. To push past the primal urge to hunt down every last one of the bastards who had taken you.

Because you weren’t just fine. You were standing there, smirking at him, like this was all just a mild inconvenience.

And maybe that was the real reason he was losing his mind.

Because no one else could do this to him.

No one else could terrify him and make him fall harder in the same breath.

Finally, his hands found your face, tilting it up as his forehead pressed against yours. His touch was firm but careful—like he was grounding himself in the fact that you were really here.

“I swear to God,” he murmured, voice rough, “if anyone ever lays a hand on you again—”

“They won’t.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. You weren’t reassuring him. You weren’t telling him to let it go.

You were making a promise.

Something dark and possessive flickered in his gaze before he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re insane.”

You grinned. “That’s why you love me.”

His grip tightened slightly before he let out a quiet chuckle, lips curving upward. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Mingyu, who had been standing behind them, muttered, “I don’t know if I’m turned on or scared.”

Jeonghan sighed. “Both, probably.”

Joshua just shook his head. “They deserve each other.”

And Seungcheol?

He just kissed you—hard.

Because damn if they weren’t right.

Back at Seungcheol’s penthouse, you barely had time to take off your shoes before you found yourself tackled onto the couch.

“Cheol—”

“No,” he mumbled into your shoulder, wrapping himself around you like a human blanket. “You almost got kidnapped today. I deserve this.”

You huffed out a laugh, trying (and failing) to push his massive frame off you. “I did get kidnapped.”

“And you saved yourself like a badass.” He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes with a devastatingly soft pout. “But what about me, baby? Do you know how scared I was? I almost set the entire city on fire.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He ignored that, nuzzling into your neck. “You can’t just be all fearless and independent. Let me save you at least once, damn it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart flipped at how ridiculously clingy he was being. “Cheol—”

He groaned dramatically, tightening his hold. “No. Don’t ‘Cheol’ me. I’m in distress. You’re my weakness. I need to recharge.”

“You’re being so dramatic.”

“I almost went feral for you. You can’t just walk away from that.”

You sighed, giving in and running your fingers through his hair. That earned you an immediate, satisfied hum as he melted into you completely.

From the hallway, Jeonghan leaned against the wall, sipping his drink. “Told you,” he muttered.

Joshua nodded beside him. “He’s done for.”

Minghao scoffed. “The scariest gang leader in the city… reduced to a lovesick puppy.”

Seungcheol, who had somehow maneuvered himself so his head was now in your lap, cracked open one eye. “Jealous?”

Jeonghan just smirked. “No. Just impressed.”

You chuckled, stroking his cheek. “Guess I do have too much power over you.”

He grinned, tilting his head into your touch. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[ptergwen]

Hi there, I'm SO HAPPY YOUR BACK! I was wondering if you could maybe write a Tom Holland Peter Parker x fem Stark reader based on this prompt?: You’re unconscious after a mission gone wrong, and Peter’s voice shakes as he desperately calls your name, when Tony comes. If you don't want to do it, its ok

stay

ask box  |  taglist  |  blurb masterlist  |  main masterlist

w/c: 2,005

warnings: mentions of blood, angst (happy ending!)

a/n: hi lovely thank you sm! you guys know i love my angst so i felt very in my element with this one hehe, thanks for the patience while i get used to writing again! feel free to keep sending in your reqs and chatting, i love hearing from y'all and will answer asap ♡

"y/n? it's over, i got him. i’ll come find you, okay?"

you don't answer.

"y/n/n? can you hear me?"

there's only silence on peter's end of the headset. peter isn't worried, not at first. he figures maybe you just got disconnected.

"y/n?"

nothing.

now that peter hasn't heard from you on the third try, he is starting to worry. the two of you had gotten separated during your mission. the plan was for you to distract your opponent and peter to web him up, but you lost him somewhere along the way. it was hard to stick together in the dark, twisty tunnels. he'd thought it would be best to take care of your opponent himself and find you after.

tony is going to kill him if he let anything happen to you. it's okay, though. he can just use his suit to track your location.

"friday?"

"yes, peter?"

"take me to y/n."

peter swings through the tunnels to get to you faster. friday guides him, which he's grateful for because he doesn't have a great sense of navigation as is. it's even more difficult underground. peter lands where friday tells him to, but he doesn't see you.

"are you sure this is where she is? i think she might've lost connection... maybe her location didn't update."

"y/n's watch is online, peter."

peter notices something on the ground, its blinking light catching his attention. he picks it up. sure enough, it's your stark tech watch, but where are you?

"would you like me to check again?"

peter makes out a figure a few feet away. it isn't moving. he takes a few steps toward the figure, reaching for his mask.

"that's okay. thanks, friday."

he removes his mask to see better, brows knitting together. something doesn't feel right. peter's senses confirm it, the hairs on his arms standing up and eyes focusing harder in the darkness. in peter's head, he already knows it's you. in his heart, he hopes it isn't.

peter crouches down and puts a hand on the figure's shoulder, rolling them over to face him.

it's you.

your spandex suit has some rips in it, and dirt is coating your back. your mask is pulled up part of the way. peter takes it off, revealing blood dripping down your forehead, your eyes just barely open. tears roll down your cheeks. peter cups your face tenderly in his hands, eyes desperately searching for yours.

"oh my god, baby, what happened?"

"that guy."

your voice comes out weak. despite the blood and tears staining his gloved fingers and the tightening in his throat, peter does his best to stay calm.

"what guy? the one we were fighting?"

"yeah."

"he did this to you?"

you hum in response. peter props an arm behind your head for support.

"it's okay. everything's gonna be okay."

"but... it hurts."

"i know, baby. but you're gonna be okay. we're gonna get you home and..."

your eyes flutter closed.

"hey, hey, hey. look at me."

peter strokes your cheek, willing you to stay awake. you grunt.

"tell me where it hurts so i can take a look. can you do that for me, y/n? where does it hurt?"

"my head. on top."

peter carefully parts your hair, searching for the source of your bleeding. there's a damp patch of hair near the top of your head. he moves it aside and finds a gash. it's small, but fairly deep. he doesn't think he can handle this on his own; he needs to tell tony.

"i’m gonna call your dad, okay?"

you don't respond. your eyes are closed when peter looks for them.

"y/n? you have to stay awake."

you don't say or do anything to indicate that you hear him. tears prick peter's eyes, threatening to spill over. he doesn't know much about head injuries, but he knows this isn't good.

"please wake up, y/n/n."

peter grabs both your shoulders and shakes, hard enough that it should wake you. nothing. you seem to have slipped into some sort of an unconscious state.

your watch starts to beep with an incoming call from your dad. peter accepts it with a shaking hand.

"friday tells me your vitals are suspiciously low, little lady. what's going on?"

peter fights to keep his tears at bay. he cradles your head with one hand, placing his other on your heart. he needs to feel your heartbeat to remind himself you're still here.

"it's me, tony."

"kid? where's y/n?"

a quiet sob escapes him, tears finally falling. tony doesn't need to hear anything else.

"i’m on my way."

it doesn't take long for tony to get to you and peter. he comes whirring through the tunnels, retracting his iron man suit when he lands. you lie on the ground, your head in peter's lap. you'd woken up shortly after peter spoke to your dad, but you aren't really responsive. peter is cradling your head gently in both hands and whispering words of reassurance.

he's so focused on you that he doesn't even notice tony is there until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"what happened, kid?"

tony kneels down next to peter.

"i... i don't know. the guy we were fighting... i didn't see, i think she hit her head."

"okay, okay. let me see the damage."

tony uses his watch to illuminate the dark area. there's dry blood all around the crown of your head, in your hair. it's worse than he expected. he doesn't let it show, though. he doesn't want to alarm you any more than you already are, or peter for that matter; he's a mess.

"i found this."

peter moves your hair to show your dad the wound on your head. tony shines the light on you to get a better look. concern flashes in his eyes briefly, but long enough for peter to see it.

"friday, call the med bay. tell them it's my daughter."

"yes, boss. it appears y/n may have a concussion. i've detected a large contusion."

you bring a hand up to your head, trying to feel the wound. peter coaxes your hand away with a don't touch, baby. you try to say something, but you can't. you're in too much pain. your dad and peter share a knowing look.

"we'll be there soon, fri. make sure they're ready for us. and call happy, tell him to pick us up asap."

"i’ll let them know right away, boss."

a bright light shines directly in your eyes, making you stir a bit in peter's lap. you whine and squeeze your eyes shut. fresh tears fall down your cheeks.

"it's okay, it's okay. it's just your old man."

you squint your eyes open.

"dad?"

"hey, y/n/n."

"what... what're you doing?"

"just gotta take a look at something. look up?"

you try to open your eyes again, but your eyelids feel heavy. tony holds one of your eyes open himself, then the other. he clicks his tongue.

"what's wrong? is she okay?" peter asks your dad.

"pupils are bigger than they should be. still reacting to light, though. that's good."

"what does it mean if her pupils are too big?"

"friday's right. she could have a mild concussion."

the light turns off, your body finally relaxing. peter's body stiffens.

"that's serious, isn't it?"

peter looks from tony to you, stroking your hair and cupping your cheek, then back up at tony. tony can see the fear in his eyes.

"it shouldn't be, the bleeding just gave us a scare. we'll know more when we get her home."

you grab at peter's knee. he places his hand over yours, thumb smoothing along the back of your hand. you look around the tunnel with blurry vision.

peter doesn't like the uncertainty of this. they don't even know the extent of your injuries, just that they might be serious. he knows you're going to be okay, that tony and the med bay team know what to do and you'll bounce back from this because you're you, but he's scared. you've never been hurt this badly before.

"happy's got our location. he'll be here as soon as he can," tony tells you, voice uncharacteristically soft. you blink your eyes in response. "how long is that gonna be?" peter asks.

"i’m not sure, kid."

hot, frustrated tears fill peter's eyes.

"we can't just wait around anymore. she's been like this for a while."

"trust me, pete. i don't like waiting either."

"then let's just bring her back ourselves."

tony gives peter a stern look.

"let's not."

"why not? it's faster if one of us takes her. i’ll swing her there right now."

peter is already scooping you into his arms, preparing to pick you up. you groan at the sudden movement. tony removes you from peter's arms and takes you into his own protectively.

"i said no. we're not flying her home, and we're definitely not swinging her. it isn't safe."

peter stays quiet, blinking back tears.

"you've gotta remember, y/n isn't like you. she doesn't have powers. for the stark's, it's just us out there."

he knows tony is right, of course he is. he forgets how vulnerable you actually are because you're always so strong. riding home with happy may take longer than peter wants it to, but it's safer for you. he needs to think about your best interest. putting other things first caused all of this in the first place.

if peter had found you earlier instead of finishing the fight, maybe he would have been able to get you help sooner. maybe you wouldn't be in this bad of a condition.

"i’m sorry, tony. i’m really, really sorry."

"no biggie, i get it. you're just looking out for her."

"no, that's the problem. i wasn't."

"what're you talking about?"

peter can't hold back his tears any longer.

"i wasn't there when y/n got hurt. it must've happened when we separated. when i found her, she... she was already like this."

"hey, kid. don't do that, don't blame yourself. you didn't know."

"i could've known if i paid more attention. i could've heard, or... or maybe she said something."

peter avoids tony's gaze, too ashamed to look at him, and too guilty to look at you.

"everyone gets caught up, pete. hell, you know i do. but you know what? you're here for y/n now, and we're taking care of her. that's what matters."

"you mean, you're not mad at me?"

tony surprises him by outstretching an arm and pulling him into a side hug. peter manages a small smile, wiping at his watery eyes.

"do i seem mad?"

"guess not. thanks."

tony pats him on the shoulder.

"time to go. happy'll be here any minute."

"okay, i’ll go ahead of you guys so you can see where you're going."

peter starts to collect your things while your dad helps you up. you're disoriented, head pounding, and you stumble a bit because you don't quite have your balance. tony is quick to catch you.

"easy, y/n/n. you're alright, yeah?"

"i want peter."

"he's right here, just leading the way. i’m gonna help you."

"no, i want peter."

peter's heart clenches. he looks to your dad for permission.

"alright, parker. i'll trade you. but be careful, she's precious cargo."

tony lets go of you, but he stays close just in case. he takes your things from peter. you fling yourself into peter's arms, hiding your face in the space between his neck and shoulder. peter hugs you to his chest. tony smiles at peter and nods in approval, making peter smile back.

"i got you," peter coos. "are you gonna need help walking, or you got it?"

"i dunno, i'm dizzy. carry me?"

"sure, baby."

peter picks you up bridal style, one arm secured under you and the other supporting your head. you loosely wrap your arms around his neck.

"can you stay with me when we get there?"

peter kisses the side of your head lightly.

"i’m not going anywhere."

tags (join my new taglist!)

@spidermans-gf @sacharinee @thollandsgirl2013 @pettypeety

[mandoalorian]

brooklyn baby [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Hiding out in your Brooklyn apartment, Bucky finally lets his guard down, opening up about his past and the ghosts that still haunt him. As they navigate their growing connection, the threat looming over them becomes impossible to ignore. When an old friend shows up with a plan, Bucky is forced to decide—stay in the shadows or fight back before it’s too late.

Word Count: 3100

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content. employer x employee, m!receiving oral, handjobs, riding, delayed gratification, edging, praise kink, you take care of your boss

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The fallout from the airport fight spiralled faster than either of you could have imagined. The media had latched onto the image of Bucky punching the man to the ground, and within hours, every major outlet was dissecting it. The headlines were brutal.

“James Barnes: Hero or Menace?”

“Ex-Winter Soldier Loses Control—Again.”

“Congressman Barnes’ Violent Outburst Sparks Controversy.”

The press swarmed as soon as you landed. Paparazzi lined the exits, their cameras flashing like a relentless storm, and reporters shouted over one another.

“Congressman Barnes! Was the attack premeditated?”

“Do you think your violent history makes you unfit for office?”

“Who was the woman with you? A secret lover?”

“Will there be an investigation?”

The tension sat thick between you. The worst part? The whispers were growing. Bucky wasn’t just under scrutiny for the fight—someone was leaking information. Photos of the two of you together, too close in quiet moments, grainy images taken from a distance that suggested something more than professionalism. A calculated attack.

You scrolled through your phone, reading the latest articles.

“Sources close to Barnes reveal he’s been engaging in an unprofessional relationship with a member of his staff.”

“Anonymous insiders claim the Congressman has been seen getting intimate with his assistant behind closed doors.”

“A political scandal brewing?”

Your stomach twisted. “Bucky…” You hesitated, then turned your screen toward him.

He barely spared it a glance. “I know,” he muttered. “I saw it this morning.”

Your heart pounded. “Who’s doing this?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know. But I have a feeling.”

And then there was Tara. She had been oddly distant all morning—no witty remarks, no passive-aggressive jabs. Just silence. That alone made your skin crawl.

Bucky’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then cursed under his breath. “I need to call Sam.”

You frowned. “Sam?”

“If they think they can silence me, they’re wrong.” His expression darkened. “This isn’t just about the fight. It’s bigger than that. Someone’s trying to control me. And I won’t let them.”

You swallowed hard. “Bucky… what are you planning?”

He finally looked at you, his blue eyes stormy and determined. “I’m going to find out who’s behind this. And I’m going to bring them down.”

The drive back to Brooklyn was quiet, but not uncomfortable. After everything that had happened—the fight at the airport, the media storm, the looming threats—you were both exhausted. The city lights blurred past the car windows, and Bucky’s fingers twitched on his thigh as if itching to reach for you.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your apartment building, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Home. For now, at least.

Bucky followed you inside, scanning the surroundings like a soldier surveying new territory. He had been in your space before, but never like this—never in a way that felt so permanent, so inevitable.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you murmured, slipping off your coat. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

Bucky nodded but didn’t sit. Instead, he wandered over to the bookshelf near your window, eyes tracing over the spines of books and the small trinkets you had collected over the years.

“You’re a reader,” he noted, running his fingers along the edges of a few well-worn novels.

You smiled, handing him a glass of water. “Always have been. I used to spend hours at the library as a kid.”

He hummed, taking a sip. “Me too.”

That surprised you. “Really?”

Bucky leaned against the windowsill, a small, wistful smile playing at his lips. “Yeah. My ma worked long hours, so sometimes she’d drop me and Rebecca off at the library. I’d read anything I could get my hands on—adventure stories, war novels, even poetry.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Steve always made fun of me for that one.”

Your chest warmed at the thought of a younger Bucky, lost in books, before the war, before everything. “I think that’s sweet. Rebecca is…?”

“My youngest sister,” Bucky answered, his lips curling into a small smile. “She lives up in Indiana, in a care-home. I try and visit when I can but, it’s a busy life. I think she’d like you, actually.”

The last part made your heart warm. You walked over to the Congressman, passing him a glass of neat whiskey. His favourite. “You have more than one sister?”

“I have— had— three sisters. Rebecca, Betty, and Winnie. Becca is the only one still with us. I was the older brother, always doing my best to take care of them. I taught them how to read, actually.” Bucky laughed fondly at the memory and took a swig of his drink. You gazed up at him, mesmerised. He had never opened up like this before, and it felt good to know he was this comfortable around you. 

“I bet you were the most wonderful big brother,” you said, rubbing your hand on Bucky’s shoulder soothingly. You felt the knots under his skin, the tension.

“I tried to be,” Bucky replied. “I miss my sisters all the time. When HYDRA kidnapped me, my sisters had to bury me. They believed me to be dead. In the fifties, Betty passed away from a short-lived illness, and in the seventies, we lost Winnie too. I never got the chance to see them again.”

You were lost for words. No person should have ever gone through something like that. You were beginning to understand now why Bucky’s campaigning was so important to him, and why he was so worried about a Super Soldier revival. 

“I think… I think I’d like to meet Rebecca one day. I’m sure she has some funny stories about her big brother.”

Bucky laughed. “I’d like for you to meet her too. She’s so important to me, you know?”

“Of course.”  You replied. 

“When I came back, got my freedom, I tracked her down. When she saw me, she thought she’d died and gone to heaven,” Bucky revealed, his blue eyes wide with sadness. “I got to learn all about the life she lived without me. Got herself a husband and had kids, then grandkids, a dog too. She named her son after me, actually. I used to long for that sort of thing. A family. But I guess the universe had other ideas.” Bucky glanced at you, his gaze softer now that he had shared that. “What about you? What was your childhood like?”

You hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Not as interesting as yours, I’m sure. I moved around a lot. Never really had a place that felt like home until I came here.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly. “You got family?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but we’re not close.”

He didn’t press, and you were grateful for that. Instead, he simply said, “Then this is home.”

Something about the way he said it made your throat tighten. Home was never a place for you, not when you moved about so much. You couldn’t afford to make a place a home, but that comfort and care and love that a home was supposed to give, you had found with Bucky. No matter if you were in his office, flying on his jet or in a Tokyo hotel room. Bucky felt like home.

You looked away, clearing your throat. “You hungry?”

Bucky smirked. “Depends. You offering to cook?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Barnes.”

But the teasing felt good. Normal. Like, despite everything, the world hadn’t completely spun off its axis.

Eventually, after sharing stories of childhood mischief and Brooklyn winters, you both ended up in your bedroom. The weight of the past few days, the exhaustion, the tension—it all melted away as you curled into each other.

Bucky’s hands were warm as they traced your spine, and his breath was steady against your neck.

“You tired?” he murmured.

You should have been. But with his body pressed against yours, sleep was the last thing on your mind.

“No,” you whispered, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

His eyes darkened. “Good.”

His lips were on yours before you could say another word, slow and deep, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as he rolled you onto your back. His hands wandered, exploring, claiming, but when his fingers brushed the hem of your sleep shorts, you pulled back.

“Let me,” you whispered, your hands already working at the waistband of his sweatpants.

Bucky’s breath hitched. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

And God, you did. You had felt him before, had touched him, but you had never taken him in your mouth, never had the chance to make him fall apart beneath you.

Bucky swallowed hard, watching as you moved down the bed, your hands sliding his sweatpants and boxers down in one slow motion. His cock was already hard, thick and flushed, twitching slightly as the cool air hit him.

You licked your lips. “You’re so big…”

Bucky groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Fuck, sweetheart…”

You started slow, kissing the tip, licking a teasing stripe up his length. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if resisting the urge to grab your hair.

When you finally took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him in deep, Bucky let out a strangled moan.

“Jesus—” His hand found the back of your head, his hips lifting slightly off the bed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, savouring the way he twitched under your tongue. The weight of him in your hand was heavy, thick, veins pulsing against your palm as you gave him a slow, deliberate stroke.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. “Fuck, baby…”

His voice was rough, edged with desperation, and it made you even wetter, the power of having him like this sending a thrill through your body. You flicked your tongue over the head, teasing the slit before wrapping your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks as you took him deeper.

Bucky groaned, his hand sliding into your hair, not pushing, just resting there, fingers flexing every time you swallowed around him. His thighs were tense, his abs flexing under the soft glow of the bedroom light as you bobbed your head, letting saliva drip down his shaft, making everything slick and messy.

“Jesus—” His voice cracked when you took him even deeper, your throat constricting as you forced yourself to take more. “God, you’re—fuck, you’re so good at that.”

His praise made heat pool between your legs, and you moaned around him, the vibrations making his hips jerk involuntarily.

“Shit, shit—” His grip tightened in your hair as you started to work him harder, stroking him with your hand in tandem with your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head, sucking him in deep before pulling off just to tease him with kitten licks.

Bucky’s breath hitched. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, sweat beading along his collarbone as he fought for control. “If you keep that up, I’m not gonna last.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, grinning as you pumped him with your hand. “Maybe I don’t want you to last.”

His eyes darkened. “You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “I want you to lose control.”

Bucky let out a strangled sound, his cock twitching in your grip. “Oh, fuck.”

Before he could even think about stopping you, you took him back into your mouth, sucking him even harder, your tongue tracing every ridge and vein, your hand twisting at the base. The lewd, wet sounds filled the room, mixing with Bucky’s harsh breaths, the curses falling from his lips.

“Shit—” His head fell back, eyes screwing shut as his thighs trembled. “I—baby, I’m gonna—”

You didn’t stop. You wanted it, wanted to taste him, to push him over the edge, and when you swallowed around him, that was it.

Bucky came with a broken moan, his body shuddering as he spilled into your mouth. You took it all, swallowing every drop, your tongue swirling to clean him up before you finally pulled back, pressing a teasing kiss to his sensitive tip.

Bucky was still catching his breath when you climbed up his body, straddling his lap. His hands found your hips instinctively, his fingers pressing into your skin as he looked up at you with blown pupils, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“You tryin’ to kill me?” he rasped.

You smirked, grinding your soaked core against his still-hard cock. “You’re still hard.”

Bucky groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “You ride me right now, I swear to God, I’ll—”

You didn’t let him finish. You reached between your bodies, lining him up before sinking down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion.

Bucky’s jaw went slack. “Holy—fuck.”

You gasped, the stretch stealing your breath, your fingers digging into his chest for balance. He filled you so perfectly, so deep, the pressure overwhelming in the best way.

Bucky groaned, his hands dragging up your waist. “Goddamn, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

You started to move, rolling your hips, setting a slow, teasing rhythm that had Bucky cursing under his breath. His hands gripped your ass, guiding you, his jaw clenched like he was barely holding it together.

“Faster,” he gritted out.

You obeyed, picking up the pace, bouncing on him as your nails raked down his chest. He was so deep, hitting the perfect spot with every movement, and when he reached between your bodies, rubbing your clit in tight circles, you cried out, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Bucky groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

The pleasure coiled tight, your body tensing before it snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. You moaned his name, your walls pulsing around him as you clung to him, trembling.

Bucky wasn’t far behind. He gritted out a curse, his hands gripping you tight as he drove up into you a few more times before he spilled deep inside you, his whole body tensing beneath you.

You both stayed there, panting, your forehead resting against his.

Bucky let out a breathless laugh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smirked, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “But what a way to go.”

Bucky let out a breathless laugh. “That was…”

You grinned. “Good?”

He reached for you, pulling you back up and kissing you, his tongue sweeping against yours. “More than good.”

You curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, and for the first time in days, you felt safe.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’ve got you.”

And you believed him.

You closed your eyes and within minutes, you drifted into a well-needed sleep. But Bucky? Bucky was wide awake. He could not shake the thoughts of a new super soldier serum, and he could not rest until he got clarity. He didn’t even care about the campaign anymore, all he cared about was you and the possibility that more unconsenting people — more soldiers — would have to go through what he went through for seventy years.

Bucky lay there staring at the ceiling, occasionally picking up his phone to check the headlines, a reminder of the threats to you and your career.  When the room was dark and your breathing had evened out, Bucky slipped out of bed. He dressed quickly, his movements silent, and with one last glance at you, he slipped out the door.

Sam Wilson, none other than Captain America himself, was waiting for him in a parked car outside.

Bucky followed Sam through the dimly lit parking lot, the cool night air doing little to settle the storm in his chest. He hadn’t told you where he was going, just slipped out while you were sleeping, your body curled up in the sheets that still smelled like him. He hated leaving you like that, but this—this was bigger than both of you.

Sam leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed as he studied Bucky with sharp, knowing eyes. “You look like shit,” Sam remarked. “Rough night?”

Bucky huffed out a dry chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Something like that.”

Sam nodded, then got straight to business. “There’s a gala happening for Ross tonight. Big event, all the right people in the room. And guess who got an invite?” He tapped his chest. “Captain America, plus one.”

Bucky arched a brow. “You asking me to be your date?”

“I’m asking you to help me dig up whatever the hell Ross is hiding,” Sam corrected. “I was gonna take Joaquin, but I think you need to be there more than he does.”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “You really think we’ll find something?”

Sam gave him a look. “I know we will.”

That was all the convincing Bucky needed.

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The sunlight creeping through the curtains was what finally pulled you from sleep. You reached across the bed instinctively, but your hand met cold sheets. Your brows furrowed as your fingers skimmed the emptiness beside you.

“Bucky?” you murmured, voice rough with sleep.

Silence.

You sat up, glancing around the dimly lit bedroom. His clothes were gone. The shoes he’d left by the door—gone. You reached for your phone, a strange weight settling in your chest as you unlocked it. No messages. No missed calls.

What the hell?

Your fingers hovered over his contact, debating whether to call him. Instead, you sent a text:

Where did you go?

A few minutes passed. No response.

Another message.

Bucky?

Still nothing. The weight in your chest grew heavier.

Frustration gnawed at you as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, standing abruptly. Did he just leave? No note, no explanation? After everything last night?

You pulled on a hoodie, shoving your phone in the pocket before heading toward the kitchen. You needed coffee. And maybe an explanation for why Bucky Barnes had a habit of disappearing on you.

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[hardlyinteresting]

Stop in the middle

Jake Seresin x reader

Two sides of the same coin; they were joined at the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”.

So much wine by Phoebe Bridgers  Somewhere else by Indians Abbey by  Mitski

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, (call sign Angel), with no physical description, crash landing, wilderness survival, major injuries (non-graphic description), discussions of death, happy ending though (I promise!), hurt/comfort, idiots in love, possible Navy inaccuracies, (please let me know if you'd like me to add anything else)

Word Count: 4.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

 Laying in the snow she watches the sun rise inch by inch over the tree line. The sky bathed in a soft orange glow that warms her skin for what she can only assume will be the last time. He’ll hate her for leaving him without saying goodbye, but her voice has already left her and her arms are too weak to shake him from his slumber. 

In the distance the cotton fluff clouds rest on the peaks of the mountains; tremendous contrast so perfectly balanced. She feels each of Hangman's breaths expanding the firm plane of his chest as her breathing grows slower. Two days ago she never would have imagined dying in the arms of Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin. 

---

They had taken off at the barest crack of dawn breaking. 0600 hours. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Take off from the carrier. Fly over. Survey the valley below—report anomalies. Continue the flight path, and land at a nearby ally airbase. Refuel. Return to the carrier. They'd been tasked with flying similar paths for the last two weeks as part of a larger peacekeeping and security effort. As far as deployments go, they were lucky to have been selected to be the joint task force; and more fortunate to not be engaged in active combat. 

Though Hangman would loathe to admit it with his two confirmed air combat kills, she knows herself that no pilot wants to be under enemy fire or in a position to take a life; it's an unfortunate consequence and frequent reality of the job. 

In the time they’ve known each other, she’s heard Jake speak frequently about his mother and her homemade pie waiting for him in Texas. He tells stories about the boys he used to play football with in high school, and family reunions with little nieces and nephews running about barefoot. She’s heard him making plans to buy a home and settle down. He dreams of a future. Anyone paying attention knows that beneath the outwardly cocky exterior, and adrenaline rushes, he's afraid of dying. 

It wasn't enemy fire that took them down two days ago, but rather sudden major malfunctions that left them without any navigation system, defective coms, and an aircraft almost completely unresponsive to pilot commands. Their saving grace had been Hangman's quick thinking to point them towards a clearing in the tree line, and her decision to dump their fuel as they descended rapidly toward the ground. Flying too low to eject safely they braced themselves for impact, an apology for something he could not have stopped on Jake's lips. 

The sounds of alarms and rapid beeping tones woke them. The smell of burning jet fuel startled them into action again. Jake's head stayed lulled forward his eyes slipping shut again before his limbs burst into action with a level of urgency that forced her to react with equal fervour. She watched wide-eyed as Hangman pushed open the canopy pulling himself up and out of his seat, rolling sideways out the opening. Only in watching his exit did she notice the awkward angle the jet had landed at. The nose crumpled by the force of the impact, their wings clipped and lost somewhere in the trees or across the clearing; the body had slid half on its side, a couple hundred feet through revealing mud beneath and leaving a wake of burning grass melting through the powder white snow. A sharp pain threatened to make her lose her breakfast as she clambered from her seat and the tangle of buckles and straps that had saved her life. She tumbled with purpose but little grace out into the frozen valley. 

“Alright?” Hangman asked standing with his back straight as she doubled over trying hard to catch her breath. She nodded but he didn't make any effort to speak or move giving her a moment to collect herself. 

Sucking in the ice-cold air she ignored the searing pain tearing through her rib cage. Her attention drifted from herself back to Jake who swayed on his feet, the soft crunch of snow sounding beneath his feet as he tried to find a place to stand steady. Watching him pale she only grew more convinced Jake was concussed. 

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Dizzy for sure”. 

“Well, we'll thank our lucky stars we crashed in allied territory. Once we find shelter, I'll run a concussion protocol for you.” 

Their non-functioning radios had left them no way to communicate their mayday calls. They had tried in vain to transmit their approximate coordinates as their headsets filled with static. Their navigation system ran haywire, the coordinates too impossible to be accurate in any case. 

His brows furrowed as he turned to survey their crash sight. His usually bright smile had been pulled into a firm line that confirmed to her they'd be stranded for a while. 

A gust of wind reminded them of how exposed they were in the clearing. While enemy scouts wouldn't be an issue, the potential for hypothermia would be. 

“Map. Compass. Let's grab the chutes from the seats as well,” she suggested. Hangman was uncharacteristically quiet in his agreement, giving her a nod of affirmation as they collected what they could from the jet. 

The sun was still high in the sky above them providing decent light though filtered through bare branches and evergreen limbs. Somewhat guarded from the biting wind they allowed themselves to settle for a moment hoping to find their bearings and build a solid plan for their survival. 

Before they began to plummet they had been about a quarter of an hour's flight from the air base on the other side of the valley. Plotting their estimated crash site on the paper map they found themselves nearly 250 miles away from their destination, walking sun up to sun down would still mean a 2-and-a-half day walk. 

“Look alive sunshine,” she teased as Jake's eyes began to droop. He'd let out a laugh his smile surprisingly bright as he tilted his head back to look at her. “You're so bossy,” he complained. 

“I'm about to get bossier, I've got to make sure you don't have a concussion”. 

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. 

“Don't sass me Seresin,” she warned, though she tried to keep the tone playful. 

For years they'd played this game; pushing each other's buttons skirting around the edges of flirtation and toeing the line of verbal bullying. Ribbing him was how she had learned to be affectionate towards him. Giving him a hard time made him flustered, or it made him laugh, and either reaction was a well-welcomed sight that had left a fluttering in her chest. The lighthearted back and forth they'd learned to communicate through made it easier to ignore the sidelong glances, and yearning that had begun to take shape beneath the surface. 

“Alright,” she sighed, pulling the tiny flashlight out of her belt, “eyes on me”.

“They usually are,” he smirked. 

With the light, she checked his eyes and got promising results: no abnormal dilation. Both pupils were even and responsive to light. “Today's date?” She asked him. 

“February twelfth”.

“Your date of birth?” 

“October twenty-first. Nineteen ninety”.

“Any headache, nausea, persistent dizziness?” 

He responded no to all the symptoms and she allowed some relief to fill her knowing the initial symptoms had dissipated and not worsened. Finally, she held one finger up waiting for his eyes to focus. “Follow me,” she said her hand moving to the left, his eyes followed. 

“I'll follow you anywhere,” he said as her hand moved to the right. 

“Don't flirt with me, Hangman”. 

“Wouldn't it be stranger if I didn't? I’m just proving I’m not concussed”. His point was somewhat valid but she didn't let him know she thought so, continuing her evaluation in silence.

He's like this with everyone. She'd been telling herself the same thing for years. You're not special. He'll flirt with anyone. A painful truth that's helped her ignore his beautiful green eyes and warm countenance. 

---

Laying on her back in the snow drawing her last breaths now she wishes she could see those eyes one more time as her vision begins to blur. The blue sky swirls into the emerald pines, the colours lightened by the soft sunlight. The colours like sea glass make her think of him and tears begin to gather behind her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she wants to say but only a pathetic whimper leaves her. She wonders if she would have been kinder to him if she had known she was going to die. Would she have been more honest with her feelings? Or pushed them down deeper in some foolish attempt to protect him? The sun continues to rise and she knows he will wake soon. Selfishly, she hopes she’s drifted off before then, unwilling to see him hurting on her behalf. 

---

“Not concussed, but still a pain in my ass,” she had teased him, pushing his hair off his forehead, double-checking for any wounds. He took her words as permission to keep moving. Each of them threw a parachute pack over their shoulders and continued their walk northeast through the woods. 

By 1900 hours the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and the sky above turned a deep blue dotted by tiny spangling stars. Breathtaking and brilliant it had been easy to forget, just for a moment, where they were. She slung the chute of her shoulders towards the ground hissing at the movement. She hadn't had the time to check herself over. Best case her ribs were bruised, at worst she'd find out they were broken, and there would be nothing to help her until they had access to a medical bay anyway. 

“Are you sure you're okay, Angel?” Hangman asked, using her call sign letting her know he meant business. He was not asking as a friend, he was asking as her teammate. 

“Yes,” she lied. The pain was tolerable, only worsening with sharp or sudden movement. Nothing she couldn't handle, and nothing she would force Jake to worry about. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn't be opposed to stripping you down to check for injuries,” his flirtations softened the conversation in an attempt to get her to tell him the truth. 

“In your dreams,” she responded instead, moving along the base of a nearby tree in hopes of gathering some firewood and kindling.

“Quite frequently, actually,” the wink he shot her way repeats in her head even now piercing through the fourth wall of the masquerade they had built, an honest and boyish confirmation that their feelings for each other were something beyond friendship. 

The plethora of fresh fallen snow meant finding water wasn't an issue of concern. Finding food would be more difficult and that first night under the stars they sat watching the flickering flames of the fire they had built, their empty stomachs rumbling with nothing to fill them. 

Stretched between two trees, one of the parachutes they liberated from their wreck was used as a windscreen, protecting them from the cold. The second one lay draped around their shoulders as an extra layer. 

Proximity wasn't an issue for them. They had spent enough time in cramped cockpits together to be familiar with the sounds of each other breathing. They had sat shoulder to shoulder in briefings enough time that she had memorized the smell of his cologne. And yet, when he put his arm around her to pull her closer in their makeshift cocoon her heart stuttered. How could his hands be so strong when her own wouldn't stop shaking? How could a simple touch warm her from the inside out? His fingers brushed along her side with no real pressure, but still prompted a gasp to escape her. Tears left glass trails on her cheeks in the firelight. 

She tried to turn away from him, to feign sleep but he wouldn't have it. “Hey,” Jake caught her attention, waiting for her to look at him before he continued, “We're going to be okay”. 

She believed him. 

---

Everything about their uniforms has been painstakingly designed to keep them safe. 100% cotton undershirts and pants because the material won't melt to their skin in the event of a cockpit fire. But the surprisingly soft base layers have never stopped the blaze burning inside her. From the moment she laid eyes on Jake Seresin she knew he'd be the beginning and the end of everything. He pushed people away with his cocky attitude, somehow convinced that his refusal to be vulnerable would keep him safe from forming meaningful bonds; that he might get further ahead if he had fewer people to let down. But, he'd let her in. He'd let her break down his walls and climb over the fences he'd tried to put up. She'd held him when he got the news his father had died. On a ship thousands of miles from his home he'd told her about his brother dying when he was a child, and growing up in his shadow. He told her how badly he wanted to make his parents proud and how lonely he had made himself in the process. He'd kissed her forehead as they parted that night, and her world changed forever. 

What had been an embarrassing schoolgirl crush she couldn’t shake had become a push-and-pull relationship neither of them could do without. She knew how to put him in his place when he took a joke too far. He knew how to goad her into showing everyone what she was capable of, refusing to let her slip into the background when he knew she deserved more. 

Two sides of the same coin, they were joined a the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”. She wishes she would have said it. Lying at death’s door she remembers being told that you often regret the things you haven’t done more than you regret the things you did. “I’m in love with you, Jake Seresin,” she whispers to the wind. 

---

Their second day of walking was far more painful than the first. Jake had startled himself awake, his eyes wild as he fought to remember where it was they had ended up. The acceptance of their reality hadn't seemed to comfort him and he grew uncharacteristically quiet as they packed up their makeshift camp. The pine trees towering above them had been kind enough to shed some of their cones while they had lay sleeping in shifts. Though they hadn't offered many, they were able to harvest a handful of pine nuts between the two of them for breakfast. It was nowhere near a meal, but the snack had managed to quiet their angry stomachs for a few minutes.

The ache in her side had grown to become a constant agony. What had started as a negligible strain was now a torment that threatened to collapse her with each footfall. Despite the subzero temperatures, a sweat had broken out across her brow, and the heat spreading up the back of her neck left her wanting to strip off her cold weather jacket and flight suit. 

“Have you ever had rabbit?” Jake asked around noon. His footsteps had slowed enough for her to catch up with him. His voice had startled her after all the silence. 

“I can't say that I have,” she answered. A gunshot pulled her from her thoughts and she realized she hadn't ever answered out loud. Jake stood a few feet ahead of her, his service pistol in his hand. The world around her was spinning. The trees blurring together as a sudden wave of nausea filled her. She could hear her name being called; muffled and distorted. Jake. His face soon filled her line of vision. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he told her, but her mind still struggled to put the pieces together. For a moment it felt like she was underwater, all her breath gone from her lungs and all she could feel was the scalding pain burning from the inside out. Momentarily she entertained the idea that it was her who had been shot until she spotted the rabbit lying lifeless in the snow. 

“We need to eat,” Jake spoke again, “you're going quiet on me and I don't like that-- we’ll get some energy in you again before we keep moving”.

The very idea of eating anything threatened to leave her dry-heaving, but she took advantage of the moment to rest. He didn't mention her lack of assistance building a fire or preparing the rabbit, but she watched with incredible focus his hands moving with precision and surprising gentleness for the task at hand. 

She can recall him telling her stories about his childhood, standing on step stools to reach the countertop in his mother's kitchen rolling out pie crusts and later on slicing apples. He once told her that it was his mother who had taught him patience and gratitude while they baked together; two traits he had neglected to exhibit far too often in his adult life. 

She listened to him thank the rabbit for its life as he cut away pieces to feed to her. There was an unmistakable love in the way he moved, his eyes cast over his shoulder to check on her. Slowly, she realized that she was not doing a good job hiding her suffering. In a fleeting thought, she imagined Jake having to carry her lifeless body for the rest of their journey. In their line of work, it had never been considered morbid to have funeral plans from a young age. Flying with him for years she had learned to trust him implicitly, despite the call sign he'd earned and worked tirelessly to recover from she knew early on that he'd do right by her. Challenging authority, but always following the rules; complete and unwavering dedication to whatever task he had at hand; precision and perfection in the execution of his duties be it laundry or taking down a fighter jet midair. As her energy continued to leave her she took comfort in knowing her life would be in Hangman's hands. 

“I'm not hungry,” she said to him. 

“You need to eat,” he insisted again but didn't push any farther. With a longanimity he forgot he possessed, and a magnanimity he couldn't credit himself for carrying he cared for her; making the executive decision to make camp early as her seemingly catatonic state worsened. She managed to chew and swallow bites of the gamey meat, her body grateful for the nutrition.  

Night fell too soon after and the sound of the wind in the trees and the rustle of creatures that may have been lurking left both of them far more on edge than they had been the night before. 

“Scoot closer,” she whispered to him, and he complied without complaint. Neither of them was warm, but their proximity to the fire helped them imagine they could be. His shoulder bumped hers and she leaned her head against him. “Put your arm around me?” She asked. He complied again this time with more hesitation. 

“You know if you wanted to snuggle with me you could've just said so,” he teased though she could tell his heart wasn't in it. 

“I'm scared,” she confessed, a half-truth. She was terrified, feeling her heart rate starting to slow by the minute, her vision slipping in and out of focus. 

“We're going to make it home,” he whispered, both arms wrapped around her now, his lips pressed to her hairline. Tears blurred in her eyes and she gave up fighting back a sob, body shaking and heartbreaking. “I won't let anything happen to you,” he said so sincerely. She cried harder knowing she had already broken that promise for him. 

She had realized she'd lost feeling in her fingers and toes when he'd begun to trace shapes on her back. Her digits buzzed with needles and pins and her limbs had began to feel heavy. Bile rose in her throat choking her as she scrambled to get her distance before dinner made a reappearance. Jake didn't make a fuss, or make his worry known, but she could tell that her perturbation had begun to seep beneath his calm, cool, mien. His hand shook as he rubbed her back hoping her coughing fit might free her off the anxiety and discomfort that had overtaken her. 

She can remember almost every time Jake Seresin has touched her. The memories float suspended in golden warmth, kept safe from the things theyve done, and the things they’ve seen. She holds those moments of fleeting, passing goodness, near to her heart. The smallest reminders that Hangman has a heart; and it’s full of love to give, and on some occasions, she has allowed herself to believe she could be worthy of that love. 

He used to sit beside her in the mess hall no matter how many seats were available; his broad shoulders bumping her own, his elbow knocking at her ribs, their hands brushing as he slid his mashed potatoes onto her plate and she slid her green beans onto his. Silent and symbiotic in their bond, determined to look out for one another. 

The first New Year's Eve they were able to spend together off base was spent with as many friends as possible and too much liquor to handle. Neither of them got a midnight kiss because she was spilling her guts in the alleyway behind the bar, Jake by her side saying “I told you not to do shots after drinking a glass of wine”.  But his satisfied smirk was overshadowed by the genuine concern in his eyes and the steady warm hand he'd placed on her back. “There you go, you'll feel better once you get it all out”. He was drunk himself, his words half slurred but no less encouraging. She had thought then that he was seeing her at her worst. She knows now that she was wrong. 

By some miracle they had been deployed together more often than not. At first it was pure coincidence, but over time it became clear that together they were a dynamic duo with a combined force and efficiency they're commanding officers could not deny, and were often interested in capitalizing on. They had become two halves of a whole, a packaged pair anyone would be disinclined to separate. Still, they had not been permitted to bunk together, and neither of them had ever been interested in breaking the rules of the institution so they never pushed it. But on nights when the creaks and groans of the 900,000 pound ship kept her awake, and the rocking of the waves around them was too much to ignore she knew she'd be able to find him lurking around the corridors as well.

 “I couldn't sleep,” she'd say. “Me neither,” he'd respond. Sometimes, when the world felt too heavy on his shoulders and they'd been away from home for too long they'd find their way to the floor together, his back pressed to hers, their arms circling their knees, and he'd sync his breathing to hers convincing himself that so long as she was their he had some piece of his real life with him. A part of Jake Seresin that wasn't just a pawn in battles bigger than him, he was a man with thoughts and feelings, and dreams outside of his role worth achieving. 

---

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

The parachute that isn't being used to block the wind is still draped over the two of them and she hopes it keeps Jake warm until he wakes. His walk to the base will take him longer now dragging her weight behind him, he'll need his sleep. 

She lets the sound of the wind lull her and she finds that she's not afraid anymore. Just sad; angry even; but not afraid. Her pain is excruciating, and she’s honestly welcoming the relief of a permanent slumber. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. The wind gusts come steadily, growing louder and ever closer. 

Jake stirs beneath her, sitting up her head falling to his lap. “Well would you look at that! No more walking for us,” he grins. Her eyes have shut but she can hear it in his voice, the boy like wonder bursting  the surface. “Angel, wake up,” he shakes her shoulder. The joy that had filled him moments ago has been replaced with a more serious tone, “they sent a chopper for us, honey,” he says, shaking her again, “you've gotta get up,” he pleads with her, but she cannot answer him. His hand is surprisingly warm on the side of her face, and the world goes dark and silent. 

Death is softer than she expected. It's dark still, but her head is resting on something plush, and there's a feel of woven fabric at her fingertips, it reminds her of the blanket Jake's mom had sent to her last Christmas. Her back and her legs feel stiff and she makes no attempt to move them uninterested in exploring this darken world she's found herself in. Her ribs ache but far less than they did back in the snow, the pinch she feels with each breath is like an echoed sound, a pallid reminder of her last moments. 

There's a humming; a mellifluous tune. It drifts in and out, bookended by murmuring she cannot decipher. Come back to me. The words become clear. Angel. Guilt fills her, petulant and helpless as emotion overwhelms her. She wants to move towards the voice, to apologize for leaving but she's not sure she can. I need you honey. 

Jake. Oh, it's so clear now. Jake. 

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” Jake's hands brace her shoulder, and just above her knee willing her to stop flailing her panicked limbs. Her eyes shoot open to meet his; golden green and brimming with tears she wishes she had the strength to stop. The insistent beeping that had filled the room quiets as she relaxes back into the pillows. 

The Navy infirmary isn't anything fancy, but it's far more comfortable than the nights she spent with her back up against the bark of a tree. She has so many questions but they fade out of her mind as quickly as they spark in. Blips of clarity overriden by the need to speak to Jake who is looking at her with more wonder than she's even seen. The man has seen the world from 40,000 feet but he's looking at her like she hung his stars in the sky. 

“Jake,” she manages. 

“Yeah, Angel”. 

Her throat feels like sandpaper, her voice scratchy and raw with disuse, but she fights through it, 

“I'm in love with you,” she says, sucking in a breath that makes her cough. Her lungs feel like they're on fire and she works desperately to inhale and exhale as the ache in her side is reawaken. 

Jake offers her water that manages to swallow down, and when she takes a few shaky breaths without wincing, he sets the paper cup aside. 

She gives him a gentle nod, refusing to meet his gaze. He doesn't let it slide, his forefinger tilting her chin up so she can't hide from him. She envies his confidence, his ability to simplify a scenario. 

“I'm in love with you,” he tells her too. 

[horrorslvts]

stuck zipper 🐰 (dick grayson x fem reader)

tags: female reader, no sex mentioned, nsfw if you squint, breast fetish, latex fetish, teasing, mentions of smut, blood if you squint.

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you pretty much forward rolled inside your apartment on the sixth floor and landed on your knees, you could feel them starting to bruise already. dick followed behind you and closed the window shut, leaving you two in your dark living room with the only light source coming from the city lights of bludhaven outside your apartment.

the dark haired male leaned back on the window rim, chest rising up and down from heavy breathing as he practically ripped the mask from his face to reveal a bruised cheekbone and a bloody nose.

“i told you..” he spoke between panting and huffing. “to stay behind me.”

you lifted yourself from the hardwood floor using your scratched hands and stretched your body; you felt the wet feeling on your shoulder blade and the breeze entering your skin through the latex. you knew you had been injured, just not the semantics of the injury.

“i thought i had him..” you muttered and turned to face your partner in the city while removing your mask off your flushed face.

“youre bleeding.” dick pointed out.

“thanks sherlock.” you said back bitterly and turned your back on him.

“can you tell me how bad it is?” you ask and stretch your body for him.

dick places a hand on your spine and tries to take a look by positioning you near the window for better vision.

“i cant tell, you have to remove your suit.” he says back.

“go ahead-slowly-the latex is sticking on my body.” you say and breath heavily from pain.

“yeah i can..i can see that.” dick says after a small gulp.

he lets his fingers snake towards your neck and attempts to pull the zipper down, but has no luck doing so.

“y/n ill have to cut the suit off you. its stuck.” he informs you.

you fish out a blade from your strap around your thigh and pass it to him.

“go ahead.” you say.

dick then pulls a beeline from the top of your neck down to your spine with the blade, careful to not slice through the fabric and pierce you. then he places the blade between his teeth and uses both hands to rip out your latex skin tight suit, without realizing how much strength he had given on that pull; so he ends up cutting it all from your torso, causing your cleavage to pop out as the fabric dropped like overalls down to the floor.

“grayson-!” you yelp and use your hands to cover your chest.

“relax-“ he says with a muffled mouth as he still holds the blade on his teeth. he then removes it and throws it to the side.

“its not as bad as you feel it is. just a deep cut, but it didnt hit any muscle.” he says and uses his hands to navigate around the skin.

his left hand softly moves from your shoulder blade to the side of your body and up to your side boob, softly gropping the skin with his fingertips.

“grayson..” you say again and let out a heavy sigh, half annoyed.

“its for medical reasons, cmon.”

you groan and let him do as he pleases. the male then moves his fingertips on your nipple and softly plays with it.

“lift your left arm.”

you roll your eyes and do as he asks.

“now bend your body down.”

you follow his instructions and feel his right hand move to the side of your waist.

“hand on the chair real quick-“

you use your stretched hand to grab on the chair and feel your shoulder stretching.

“how does it look?” you ask.

“fuckable.”

“not me idiot! the injury-!”

“its a scratch.” he laughs and softly slaps your ass before you turn around and gently smack his bloody face.

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Timid Flames

Summary - In a politically arranged marriage, they unexpectedly find solace in each other. As they navigate the storm of familial conflict, a night of celebration reveals desires and bravery, challenging the bounds of their union and the roles they play in a dangerous game of power.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2759

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had only been wed for three moons—a union born out of political necessity, carefully arranged to forge a fragile peace. 

The bride, Alicent Hightower's youngest daughter, had been offered as part of King Viserys's latest attempt to mend the rift tearing apart his divided family. 

After the bitter fallout from the petition for Driftmark, this marriage had been the king's insistence, hoping it might soothe the growing tensions.

Surprisingly, the match had not been as cold and distant as some feared. 

In fact, much to Jace's amusement, our marriage had become rather... agreeable. 

Unlike my more impulsive and outspoken brothers, I shared Jace's temperament—thoughtful, measured, and often preferring quiet contemplation over conflict. 

This similarity made it easy for us to find common ground, and more often than not, we ended up agreeing with one another on most matters.

Jace, though shy at times, had grown fond of me quicker than he expected. In quiet moments, when he allowed himself to reflect on our marriage, he felt grateful. 

"You know," he once remarked with a soft chuckle as we shared a private dinner in Dragonstone, "I expected our union to be just another duty. But it hasn't felt like that at all." 

He reached across the table, lightly clasping my hand. "I enjoy this... us."

I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. "As do I. It's strange, isn't it? To be at ease in a marriage forged by others."

We were now bound for King's Landing, a return prompted by the upcoming wedding of my elder brother, Aemond. 

Though I could sense Jace and his brothers were not particularly eager to make the journey back to the capital so soon after leaving it, I longed to see my family again. 

I missed them—Helaena most of all, with her gentle spirit and enigmatic ways.

Standing at the ship's edge, I watched the shimmering blue waters stretch out before us, occasionally lifting my gaze to the sky. 

There, Silverwing, Vermax, and Arrax flew overhead, their gleeful screeches piercing the air as they relished the freedom of the open skies. The sight of the dragons always stirred something in me—a mix of awe and pride.

"Are you happy to be returning?" Jace's voice came from behind me, softer than the wind that tugged at our hair. 

I turned to find him watching me with that familiar, shy look on his face. I nodded, sighing with contentment.

"I am," I said, offering him a small smile before glancing down. "I apologize if you're not."

Jace shook his head and joined me at the railing, his shoulder brushing against mine as he leaned beside me. 

His fingers, warm and calloused from dragon riding, lightly grazed mine, sending a wave of warmth rushing through me.

"I'm fine," he assured me, though I could sense the faint unease in his tone. "It's Luke who's not faring well with the journey." 

He nodded towards his younger brother, who stood further down the ship's deck, looking paler than usual, his face scrunched with discomfort.

I chuckled softly. "Poor Luke."

Jace smiled at that, but there was a quietness between us now, a lingering tension not easily dismissed. 

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The grand hall of the Keep was filled with the sound of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets as the celebrations for Aemond's wedding reached full swing. 

My brother looked every bit the proud groom, standing tall with his new bride by his side, but my focus wasn't on him. 

Instead, I was hyper-aware of the tension swirling around Jace and Luke, who sat beside me at our family's table, enduring a barrage of thinly veiled insults from my brothers.

Aegon, as usual, was at the centre of it, his words dipped in honeyed sarcasm as he spoke just loud enough for all of us to hear.

"How's the sea voyage treating you these days, Luke? Not planning on visiting Driftmark anytime soon, I hope," Aegon remarked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

The implication was clear—he was deliberately fanning the flames of the bitter conflict over Driftmark's succession, each word dripping with sarcasm designed to ignite tempers and deepen rifts, a cruel game that felt all too familiar.

Luke's jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes fixed on his plate, refusing to rise to the bait.

Jace, seated beside him, wasn't faring much better. He sat rigid, his shoulders tense, clearly biting his tongue to keep from responding.

"Must be difficult, sharing the same roof with those who think you don't belong," Aegon continued, his grin widening as he lifted his goblet to his lips.

I shot a sharp glance at Aegon, my irritation bubbling beneath the surface. 

Helaena, seated to my left, tried to offer me a reassuring smile, but even her calming presence wasn't enough to quell the frustration building inside me. I hated this constant tension, this incessant prodding from my brothers, who refused to let old wounds heal.

To drown out their jabs, I did the only thing I could think of at the moment, I reached for my goblet and took a deep sip of the rich wine. 

The warmth spread quickly through my body, dulling the edge of Aegon's words.

But one sip wasn't enough.

As the evening dragged on and the taunts kept coming—Aemond, more subtle but no less pointed in his barbed remarks—I found myself reaching for the goblet again and again, the wine a welcome escape. 

It made everything seem a little softer, a little less sharp. Even Jace, who sat brooding beside me, looked more relaxed in the golden glow of the torchlight as the alcohol dulled my senses.

By the time the feast was at its height, I was no longer just drinking to forget. I was enjoying the lightness in my limbs, the freedom of inhibition. 

The wine had worked its magic, and I found myself smiling at Jace—really smiling, more freely than I had in moons.

"You're too tense," I teased, my voice soft and slightly slurred as I leaned toward him with a grin. 

My fingers toyed with the rim of my goblet as I looked at him with a mischievous glint in my eyes.

Jace blinked, clearly taken aback by my sudden shift in demeanour. His eyes widened, and I saw a flush creep up his neck. 

He wasn't used to this—me, this playful, open side of myself that rarely came out. 

Normally, I was thoughtful and composed, matching his temperament. But tonight, I felt like throwing caution to the wind.

"Relax a little, husband," I whispered, leaning closer than I normally would, my lips grazing the shell of his ear as I spoke. 

My hand drifted lazily to his arm, fingers trailing along the fabric of his sleeve. "We're at a wedding. Let yourself enjoy it."

Jace stiffened, his entire body going rigid as he struggled to process what was happening. He wasn't accustomed to this kind of open flirtation from me, and certainly not in public. 

His cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink, and he swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape.

"I—uh, I'm fine," he stammered, though his voice betrayed him. He sounded anything but fine. His face was a mix of confusion, surprise, and something else I couldn't quite place.

I laughed softly, delighted at his reaction. It was rare to see Jace flustered, but here he was—blushing, his carefully composed demeanour slipping with each teasing word I threw his way. 

 The way he tried so hard to remain serious only made it more fun.

"No, you're not," I teased again, my voice taking on a singsong quality as I leaned even closer, my breath warm against his ear. "You're all stiff and serious. You should loosen up a bit."

Jace's gaze flickered to the goblet in my hand, his concern growing. "I think you've had enough," he said gently, his fingers brushing against mine as he tried to take the goblet from me.

But I wasn't having it. I laughed, pulling the goblet back with a grin. 

"Don't be such a bore, Jace," I teased, the wine making me bolder than I'd ever been. "Don't tell me what to do, not when I'm having so much fun."

The way his face flushed deeper and his eyes widened at the playful lilt of my voice sent a thrill through me. 

For a moment, I forgot about the barbed comments from Aegon and Aemond, the lingering tension in the room. 

All I cared about was the way Jace was looking at me—flustered, surprised, and just a little bit helpless.

"I—I think you should rest," Jace tried again, his voice now tinged with nervous laughter. He was still trying to be the responsible one, the composed husband. 

But his usual control was slipping, and I could see the internal struggle in his eyes.

Instead of listening, I giggled and leaned even closer, letting my fingers dance up his arm. "Or..." I purred, a wicked smile curling my lips, "maybe you should dance with me."

Before Jace could protest, I was on my feet, pulling him up with me. He let out a startled laugh as I dragged him onto the dance floor, his hand clasped tightly in mine. 

His surprise was clear, but I was already spinning him into the centre of the hall, the music and wine making my movements feel light and carefree.

"Wait—what—" Jace stammered, completely caught off guard. He stumbled slightly as I twirled him, clearly not expecting me to take the lead so boldly. 

His eyes darted around the room, and I could see the mix of amusement and mortification on his face.

The people around us watched with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement, but I barely noticed. 

All I could focus on was Jace—how out of sorts he was, how flustered he looked, and how much fun it was to see him like this.

"I think I'm going to regret this," Jace muttered under his breath, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

He looked at me with a mixture of exasperation and affection, clearly at a loss for how to handle this version of me.

"Not if you have fun," I whispered, pulling him close as the music swelled. 

The wine had made me bold, and I relished the way he seemed to falter under my touch. For once, Jace was the one who couldn't keep his composure.

As the night wore on, I continued to flirt, to tease, to dance. Jace was a blushing mess by the end of it, his usual stoic demeanour completely shattered.

He loved the extra attention—I could tell by the way he kept stealing glances at me, his eyes lingering just a bit too long, his lips twitching into an almost smile every time I laughed or teased him.

Even though he tried to be the responsible one, I knew he secretly enjoyed it—the way I made him feel tonight, how I drew him out of his shell. 

"Are you even trying to enjoy yourself?" I teased, glancing up at Jace as I pulled him onto the dance floor once again.

He gave me a small, shy smile, his hand resting on the small of my back as he followed my lead. 

"I am. Just... keeping an eye on you," he said gently, though I could sense his amusement beneath the worry.

"Keeping an eye on me? I'm your wife, not some unruly dragon," I said with a smirk, spinning away from him with a playful twirl. 

He caught me again, steadying me with the ease of someone well-practised in handling situations beyond his control. 

I leaned in closer, speaking just loud enough for him to hear, "But I like it when you watch me."

Jace's blush was immediate, his gaze dropping for a brief moment before he met my eyes again. He looked as if he wanted to say something—something meaningful—but just then, a familiar voice interrupted us.

"Seems you've had quite a bit of wine tonight," a deep, smooth voice said from behind me.

I turned, finding myself face-to-face with Lord Ormund Hightower, one of my distant cousins on my mother's side. His smile was easy, but there was something in his gaze that felt too familiar, too lingering as it settled on me.

"Perhaps," I replied, trying to maintain my composure as I felt his eyes linger a bit too long. "But it's a wedding. Surely a bit of wine and dancing is expected."

"Of course, princess," Lord Ormund said with a chuckle, his gaze sliding between Jace and me. 

"Though one might say your enthusiasm tonight stands out." His tone was light, but the implication was clear. 

His gaze flicked back to me, lingering in a way that made me uncomfortable, a hint of something more than politeness in his look. "I didn't realize you were so... spirited."

Jace's expression shifted beside me, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He moved closer, his hand settling protectively at my waist, but still, he said nothing.

"Spirited, perhaps," I said, trying to brush off the comment with a smile. "But no more than any other on a night like this."

Lord Ormund gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on me a beat longer before he added, "It's good to see you enjoying yourself. Though, if you're not careful, some might get the wrong impression of your... exuberance." 

His smile widened, a teasing glint in his eye. "Not everyone will see it as harmless fun."

Before I could react, Jace stepped forward, his posture straight and his tone steady, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice.

"I think you've made your point, my lord," Jace said calmly, though his grip on my waist tightened ever so slightly. "And it's noted. But I would remind you that my wife's behaviour is of no concern to anyone here, except perhaps me."

The subtle warning in his voice wasn't lost on Lord Ormund, who raised his hands in mock surrender, the smile never leaving his face. 

"No offence meant, Prince Jacaerys. Merely a friendly observation."

Jace's gaze didn't waver, his expression unyielding. "Of course. But observations, when unnecessary, can sometimes be mistaken for something else." 

His voice remained level, but there was a quiet protectiveness in his tone that made it clear the conversation was over.

Lord Ormund hesitated, then gave a slight bow. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, both of you," he said before turning on his heel and walking away, though I could feel the weight of his gaze still lingering behind him.

As soon as Lord Ormund was out of earshot, I turned to Jace, my heart pounding not from fear but from the rush of the moment. I wasn't used to seeing him like this—so firm, so sure of himself. 

There was something deeply reassuring in the way he had stepped in, calmly but assertively.

"You didn't have to do that," I said softly, though I couldn't deny the warmth spreading through my chest.

Jace met my gaze, the tension in his expression softening now that we were alone again. "Yes, I did," he replied simply. "You shouldn't have to put up with that. Especially not from him."

I looked at him for a long moment, taking in the way his jaw was still set, the way his hand remained at my waist as if he wasn't quite ready to let go. 

His protectiveness stirred something deep within me—a mixture of gratitude and something else, something more intense.

"You don't usually speak up like that," I said, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. "I rather like it."

Jace looked slightly embarrassed, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

"Someone has to look out for you, especially when you seem determined to cause a scene," he said, though his tone was light, playful.

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Perhaps I'm more trouble than you bargained for."

Jace's smile grew, and this time, it was genuine and warm, the blush fading from his cheeks as his confidence returned. 

"I knew what I was getting into. And, if I'm being honest, I don't mind it."

The confession, quiet and simple, hung in the air between us. It wasn't grand or dramatic, but it meant something. Jace didn't just tolerate my boldness tonight—he liked it. 

He liked me, in all my messiness and unpredictability.

For the rest of the night, his hand remained at my waist, steady and reassuring, a quiet but constant reminder that I wasn't alone.

That no matter what happened, Jace would always be there, standing by my side, ready to protect me from whatever—or whomever—tried to push me too far.

A/n - I need to stop with the marriage of convenience trope x

[peeweekey]

8:05 | SAM

word count: 3.2k

summary: sam’s ten heart event with a twist.

tags: winter, developing relationships, fluff, swearing, cuddling, hiding from his mother in his bed lol

a/n: this spiralled out of my control and into 3k words… enjoy!

it’s cold.

the fleece coat you’ve bundled yourself in cannot protect goosebumps from forming from the biting chill of the valley’s winter nights. your breaths come out in cloudy puffs of air, the heat slowly draining out of every exhale. it’s dark out, poorly spaced lampposts providing the bare minimum amount of light to navigate.

you got sam’s letter earlier, a clumsily written note that was stuffed haphazardly into your farm’s mailbox—the yellow lined paper he used, all crumpled and ripped.

meet me in front of my house! at 8 pm, i’ll be waiting. there’s something i want to tell you.

the ending sentence is somehow even more sloppily written compared to the ones before it. as if he was debating whether or not to add it in, but ultimately decided for it—it’s funny to imagine him hunched over his desk, stressing over what to write to you.

well, you won’t deny feeling excitement over the possibility of whatever sam has to say. if the subtle skip in your step is anything to go by.

you walk through the silent night of the town, it seems like everything’s frozen in place during the colder times of the year—everyone’s safe at home, toasty under their covers and you’d imagine thoroughly enjoying going to bed at 7 pm.

you do too, sometimes. there’s less to do when the ground is too frozen to plant any crop.

there’s a lot more free time out of the farm during the winter. you’ve really started integrating yourself with the townspeople—helping haley find her bracelet, befriending sam’s prickly coworker shane, and even discovering a shadowperson named Krobus in the town sewers. it really is starting to feel like home.

walking, you cut the corner passing by emily and haley’s house—and there he is.

he looks devastatingly handsome all dressed in winter clothing. his regular denim jacket switched out for a dark woolen coat, his pants are unripped and, surprisingly, not smeared with dirt.

though what you like most about his winter attire is his hair. those wild golden locks are laid flat under a woolen beanie—a stark difference from the spiked updo he usually does (though you like that one too). the tips of his hair are slightly curled upwards, revealing that family trait of curly hair.

you creep closer, just watching him wait for you—the way he folds his arms in an attempt to warm up, and the little shuffle he does on his feet. you laugh softly, he must’ve been waiting a while—just like you have for him.

sam turns at the sound of your laugh, his body unconsciously tilting towards you, like a magnet’s uncontrollable attracting to metal. “you made it,” he breathes, his nose, ears and cheeks pinkened by the cold.

you nod, unable to stop a bashful smile from forming on your lips. “i made it.”

a big grin splits his face, mimicking yours. underneath the lone lamplight he looks jaw-droppingly handsome. you feel yourself become warm just in proximity to him.

“i wanted to talk to you in private,” he says. sam’s buzzing with energy, surveying the dark streets before meeting your gaze with his. “it’s kinda cold out here though… i, um—i can sneak you into my room…”

your heart skips a beat, like you’ve skipped a step on a staircase. “what?” you croak.

your eyes catch onto him wringing his fingers, a nervous habit you can’t help but always notice (not because his hands are nice and interesting to look at, not at all).

“you don’t wanna?”

“no!” you inhale, trying to alleviate the twisting sensation in your gut. “i do wanna, ahem, lead the way.”

sam smiles at you, dimples and all. he leads you towards the tiny bedroom window in front of his house. the window is already open—you assume that’s where he jumped out of to meet you.

he climbs through the window with minimal effort, landing on the flooring with a dull thump!

you raise a brow. “have you done this before?”

sam stretches his hand out to you, waiting. his smile turnt sheepish. “i mean, i think we were all rebellious teenagers once.”

you resist the urge to snort—sam’s nervous, you can tell. he doesn’t have his quips and jokes tonight. and he’s shy, but eager. like a puppy, excited and curious about the world.

“o-kay,” you say, one hand in his hand the other set firmly on the windowsill. “make sure i don’t fall please.”

sam nods, eagerly. the curled ends of his hair shake along with the motion as he does.

how endearing.

you tighten your grip on his hand, hauling yourself through the small window, trying your damn best to not make any sudden noise. which is successful for the most part, only a tiny huff of exertion escapes you.

annoying, yes. but the chill of winter burns through any energy you have faster than other seasons.

your feet connect with the wood of his floor, hand still clasped in his and the chill merely at your back. it’s warm inside, with him.

his room is the same as it’s always been when you’d visit before—shelves, band equipment, posters—but the ambiance is different. a little more charged with tension so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

sam does not bother turning on his light, you don’t mind it all that much. but it takes some effort to avoid tumbling over stray objects that clutter his bedroom floor.

“look, I know I’ve been about nothing but the band for a while now…” he starts. “but I don’t want you to think that’s all i’m interested in.”

you chuckle, clasping your fingers behind your back. “it certainly takes up a big chunk of your interests.”

he pouts, literally pouts. it must be the love bug you caught because you think it’s just plain adorable. “i’m really trying over here!”

“sorry!” you grin, “okay, continue.”

“well, um… shoot, this is kinda hard, huh?” he forces an awkward chuckle. “and nerve-wrecking… but what i’m trying to say is…”

“i’m really happy that we’ve grown this close, and well…” sam looks at you, he’s stupidly red—the color spreading all over his face. “i—i’m just wondering, do you think of me as… just a friend?”

your breath stutters, and you feel yourself blushing before you can do anything to stop it. you stare at him as he does with you. the two of you locking eyes for a second, it feels like it’s just you and him in the world.

you feel your shy admittance at the tip of your tongue. no, you’d say, you’re more than that for me, if you want to be.

sam smiles at you, shy but so, so overwhelmingly bright—it’s blinding. your head is running a mile a minute when you finally get the courage—

“sam!” you hear jodi’s groggy voice from outside the door. your stomach drops with dread. “somebody’s at the door! go and check please?”

you lock eyes once again, this time for entirely different reasons, and with entirely different feelings.

“oh my god, sam,” you whisper hurriedly, panic gripping you. “your mom doesn’t know i’m here—what do we do—”

“hold on—” he replies, with the same sense of urgency as you. “okay, okay—i have a plan, just trust me, ‘kay?”

you think you might break out into a cold sweat. you look at him quizzically, “what?”

sam gives you an apologetic smile with that stupid beautiful face of his, he moves forward, grabbing you by your wrists, and moving you with him—towards his bed.

“sam!” you hiss, alarms are blaring in every corner of your mind as sam all but drags you under the toasty covers of his bed. he lifts the blanket and stations you by the edge, covering you in the blanket—which is now a lumpy mess.

this is his childhood bed you’re in, where his mother and brother are just by the door.

and his mother is calling him.

“i’ll get this over with quick,” he says to you, already heading towards the door of his room. “hang on tight, ‘kay?”

you breathe a sound of agreement, way too jittery to formulate any proper response as you quieten under the covers.

though the sheets do feel nice, and smells overwhelmingly of that specific cologne he uses (stolen from joja inventory, he told you once). you will yourself not to relax and melt into the sheets so fast. instead, you listen for each and every sound that may give hint to whatever the hell is happening.

there’s a commotion that you can hear happening, the door swings open, the hinges creaking along with it—this whole surreal experience feels a little like the confrontation part of a horror movie, the helpless victim hiding and the heavy footfalls of the killer.

though in your case, it’s not one set of footsteps, but two.

“what are you two doing here?”

“you’re the one who called us over, remember?” you can recognize the band’s shut-in pianist’s voice from anywhere. “you were all like, stop skipping practice, seb.”

sam’s voice is oddly pitchy when he responds. “…well, tonight’s no good!”

you hear the other person huff, you strain your ears harder to listen. the huffing person clearly fed up with the strange behavior sam’s putting out right now.

“my mom and vincent are asleep,” he adds hurriedly. “they’d wake up—”

you resist the urge to groan, stifling your mouth under a sweaty palm. jodie was just speaking to him minutes ago, there’s no way they’d buy that. he cannot be a more obvious liar.

thankfully they gloss over the fact. “sam, why are you acting so damn weird?” sebastian asks, straightforward as ever.

“yeah,” the other voice adds. feminine but strong. which you now identify as abigail’s, you hear a pinch of impatience in her voice. “and why are you red? did you sit outside in the snow or something—”

sam chokes, which he tries to conceal as an odd sounding cough. abigail pauses mid-sentence. the shift in the atmosphere is palpable. you screw your eyes shut, hearing the rapid rate of your heartbeat. it’s so loud you’re almost convinced the trio can hear the thumping from your hiding spot under the sheets. this is it, they’re going to discover you.

“oh, oh i see,” abigail grins. “on second thought, i wouldn't risk catching all those germs. i’m feeling starved, let’s hit the saloon, seb.”

the aforementioned man grumbles, seemingly puzzled by the sudden switch in abigail’s attitude. “huh… why?” abigail must have whispered something to him—you can barely hear over the muffle of sam’s blanket comforters. “ugh, alright. fine. you owe us one, sam.”

“oh, of course! mhm, yup,” you cringe at the immense awkwardness of sam’s response, feeling the overwhelming urge to pull out your own hair. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? now shoo! wouldn’t wanna get you both sick or somethin’…”

“huh?” sebastian replies, rightfully puzzled as they’re forcefully pushed out of the room. “why would we see you tomorrow if you’re sick—”

“well seb,” abigail says smugly. “let’s just say sammy here is taking care of some important business—”

“okay, bye!” you hear the door click shut. to your utter bewilderment, sam shut the door in their faces.

the room is deathly quiet, the air is stagnant and stuffy. once you feel it safe enough, you crane your neck out of the blankets to check over him. to trace any lingering feeling the sudden visit might’ve given him. sam’s got his back rested against the wood of his door, his back slumped.

“i—i wasn’t expecting that,” you say quietly from your hiding spot on his bed. peeking the top half of your face, watching the door carefully. “kinda nerve-wracking.”

and embarrassing.

“i know—i’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “i didn’t expect them coming over.”

“sebastian said you invited them for practice, though.” you point out.

“maybe i did,” he admits, creeping closer to you on the bed, even if he’s guilty and embarrassed. “i totally forgot—i mean, i was really nervous! my mind blanks when i get nervous…”

sam stops right by the side of the bed, as if he’s waiting for your permission to get in with you—in his own bed. and to be perfectly honest, you really want him to.

“kinda ruined the atmosphere too,” he looks away from you, eyes downcast and melancholy. “i had this whole thing planned too, and i, just… ugh…”

your eyes soften. “sam, it’s really fine. okay, maybe a little shocking but you know it’s not enough to scare me away.”

he looks down at you, worried. his eyebrows are ever so slightly pinched—you wish you could run your fingers over it, and smooth it out yourself.

“plus,” you murmur, reaching over the small amount of space between the two of you to clasp his wrist. “i’m not just gonna leave… just tell me what you were going to say—before the… interruption.”

that gives you the final push to gather your courage to tug him into bed with you. sam follows, flopping onto the empty bedding next to you without a fight. for a moment, it’s just the two of you, side by side, slowly huddling closer and closer for warmth.

and sam is warm. he’s practically radiating comfy heat you wish to burrow into—or wrap yourself around. the perfect bed-partner for winter nights like these.

you find yourself becoming addicted to the feeling.

sam angles his body towards you. you on your back and him on his side, it feels intimate and special. and for some reason, it feels familiar—like you’ve always belonged by his side.

“i think you know already,” he tells you, his eyes are not clear in the dim light but you know, there are practically hearts in them. “that i like you.”

you giggle softly. “and i think you know the same about me.”

sam tentatively grasps your hand, the freezing fingertips thawing under his careful touch. the caress of his hand on yours sends tingling electricity down your spine, your whole body feels alert—alive.

he speaks again, but this time his tone is a whisper of what it usually is. “stay awhile?”

“yeah,” you swallow, squeezing his hand in your grip. a small smile on your lips. “yes, i want to.”

“good,” he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the edges so softly and the dimples on his cheeks deepen. there really is no one else who can compare for you. “hey, you’re really cold… let me warm you up?”

you turn to your side, facing him. at this angle, your faces are mere inches apart. you can trace every dip, line and curve of his face, and he yours. your hand tingles with the overwhelming urge to reach for him and squeeze.

“it is cold,” you agree. “i’d very much like that.”

“phew,” he softly sighs. sam drags his fingers up your arm, stopping at your elbow. wherever he touches, a whisper of him lingers on your skin—a bone deep imprint you yearn for him to spread all across your skin.

you roll into him with little to no effort at all. sam drags you to his chest, your ear perched right above his heart, you can hear the steady thump! of his heartbeat from underneath. sam winds his arms around you, intensifying the heat you feel by tenfold—it’s not uncomfortable at all, though. you like it.

your bodies fit perfectly together, just like puzzle pieces. a mess of limbs tangling together. the warmth of him making you shudder in honey-like delight. it feels syrupy and soft and warm wrapped in his arms.

his hand at your back travels downwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake you feel even through the thickness of the fabric separating the skin of your back and his fingertips. his hands feel rough and calloused at the small of your back—from playing guitar and his skateboarding incidents—but you enjoy the feeling.

you trail your fingers under the thick fabric of his jacket and shirt, feeling the smooth skin underneath—the action has no deeper meaning than you wanting to feel.

sam’s uncharacteristically quiet. his breaths are slow and long, like he’s on the verge of sleep. yet his arms are wound tight around you—like he never wants to let go of you. your nerves make you feel like a slow simmering soup. warm and slowly cooking over the fire.

you two stay entangled for a while, in comfortable silence. sometime during the night you’ve matched your breathing to his, and he pulled you somehow even closer to his body.

but, a thump comes from his window, a light tapping sound. soft but persistent. the two of you opt to ignore it, in favor of snuggling closer to each other. yet the taps continue, and become louder and faster.

disrupted by the noise, sam mournfully throws the covers from over him to check, untangling himself from your grip. leaving a very him-shaped indent on the bed left in his wake. you groan, sticking your bottom lip out, you miss the warmth of him already.

“oh shit.”

the expletive makes you sit up in his bed, the comforter draping off your middle. you can make out the shape of him even with the dimness of the light—sam’s back is towards you, and if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks like he’s shrinking into himself a tiny bit.

“what is it?” you whisper-shout to him.

he slowly turns to you, wide eyed, his shoulders stiff. sort of resembling a kicked-dog. sam bows down his head—with what you think is shame, for what reason, you can’t tell. rubbing your eyes of sleep, you furrow your brow, craning your neck to look out the window behind him.

abigail and sebastian are there, waving wildly at you. your eyes widen. abigail and sebastian are waving at you with smug smiles plastered on their faces.

your stomach drops for the umpteenth time that night. you honestly feel too horrified to speak.

you bury yourself under the sheets, a feeble attempt to conceal your mortification. so that’s why abigail was playing along with sam’s urgent ramblings—she knew (not that sam was any good at keeping a cool facade, he is totally incapable of lying smoothly). you groan, you feel like a rebellious teenager again, only the part where you get caught and utterly humiliated.

outside, you can hear the loud roaring laughter of the duo through the glass, alongside the awkward, embarrassed chatter of your newly-minted boyfriend. (not technically official, but the title succeeds to relieve your horror by the tiniest bit)

still, you stay put. through the mortification and embarrassment you still stick yourself to sam’s side, or more literally, on his bed—because you know, there’s no other place you’d rather be.

you spare another glance out of the covers at the trio—to your surprise, sam’s beat you to it. looking at you with heart eyes and the most lovesick expression (you’re pretty sure yours looks the same).

you know there’s going to be a lot more explaining to do in the morning. but it doesn’t matter to you, not right now when you’re in sam’s bed on the verge of sleep.

not when you feel so warm.

a/n: shoutout to the ass trio for making an appearance in the fic! i love you abby and seb.

[uchizana]

WHISPERS AT MIDNIGHT

synopsis: in the heat of a tantalizing party game, the rivalry with your boyfriend's best friend turns into an unexpected spark when a kiss reveals a chemistry that feels more right than anything you’ve experienced before, forcing you to confront the tangled emotions of love and desire.

pairing: boyfriend's best friend!giselle x kinda cheater!fem reader

warning(s): cheating, kissing, mentions of alcohol

word count: 3.1k

— english isn't my first language so sorry if there are any grammar mistakes.

aespa masterlist.

you stood at the entrance of the party, hesitating as laughter and music spilled out like an enthusiastic wave, lapping at your feet. your boyfriend, jacob, was beaming, his excitement pulling you along like a current. you had tried to resist, to persuade him that you could just skip this gathering. after all, it was just another one of his friends’ parties, and you were already contemplating an early night. but his enthusiasm was infectious, and after a persistent tug on your arm, you found yourself inside, instantly swallowed by the crowd.

you step into the vibrant chaos of the party, your boyfriend’s hand warm and reassuring around your waist. the atmosphere was vibrant and lively, people mingling, drinks clinking, and music providing a pulsing rhythm that thrummed through the floor beneath your feet. you plastered a smile on your face, hoping it would hold as you navigated the throng of bodies. you'd wanted to decline—feeling tired or overwhelmed or simply not in the mood—but he had convinced you with his easy smile and gentle coaxing.

you glance around, taking in the colorful decorations and the mingling crowd. bright smiles light up faces, and the energy flows like a current through the space. you force a smile back at your boyfriend’s friend, who greets you with exuberance before quickly moving on with the evening. unbeknownst to you, your anxious heart is already trapped in a more subtle tension.

as your boyfriend greets his friends, you offer a polite smile to a group of unfamiliar faces, scanning the room for any semblance of comfort. but all you find is a smattering of revelers lost in their fun, none of whom seem interested in welcoming you into their circle. you twist the hem of your dress, your heart a steady drum of anxiety, grounding you against the unfamiliarity of it all.

then, your eyes land on aeri. she’s standing off to the side, caught up in a lively exchange, her laughter ringing like music. she’s the type of girl who effortlessly draws attention. In her sleek black dress, she radiates confidence, its cut accentuating her curves gracefully. despite your simmering resentment, you can’t help but acknowledge that she’s beautiful—so different from yourself. it grates against your insecurities, this acknowledgment that fuels the longstanding tension between you two.

she was wearing a simple black dress, a simple dress who clings to her curves perfectly, and you can’t help but feel the sharp pang of a relentless comparison. you pulled out all the stops tonight – the perfect outfit, extra makeup, even a new hairstyle – yet here she was, effortlessly radiant, commanding the attention of everyone around her.

she stood a few feet away, chatting with a group of her friends, and as soon as you noticed her, a knot twisted in your stomach. your pulse quickened. aeri was your boyfriend's best friend, and from the very first moment you met her, something about their connection had irked you. it was in the familiarity of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke to him, and the fleeting touches, like a hand resting on his arm or the way she leaned into him as they shared inside jokes. jacob insisted they were just friends, that there was nothing more to it, but there was a flicker in her gaze that made your chest tighten.

as your boyfriend notices her too, a smile breaks across his face—one that makes your stomach clench unpleasantly. you can’t place it, exactly. it’s something about the way they interact that makes your skin crawl—how their jokes seem laced with intimacy, as familiar as an old song. a hairline fissure crumbles your confidence, as you overhear snippets of their conversation, laughter that feels all too comfortable.

there's a flicker of something—an ease, a familiarity—in the way he approaches her. you know this dance all too well, the deep affection and easy laughter that bounces between the two of them, and your chest feels heavy with an unfounded jealousy. you attempt to shake it off, resisting the urge to follow him. somehow, he manages to draw her into an animated conversation, and you, stranded like a misplaced piece on a game board, stand awkwardly at the periphery, feeling the uncertainty of your place among them.

as the small talk begins to flurry around you, you can’t suppress the knot forming in your stomach. your boyfriend’s voice mingles with the laughter in the air, a chorus that feels both familiar and foreign. you’re intrigued and agitated all at once. “it’s just my best friend,” he reassured you this morning, his tone casual as he fluffed his hair before the mirror. the innocent way he said it still rings in your ears. but deep down, you’ve never accepted that truth.

“hey there!” aeri calls, turning her attention to you after a moment. you muster a small smile, feeling the weight of her scrutiny. “you finally came!”

you nod, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice betrays you. “yeah,” you reply, forcing it out, careful to not let the disdain creep through. what do you even say to her? you've hardly exchanged more than a few polite words—if you could even call them that—since jacob started dating you.

“jacob really wanted you to come.” the way she says his name feels like a caress—casual yet intimate. you can’t help but glance over at him, and there he is, standing beside her with a lighthearted grin, a stark contrast to the growing tension tightening your chest.

“yeah, it wasn’t really my idea,” you reply, your voice a little more brittle than intended. you refuse to let insecurity seep into your words. the party ebbs and flows around you, but inside, a storm is brewing.

they fall back into lighthearted banter, and you’re left on the outskirts, seated on the edge of the couch, feeling like an imposter.

as jacob led you toward the couch, aeri's eyes caught his, and the way they lit up made your heart sink. you knew they shared a history, a years-long bond that you could never quite penetrate. you sat down stiffly, abruptly aware of how small you felt next to her. the conversation flowed easily between them, light teasing and laughter that felt like a barrier you couldn’t cross. you had no part, just a spectator in a scene that twisted your insides.

when jacob stood to get drinks, he told you to wait on the couch. “i’ll be quick,” he promised, but the moment he left, you felt adrift, an island isolated in a sea of warmth and merriment. the music faded into the background as you found yourself casting furtive glances at aeri. she was engrossed in her phone, her laughter still echoing in your mind, and yet she seemed so far away. it was maddening.

aeri’s beauty seemed almost intimidating as your eyes roamed over her. the way her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, framing her delicate features, the playful curve of her lips dancing as she types. she was everything you wanted to be—effortless, compelling, the kind of person who would catch anyone’s eye. you couldn’t help but feel a mix of resentment and insecurity bubbling beneath the surface.

aeri, with her bright coral pink hair and soft features, turned towards you. “hey,” she said, breaking the initial tension. “are you comfortable here?”

you nodded, adjusting the hem of your dress—a sleek, midnight blue number that your boyfriend loved on you. “it's nice,” you replied, adjusting your body slightly. there was always something about aeri that put you on edge, a mix of her confident demeanor and your own shyness amplifying your discomfort.

she tilts her head, her eyes assessing you with a friendliness you weren't expecting. “i like your dress, by the way.”

those words hang in the air, and while you want to brush them off, you feel a sense of warmth bubble up. “thanks,” you say, glancing down at the attire you spent hours picking out. the compliment emboldens you, even if just a little.

“no problem! i love seeing what everyone wears to parties. it’s like our version of a fashion show.” she lounges back, still casually scrolling through her phone but occasionally looking in your direction, which makes your heart skip.

before the conversation could linger, aeri's group of friends burst into the room, laughter trailing behind them like a comet’s tail. jimin, with her effervescent charm, and minjeong, with her infectious grin, and yizhuo, whose playful demeanor made her an instant favorite in any gathering.

“aeri!” they cheer in unison, and suddenly, the air shifts. you can see why your boyfriend enjoys spending time with them—their infectious energy is undeniable. they pull her into their small circle, laughing and chatting animatedly.

“aeri! we’ve been looking for you!” jimin exclaimed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “we want to have some fun.”

aeri’s gaze flickered to you, an unexpected glint in her eye. “you should join us!” she suggested, the invitation lingering in the air. the other girls echoed her sentiment, their enthusiasm infectious.

you hesitate. the social anxiety clenches at your stomach, but her friends are lively and charming, and their eagerness makes it hard to refuse “oh, i—i don’t know,” you stammered, feeling that familiar panic rise in your chest. you had never truly fit with aeri’s crowd. their carefree energy seemed light-years away from your more reserved nature.

“come on!” minjeong urged, nudging your arm playfully. “it’ll be fun! we promise!”

with their gentle insistence and the pull of curiosity, you found yourself nodding, albeit reluctantly. as they shuffled away, beckoning you to follow, you felt the weight of your apprehensions lift ever so slightly, swept up in the momentum of their excitement.

“so, you wanna play a game?” jimin nudges you, her playful tone almost infectious. It’s a dare—a suggestion that’s bubbling with excitement and just a hint of mischief.

“what do you have in mind?” you can’t help but smile a little bit at the group, though a flicker of dread streaks through your mind. a swift exchange of glances occurs between aeri, minjeong, and yizhuo—a silent consensus. before you know it, a familiar, yet cringe-worthy idea takes form.

“spin the bottle!” they declare in unison. you try to chuckle, dismissing the ground zero of many teenage romantic misadventures. the idea of kissing anyone, let alone aeri, sends your mind racing.

but the group is persistent, their playful taunts luring you into the circle they’ve formed on the floor. you want to resist, to tell them you’re not comfortable with this, especially now that your boyfriend isn’t around. still, there’s a friendly, infectious thrill around you, and you can’t shake the feeling that saying yes might bring something different, something exciting.

the bottle spins, and your heart races. it spins once, twice, and then it slowly teeters… before settling onto aeri’s name. a gasp erupts from the circle, and laughter soon follows, echoing around like a strange anthem of inevitability. you half-laugh and half-frown at her smug grin, your heart pounding as aeri meets your gaze.

“no way. i refuse!” you blurt out, almost reflexively, the words spilling from your lips. the laughter dies down, and the room tilts on its axis for a moment. everyone exchanges looks, undoubtedly amused by your dismay.

“come on, it’s just a game!” jimin nudges you playfully, but you can’t shake the tension in your chest. aeri shifts closer, her movements smooth and intentional. they’re all looking at you now, their eyes sparkling with challenge.

“no way, not happening,” you stammer, shaking your head. the metallic clink of the bottle rolls around, laughter ringing in your ears, but it feels like the world has shrunk to just you and aeri.

“aw, please!” minjeong presses, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “you don't have to be afraid to kiss her. we play this game often. we’re used to it.”

“unless you’re scared?” yizhuo says, a smirk gracing her lips. there it is—the challenge buried in her playful tone, daring the edge of your confidence.

the stakes were high, and your heart raced in your chest. you peered at aeri, waiting for her to back you up, to nod and give you an out. instead, she leaned closer, a daring spark in her eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

you swallowed hard. “no, wait, i can’t—”

laughter cheers you on, and amid your panic, aeri leans in closer, her gaze locking with yours—her eyes fierce, yet inviting. “come on, it’s just a kiss. we can start slow.” your heart races, and you feel as though the world around you fades away.

you know that. you know it all too well, yet the idea rattles through your mind like a blaring alarm. a kiss with a girl? aeri, no less?

“n-no, i can’t— i think i'd rather drink,” you stammer, anxiety surging through you.

but aeri was already moving, her playful smirk igniting a sense of defiance within you. “too late!” she leaned in, and you instinctively recoiled, but she was quicker. grabbing your wrist, she pulled you closer.

“just one kiss,” she murmured against your lips, her breath hot. the playfulness in her tone ignited something rebellious in you. a cautious part of your mind screamed that you were crossing a line—about to kiss aeri, your boyfriend’s best friend—yet another part—the part engulfed by the thrilling spontaneity of the party—skidded into a wild abandon.

then she kisses you. it’s not tentative or shy. it’s electrifying, assertive—aeri takes complete control. her lips are soft yet firm, pressing into yours with a hunger that is anything but innocent. the initial shock sends a shiver down your spine, and the world around you blurs into the background. the warm tones of the room fade, replaced by the vivid sensation of her mouth moving against yours.

you feel her breath, a mix of mint and sweet candy, almost intoxicating in the way it swirls around your senses. it escalates quickly; her hands slide up to cup your face, tilting your head just right, and continue the kiss with an urgent pull. you’re lost in the moment, your initial hesitation shattering against the fervent energy she exudes. it’s wild, a rush of excitement that you hadn’t anticipated.

it’s unexpected, and your heart races as she pulls you into a kiss that transcends the innocent dare you thought it would be. she takes charge entirely, the kiss igniting a fire within you that you didn’t know existed. it was soft at first, brushing against your lips like a whisper, but then it deepens—her tongue teasing at the edges of your mouth, coaxing you to engage, to give in to the wildness of the moment.

there’s no hesitation from her; she’s alive in the kiss, radiating confidence like a sunbeam as she kisses you like this was all she’d ever wanted. your heart beats wildly, a mix of disbelief and exhilaration coursing through your veins as you taste the faint tang of her lip gloss mixed with the heat of the moment. you hear yourself inhale sharply, caught between two worlds—your steady relationship with jacob and this intoxicating encounter with Aeri.

as aeri’s hand curls around the nape of your neck, guiding you deeper into the kiss, you realize you’re responding instinctively. your lips move against hers, ignited by something new and utterly thrilling. it’s raw, delicious, and your own reservations fade into nothingness, overshadowed by a rush of adrenaline and vulnerability.

all around you, the party seems to fade—the sounds of laughter muffled as you lose yourself in her, the kiss intensifying as aeri deepens her embrace. a tightness coils in your chest—the thrill of being caught in a moment you never expected fills you with a potent mixture of fear and excitement.

and just as you start feeling the heat, the voracious need rising between you, you catch sight of jacob entering the room from the corner of your eye. panic surges within you, and, at that moment, instinct kicks in. you break the kiss, pulling back with a gasp, cheeks flushed and heart racing. aeri smirks, a triumphant glint in her eye, but in your mind, all you can focus on is jacob's impending appearance, a looming storm you’re not prepared to face.

“hey, babe!” he calls out, waving, blissfully unaware of the charged atmosphere that lingers like smoke in the air.

his arrival sends a rush of clarity through you, leaving you abruptly aware of your choices. you stand at a crossroads, heart thumping relentlessly. aeri’s hold on you has been exhilarating, but guilt threatens to beat the excitement into submission. as jacob approaches, you stand at the precipice of chaos, torn between the thrill of the unexpected and the comfort of your relationship.

you step away from aeri, deliberately widening the space between your bodies as jacob pulls you into a warm embrace. he seems oblivious to the chemistry still fizzing in the air. you can feel aeri’s eyes on you, the smirk still firmly in place as she watches the scene unfold.

aeri’s eyes flash with secret delight as she straightens herself, wiping any traces of your kiss from her lips just as you manage to compose your features into something neutral. when jacob reaches you, he leans down and kisses your cheek, greeting you with a casual warmth that should've made your heart flutter. instead, you feel a knot of guilt tightening in your stomach, complicated by the thrill still pulsing through you.

jacob wraps an arm around your waist, directing you toward his group of friends, but as he turns to share a laugh with them, you glance back at aeri. that cheeky smirk on her face is like a brand, a reminder of the exhilaration she awakened in you—not just in that fleeting kiss, but in the way she directly challenged your boundaries.

you flick a glance back at aeri, who has a soft smirk curled on her lips, her eyes glinting with something that sends a shiver down your spine. just before jacob turns to guide you away from her, qeri winks, a playful yet dangerous challenge buried in that simple action.

it's as if she’s tethered your futures together—one loop, a chaotic thrill. and as you find yourself comfortably nestled back in jacob's circle of friends, a question lingers in your mind: should you just forget what happened, or is this just the beginning of something tumultuous? the thrill of the unknown dances in the air around you, echoing still like a half-played song waiting for another spin.

that one wild kiss has unraveled something deep within you, a question you’ll have to face sooner or later… where does your heart truly belong? and was it just a game, or something more intoxicating than that?

[werewolfnarrative]

EXCLUSIVE TREATMENT

M!Sylus and F!Reader. "Goodcat Code" inspired;

GENRE: smut, a little bit of plot;

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT, kissing, teasing (Sylus has a sensible body), boob and nipple sucking, oral (M!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC ARE CONSENTING ADULTS. PROCEED CAREFULLY AND DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RECREATE THESE SITUATIONS IN REAL LIFE.

You were greeted with the eternal night of the N109 Zone. The plane had just landed and you were now in the airport waiting to be picked up. A new Protocore auction was about to happen, and Jenna was confident in your skills to navigate the area.

Luke and Kieran were meant to pick you up at the south entrance and take you to Onychinus' base. When you leave the big glass doors there is no soul or vehicle around. You double check the messages. Nothing.

Your cellphone rings. "Hey, hold on tight!" The voice of the twins echoed through the dark. "There has been a... problem but we are on our way." Just as the audio ends, a fancy black car shows up in your field of vision.

"What happened? Is it related to Sylus?" You ask as they help you put your luggage in the trunk. "Ah, good night." You quickly add. They look at each other, a very noticeable nervousness in the air. "Of course not, he's fine."

Sylus was not, in fact, fine. He had woken up this morning (night) feeling dizzy, even though he never got sick. There were important preparations to be made in regards to the Protocore auction, so he just send Luke and Kieran take care of them so he woudn't have to expose himself so much. And the worst part of it is that you would be arriving in a few hours.

He locked himself in his study and told the staff to not be bothered. The cook and cleaning were dispensed for the day. The only way he would even interact with the world outside is through the twins, and they were running left and right to make everything perfect.

"He's fine." Kieran confirmed.

The house was bathed in shadows and eerily silent when the three of you arrived. No one commented on it, nor the absence of the host. Your luggage was delivered to the guest room (the one closest to Sylus' own bedroom was always used by you when you visited. Some of your plushies from Linkon decorated the walls) and then you were alone.

"Hi, Sylus. Are you home?" You try to call him. No one picks up, so you leave a voicemail. "I arrived safely, and so did the twins. Thank you for picking me up." A few minutes go by until a hoarse voice reaches your ears. "I'm glad you're here."

What was that? He never used words like that, and there was something wrong with his voice. You begin to search around the house on your own, since Luke would always give avoidant answers and his twin was out for the preparations. There were no lights under the door to his bedroom.

The door opens silently and you come in. You think about turning on the lights, but that would reveal your position to the one downstairs. The search was going smoothly, even in darkness, until you see two glowing red dots at the top of his bed.

"Got lost, sweetie?" The tall figure got up and began approaching you. "Why are you in the dark, you crazy? It's bad for your eyes." He lets out an amused chuckle. "I couldn't find you anywhere so I began searching."

"Worried about me?" He whispers. Even then, you can still hear a different timbre to his voice. You paw at the walls, trying to find the light switch. A strong white light fills the room, and both of you groan at the sudden luminosity.

You let out an "ouch" when you open your eyes for the first time. The sight before you is surely a trick of the light. When you look at this angle, it almost looks like Sylus is sporting cat ears and a tail. His eyes are still closed and he is standing completely still, wich gives you enough time to absorb his features.

The (very real) ears twitch, and the tail moves languidly behind. There are slight eyebags under his eyes and his posture is a little... sad? "What the hell happened to you?" He winces. "Remember our little Kitty Cards game last night, kitten? There is a strange Evol affecting me and I think they are related."

"I guess you are the kitten now, Sylus." You spat back at him. "Is it temporary?" He nods and moves to turn of the light switch. You stand in front of it, stopping him in his tracks.

One look at his face is all it takes to see he is not happy. In fact, tired is the word that explains it better. "If you want to stay, stay. I'm going to bed." He unceremoniously turns around and plops onto the mattress, face down.

"Are you going to stay here all day?" "I can't exactly leave until I get back to normal. Feel free to do whatever you want in the meantime." You're pretty sure he was talking about the black credit card, or exploring the base, but you immediately lay down on the bed beside him. His ears twitch in interest and he puts his tail on top of you.

"Whatever I want?" He shifts on the bed to look at you. "Does my kitten have something in mind?" You giggle and reach for his white fur, meeting no resistance. He grumbles when you run your fingertips across his hair and then his ears.

You start going lower, cradling his face in both of your hands. He is sitting up now, also wrapping his arms around you to secure your body in place. He nibbles every patch of skin he can reach as you continue your journey, caressing his neck and then finding purchase on his shoulders. You bite him a little more strongly and he moans.

"If you're touching me like this, does this means I can touch you too?" You nod and your mouths meet halfway. Both of you alternate between kisses to squeezing and groping. There is a blush on his face as you feel run your hands through his pecks and stomach. His hand moves to your breasts and begins teasing your hard peaks.

"I tought you said you were going to bed?" You tease. He turns your body around quickly, standing up as you are pushed down to the matress. You are now under Sylus as he kisses you fervently and purrs against your skin. "My kitten is very bold today. I am going to bed, just not alone."

Sylus makes a show of taking of his thin shirt, the upper part of his body leaving nothing to imagination. You can see his bulge protruding from his pants and your stomach pools with desire. He guides your hand to his ears and tail again, and whimpers when you give the sensitive skin a soft pinch.

"Take them off." You begin undressing your many layers, still in your travel outfit. Sylus hums in satisfaction and begins licking your tits as soon as they are in view. You forget completely of your pants while he makes you shiver in his grasp, sucking the nubs until they are swollen.

"I-I want -" He begins, but stops midway. His feline ears droop down. "Tell me what you want." You reply, remembering all the times he said the same thing to you, in this same bedroom. Sylus guides your head to his strained pants, and you understand.

His tip is angry red when you pull his waistbands off. Precum is already gathering at the tip, and you prepare your mouth for what's to come. Sylus seems to be more desperate today, since he is moaning and telling you to hurry up. "Want to be inside your pretty mouth."

You begin sucking and playing with the tip. That is already enough to have his hips bucking into the air as you continue your descend. "Calm down love, I'll get there." During all of your relationship, you had never seen Sylus like this. Was the cat Evol affecting him so badly?

"Please let me come inside your mouth. Let me -" He stops again, clearly embarassed. His flush now spread to his shoulders and his chest. "Let me what, darling?" The pet name, along with you sucking his shame out through his dick makes him a little less bashfull.

"Want to breed." He declares like it's his most precious secret. "Want to make you full of my litter." During these times, you were sure Sylus had a breeding kink, even if he refused to talk about it if not in moments like this.

Even then, he continues guiding your head to deepthroat his dick, gasping loudly when you suck. "I won't last long, kitten I -" You produce a loud slurping sound and run your tongue all across his lenght.

He explodes in your mouth with a loud groan.

You wait a few seconds for him to open his eyes, his release still in your mouth. You swallow and see something flash behind his eyes. Just like earlier, you are wrestled to be under him, cock still hard and teasing your folds.

"Do you have any idea of what you do to me?" Sylus teases your entrance while playing with your clit. "How hard it was not to pounce on you the moment you came through that door? I tought about you all day." He mumbles, more to himself than to anyone else, and continues his job to make his cock fit inside.

You feel the telltale strech as he makes his way through your walls. Both your and Sylus' moans fill the room, eyes shut to absorb the pleasure. "Look at me. Want to see you." He demands. After a few more tries, he finally bottoms out.

"Why didn't you respond to my texts? My calls?" His ears droop, but his tail wraps as strongly as possible onto your leg while he nuzzles your chest. "I tought being away from you would be easier. It wasn't."

He begins to move and all your anger dissipates.

Sylus' slender fingers resume his ministrations to your bundle of nerves while his shaft touches all your sensitive spots inside. "So good don't stop!" You scream against his mouth before he kisses you urgently. The bed is shaking with the impact of your bodies. "Ne-next time something like this happens, call me earlier."

He laughs. "My kitten is enjoying the treatment, huh?" There are no toughts in your head while Sylus slams into you. You grind against him, meeting his cock halfway. He whimpers, stopping abruptly to stave off his orgasm. Your release is also approaching quicker than expected.

"If you keep doind this, I won't last long." There is sweat on his forehead and a few wild strands of hair fall atop his eyes. You gently brush them back with your fingers. "I tought you said you wanted to fill me with your litter? Is the fearsome Onychinus leader going back on his word?"

Big mistake.

The rhytm he sets after that is punishing, both to your pussy and your clit. You scream at the sudden pace. Sylus' face is scrunched as he mutters "fuck, fuck, fuck" under his breath. He won't last long indeed. There is one last thing you need to do, tough.

"Sy-Sylus?" You ask. He quirks his eyebrows as if they said "yes?" and you approach his human ear. "I love you."

The reaction is instantaneous. You feel his release fill up your insides, and the last movements Sylus did on your clit were enough to send you over the edge. There was so much of it... cum was starting to run down your tighs as he hugged you flush against his body.

"Are you okay?" Even after your breathing went back to normal, Sylus still looked somewhat feverish. He pushed you down on the now stained covers. "Stay with me."

"Of course. I won't leave until you get better." Sylus did not seem satisfied, based on the flicker of his tail. "I want you to stay forever, even after I go back to normal." It was not the first time he made that request, but it never had such raw vulnerability before.

You would never abandon your life in Linkon. Both you and Sylus knew that. Even so, at that moment, the rest of the world seemed so far away. It woudn't hurt to stay for a while, would it?

"I am never going to be able to look at boss again." Kieran had come back from his chores a few minutes ago, and the sounds coming from the master bedroom were unmistakeable. Luke, already knowing of the activities, was blasting loud music through his headphones.

"At least you won't have to run around doing things anymore." The twin responded. "Until he goes back to normal, anyway."

Looking through the multiple drawers, Kieran grabs another set of headphones. He finds a very long trash metal playlist. Good enough. "I won a break at work, but will surely need a terapy session after this."

Would you like to support my work? Or request a prompt? Try tipping me on Ko-Fi:

[astxroiid]

queen sized bed // mcu!peter parker

❥ one bed, motel after midnight, friends, young love, nsfw/18+, smut with a side of plot. dom!reader, mommy kink, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), cream pie. ib: a little death by the neighbourhood.

wc: 2.7k (of pure filth + some fluff at the end)

navigation

You huff, flopping down on the motel bed, still a little frustrated from dealing with the receptionist at the front desk.

He had definitely been more of an asshole than he needed to be. And considering you and Peter have just gotten off a rough mission, you definitely aren’t in the mood to deal with him.

Poor Peter ended up having to step in and diffuse the situation before you decked the concierge. You rub your face, trying to think less angering thoughts.

“I think I’m gonna take a shower,” you announce, while you sit up and start rifling through your black duffel bag.

“Okay, just let me know when you’re in the shower. I wouldn’t want to turn around and catch you naked because of this stupid open floor plan.” yes you would. Peter laughs nervously.

“Sure thing,” you grab the last of your shower supplies and walk through the bathroom archway and begin to strip.

Peter tries his hardest to focus on unpacking his stuff but his ears keep returning to the sounds of items of your clothing hitting the ground. His mind following suit in wandering to you slowly undressing. Revealing more and more of your soft body.

“I’m in now, Pete,” you call, pulling him from the thoughts he definitely shouldn’t be having about his best friend and team member.

“Okay,” his voice cracks. Peter mentally face-palms.

He hears the water running and his mind slips back into his thoughts of you; the water cascading down your body, the way the soap will flow from your hair down your spine, or how the body wash would look after you ran it all over your—

Thud. “Shit!”

You dropped a bottle, bringing him back to reality.

Stop thinking about your friend like this, Peter. Be real with yourself, man.

ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

You finish washing all the soap off your body and reach past the curtain, grabbing your towel and begin drying yourself. Attempting to get as much water off of your person as possible.

Once you’re dry, you wrap the towel around your body and step out of the shower.

You look up, eyes landing on Peter’s bare back.

He’s looking into the sink while brushing his teeth - wearing only his black sweats that you love so much.

Feeling a wanton throb between your legs and a small burst of confidence - you walk up to him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Peter continues bushing his teeth while he moves his free hand down to yours, lightly rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

You both smile.

It’s clear Peter doesn’t understand the energy you’re trying to set. So, you help him get there a little faster.

You glide the hand he’s not holding down his chest. Using just your middle finger to make a path to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Your finger trails from side to side, following the line of his pants seam, lightly brushing over the small patch of hair that disappears beyond his sweats.

You can feel his breathing faltering and hear his heart pounding in his chest. Though; you’re not sure if that’s due to your ear being pressed to his back or the fact that his heart is just beating that loud.

You let your finger dip just beneath his waistband, loving the way his breath hitches in response.

You keep moving your finger back and forth, teasing the poor boy.

Feeling satisfied with how flustered he is - you back away and Peter tries his best to focus back on brushing his teeth.

“Pete?” You call softly.

He glances up, looking at you through the mirror right as you let your towel drop to the floor. Peter flips his head around to look at you - unobscured by the foggy bathroom mirror.

He lets out a breath, letting his eyes rake over your entire body.

“Well? Are you just gonna stand there and gawk or are you going to come over here and touch me, Parker?” You tease.

“Right,” Peter shakes his head, pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth and quickly moving to you. He stands tentatively in front of you, unsure of what to do first. He looks down at you questioningly.

You giggle and grab his wrists. “Have you ever done this before?” The question is genuine.

Peter’s face goes red. “Uhm... no," his response barely audible. He tilts his head down in shame.

You smile while you move his hands to your breasts. “That’s okay. Let me teach you.”

His hands gently caress your chest and you let out a soft noise that makes Peter’s knees go weak.

“Please?” He begs, feeling a pull on his groin as you arch your back into him. He massages your breasts, attempting to - and succeeding in getting more noises from you.

He slowly slides his unoccupied hand between your thighs, rubbing between the folds, finding your clit with such ease you have to wonder if he lied about his inexperience.

Any coherent thoughts you had left the moment he pressed his finger into you and started rubbing at an amazing and yet still agonizingly slow pace.

You glide your hands up his arms and to his face. Bringing it down to yours. You kiss him softly, moving your mouth in an easy rhythm for Peter to follow along with.

Peter moves his middle finger to your entrance and pauses for your permission. You grind yourself against his hand, hoping that’s enough of a yes.

He takes it and slides his fingers in with ease, surprised at how wet you already are.

“Fuck, y/n,” he moans into your mouth. His sweats tighten as he starts to pump his fingers in and out of you, lewd noises already making their way out of your mouth.

He’s lost in the feeling of you. It’s all he’s ever wanted and more. Just you and him. Melding together in such a beautiful way.

The hand on your breast moves to your hip where he rubs his thumb over the bone lovingly.

You move one of your hands to the side of his throat as you start to kiss his neck, leaving marks everywhere while grinding your hips back and fourth on his hand.

Pete’s breath leaves him almost completely, knowing anyone could see what you’ve done to him turns him on more than he thinks you could know.

You pull away abruptly. Peter feels as though he's missing a piece of himself as he watches you walk away.

You're at the bed, beckoning Peter over with a finger.

He wastes no time. Quickly walking to you and smashing his lips into yours.

Your hand trails down Peter’s chest and beneath his sweatpants. You massage him through his boxers and he groans into your mouth.

If he hadn’t already told you, it would have been an easy guess that he’s only ever touched himself.

“You’re so responsive,” you tell him as you part from his kiss to catch your breath. “I love it.”

Your hand moves out of his pants to his hair, tugging lightly on the soft brown locks. He groans again.

You smile.

“Lay down on the bed for me?” you ask softly.

He nods his head, eager to oblige any command you give to him.

He spreads out on the bed, propping his head on the pillows and making sure to get exactly how he thinks you want him.

“Good boy.”

Peter can’t explain the pride that swells in his chest at the praise. All he knows is that he’ll do anything to get you to say it again.

You crawl on top of him, straddling his waist as you lean in to kiss his neck again. Peter’s hands grip at the sheets as he attempts to hold himself back.

You move your mouth down to his collar bone, sucking on sensitive spots. You feel peter writhe and moan beneath you

You slowly move down his chest, taking your time the lower you get.

You smile up at him and pull on the elastic with your teeth, releasing it and letting the material pop back down on his skin. You tease him more by lightly trailing your finger around his lower stomach.

Peter makes a strangled noise. “Y/N... please,” he begs breathlessly.

“Please, what, Pete?”

“T-touch me. Please. I don’t think I can take it anymore,” he’s on the verge of whining.

“Since you asked so nicely...”

You pull his sweats down at an agonizingly slow pace, then doing the same with his boxers.Savoring every inch of new skin being revealed to you.

Once Peter’s dick is free, it springs up and lays flat on his stomach.

You feel heat rush to your core, along with a familiar wetness.

You bite your lip and take it in your hand, rubbing your thumb over the head.

Peter’s own head falls back against the pillow as his hips and legs shake.

“I’ve barely touched you, baby,” you note and peter could probably cum just from the sultry tone in your voice.

He whines and grips the sheets.

You use his eyes squeezed shut to your advantage and surprise him with your tongue licking up his cock.

Peter gasps and looks down at you. You smile back as you take him in your mouth, moving your lips all the way down to the hilt.

The noise that comes from the man beneath you is divinity. You to moan around him. His legs shake and he can’t help but thrust into your mouth.

You gag, which only causes him more pleasure and a small mmph noise makes it’s way out of him.

He grabs a light fist full of your hair, pulling you away from his cock.

"y/n, if you keep going I'll finish now," he's out of breath, sweat starting to form on his chest.

"That's the plan," the deep tone and tantalizing wink you give him as go go back down have chills running all across his body.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Peter's while lower half convulses and you wrap you mouth back around him, grabbing a handful of his balls.

You wrap your free hand around the base of his cock. "You wanna cum peter?" You slowly pump his cock.

"'Wanna cum inside you... please," he struggles.

"Oh, baby. There's plenty of time for that," Peter feels like his heart is gonna explode from the leisurely pace you're stroking him at. "I'm asking you if you want to cum in my mouth."

He throws his head back and says through gritted teeth; "Fuck... yes, god, please..."

"Yes, what?" You prompt.

Peter's mind swirls with every possible word he could respond with in a matter of milliseconds. And, without thinking, he mistakenly says the one he's only thought about in his most intimate fantasies.

"Yes... mommy."

Fuck.

Peter looks down to see you smiling at him with mischievous grin.

"Mommy?"

His blood runs cold. Fear holing him still.

"I could get used to that," you wrap your mouth around Peter's balls, sucking hard as you go back to pumping his cock. Languid movements driving peter crazy as his mind swirls.

"Uh, fuck. Oh my-- shit, y/n..." he's loud, almost enough to make you worry about any residents in neighboring rooms.

You take your time, moving from sucking his balls to his cock, using any movement necessary to make him feel good. Completely focusing on pleasing the man beneath you. And you're doing an amazing job, you can tell by the noises. The occasional curse word surrounded by your name, blasphemous words, and a lot of whimpering.

He's close. The way his knuckles turn white as he grips the bed sheets. His thighs tightening, muscles flexing. His lips are pressed together and his whole body is stiff.

You bring your mouth down on his dick, taking all of him and squeezing his balls up to his shaft. You bring your pace up as fast as you can, relentless.

"H-holy, oh fuck- y/n."

Warm ropes of cum shoot down your throat, coating your esophagus in him. You swallow it all, continuing to suck at him until his whole body is shaking violently.

You pull off him with a pop, smiling like the devil.

Peter's out of breath, looking like a shell of a man and yet, so fucking hot. He's covered in sweat, chest, face, and thighs glistening. His cheeks are a rosy red you haven't seen from him before. His chest is heaving for air.

You kiss him so hard it steals any oxygen he might have gotten straight out of him. He grabs the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling you harder into him.

He's the one to break the kiss, still attempting to breathe. "You're amazing."

You smile. "C'mere," you lay on your back, pulling him on top of you. He props an arm on either side of your head, leaning down to kiss you as you place your arms around his neck.

You wrap your legs around Peter's waist, rubbing your soaked core against his cock. He whines for you in return.

His legs shake at the sensation, due to his sensitivity and a near-feral need for you. You pull away from the kiss, biting your lip.

"Peter," you breathe, almost a moan. "I want you inside me."

Words Peter Parker never believed he'd hear except when dreaming. He feels his cock start to harden again.

You feel it as well. Taking it as a sign to keep on.

"Peter... please," you pull his ear next to your mouth and whisper low; "i wanna feel your cock inside me."

He shudders, fully erect by now. Peter quickly grabs his dick, lining himself up with your entrance, waiting on your consent. He looks at you, the question in his eyes.

"Yes, peter. Fuck me," he needs no more reassurance. He slowly pushes into you, both yours and Peter's legs shaking from the pleasure.

"Ffffuck-" you interrupt yourself with a moan. One that makes Pete's brain go foggy, the only thought being fucking you.

He grabs your hips, expertly sliding himself in and out of you at a pace near divinity. Your mind is wiped of any coherent thought that could've ever been there except for the question of how he is do good at this.

"Fuck, shit. 'So tight." Peter rests his head on your shoulder as he fucks harder into you.

It's beautiful, in the most obscene way. The way your warm bodies are practically glued together, moving in a rhythm only your souls know. The noises flowing from your lips already have Peter rocking on the edge of release, and the groans from him are doing the same to you.

You place your fingernails at the tops of Peter's shoulders, dragging them down his back then around his ribs.

He takes in a breath, shuddering. "Fuck, fuck, y/n. I'm close. So close..."

"Cum inside me, Peter. Please," your walls clench hard around him and the sounds of his whines.

The feeling of your warmth wrapped around his cock, mixed with your sounds are the purest form of ecstasy for Peter.

He reaches between your bodies, pressing his fingers against your clit and circling fast.

"Oh fuck, oh my god," you moan loud, your whole body tensing as you cum harder than you ever have in your life around Peter's cock.

You look down, seeing you've squirted all over his lower half. Fuck. There's no time to think about it because Peter is following behind you.

He grabs your hips tighter, pulling your body as close to his as possible. Peter cums deep inside you, filling you with hot, thick ropes of his seed.

The way he looks in this millisecond of a moment will forever stay in your brain. Toned abs covered in sweat and glistening. Chocolate curls a mess, falling in his face. Face towards the sky, screwed up from a pleasure he's never felt before.

The way the light falls around his face illuminates him beautifully. Angelically even.

Peter pulls out of you slowly, both of you too sensitive. He walks to the bathroom, bringing back a damp rag.

"Here," he gently helps clean you up. Afterwards he cleans himself, tossing the rag and putting a new pair of boxers on. He hands you one of his shirts.

"Thank you," you pull the shirt over your head, feeling incredibly loved by Peter. Which prompts you to say; "Peter, I love you."

He smiles and looks so giddy he might float away. He crawls into bed, cuddling up to you. "I love you, too."

This one's been in the works for a while but holy shit, even I'm all hot and bothered from this lmao.

Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank y'all for reading!

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — prologue | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | coriolanus is his own warning, mentions of death, elitism, self harm (Coryo burns his wrist)

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 eight year old Coryo finds out who his soulmate is and his feelings about it

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 this is the first official post about this series that I started on a whim! I am excited to see where this goes, please give me feedback, thank you!

series taglist | series masterlist | navigation

It started with Sejanus. Despite being friends with the boy, eight-year-old Coriolanus Snow couldn't help but loathe the fact the boy had District blood.

Sejanus' presence in the Capitol Academy was an insult to all of Capitol. He couldn't comprehend how it was all allowed before he heard the whispers. Sturbo Plinth bought his way in with money.

Money. The one thing a Snow should be entitled to and yet has none of. Even the power his name held was dwindling. Coriolanus will do anything to make sure ‘Snow lands on top'.

With that vow, Coryo gently brushed his thumb over the tattoo on his wrist. A number, something of significance for his soulmate. Whenever he felt overwhelmed, he traced over the dark lines. He felt instantly calm.

Everything is going to be alright.

His soulmate will be a princess, a goddess, a rich Capitol girl no one can compare to. He will have a happy ending with her. Snows will rise on top, and his girl will be beside him every step of the way. The First Lady of Panem as he will be the president.

He vividly remembers the day all of his hopes were crushed. It was a couple of weeks after Sejanus started attending the academy. The boy was mocked by everyone, and Coriolanus thought it was deserved, a district boy was nothing more than an animal.

Then came the district girl, this one from District One, the district closest to the Capitol. But still not the same. The girl from the district was the prettiest he had ever seen. Although she's district. She had claimed the hearts of the teachers, and in return received many privileges. It was rumored that even the dean had a soft spot for her.

It was understandable why. She was a girl with a sweet smile, a secret sharp tongue, and hidden cruelty in her eyes he wasn't sure anyone saw except him. Her eyes always softened when she looked at him but she was always friendlier with Sejanus. Pea in a pod sticks together after all.

It was a bright day, a hot summer making him sweat in his uniform more than the walk to the academy did. That was the day he felt his heart break, and soul crushed. It was completely by accident. Sejanus and you thinking that maybe, you were soulmates. And Coriolanus thought so too, after all, you both were so close, attached to the hip.

Coriolanus felt like he was intruding into something private whenever he was near you both. With your shared giggles and secret smiles, you were as close as children could be.

When you raise your shirt sleeve revealing your soulmate's tattoo, the date is meant to be the most significant to your soulmate. Sejanus didn't recognize it but Coriolanus did, much to his nightmare.

It was the date most important to him. It was the day of his mother's and unborn sister's death. The day he lost someone he held so close to his heart. That's the number etched on your skin.

No. No! He grabbed your wrist, ignoring your yelp and the protest from Sejanus. His eyes were wide and he felt his body shake. “No. . .” He whispered, a sob in his throat.

“What's wrong?” You asked, trying to get your hand out of his hold, and due to his weak, underweight body, you did it easily enough. You rub your wrist and wait for Coryo's answer.

You don't get one because Coriolanus Snow had turn away and begun to walk away from you and Sej.

When he reached his home, his body was shaking and fat drops of tears falling from his eyes. A district girl as his? Never, never in a thousand years. His dead father would have been so disappointed. He refused to accept her as his.

He won't. Ever.

Tigris tried to ask what happened, but Coryo ignored her. He went into the kitchen, turning on the stove. The fire burned blue and orange. He didn't hesitate, ignoring the scream from Tigris as he put his wrist forward. He bit his lips to not scream himself.

By that time, Tigris had pulled him back. The skin had burned, along with it was gone the soulmate tattoo of his. He let himself sob as Tigris tried to fix him up as much as she could. She didn't scold him, couldn't, when he was crying like he had lost everything, all of his dreams shattered and the reality had settled in.

This was ten years ago, he decided he had no soulmate.

Now as eighteen, he wondered if it would remain true.

next chapter!

Taglist: @tristanswildcat

[vitalverstappen]

Quietly Yours // a Flash Forward blurb

summary: navigating the paddock with a secret romance isn't easy. unfortunately, Charles can't keep a secret to save his life.

pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader (Ferrari photographer, graffiti artist, childhood enemies), Charles Leclerc x platonic fem!reader

warnings: use of y/n, swearing

a/n: i told you i'd be bringing back flash forward at some point. i've had this blurb in my drafts for a while, and now it's yours :) takes place during the 2024 season

word count: 2.3k

flash forward masterlist // main masterlist

You were honestly impressed at how well you and Max were able to keep your relationship hidden from the media. After Isabella constantly posting about her adventures with the Verstappens, you knew the second that Max asked you to be his girlfriend it was going to be under wraps for a while. 

Working for different teams, it was easy to ignore each other. While you were busy following Charles around like a lost puppy capturing content, Max would be elsewhere in the paddock, hopping between meetings and media. The only time you would truly be near each other was if both teams landed on the podium, which somehow only happened once between making it official and making it public. 

And even then, in the blazing sun of Austin, you had to be careful. The brief moments you shared, exchanging smiles from the track, felt like a lifetime, yet they always had to be subtle. A quiet nod here, a fleeting glance there, nothing too obvious. You both knew the importance of keeping your relationship under wraps, especially with the ever-watchful eyes of the media and the fans. 

Working for other teams though, made it difficult when you wanted to see each other. The logistics were a nightmare at times. You’d sneak away from your media obligations, pretending to run errands or look for Annalese, just to steal a few minutes of his company. Max, in turn, would have to duck out of a few meetings or pretend to be buried in his phone when he really just wanted to text you. But you both had a quiet understanding: the secrecy was temporary, just a small sacrifice. 

Of course, those close to you were aware of the blossoming romance. You had told both of your families, Isabella, and Annalese. It was a relief to have the support system, even if it just meant sharing your secret with just a select few. But no matter how much you two tried to hide it, someone was always watching. 

It wasn’t long before the whispers started. At first, it was just the occasional comment from Checo noticing your presence near Red Bull again. You knew he’d keep a secret, most of the drivers would. But there was one in particular that you were worried about finding out. 

Charles. 

You loved working with Charles, you really did. He kept the content interesting and the atmosphere light. Over the years, he had quickly become one of your close friends in the paddock, but you knew you could never share a secret with him. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. It was just that he was a blabber mouth.

Charles was one of those people who couldn’t hold onto a secret, even if his life depended on it. He was the first to share a funny story or revealing bit of gossip, and though you loved him for it, you knew this trait would be your undoing. The thought of him casually mentioning something about you and Max in front of the wrong person made your stomach churn. 

So, you and Max kept sneaking around. 

Nights spent tucked away in Max’s hotel room became a small escape from the pressure of the paddock. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was perfect. Takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, empty water bottles, and the soft glow of the TV screen provided the perfect backdrop to those fleeting moments of normalcy. There was no need to sneak glances or worry about being caught in public. 

Max had quickly become a pro at finding ways to keep the relationship low-key. He’d even gotten good at suggesting quiet activities that wouldn’t raise suspicion. Video games were an easy distraction, and it became a running joke between you both - Max laughing at your less-than-ideal skills behind the wheel of his sim. But you didn’t mind; it was a perfect enough excuse to be close to him. 

The Mexico Grand Prix marked almost a month of you and Max sneaking around, your relationship hidden under layers of secrecy. At first, it felt exhilarating - like a thrilling game of cat and mouse. But now, the weight of it all was starting to wear on you. Every time you worked with Charles, you felt the urge to be extra cautious, wondering if they’d catch on. 

Charles, however, was one of those people who noticed everything. He was incredibly observant, which was great for his career, but terrible for your dating life. You’d always been able to trust him, but now, more than ever, you knew there was a chance he’d see right through your facade. 

It started when Max began popping up near the Ferrari garages more frequently. At first, you tried to brush it off. He was friends with Charles after all, and they shared a lot of casual conversations. It wasn’t entirely out of place for Max to be around. But you couldn’t ignore the feeling in the pit of your stomach every time you saw Charles’ eyes flicker toward Max’s presence. He wasn’t stupid, and he certainly wasn’t one to miss small details. 

It was the Friday evening of the Mexico Grand Prix weekend when it finally happened. You and Charles were wrapping up a media session, and you had just sent a quick text to Max, asking if he wanted to grab dinner later. 

You knew you had to be careful, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. Charles, ever the observant one, raised an eyebrow as he saw your phone light up. 

“You and Max, huh?” he said casually, pushing his sunglasses to sit on top of his head as the two of you headed toward the exit. 

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You tried to keep your face neutral, but Charles wasn’t an easy person to fool.

“What?” you asked, your voice just a little too high pitched. “What do you mean?” 

Charles glanced at you, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re not exactly subtle,” he teased. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time near Red Bull recently… and I can’t help but notice how much time you’ve been texting or sneaking off. And then there’s the way you two look at each other. I’m not blind.” 

Your fingers ran through your hair as a defeated sigh left your lips. “Fine. Yeah, we’re together” you admitted, before your tone hardened and you stuck a finger at the Monegasque. “But, you cannot tell anyone. We’re keeping it private for a while. Away from the media.” 

While his eyes widened for a second before returning to normal size, Charles nodded. “I get it. You don’t need to explain. Your secret is safe with me.”

That claim lasted maybe 42 hours. 

Now, you couldn’t entirely blame him this time, the post race media scrum was always full of high emotions. You were in the back of the media pen, snapping photos of the Ferrari drivers and listening to them drone on about how the race could’ve gone better. You were half listening to Charles and Carlos as they talked about their performance in the race, nodding along politely while your mind wandered. 

You glanced over your shoulder, just for a moment, but it was enough. There, amidst the sea of reporters and photographers, you spotted Max making his way to the media pen. He was talking to a few media personnel, but your eyes locked for a brief second. It was a quiet moment, but it was yours - and it was so easy to forget about everything else when it was just the two of you in the world. 

You snapped back to reality as Max approached Charles, congratulating him on the podium. Clicks of your camera captured the conversation between the two of them, and that’s when you heard it. 

“Congrats on the relationship.” 

You froze for a second, your camera still raised in front of your face. Charles’ voice, casual and light, carried over the noise of the media pen. The words were simple, yet they hit like a sucker punch. 

Max’s face didn’t show much. His usual stoic expression settled back into place almost immediately, but you could see the slight tightening of his jaw. He was trying to keep it together, but Charles’ slip up had caught him off guard. 

You quickly adjusted your camera’s focus, snapping more photos of Charles and Max, hoping it would somehow mask the panic you were feeling. You’d already been on edge for days, wondering when it would happen, and now Charles had inadvertently dropped the bomb. 

Max thanked him, but his gaze flickered between Charles and you. Your stomach churned, your hands suddenly felt clammy. You couldn’t help but feel exposed, like everyone could hear the weight behind the comment, even if they didn’t understand its full meaning. 

Thankfully, you and Charles were flying to Brazil on AirMax, so there was plenty of time to yell at him for his slip up. You were the last one on board, tossing your bags onto an empty seat, but continued walking until you stopped in front of Charles. 

“What did I tell you?” you asked, crossing your arms and glaring at the Ferrari driver

Charles, who had been scrolling through his phone before you approached, went rigid at the sound of your voice. He looked up at you, a sheepish smile spreading across his face, already expecting an earful to come his way. 

“I didn’t mean any harm,” he said, voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. “It didn’t help that you two were practically eye-fucking when he walked into the media pen.” 

You raised an eyebrow, letting the tension build slightly as you stood in front of him. “That still doesn’t mean you can say that in front of the media!” you exclaimed

Max appeared from the back of the plane, presumably finishing loading his stuff on. He was a few steps behind you, and let out a soft exhale as he leaned against one of the seats. He didn’t need to step in - this was between you and Charles - but you could still feel his presence, like a calm buffer. Still, you couldn’t help but feel the strain of keeping this secret for so long, especially now that it seemed to be slipping out. 

Charles shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, but he was still wearing that sheepish grin. “I didn’t say anything too bad, did I?” he asked, clearly trying to deflect the heat. 

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your cool. It. was hard when your heart was still racing from that moment in the media pen. “It’s not just about what you said,” you said, your tone still firm but a little less heated. “It’s about timing. You know how important it is for us to keep this private. The moment you say something like that, especially where you said it, makes it public, Charles.” 

“But no one asked about it, no?” he asked, his head tilting slightly 

You opened your mouth to answer, to say people did ask and that it all blew up in your face. But you couldn’t, because no one asked you. Everyone else went on with their day like it was nothing. 

Your eyes darted to Max for help, almost hoping that someone asked him about it to prove your point to Charles. But he looked as lost as you felt. You could see the gears turning in his head as he recalled his media duties. But there was no immediate savior in his gaze, no quick answer to make everything right. 

“I mean… I didn’t get asked anything about it,” he admitted, shrugging 

“Exactly,” Charles said, his sheepish grin turning more into a more relaxed smirk. “I fucked up, I know. But it definitely could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Yes, it could’ve,” you agreed. “And I’m glad it wasn’t. But you need to be a lot more careful with what you say and where you say it,” you continued, the firmness creeping back slightly into your voice. 

Charles looked at you, his expression softening. He could tell you weren’t just mad; you were genuinely worried. About him. About the situation. About everything. It was rare for you to let your guard down like this, but Charles was one of the few who could see right through it. 

“I know,” he said quietly, his playful tone gone. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to cause any harm.”

The air in the cabin felt a little less heavy after that, but there was still some lingering unease. You exchanged a glance with Max, and for the first time in a while, he seemed just as uncertain about how to move forward. Keeping your relationship a secret had always been a delicate dance, and Charles had almost just waltzed right into a landmine. 

You let out a long breath, trying to release some of the frustration that had been building. “Okay. I forgive you, but please, be careful next time,” you said, trying to sound more forgiving than you felt. “This is important to us. We’re doing this for a reason.” 

Charles nodded, “I promise, I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll keep my mouth shut.” 

You smiled a little, your frustration fading into something a bit more lighthearted. “Good,” you said, then turned to Max, offering him a small but genuine smile. “We’ve got enough to worry about without adding unnecessary drama.”

As the plane touched down in Brazil, you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe keeping the relationship under wraps wouldn’t be as hard as it seemed.

But one thing was clear: your secret was no longer just between you and Max. It was shared, whispered among those who cared, and now it was just a matter of how long you could keep the world from finding out. 

[rafes-slut]

Those new pictures of drew from the SAG awards is giving CEO/mob boss vibes and I’m thinking him looking like that with soft reader and being all sweet and soft with her in front of people that he’s not usually sweet and soft in front of 

Here it is a CEO drew ficrion. Hope you will like it xx

----

Title: Behind Closed Doors

Pairing: CEO!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Light Angst, CEO/Dominant Personality, Soft!Drew

Summary: Drew Starkey is the ruthless CEO of a multi-million-dollar company, feared by most and admired by few. In the public eye, he's cold, calculated, and commands respect. But behind the scenes, with you, he’s an entirely different man. A softer side of Drew emerges when it's just the two of you, revealing a deep love he hides from the world. When you're invited to a gala as his plus-one, everyone’s used to his dominant persona. But tonight, Drew is determined to show you and only you, that he has a side that no one else gets to see—the tender and affectionate Drew that he saves just for you.

---

The night was just beginning to unfold as Drew Starkey adjusted his cufflinks, his sharp suit outlining the powerful figure he had carefully crafted for years. Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in his office, he looked every bit the CEO—the man everyone respected, feared, and envied. Yet as his eyes landed on you, standing by the door with a nervous look on your face, all that power seemed to fade into the background.

You had always known Drew as the man who exuded confidence, the one who handled every boardroom meeting with authority and grace. His presence commanded attention, and people never dared to challenge him. But with you, he was different. He was gentle, tender, and surprisingly soft—a side that no one else knew about, a side he reserved just for you.

“You okay, baby?” Drew’s voice was calm, smooth, yet there was a slight edge of concern as he noticed the way you fidgeted with the hem of your dress. He approached you slowly, his large hand brushing against your arm as if reassuring himself that you were really there. His usual icy gaze softened when it met yours.

“I’m just nervous,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is your event, Drew. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Drew’s lips quirked into a smile as he tilted your chin up, his thumb gently grazing your lower lip. “Embarrass me?” he repeated with a chuckle. “You could never embarrass me, sweetheart. Tonight’s about us. You look beautiful, as always. I want you to know that no matter what happens, you’re my priority.”

His words were soft but carried an underlying promise. There was a sincerity in his tone that made your heart flutter, reminding you that despite his high-powered persona, Drew had a deep well of affection for you that no one else ever got to witness.

The gala was a spectacle of wealth, power, and exclusivity. As soon as the two of you entered the grand ballroom, all eyes immediately shifted toward Drew. His presence was magnetic, and people couldn’t help but stare in awe as he walked through the crowd with you at his side.

But Drew didn’t notice the admiring gazes from the other CEOs and influencers. His focus was entirely on you—on the way your eyes sparkled under the chandeliers, on the way your nervousness melted away as you grew more comfortable beside him.

“You’re perfect, darling,” he whispered to you as the two of you made your way through the crowd. “Just stay close to me.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. His hand rested lightly on your back, guiding you with gentle touches as you both navigated the sea of well-dressed strangers. In a room full of powerful people, Drew’s demeanor was still unmistakable—confident, commanding—but the subtle ways he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed against yours every few seconds, let you know that this night, despite the public display, was about you.

When the speeches started, Drew’s hand found yours under the table, squeezing it firmly, a silent gesture of reassurance. You glanced up at him, and for a split second, you saw something different in his eyes—a vulnerability, an openness that no one else got to see. For Drew, this was a side he only shared with you. He was letting his guard down in front of everyone, and it felt incredibly intimate.

Later that night, as the event wound down and the crowd started to thin out, Drew led you to a quieter part of the venue, far from the prying eyes of the guests. It was then that he finally let himself breathe.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Drew said softly, pulling you into a private alcove. His arms wrapped around you, and you melted into his chest, feeling his heartbeat against yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you more stunning. And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of telling you that.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of the evening lift as you rested your head against his shoulder. Drew Starkey, the man who had made millions with his cold, unrelenting ambition, was now the man holding you close, whispering sweet words into your ear. And in this moment, just the two of you, he was everything you ever needed.