#not really a summary... literally just everything he said

[feeshu09]

What if Shen Yuan gets a petty princess boyfriend because the universe (I) said so.

-wrote a little ficlet about them under the cut ✨-

Shen Yuan's (very confused) POV:

You know, there are days you wake up and think, “Wow, life is weird.” And then there are days you wake up and there's a beautiful, irritated, probably-came-from-a-period-drama man sitting on your couch like he owns the place, glaring at your toaster like it personally offended his ancestors.

Yeah. I’m talking about that kind of day.

It started, as these things always do, with a thunderclap, some suspiciously glittery mist, and the next thing I knew, there was a very angry, very elegant man standing in the middle of my studio apartment. He looked around my humble little man-cave—okay, fine, it was a bit of a pig sty. I wasn't expecting visitors—and sneered so hard I thought his face would stay that way forever.

“This is your abode?” he asked, with the same tone I use when I accidentally step in dog poop.

“Uh,” I said intelligibly. “Yes…?”

He hissed. Hissed. Like a very angry, very pretty feral cat. It was alarming. And a little hot? No, stop that, Shen Yuan. Bad. No petting the murder kitty.

So. A quick summary: the stranger introduced himself—begrudgingly—as Shen Jiu.

A handsome stranger.

And he was in my house.

Living in my apartment.

Breathing my air.

Criticizing my instant ramen choices like he wasn’t literally eating all of them.

“You eat like a beggar,” he said yesterday, sipping tea he made himself after complaining my kettle was ‘barbaric’. “This isn't sustenance. It's punishment.”

Okay. One: accurate. Two: rude.

But we fell into a rhythm after a few weeks, somehow. Like a weird little odd-couple sitcom. Every morning, I’d wake up to Shen Jiu curled in a pile of throw blankets on my futon, looking like a disgruntled Persian cat. He hated the TV but would still watch it with a kind of horrified fascination. He especially hated anime. That was… a problem.

The turning point came when he caught me watching some over the top shonen anime and heard me make a passing comment about the protagonist’s abs.

“You like that?” he asked, voice tight. “You like him?”

“What? No, I—” I laughed, awkward. “It’s just anime—”

He made a sound like someone dropped a piano on his pride and turned off the laptop with a single disdainful poke of a button.

“You’re not allowed to look at other men,” he said, eyes narrowed.

“…What?”

“You heard me,” he said, as if that explained anything and then settled on my lap.

Then he stole my glasses.

He literally plucked them off my face like a bully on the schoolyard and perched them on his own perfectly arched nose.

I stared. Squinted, really. “I’m legally blind.”

“Good,” he snapped. “Then you can’t ogle those fake men anymore. Who draws them like that anyway? It’s obscene.”

“Jiu-ge,” I said gently. “Um… Can I have my glasses back please?”

“For what? To look at other men? I don’t think so.”

Never—and I mean never—has anyone been so furiously jealous of fictional anime boys that they physically robbed me of my glasses. It was almost impressive.

And I let him keep them.

Why? Because the alternative was him going back into Feral Mode™ where he hisses and threatens to set my bookshelf on fire with qi that I still don’t believe exists in this universe.

Besides… I didn’t mind the glasses thing so much when he was situated on my lap like I was his personal throne.

“You’re warm,” he said, nonchalant, like this was normal. Like he didn't came from a completely different reality.

“Cool,” I wheezed, not cool at all.

“You’re flustered,” he added, smug.

I was. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, I tried to focus on the dead screen of my laptop, even if everything was blurry.

So now I’m trapped in a never-ending loop of being lowkey bullied by a man with cheekbones sharp enough to commit murder, who eats all my ramen, hoards my glasses, gets jealous of anime characters, and has absolutely no concept of personal space.

And you know what the worst part is?

I think I might like it.

Please send help.

…Or not.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Plums & Pancakes

Pairing: Dad!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Wife!Reader

Summary: A quiet life wasn’t something Bucky Barnes ever imagined for himself , not after everything he’d endured. But then a blur of flying fruit and a love he never saw coming changed everything.

Word Count: 2.2k ish

Warning/Tags: TOOTH ROOTING FLUFF!

literally nothing but sweet cuteness comfort and loveee oh and did i mention fluff! maybe borderline suggestive but not really?

If i missed anything let me know!

Authors Note: okay guys dad bucky is my favorite thing to write everrrr so if you love it too lmk and ill write up some more for ya! hes a cutie pie in thissss anyways see ya on the next one bbys

REQUESTS / ASKS ALWAYS OPEN! 🌷MY MASTERLIST 💖 COMMENTS REBLOGS AND LIKES are loved and encouraged!

Bucky Barnes never believed the universe would be kind to him.

Not after the fall or Hydra. Not after the years he couldn’t even remember his own name. And not after the blip.

But sometimes , every once in a while—he was reminded that maybe… just maybe… he’d been wrong.

The biggest reminder , funny enough , came in the form of flying fruit.

It had been a warm September day , the kind that hinted at fall without the full commitment. 

The annual farmer’s market in upstate New York was crowded but now overbearing. 

Bucky had been reaching for a small basket of plums—his favorite , a habit from a lifetime ago when living alone in Romania when a blur of motion smacked right into him.

And suddenly , the plums were on the ground. So were three apples, a carton of strawberries ,  an entire paper bag that had clearly been packed to the brim with freshly baked bread, soaps , and jars of something that smelled like lavender.

“ooghf–oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you’d said, immediately dropping to your knees beside the wreckage tyring to scramble and pick everything up. “I wasn’t looking , I didn’t mean to—are you okay?”

Bucky had just blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone move that fast while apologizing so much.

“I’m fine,” he’d managed, kneeling beside you. “Are you okay?”

You looked up at him then—cheeks flushed, strands of hair stuck to your forehead from the heat, hands full of squashed plums—and laughed. A soft, kind laugh that didn’t match the chaotic scene at all.

“Guess that’s what I get for trying to carry half the stand in one go,” you said, brushing your hands on your jeans. “I try to help my dad with his stall every week. Still haven’t learned to make two trips I guess.”

He didn’t know why, but Bucky had smiled.

Maybe it was your warmth.

Maybe it was how pretty you were , big eyes filled with wonder.

Maybe it was the fact that it had been a very long time since someone looked at him like he wasn’t dangerous.

“I could, uh… buy you a coffee to make up for the plum mess?” you’d offered after he helped pick everything up.

And Bucky—James Buchanan Barnes, former assassin, hundred-year-old man with too many ghosts was too nervous to trust his voice , so he nodded.

And man did that feel like a lifetime ago.

Because now… now Bucky Barnes was married.

To you.

And the two of you had built quite a life. Settling down into a simple cottage tucked into an open field. Where you two were raising your now four-year-old daughter named Winnie , after his ma , and just recently welcomed your five-month-old son , Grant.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when the cries started.

Bucky stirred first. It was a reflex now—like breathing , like how he would hold his breath when he reached for a gun back in the day. 

Only now, he reached for his son instead.

Grant was fussing in the bassinet next to their bed, squirming with his tiny fists clenched tight face angry and red.

“I got him, doll,” Bucky whispered to you, voice thick with sleep as he rubbed his eyes. “You rest a little longer.”

But just as he was lifting Grant into his arms cooing to the baby, another voice rang out from the hallway.

“Mommy!”

You groaned ,  face squished into the pillow. 

“Mommyyyy, I want pancakes!” Winnie’s voice was full of energy and chipper. “With chocolate chips!”

“I’ll make ’em,” Bucky offered, already patting Grant’s back as the baby calmed in his arms. “After I change him , the little guy seems to have a present for me.” Bucky's face crinkled when he stood with the stinky babe.

You chuckled into your pillow now , stretching before rolling out of bed. “I’ll get her dressed. She’s probably already got on her princess boots and nothing else.”

It was true.

Winnie had exactly three obsessions at the moment: chocolate chip pancakes, braids, and her sparkly light-up boots that clomped across the hardwood with the grace of a baby elephant.

You managed to wrangle her into an outfit—jean overalls  and a cream flowy , long-sleeved shirt—and sat her down on the stool in the bathroom.

She chattered the entire time as you sectioned her long brown hair into three even parts. Fingers twisting with precision as you yawned, still shaking off the sleeplessness from Grant's eventful evening.

“Daddy said we’re going to the park. Can we bring snacks? I wanna feed the ducks and geese again. I bet they missed me. Do you think they did? Do ducks like pancakes? Because if they do, I’ll share.”

“You’re a generous soul and yes i think they missed you.,” you told her laughing at her innocent toddler mind. You tied off the braid with a glittery purple band and she jumped into your lap happy with the result.

Meanwhile, in the nursery Bucky had Grant tucked against his chest in a soft wrap. His giant hands moved gently, adjusting the wrap with practiced ease.

“Hey,” he called out as he stepped out of the nursery, “how do we look?”

You turned and—oh.

God help you.

Your husband stood there barefoot, in downy gray sweatpants and a blue soft t-shirt. 

Your baby was swaddled against his chest, all chubby cheeks and content, little fingers curled into Bucky’s chest.

The silver chain of his dog tags glinted just beneath the collar of his shirt.

He smiled, soft and sleepy. “Too much?”

You just blinked. “You know what you’re doing to me.”

He chuckled.

And screw it if he didn’t do the lopsided smirk that made you weak back when you first met.

“I’m just trying to get our kids to the park in one piece,” he said innocently. “If I look good doing it, that’s on you for marrying me.”

He said smiling, leaning down to your face and kissing you full of his love.

“Ugh,” Winnie groaned dramatically. “You guys are always kissing and flirting.”

Bucky ruffled her hair. “Get used to it, peanut cause every day i fall more in love with your mama.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The grocery run had been a blur of snack requests , impulse juice box purchases, and Bucky being stopped by a sweet older woman who insisted Grant looked “just like his daddy.”

 You had smiled politely while Bucky awkwardly thanked her, his face a little pink from the compliment, and then used the excuse of Grant needing to get home to escape.

But now it was time for your favorite part of the day.

The park.

A soft breeze drifted through the trees, the sun warm but not oppressive. 

Winnie ran ahead to the playground, her boots lighting up with every delighted stomp. Grant was now sound asleep against Bucky’s chest, full from his bottle he had between the store and here , his little mouth slack as he dozed in the wrap.

You settled onto the bench with a relieved sigh, one hand shading your eyes as you tracked Winnie’s every movement—up the ladder, across the bridge, back down the slide. 

Bucky dropped a kiss to your temple before walking off to toss a crumpled snack wrapper in the park bin. “Ill be right back just gonna throw this away” 

You looked down to see what he was holding and noticed the lack of his wedding band , tan lines still prominent but the metal was missing , probably forgotten after his shower you thought.

You were keeping your gaze still on Winnie as he walked away , when you heard a loud cackle.

You turned your head to the sound and saw a woman next to your husband.

Tall. Blonde. Designer sunglasses and a perfectly timed laugh.

She walked up closer to him, head tilted like she already knew how pretty she was.

You squinted. 

She was talking. And then laughing. Then her hand touched his chest.

His chest.

It wasn’t threatening, not really. But it wasn’t nothing.

You watched Bucky awkwardly smile , then nod , and finally excuse himself, walking back to you fast , his brows slightly furrowed.

“Well, that was strange,” he said as he sat beside you. “Why do people flirt like that in the middle of a public park? Like, thanks ma’am, but I’m holding my son right here.”

You smirked, turning your head toward him. “Well, women do love hot single dads.”

The look on his face was instant. 

His head snapped so fast you heard it crack.

“SINGLE??” he practically barked. It made Grant stir and whine at the disruptive sound ,  he immediately bounced gently, voice going soft again. “Sorry, buddy. You’re okay , I'm sorry.”

You shrugged, holding up his hand in front of his face. 

“Just saying. You’re out here ringless , looking like that , holding an adorable baby , how do you accept any girl not to jump on you?”

Bucky looked down at his hand like it had betrayed him. “Shit,” he muttered. “I took it off when I was washing the bottles  and didn’t put it back on. I knew I forgot something. I've felt off since we left. She probably thinks I’m trying to—God.”

You laughed, rubbing your hand along his thigh. “Relax. You didn’t do anything. And honestly? It was kind of fun watching someone else drool over you for a change .”

He gave you a pointed look.

 “Don’t say things like that when you know I’m going to spend the next hour trying to convince you you’re the only person I want to look at .”

You winked. “Convince away, Barnes…But the moment a woman's manicured claws touch either of my kids then we have a major problem and the winter soldier will be her last worry.” You said laying your head on his shoulder turning back to Winnie now picking flowers as you rubbed Grants back.

“Okay , okay easy there mama bear” He laughed through his nose.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Winnie went down first.

After a bubble bath with approximately twelve too many toys, two books, and a lullaby from both of you (because she claimed you both sang differently and she needed the duet), she finally dozed off.

Bucky had given her one last kiss on the forehead and whispered, “Sweet dreams, peanut,” before closing her door softly with a click.

Grant had been next—fed, changed, and now out cold in his crib with one arm over his head like a tiny drama king. He is his fathers son–

And now?

Now it was your turn.

You stood in front of your mirror, legs a little tired, back a little sore, but your heart full. 

You rubbed lotion on to your arms and shoulders slowly, the cool cream easing your muscles as the soft light of the bedroom cast everything in a dreamy golden hue.

Behind you, the bathroom door opened.

Bucky padded in barefoot, wearing those navy blue pajama pants you loved—low on his hips, soft from too many washes (thanks to lots of spit up) . His shirt was off, hair still damp from his shower. You caught him watching you in the mirror.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, smiling now brushing through your hair.

He didn’t answer right away. 

Instead, he walked to the bed and flopped down dramatically on his back with a groan. Like I said , father– like son.

“I’m exhausted,” he murmured, eyes closed. 

You laughed, turning around fully and crawling onto the bed beside him. 

You caressed his cheek , the pad of your thumb swiping his cheekbone and slowly moved to straddle his waist , your faces inches apart , when he suddenly held up his hand stopping your movement.

His wedding band back on and shining brightly.

“Sorry, doll face,” he drawled. “But I’m happily married.”

“Oh no. I was just about to ask for your number, too.”

He grinned, one of those rare, slow ones that started with the left side of his mouth and crept across. 

“You can have my number. But only if you kiss me first.”

You leaned in, planting a slow, warm kiss against his lips.

“Done deal,” you whispered.

He exhaled, threading his fingers through your hair as he kissed you again. Longer this time. Slower. A kiss that said thank you–

 I love you 

I love our kids

I love our life.

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I still don’t believe this is real, sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “You. The kids. The quiet. All of it. It doesn’t feel like something I should’ve gotten to have.”

You brushed your thumb along his jaw. “You deserve every second of this, Bucky Barnes. Every messy , swee t, sleepy , pancake-filled second.”

He tilted his head and kissed your wrist. “Even when I forget my ring and get flirted with by random women in the park?”

You rolled your eyes. “Especially then. Because I get to be the one you come home to and reminded how lucky me and the kids are to call you ours.”

And you did. Every night.

He wrapped his arms around you as you settled into bed under the plush duvet.

 His hand splayed protectively over your stomach as you both listened to the quiet of the house—the hum and crackle of the baby monitor, the faint whistle of the wind outside, the creak of the old floors as they settled.

It was all love.

Not the kind that was loud or dramatic. Not the kind shouted over chaos or with empty meaning. But the kind that was built quietly, with chocolate chips , baby wraps, and whispered lullabies.

And this?

This was the kind of love Bucky Barnes had only ever dreamed of.

-end

[mydearzero]

The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader - Chapter 8 | Bob

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter. 

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, angsty chapter, suicidal ideation

Read it on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 7

2.1K words

A/N: WHABAM Two chapters in under 24 hours who would've thought? This is getting way more angsty than I'd intended but it's not like void is not the literal embodiment of depression so what did we expect, really? Enjoy! - Nik

His lips were on yours before you could register what was going on. You felt like you were short circuiting. You only paused for a second, almost melting into his touch before realizing that this was not right. You tried pushing him off you but he was like a brick wall. Luckily, he pulled away, leaving you both breathless. 

You didn’t get any time to think it over. The door opened loudly, Yelena and Walker barging in. Bob turned to you with a smug look, still heaving from the ferocity with which he’d kissed you. “See? I told you they were watching.”

He didn’t struggle as Walker forced him back down on the couch. Yelena put her hands on your shoulders. It was then you were finally able to rip your eyes away from his. 

“Are you okay?” She questioned. You were still too baffled by what had just happened to answer. You simply looked back at Bob with confusion. Yelena shook your shoulders lightly to regain your attention, calling your name a few times. 

“What?” Her question finally sunk in. “Yeah– I’m– What the hell was that?!” You couldn’t help it. Why did he do that? 

You got no answer from Bob. You hadn’t heard Walker yell at him up until now. Everything had moved so fast. Your hand went up to your mouth, feeling your lips still tingling from the kiss only moments ago. Why did he do that? 

Bob ignored Walker, who was getting more and more frustrated that he wasn’t getting an answer. 

“You can’t just do shit like that, Bob! Hey, look at me when I’m talking to you, buddy.” Bob’s eyes never left your face. It was like Walker and Yelena were invisible. All he wanted to see was the chaos he’d caused inside your head. And he was succeeding. You were reeling. 

You looked back, trying to somehow read his mind. To your surprise, you think you understood why he did what he’d done. You turned and walked to the door silently, waiting for Walker and Yelena to follow so you could talk to them privately. When they caught on, the three of you went back into the surveillance room, where Alexei and Bucky were still watching the screens. Everybody turned their attention to you. 

“Turn it off. The cameras. The mics. All of it. Let me talk to him, alone,” you demanded. You looked at the screen that showed him the clearest. A chill went down your spine. He was looking right into the camera. Somehow, you felt like he was staring into your soul. 

“You know we can’t do that,” Bucky said. 

You shook your head. “He’s not gonna hurt me.” Yelena’s eyes begged for an explanation.

“He wants to know he can trust me. How can he trust me if I don’t trust him? That’s why he did it. Punching me wouldn’t have gone over well. Kissing was the easiest thing to get you to act, I guess…” It was the best bet you had. Otherwise, you had no clue as to why the hell he’d do something like that. 

“You talk to him, then what?” Alexei asked, crossing his arms. Everybody was clearly just as bewildered by what had happened as you were. 

“I try to get him to accept help? Talk him down from this state he’s in? I don’t know,” you shrugged. There wasn’t exactly a guide to this stuff. Your head was starting to hurt. 

“We can’t just send you in there with nobody to watch your back. Not to mention the door system. It won’t just let you out. What if you’re trying to run from him? It won’t open for him.” Yelena was thinking out loud. 

“Well, apparently it’s my job to risk my life, right?” You scoffed lightly. “So, let me do my job.” 

The team knew as well as you did that they really had no other option. They couldn’t wait him out for weeks again. They had other matters to attend to. They would need to figure out a way to get him off the edge of the Void sooner or later. 

It was the end of the discussion. Bucky went in there with you and made a show of removing all the surveillance equipment. Bob sat on the couch, waiting patiently for Bucky to leave. 

The man held up the several cameras for Bob to see. “Happy?” 

“Very,” Bob replied complacently. The first door opened, letting Bucky out of the studio. Bob waited for the second door to close behind him before finally turning to you. He gestured to the other side of the couch, the spot where you’d been sitting before. You sat down cautiously. 

“Now we can actually talk,” Bob sighed. You came to the conclusion you had no idea what he actually wanted to talk about. So you selfishly chose the topic you wanted to discuss. 

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” He acted aloof. 

“You know what.” 

“Do tell me.” 

“The kiss. Why’d you do that?” He had the gall to laugh at that. 

“Don’t laugh!” You hissed. “I’m being serious! Why did you do that?” 

“You know why I did it,” he shrugged. You shook your head in disbelief. 

“I don’t, actually. It did prove your point, I suppose. That they were watching. But you already knew that I knew that. There was no point to prove. So, why’d you do it?”

“Did you ever consider that maybe I just wanted to?” It was the first time he’d made eye contact since Bucky had left you alone. 

“You just wanted to?” You had no response to that. You really wished you could’ve resisted the urge to think about the kiss again. About the way his lips had felt against yours. About the soft, tender way his hands had cradled your face, despite his unstable state. You couldn’t. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” That was new. “You can’t blame me. I thought we had something going on. A connection.”

“A connection? Really?” You denied it to his face, but knew he was somewhat right. Bob had worked his way inside your head. Found a nice place in your heart and nestled there, perhaps permanently. But this wasn’t Bob. You certainly felt no such connection to Sentry. 

“What do you want?” You finally asked when he didn’t elaborate any further. 

“I just want to talk.” 

“And you couldn’t do that before?” 

“Not in the way I wanted to. I want you to trust me. I want to know I can trust you. You understand that, right?” There was an underlying uncertainty to his voice. On the surface he acted self-assured, but somewhere shallowly buried was the doubt that was ingrained in Bob’s very being. 

“Well, talk, then.” 

He paused, leaving you in silence for what felt like hours. 

“You wanted to kiss him, right?” He eventually asked. It was a strange question. Was he referring to himself in the third person, or someone else entirely? 

“Who?” 

“Bob. You wanted to kiss him.” He stated it as if it was a fact. It might as well have been. That day in the café, if he’d leant in closer, you likely wouldn’t have stopped him. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted. 

“I think you did. Which makes it funny that you seem so opposed that I did it now. We’re the same person. I am Bob.” Both of you knew that although it was technically true, it really wasn’t the case. 

“So why are you acting like this, Bob?” You exaggerated the way you said his name. 

“Like what?” He feigned ignorance. This version of him was utterly frustrating. 

“Like you’re on the edge of ‘going dark’, as the team puts it.” You spoke tentatively. 

“They’re scared I’m gonna go full Void, are they?” You nodded. 

“Well, they’d be right to. Where Sentry goes, Void follows,” he continued.

“So you admit it, then. That you’re not Bob right now. You’re Sentry.” 

“We’re all one and the same.” 

You thought the statement over. During the car ride to the bunker, Yelena had explained that Bob blacked out during these periods. He had no recollection of this side of him. So was he truly the same person? Could he be held accountable as Bob for actions executed by the Sentry, or even the Void? 

“I can hear the cogs turning from here. It’s not that difficult to understand. Bob thinks about it a lot. What if someone else had succeeded with Project Sentry? What if it had been someone less fucked up? Then there wouldn’t have been a Void, right? This alllllll could’ve been prevented if Bob just died.” Sentry said it as if it was all a big joke, yet you could see it in his eyes. He truly felt this way. He felt the pain Bob felt. He thought the way Bob did. Because he was Bob. 

“Don’t say things like that…” your voice came out quieter than you’d expected. 

“Like what? That things would’ve been easier if I were dead? It’s hard not to think that way when it’s true.” You recognized the words. It was such an easy, painful spiral to fall down. 

“Just because something’s easier doesn’t mean it’s right. It would also be easier for me to just go home and never think about this again. But that doesn’t feel right, and I don’t want to.” 

“See? You’re saying it yourself. It would be easier for you to not have to deal with me,” the lines between Bob and Sentry seemed to blur. He was feeling vulnerable. 

“That’s not what I meant. That’s just what you’re interpreting it as. And as long as we communicate clearly, there’s no need for negative interpretation because I’m telling you right now that it would not, in fact, be easier to not have to ‘deal’ with you. There’s tons of other shit in life that’s difficult. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to face it head-on to see where it’ll bring me.” 

His hands were shaking. You took a deep breath and stowed the fear you’d felt these last few days deep, deep down, and took his hands in yours. You gripped them tightly. He looked into your eyes with a vulnerability you hadn’t even seen from Bob. He was scared. 

“I want to be good,” it was a whisper. “But I can’t be. I can’t help. Not without him showing up.” The Void. 

“We can try. We can help you figure this out, Bob.” A sob wrecked free from his throat at the mention of his name. He turned his face away, a tear escaping. One of his trembling hands let go of yours to wipe it away.  

You slowly tugged him closer, pulling him into a hug. You could feel him shake as he cried against your shoulder. You felt tears well up in your own eyes. He was so scared. You hugged him as tight as you could. He gently slumped against you, blacking out. 

You held him like that until the tremble in his hands settled. And even then, you wouldn’t let go. Not when a soft snore left his lips, indicating he was now peacefully asleep. Not when Yelena came in, quietly observing to see if you were okay. You refused to let him go. You held him for hours, eventually falling asleep with him on the couch. 

✶

You didn’t dream. You awoke when you felt something stir against your hands. Bob. His hands hadn’t left yours, even when you’d both slept. You left your eyes closed for a little longer, feigning sleep. You could feel his eyes roaming over your face. He carefully tugged his hands out of your grip. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tracing his fingers over your face softly. 

What he was sorry for, he wasn’t sure. He could feel that something had gone horribly wrong. The way you had been holding him when he’d woken up. The fact he was back in the bunker after months of progress. It couldn’t mean anything good. 

He was grateful to have you here with him. He couldn’t imagine what he’d put you through, put the team through. Had the Void come out? Had he made you relive your worst nightmares in a vengeful rage? If only he could just remember. 

You made a show of stirring and slowly waking up. You rubbed at your eyes and finally opened them. He’d sat up, but didn’t look away. 

“Hey,” you smiled at him softly.  “Hey…” He returned your smile. Bob returned your smile.

TAGLIST: @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @hopes-peak-akademy @rattheraddestrat @i-shall-abide @puer-aurea @kennywantskfc69 @spectacled-studies @hiddlebatchedloki @chimchoom @spidermiraculous-blog @s00ty-feet @28cnn @tinythebunni @softpia @roeroeroeyourboet @secretkittydreamland @cultish-corner @greenbean-4ever @t-rexs-world @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @ifilwtmfc @renren-006 @10ava01 @kawaii1369 @hawkinsavclub1983 @paleepeaches @lnmp89 @frozenhuntress67 @my-name-is-baby @a-moranguei @daisyyy47 @petersluvbug @articel1967 @purplefluffycows @midnightecko @lizzylynch1 @keira-kaz2y5 @lightinbug @thefriendlyferretwriter @xblueriddlex @funkyfable @papapappapapapa @darling-eos @neenieweenie @poppingaround @ren-ni @badbishsblog @makepastanotwar13 @spongelll

[yuujispunches]

Old vinyls and kitchen lights ~ N.K.

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary: Nanami invites you over for dinner and as Frank Sinatra plays in the background everything falls right into place.

CW (content warning): literally nothing, this is just tooth rotting fluff.

AN: Hi guys! I just saw a post here asking for someone to write Nanami dancing to old vinyls and I just had to give it a go. This is shorter than my usual works but I really like how it turned out. English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’re any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

You had been seeing Nanami for a little while now. It was perfect, he was respectful, thoughtful and a gentleman above all. He treated you like a princess and everything with him just seemed so easy, everything falling into place when he was around. You couldn’t even remember the last time someone had made you feel like he did so when your phone screen lighted up, displaying his name and a message that read:

Dinner at mine tonight? I’ll cook.

You jumped at the opportunity without even thinking twice about it. You could tell he had overthought it by how simple the message was. Nanami Kento never did things halfway. Not in battle, not in work, and certainly not with you.

——————————————————————————

His apartment reflected him in every corner: clean lines, calm colors, everything curated with a purpose. You stepped in, and instantly, the world felt slower. Safer.

He greeted you in a crisp button-down, sleeves already rolled up, and an apron tied around his waist and somehow, even that looked dignified on him.

“I hope you’re hungry.” He said as he ushered you in.

The table was already set, candles flickering gently. A soft crackle stirred from the corner of the room, the vinyl player was already turning. And then came that familiar, velvety voice: Frank Sinatra.

You smiled. “You put this on for me?”

He nodded. “I remembered you said you grew up hearing this kind of music. I thought it might feel… comfortable.”

"Fly Me to the Moon" played as you sat, and everything, from the meal and the wine to the soft glances shared between bites felt suspended in something tender and unspoken.

But Kento was clearly on edge tonight. Not in a bad way. He was just… careful. Quiet. His eyes flicked to you too often, and when your fingers brushed as you reached for the wine, he pulled his back a beat too late. Like he didn’t want to lose contact but couldn’t quite let himself linger.

You didn’t say anything about it. You just gave him time. He always bloomed slower than most but oh was he worth the wait.

——————————————————————————

After dinner, he moved to tidy the plates, but got up and followed after him, grabbing his wrist gently right before he opened the sink.

“Wait.” You said, your voice low, nearly drowned by the start of another song: “Bewitched”.

He turned to you, confused.

“Dance with me.” You asked, smiling.

There was a pause and that was rare for Nanami. He always had a plan, a schedule. But now, he just… blinked as if he was utterly confused by your simple ask.

“In the kitchen?” He said, as if it were the most foreign concept.

You laughed softly. “Yes, in the kitchen. Right here. Come on.”

He hesitated. His lips parted like he wanted to make an excuse, something about not being good at it, or how ridiculous he probably felt. But instead, he slowly let the dish towel drop.

You reached for his hand, and his palm met yours. Firm, but slightly trembling.

“Is this okay?” You asked gently.

He nodded once. “I just… haven’t done this in a very long time.”

“You don’t have to know the steps.” You said. “Just move with me.”

Your voice was so soft and gentle and you looked up at him with eyes that made him feel that the world around him wasn’t so bad if you were in it, how could he say no to that?

You guided his hands, one resting cautiously on your waist, the other still in yours. The music wrapped around you both, and soon you were swaying in time, your heads tilted just enough to feel each other's breath.

Nanami relaxed in stages. First in his shoulders, then his hold on you, and finally in the way his forehead touched yours.

The light from the dining room flickered softly behind you. The world narrowed to the two of you and the hum of Sinatra.

“I don’t understand how you do this.” He murmured suddenly.

You looked up at him. “Do what?”

“This.” He gestured slightly, the hand on your waist gripping just a little tighter. “Make me feel like this. Like the world is quiet, even when it shouldn’t be.”

You smiled, heart thudding. “Maybe it’s not about understanding it. Maybe it’s just… letting yourself feel it.”

And that was when he froze, only for a second, like he’d just realized something. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze head-on.

“I love you.” He said suddenly, clearly, as if the words had been building pressure inside him for weeks. “I’ve known it for a while. I didn’t want to say it until I was sure, but- ”

You pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the way it rose with his next breath. “You’re sure now?”

He nodded, his voice quieter. “Completely.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips gently to his, and when you pulled back, you whispered,

“I love you too, Kento.”

A deep breath escaped him, not one of tension, but release. Relief. He pressed his forehead to yours again, smiling softly now.

“Thank you.” He murmured. “For being patient with me. For asking me to dance.”

And so you danced . Slowly, clumsily at first, then comfortably. Two hearts moving in sync under the soft glow of kitchen lights and the croon of a record that would now always sound like love.

Tags: @hawkwithsocks @noooo-onee @pickledsoda @suna-yoshihara

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[7ndipity]

“The Best Thing”

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Following the incident of last year, Yoongi does his best to make your birthday one you won’t forget. Part 2 to this request

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive at the end, not proofread

A/N: Happy Birthday to @coffeedepressionsoup ! Thank you so much for this request, I hope you like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Of all the many things that Min Yoongi is, a planner is definitely among the most prominent. From album concepts and promotions to the interior design of his house, he is incredibly meticulous. Which is why, as your birthday began to draw nearer, he began carefully plotting out the perfect way to make it special for you.

He still felt incredibly guilty after the fuck up of your last birthday, and he was making damn sure he didn’t get the dates mixed up this year. He had multiple alarms set on his phone for a month, two weeks, one week, even one day before just to make sure he didn’t forget for even a moment that your special day was coming up.

You had told him you didn’t want to do anything super elaborate, just a relaxed night in with him like usual, but he wanted to do something extra to surprise you.

The question was what though?

In his quest to give you the most special day possible, he reached out to a few of your friends for ideas, even asking his group members for advice, knowing that you had become friends with several of them over the years as well. Some of them had good advice, Joon suggested a cafe date and book shopping, Jimin mentioned a picnic in the park, Jin and Hobi however got slightly over involved, suggesting bigger and crazier ideas.

“What if you planned a big surprise party? Get all her friends together, maybe rent a room at a club or something? I know a few places that would be great!” Hobi suggested during rehearsals one day.

“Nah, she’s not really a club type person.” Yoongi said with a quick shake of his head.

“What about dinner at that new place, the really fancy one with the rooftop view?” Jin suggested.

“She’s not a fan of heights…”

“What about renting a party bus-”

“You know what, I think I’ve got a good mix of ideas, I’ll figure it out, thanks guys!” Yoongi said quickly, grabbing his things and excusing himself, head spinning from the onslaught of ideas that the guys had dumped in his lap. He knew they meant well, but they, Hobi especially, tended to forget how introverted the two of you were. Literally one of his favorite memories with you was when you had sprained your ankle and the two of you had just camped out in the living room for the whole weekend, cuddling, napping and watching movies and bad tv while you’d shown him tiktoks.

He stopped in the middle of the hall. That was it.

He quickly made his way to his studio, making a list of all the favorite things you had sent him on tiktok and instagram. He tracked down the bakery that made the raspberry cakes you thought were pretty, the bookstore and cafe you had mentioned wanting to visit, everything he could remember he compiled into a list and then started trying to figure out how to naturally utilize as many of them as possible into a day for the two of you.

He, of course, told you nothing of what he was planning, only asking you to leave your schedule open for him, which you happily obliged.

When you opened your eyes the next morning, the first thing you saw was your favorite color, your favorite color everywhere. Blinking in confusion, you slowly sat up, looking around the room in disbelief.

The night before your birthday, he set his alarm for 3am, slipping out of the bed and quietly creeping around the house, preparing everything for in the morning while you slept. It was well over a hour later before he quietly slipped back under the covers next to you, falling asleep with a faint grin on his lips, looking forward to seeing your reaction in the morning…

Balloons, the floor of your room was a sea of balloons in varying shades of your favorite color, from neon to pastels, you couldn’t believe your eyes.

“What the-?”

A faint noise from behind you drew your attention to your boyfriend who was waking slowly next to you, blinking up at you with a tired half smile.

“Morning.” He rasped in his rough morning voice.

“What is all this?” You asked in disbelief.

“Hmm?” He glanced around the room sleepily with an expression of faux innocence, as if he didn’t spend over half an hour silently sneaking them into the room while you were asleep.

“Looks like someone’s having a birthday,” He mumbled, rolling over onto his other side. “good for them…”

“Yoongi!” You smacked him with your pillow, earning a low groan followed by muffed chuckle.

“What?!” He complained.

“What?! What is this?!” You asked again, gesturing around the room.

“Nothing, I just wanted you to have a nice start to your day.” He mumbled, burying his face in the pillow. “I didn’t think I’d get beat up for it…”

You stared down at him, a slow grin spreading across your face before you jumped on top of his blanketed form, hugging him tightly and kissing any patch of skin you could reach.

“YOU’RE *kiss* SO *kiss* FUCKING *kiss* CUTE *kiss*”

“Yah! Hajima! He complained, trying and failing to bat you away and shield himself with the duvet, but you persisted, catching his hands and more or less pinning him to the bed under you.

“I love you.” You said with a massive smile, pecking him on the lips.

“I love you too, now please stop trying to kill me.” He grumbled, trying and failing to bite back a grin. He was thrilled that you were already so happy with his efforts, and you hadn’t even left the bed yet. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Yes please.” You released his hands, sliding off his lap and landing spread eagle on your side of the bed with a giggle.

“Dork.” He mumbled, watching you with a grin.

“You love me.” You replied.

“Yeah yeah, c’mon.” He grumbled, shuffling his feet to make his way through the sea of balloons with you in tow.

Once the two of you made your way to the kitchen, he sat you down at the table before silently beginning to pull his pre-prepared ingredients from the fridge, retrieving a bowl of pancake batter and several dishes of pre-cut fruits and berries.

You raised a brow in surprise, watching him with wide eyes as he heated a pan on the stove.

He paused as he caught sight of your questioning look. “What?”

“When did you do all this?” You asked.

“Three am,” He said with a dismissive shrug. “Do you want mickey shaped pancakes or normal ones?”

Your eyes went wide in concern at his answer. “Yoongi-”

“Mickey or normal?” He repeated, ignoring whatever argument you were about to make, holding up the spatula in mock warning.

You sat back in your chair with a sigh. “...normal.” You said quietly.

“Thank you.” He immediately turned back to the stove and set to work.

You sat at the table, munching on strawberries and watching him with soft eyes as he cooked, loving how cozy and domestic the whole scene was.

“After breakfast I thought we could go down to that bookstore you’d been wanting to check out,” He said as he plated up the first stack of pancakes. “And then maybe we could grab lunch on the way home. I also heard about this farmers market-”

“-what a minute,” You interrupted, laughing slightly. “I have work, remember? You have work.”

“No we don’t.” He shook his head. “I texted your boss last night and told them you wouldn’t be in today, and the guys can manage without me at rehearsals. Today is just for you and me.”

I stared at him in disbelief, eyes misting over slightly. “That’s really sweet…” You said quietly.

He caught your change of tone, glancing over at you with slightly concerned eyes, expression softening as he gave you an understanding smile.

“You deserve sweet...” He said softly, setting a plate in front of you and pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Now eat, no crying, okay?”

“Okay…” You agreed with a small sniff.

The two of you ate in relative quiet, impressed once again by his cooking skills and making a few teasing comments that you’d have to beg for him to make pancakes at three am more often, which he quickly shut down, making you laugh. 

After breakfast, the two of you got dressed and went out to a few of your favorite shops, Yoongi following you around with a tiny smile as you excitedly went on about the various books and items you found, buying you a few of your favorites despite your protests that you didn’t need them. He then suggested the two of you take the route through the park on the way home, since it was a nice day. Much to your surprise, he insisted on stopping at several spots along the way to take pictures of you and him together, because he remembered you mentioning how you wished you had more pictures together. He even played it up a bit, making silly faces and heart shapes with you.

You picked up lunch from your favorite cafe on the way home, which you set up in the living room and ate as you watched one of your favorite shows, leaning into his side as you made jokes about the plot together.

Afterwards, as you were cuddled up on the couch together, he suddenly moved to detangle himself from you.

“And now, for my next trick.” He said with a grin.

“What do you mean?” You asked with a raised brow.

“Just wait here, okay?” He asked, ducking back into the kitchen without further explanation.

He was only gone a minute or so before you heard a quiet sound, looking up to see him walking back out holding a cake with a single candle lit on it.

“I’m not gonna sing the song, unless you really want me to,” He said quietly, carefully setting the cake on the coffee table in front of you. “But happy birthday.”

“You don’t have to sing.” You said with a soft expression, smiling up at him for a moment before blowing the candle out.

“Yayy.” He gave a tiny round of applause, making you laugh. 

Rather than moving to cut the cake though, he then handed you a small gift bag that you recognize from one of the designer jewelry stores in town.

You looked up at him questioningly, but he just shrugged.

“Happy birthday.” He said again simply, giving you a small sheepish smile.

You eyed him curiously, pulling out a small velvet box and opening it with a quiet gasp, revealing a beautiful silver necklace, the pendant bearing your favorite gemstone.

“Do you like it?” He asked softly, watching you with a tender expression.

You nodded, blinking back a few tears. “It’s beautiful… I love it.”

You quickly sat up, hugging him tightly for a moment before turning around.

“Put it on me, please.” You said, brushing your hair out of the way for him.

He carefully removed the necklace from the box, gently placing it around your neck and fastening it into place. You beamed at him before glancing down at the tiny charm, tracing your fingers over it.

“It’s soo pretty.” You said quietly.

“Yeah, it is…” He agreed quietly, not even looking at the necklace, eyes focused on your face and the way your eyes lit up in happiness at his gesture.

You looked up and caught his expression, flushing slightly.

“Yah, don’t look at me like that.” You swatted his arm lightly.

“Like what?” He chuckled, blocking your swing easily.

“Like I’m the best thing you’ve ever seen.”

“You are though...” He said with such quiet sincerity that it made your heart ache slightly.

He leaned in, cradling your face gently as he continued, his dark eyes staring into your soul. “You are without a doubt the best damn thing I’ve ever seen. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I love you…”

“I love you too…” You swallowed, blinking hard as you were hit with an intense wave of emotions.

You leaned in, closing the gap between the two of you and connecting your lips in a soft, slow kiss, the feel of his arms wrapping tenderly around you making everything else fade away for a moment.

He drew back slowly, almost reluctantly, staring at you with such a soft look of love and adoration it made your heart ache.

“Did you have a nice day?” He asked softly, brushing his nose against yours as he spoke.

“It was wonderful, you’re wonderful…” You nodded, pressing forward again and claiming his mouth with more intensity this time, winding your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair, earning a soft sound of approval from him.

He returned your kiss with enthusiasm, tipping you back on the sofa, holding onto your hips tightly as he deepened the kiss, delving into your mouth with a pleased hum that reverberated in your chest.

It occured to you how, funnily enough, you were almost in this exact same position last year, but this time there was no remorse or regret, no tear flavored kisses. There was just you and him and the connection between the two of you that burned like a hearth in the middle of winter, comforting and warm and holding a profound sense of home.

Eventually the two of you broke apart for air, feeling slightly dazed but so unbelievably content.

“Happy Birthday, Y/n...” He murmured against your skin.

“It really has been…” You mumbled back. “The best.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[aliwritex]

WINDOWSILL fc43

summary; cannes 2025

wc: 2.3

warnings: semi public sex. anal play, fingering, unprotected sex. note: pls pretend that his tie wasn’t a clip on, my dream is to tie my man’s tie.

“Feeling okay?”

“A little nervous,” he admitted.

You were still in the hotel, getting ready. You were standing in front of him, reaching up to do his tie, his hands were on your hips as he looked over your shoulder, into the mirror.

“You’ve been all day. Just relax, it's just a couple pictures.” you told him, adjusting the bow, tugging on each corner.

“I just don’t understand how you’re not nervous — or how you’re so good at this. I watched a bunch of videos, it was literally impossible” he said about the tie once you finished it “Isn’t this your first time walking a red carpet?” he asked, looking down at you.

“We’re just gonna walk up and trust me, there’ll be people way more important than you for people to take pictures of”

“Aren’t you just the confidence boost that I need?” he joked, turning you around so you would face the mirror too, his hands still resting on your hips. “We look good, huh?”

“Of course we do.”

The carpet was a mess, much more people than you had anticipated, you were both lost but Franco was showing in his face how much so. You could tell he wasn’t having a good time, but thankfully it was quick. Once you were inside, he was breathing again — and so were you.

“That was terrifying” he whispered to your ear.

You wished you could’ve properly watched the movie but between french audio and english subtitles none of you really got anything. So as soon as everything was over — the movie, the ovations, the speeches — you were gone. Franco convinced you to leave without even saying goodbye to anyone — you basically just vanished

And that’s why you were both so giggly by the time you got in the car. The drive back shouldn’t take too long, but with the festival, traffic was a mess.

“Too bad we’re gonna be here for at least half an hour, I was already undressing you in my mind” you teased, whispering to his ear.

He shook his head with a sigh as you tugged on one end of his tie, making it come undone. The look of him in the tux with the loose tie around his neck was just what you wanted.

“Too tight, right?” you teased, popping some of his buttons open.

“What about you? Is this not too tight?” he teased back, fingers playing with your zipper.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” you warned, giving him a quick kiss to the lips.

The drive was torture, full of stolen kisses and dangerous touches. But as soon as he closed the door to your hotel room you were on each other. His hands rested on your waist, wrapped tightly by your dress, as he pushed your back into the door. His lips met yours hungrily, matching your energy. Your hands dove into his hair, already messy since you had been touching him in the car.

His hips pressed against yours making you gasp when his cock pressed against your thigh, your knees almost giving up. His hands traveled up your back, reaching for your zipper.

“Please, just get it off” he whispered, pulling it down.

Franco watched as the dress slipped down your body and the flowy skirt pooled at your feet. And there it was, your body for him — the tits that had been driving him insane all night finally free and the waist he had been holding on the carpet finally bare.

There was a smirk on his face before he pressed his body to yours again. He guided your leg up to fold by his waist so he could reach for your heels, taking them off without pulling away from the kiss, one at a time. You pushed the jacket off his shoulders, letting him get rid of it desperately, making you chuckle.

Once he was free from the jacket his hands ran down your bare thighs to guide you to wrap your legs around his hips, so he could lift you up. You were still smiling into the kiss when you realized he hadn’t taken you to the bed.

“Where are you going?” you whispered against his face, holding onto his neck as he walked through the room.

“Changing the scenario” he chuckled.

Franco sat you down on the window rail, making sure you were still holding onto him. “Fran! There’s people outside”

“We’re too high up for anyone to see, relax”

“If I relax I’ll fall” you chuckled, pulling him into a kiss.

One of his hands left your back, coming to your front and laying flat against your stomach, going down till his fingertips were brushing your panties. There was a wet patch already, soaking the thin fabric from all his intense kisses and touches. You were covered in goosebumps as his hand slipped past the lace trim, slowly making its way to your slit.

“You’re shaking” he noted, whispering to your neck.

“It’s kinda chilly” you chuckled, shyly.

“Want me to close the window?”

“Is it weird that I don’t?”

You felt his warm breath on your skin as he chuckled, shaking his head to your question. Then his fingers pulled you out of the sweet moment, reaching for your wetness. He swiped them between your lips, feeling just how wet you were for him. They reached lower, pressing against your hole just as his lips got to your chest.

You let out a soft moan, the prettiest sound Franco had ever heard as his fingers pushed into your cunt. They filled you up perfectly, both at once, taking all the space inside you and making you feel full. Your head fell back at that, making Franco hold on just a little tighter to your back.

“Cuidado,” he warned in a whisper, against your chest, “hold on to me.”

You nodded, arms wrapping tighter around his neck as a hand reached up for his hair. His fingers started curling inside you, pushing all the right buttons as his palm pressed against your clit. Then his lips were on your tits, gentle kisses as he folded in the most inconvenient position just to pleasure you, making sure to hold on.

The thrill of not only being basically exposed to the city, but also the situation being borderline dangerous made it all the more exciting.

You were still shaking as you felt your orgasm approaching, though you weren’t sure if it was from the cold, the fear of falling or his fingers and palm working your cunt. All you knew is that his fingers felt way too good and you were about to come around them. Your hands gripped him harder, nails poking his back and his scalp, he could tell you were close. He traveled up your body, lips meeting your neck again as he held you close.

“Come for me, mi amor. Soltate”

That was it, a sweet coax from him — in the foreign language — that threw you over the edge. He made sure to hold you tight, giving your body all the support it needed to convulse around his fingers. Your head fell back, mouth opening with a moan, open and shameless, not caring about the windows next to yours. Franco smiled against your skin, loving how easy it was to make you fall apart. He held you through your high, making sure you were strong enough to hold yourself up.

“You okay?”

“Way better than that” you whispered against his lips, holding in to his neck and pulling him closer. You slipped off the window, planting your feet in front of him as you kissed. Your hands reached for his belt, or cummerband, whatever it was, but you couldn’t take it off. “How the hell do you even get this off?” you grunted, frustrated. Franco just chuckled, reaching behind his back to unfasten it, letting it fall to the floor. “thank you” you whispered, pecking his lips before taking your hands to his chest. Your fingers unfastened his shirt buttons with skill, pulling it from his pants in a rush till you finally managed to push it off his shoulders.

“You forgot the cuffs” he told you when the shirt got stuck around his wrists.

“I hate this, never put this much clothing on ever again” you said impatiently, already working on his pants.

“Thought you said you liked the tux”

“Not anymore”

By the time he was done with the cufflinks, you were pushing his pants down his legs. He was ridiculously hard in his boxers, his cock poking your thigh firmly when he kissed you.

“‘M getting desperate over here, so if you could hurry” you teased, letting your hands sneak into his boxers.

“So fucking impatient” he grunted, turning you around to face the window, instead of letting you take him in your hands. “Look at you, fuck”

His hands caressed your ass while you bent over the rail, holding yourself up. Franco loved your ass, said it was his favorite view, and with Cannes on the background, should be a fucking postcard. He lifted his hand and gave it a sharp smack, making you jolt forward, tits pressed against the rail. He only smirked at your reaction and let his finger trail under the sides of your thong till it met the back and tugged it to the side. gged it to the side.

“Not gonna waste any time” he warned.

“Don’t want you to. C’mon, Franco, please”

Your voice came out in whines as he pulled himself out of his underwear, already aligning with you. You felt it brush between your wet lips, his head poking your hole a couple times, teasing before he finally pushed in. Your eyes basically rolled back into your skull, your breath coming out shaky as you felt him first brush up against your walls. Franco let out a low groan, choked out on his throat, it sent shivers up your spine. He waited for a second, running his palm up and down your spine, giving you time to adjust, but as soon as you pressed your ass to him he lost it.

His hands met your hips, holding you in place as his started moving. His pace was merciless from the start, fast and as deep as he could. Your moans were ridiculous, high pitched whines as you bit your lip to keep them in. His eyes were focused on your ass, couldn’t look away, specially with the way your asshole twitched while he fucked you. Franco took his thumb to your mouth, pushing it past your lips for you to suck, but all you could manage was to moan around it.

“Come on, mi amor, get it wet for me” he whispered, folding his body over yours to watch your face. You let your eyes fall shut, concentrating to suck his thumb the best you could, covering it in your saliva. “Good job,” he praised, “can I?”

You knew exactly what he was talking about, and you just nodded, shivering in anticipation. His hips slowed for a second, almost coming to a stop as his hand lowered on your ass. His thumb brushed your asshole, gently rubbing circles around it. He waited for your reaction, a soft moan, almost a sigh, his greenlight.

He spred your cheeks apart, spitting directly on your hole, his thumb rubbed it, finally pressing it in as his hips moved again, filling you up completely. You had never felt so vulnerable in your life, bent over an open window, being torn open by him. The thrill of it all made you moan, both your cunt and ass clenching around him.

“Fuck, mi amor” Franco groaned, his grip tightening on your hip as your body sucked him in “you’re squeezing me so good. Can I go harder?”

You just nodded, biting down on your bottom lip and tightening your hold on the rails. His hips started snapping against yours again immediately, his thumb still inside you. All of it was making you dizzy — the cold rail pressed against your chest, the tight grip on your hip, the back of his thighs hitting yours and the overwhelming feeling of fullness.

“Fran” you moaned, whining as his finger started moving inside you. You were about to lose it, and Franco knew it. He could read your body, the way your knees weakened, your walls clenched and your moans sounded completely gone, not trying to sound pretty for him anymore, but that’s what he really liked.

He leaned in over your back, lips brushing your ear, “let go, mi amor”

That did you, his voice to your ear, his breath, threw you over the edge. Your body melted as you orgasmed, legs giving out and arms shaking as you tried to keep yourself up on the window. Franco slows down behind you, working through your orgasm with less intensity as he groaned.

“Fran, baby- too much” you whined till he finally stopped moving, slowly pulling out.

Franco didn’t know what he was expecting but definitely wasn’t you going on your knees as soon as he pulled out. But there you were, on your knees, looking up at him with your mouth wide open as you waited. You were completely fucked out, mascara running down your cheeks, lips bitten red and all the sweating had destroed your hair, but that’s what got him.

He tipped over the edge as he pumped his cock in his fist. “Jesus,” he groaned, “look at you.”

His hand reached for your chin, making you look at him. You were completely fucked out, a mess of ruined make up, messy hair and now his cum to complete the look.

Franco reached for his phone in his pants, opening the camera, then gripping your face roughly in his hand. You made sure to pose for him, eyes looking up right into the camera and mouth opened, showing him the drops of cum that had landed in your mouth.

“Fucking perfect.”

[solanastark]

i can see you

summary: inspired by i can see you by taylor swift. It’s all stolen glances, quiet tension, and finally—finally—giving in to the thing they’ve both been too afraid to admit.

pairings: bucky x avenger!reader

tags/warnings: acts of service bucky, lots of unspoken pining, slight angst, fluffyyy

word count: 3.2k

A/N: ive been playing this song on repeat recently and it's about time i make a fic inspired by it. and receiving acts of service without asking literally makes my knees weak so this was such fun

"you brush past me in the hallway

and you don’t think i see it, do you?"

The Avengers compound was massive. It was far bigger than she expected. Steve was walking her through the main hall, rattling off names, locations, and protocol as she tried to keep up. Her head was still spinning from the whole "you’re one of us now" thing.

Steve led her through the sprawling Avengers compound, pointing out training rooms, the lab, and the common areas.

“So this is where most of the team hangs out,” Steve said, glancing back to make sure she was keeping up.

She nodded, taking everything in. The hum of technology, the faint clang of weights, the soft chatter from different corners.

As they rounded a corner, That’s when they passed him in the hallway.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. A shadow in the corner of her eye. His hair was a little messy, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, metal arm glinting under the light. He was walking the other way, purposeful, eyes cast down like he had no time for anything else.

Steve paused. “Hey, Buck—”

But Bucky didn’t stop. Just kept moving, like the hallway wasn’t narrow enough to force that brief shoulder-to-shoulder proximity.

Their paths crossed briefly, and for a split second their hands brushed.

It was a quick, almost accidental touch but she felt it. Something strange, electric, like a spark under her skin.

Her breath caught. Just for a second.

Because she saw it. The glance. That flash of blue eyes darting to her, then gone before Steve could catch it.

She blinked and shook her head, blaming it on nerves. “Just my imagination,” she muttered to herself, focusing back on Steve’s words.

"i’ve been watching you for ages

and I spend my time trying not to feel it."

She wasn’t trying to fall for him.

Really, she wasn’t.

Being the new recruit on the team was hard enough—fitting in, training until she couldn’t feel her legs, trying to act like she belonged here. That was supposed to be her focus, not... him.

Not the man who barely spoke. Not the man with shadows in his eyes and a metal arm that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Not the man who brushed past her in the hallway like she didn’t exist, even though she knew he saw her. Y/N felt it in the way his gaze lingered for just a fraction too long before darting away.

She didn’t want to read into it, didn’t want to be that girl who assumed kindness was something more. But then there were the little things.

Every morning, exactly at the same time, a steaming cup of coffee waited for her on the kitchen counter—just the way she liked it: black with a splash of cream, no sugar. It had become a small ritual she looked forward to, though she never knew who was behind it.

One morning, she reached for the cup just as Sam walked in.

“Hey,” she smiled, “thanks for always making me coffee in the mornings. You’re a lifesaver.”

Sam scratched his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, me? I don’t do that. I’m more of a cereal guy anyway.”

She blinked, confused. “Really? Then… who—?”

Before she could finish, Bucky appeared around the corner, a shower towel on his shoulder and a cup of coffee in his hand. He caught her gaze, then lifted his cup slightly in a quiet toast.

“Morning,” he said softly.

He looked so soft in the morning light, his hair untamed and still slightly damp. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, heart skipping a beat.

Don't feel it.

Her favorite protein bars were always restocked after missions, even though she never mentioned them to anyone. The punching bag she liked best in the gym always seemed freshly replaced. When she struggled with a weapons malfunction during training, it mysteriously fixed itself the next day. He never said a word, never acknowledged it, but it was him. She knew.

And still, she tried not to feel it.

Because it was dangerous.

Because it was messy.

Because it was him.

And she told herself—again and again—

Don’t feel it. Don’t feel it.

“we keep everything professional

but something’s changed and I like it.”

It started with a joke. Just a stupid joke in the middle of a mission debrief, when the room was heavy with tension and exhaustion.

She hadn’t meant to make him laugh. She wasn’t even sure if he could laugh.

But she cracked something light about how Tony’s “state-of-the-art training dummies” looked like giant marshmallows, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw it—Bucky, in the corner, smiling. And then, laughing.

It wasn’t loud, barely more than a huff under his breath, but it was real. His shoulders shook, and his lips tugged up like it surprised even him.

She blinked, stunned, and grinned wide. “Did the Winter Soldier just laugh at my joke?”

His face shuttered fast. “Nope.”

“Are you smiling?” she teased, voice full of mock-incredulity.

“Nope.”

“Bucky Barnes, you are smiling—”

“Drop it.”

She grinned, eyes sparkling as the tension in the room softened.

Their gazes lingered for a moment. She didn't know she could bring out this side of him.

Later that night, she came back from a quick sparring session with Natasha, bruises blooming along her side. She kept telling herself it was fine, just another part of the job, but when she stepped into the compound’s dim kitchen for a water bottle, she found Bucky already there, standing by the fridge.

His gaze narrowed when he saw her wince. “What happened?” He's been speaking to her more often. As time passes, the urge to get closer to her only grows.

“Just a sparring thing. It’s fine,” she said, waving it off.

“Sit down,” he muttered, already pulling an ice pack from the freezer. She sat on top of the counter, watching his eyebrows furrow in concern.

He placed himself in front of her, too damn close for professional. Bucky's arms rested on either side of the counter top. She tried to avoid his piercing gaze.

"Are you going to remove your jacket or are we going to stay here all night?" his voiced laced with sarcasm. Y/N noticed that he's unmoving, she surrenders with a sigh.

She cautiously unzipped her sparring jacket, revealing her sports bra and the purple spots on her side. Her breath caught. She wanted to tell him she could handle it, wanted to remind herself this was professional. But the way his fingers ghosted over the bruises, careful and gentle like she was made of glass, sent something cracking inside her.

“You’re too stubborn,” he muttered, pressing the ice pack against her skin.

She tried not to shiver. Tried not to feel it.

“Just professional,” she whispered under her breath, almost like a prayer.

He didn’t say anything. But his hand lingered on her side a second longer than necessary, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

She carefully pressed the ice pack against the bruised side of her ribs. Bucky stood close by, his metal arm gently steadying her shoulder as he adjusted the pack.

“Be careful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough—far from the usual guarded tone.

She glanced up, catching the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Thanks, but I’m tougher than I look.”

He gave a small, rare smile, but the warmth didn’t quite reach his gaze. The silence stretched between them, heavy with words neither dared say.

She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they’d gotten, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the quiet hum of the compound. Her heart picked up pace, and she realized this—this wasn’t professional anymore.

Her breath hitched as he leaned in just a little, as if to say something more, something real. Their eyes met, both searching, both hesitant.

But then—he pulled back, clearing his throat. “The ice is melting quick, I'll.. Uh— I'll get more.” he said, voice a little too light.

She let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Yet the charged air lingered, the almost-kiss hanging between them like a promise.

“They keep watchful eyes on us

so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet.”

That was the unspoken rule of the compound, wasn’t it? Keep things tight. Keep things professional. No slipping up. No letting anyone catch the way her eyes lingered on him, or the way Bucky seemed to drift toward her without even realizing it.

But as the weeks went by, the bond between them started to grow.

It wasn’t loud or obvious. Just small things. The way he passed her an extra granola bar after a mission without a word. The way she’d always end up across from him at the table. The way her bruises seemed to heal faster when he handed her an ice pack and grumbled something soft under his breath.

One afternoon, Sam poked his head into the gym while Bucky was helping her with a combat drill.

“Yo, Barnes! Come golfing with me later. Let off some steam.”

Bucky glanced at her, almost on instinct. “Can Y/N come too?”

The room froze.

The air got so thick you could taste it. Everyone in the room turning, eyes snapping to Bucky, then to her, then back to Bucky like they were watching a soap opera play out in real time. Even the weights seemed to pause mid-swing.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in slow motion, an unmistakable grin tugging at his lips like he knew.

Bucky caught the shift, the tension crackling like static. He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet like a man who just realized he walked into a minefield.

“I mean, you know, because she’s new and all. Could use a break from training. She’s always in here, y’know, it’s just…” His words fumbled over each other, voice trailing off into a mutter as his ears turned pink.

Sam’s grin widened.

“Sure, Barnes,” Sam said, clapping him on the shoulder with a wink. “Whatever you say, man.”

A spark in the air lingered, something they both felt but neither dared to name.

But later that night, she found herself smiling in the quiet of her room, heart racing, thinking about how Bucky’s first instinct had been to include her.

Like maybe they were more than teammates.

Maybe they were becoming something.

“What would you do if I went to touch you now?”

Bucky’s voice was raw, almost a growl. He stood in the doorway, his silhouette barely lit by the dim kitchen light, jacket half-zipped, boots still on. The air clung heavy around him, a storm barely contained. His eyes—stormy, haunted—wouldn’t meet hers.

It was late. Everyone else asleep. She’d heard the door creak open, the soft shuffle of boots on the floor. She’d been waiting, somehow knowing tonight was different.

“Bucky?” she called softly, voice a whisper in the dark.

His shoulders tensed like a wire pulled tight. She stepped closer, heart racing, and the moment he turned, it hit her like a punch to the chest.

His face was blank, but his eyes. God, his eyes were screaming.

She could see the weight pressing down on him, could feel it in the way his breath hitched, in the tremble of his hands. The blood on his knuckles, the fresh cuts across his cheek, the smudges of dirt and grime on his skin.

“I couldn’t save them,” he muttered, voice barely audible. His fists clenched. “Couldn’t—” He cut himself off, his breath shuddering out like it burned to breathe.

“The Winter Soldier isn’t meant to save.”

“Bucky, that’s not—”

“Y/N, stay back,” he warned, sharp and sudden, like a wounded animal. His metal hand flexed at his side, fingers curling into a fist so tight it trembled.

But she didn’t. Instead, she took a step closer.

And then another.

Until they were inches apart, and she reached for him, her fingers brushing his metal arm.

His breath caught—sharp, ragged, like the world had stopped.

Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling but sure.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

He flinched, his head shaking in disbelief, a thousand ghosts in his eyes. “You should be.”

“I’m not,” she said again, firmer now, her fingers curling gently around the cold vibranium, her thumb tracing the seam where metal met flesh. "I’m not leaving. Not until you understand that you’re more than what they made you."

It wasn’t just his skin she was touching. It wasn’t just the soldier. It was him. The man underneath. The one who carried all the weight and still stood.

"You’re not the Winter Soldier, Bucky. Not anymore. You’re not a weapon—they tried to make you one, but they failed. You’re a man who tries. You’re a man who cares." she searched for his eyes, the palm of her hand grazing his cheek.

"And you did save someone tonight. You did. But your not supposed to save everyone. No one is." she continued. "But you keep trying anyway and that’s what makes you good, Bucky. That’s what makes you you." her voice falters at the end, seeing the war— the inner turmoil behind his eyes.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell in a shuddering breath, and it broke. Everything he was holding in, everything he’d tried to bury. His body slumped forward, forehead pressing to hers, his breath ragged against her cheek.

His hands shook—both of them. His human one, clenched in the fabric of her shirt. His metal one, still in her grasp, her thumb brushing over the cold plates like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, voice cracked and low. He buried his head on the crook of her neck, held her as if he was afraid of slipping away.

“I know,” she whispered back, her other hand stroking his hair gently, holding him like he wasn’t a soldier or a weapon or a burden but a man.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself be held.

“I could see you in your suit and your necktie

pass me a note saying meet me tonight…”

The gala was in full swing; strings of golden lights hanging from the ceiling, the clink of glasses, the soft hum of music blending with the buzz of laughter. Everyone dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and talking about things that didn’t really matter.

She stood by the bar, swirling her drink idly, trying to look like she wasn’t searching for him in every corner of the room. But she felt it.

His eyes.

Wherever she went—by the charity auction table, near the art displays, while laughing at something Sam said—his gaze found her. Burning. Watching. Like a magnet drawing her in.

She finally took her spot at the bar, one elbow propped up, back straight, trying to convince herself it was fine, that the knot in her stomach was just the champagne.

And then he appeared.

Bucky Barnes in a perfectly tailored suit and dark tie, looking so devastatingly good it made her breath hitch. He sat beside her without a word, casually ordering a drink like he hadn’t been staring at her all night.

“Oh, great,” she said, voice light but her heart racing, “look who finally decided to approach me after, what, hours of lurking from across the room.”

Bucky smirked, barely glancing at her. “Didn’t realize you were keeping count.”

“Hard not to when you’re practically burning a hole in the back of my head.”

He grabbed his drink from the bartender, clinking the glass lightly against the bar. “Just making sure you don’t get into trouble,” he muttered, voice low and teasing.

And then, just before turning to leave, he brushed past her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him and slipped a folded note into her hand, so quick it was almost imperceptible.

She blinked, caught off guard, glancing down at the slip of paper crumpled in her palm.

Meet me on the balcony. Midnight.

He walked away without a backward glance, melting back into the crowd like he hadn’t just flipped her entire world upside down.

She stared after him, lips parted in surprise, a flush creeping up her neck.

And despite herself, she smiled.

“I could see you being my addiction,

you can see me as a secret mission"

The city stretched out below, a sea of shimmering lights in the dark, but the world felt small up here—just the two of them on the balcony, with the hum of the night air and the distant pulse of traffic below.

She stepped out quietly, the soft click of her heels muted against the concrete. There he was, standing at the railing, arms braced on the metal, broad shoulders tense, head bowed slightly like the weight of everything he’d ever been was pressing down on him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Bucky muttered, barely glancing at her, but the subtle curve at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

She folded her arms, leaning back against the wall like she wasn’t letting her heart pound in her chest. “Cut to the chase, James.”

He turned fully then, caught off guard by the sound of his name in her voice, soft, steady, like a key turning in a lock he didn’t even know was there. The faint glow from the compound windows cast a halo of light across her face, and for a second, the breath hitched in his throat.

“You always do that,” he said quietly, voice rough, almost like he was saying it to himself.

“Do what?”

“Make me forget everything else. Even when I don’t want to.”

Her breath caught, but she tried to keep her cool. “You’re not making any sense, Barnes.”

He exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his hair, metal fingers glinting in the low light. “I’m not good at this.”

Her voice softened, and she stepped closer. “Try.”

He looked at her then—really looked. His eyes, usually guarded and distant, were wide open now, reflecting the city lights. His voice dropped, raw and quiet, like a confession dragged from the depths.

“I thought I’d be cold forever. But then you came along, and it’s like you lit a fire in me. You made me feel human again.”

Her breath hitched, eyes searching his. “Bucky…”

He reached out, hesitant, brushing a knuckle down her cheek like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. “It scares the hell out of me. Because I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this again. Didn’t think I deserved it.”

Her hand lifted, fingers curling gently around the edges of his metal arm, grounding him. “You do.”

And then she smiled—soft, knowing, a little sad—and it cracked something wide open inside him.

“I thought it was just me,” she whispered. “I thought I was seeing things that weren’t there. You, doing all those little things, always watching out for me. I tried not to feel it, but I couldn’t help it. I see you, Bucky. Even when you think I don’t.”

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Getting here—standing here with you—it felt like a secret mission I never thought I’d complete.”

Her laugh was breathless, disbelieving. “You like me, don’t you?”

He swallowed hard, a flicker of boyish uncertainty in his expression. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Her grin grew, and before he could say another word, she surged forward and kissed him. Soft but sure, like she wasn’t afraid of the weight of what this meant.

When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, voice barely a whisper.

“I could see you being my weakness.”

She smirked, eyes sparkling. “Your addiction, you mean.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Yeah. That too.”

The night air was cool against her skin, but his breath was warm shaky and soft, a quiet confession in itself as they stood there, forehead to forehead, with the sounds of the city below.

Her hands slid down his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the layers of his suit, and she smiled, soft, a little bit in awe, a little bit in disbelief.

“I guess we’re not very good at the whole keeping it professional thing, huh?” she whispered. Bucky’s chuckle rumbled low in his chest, the sound of it curling around her like a safety net. “Never stood a chance, sweetheart.”

The tension that had been coiled so tight between them for weeks finally broke, and it felt like a dam bursting like every glance, every small moment had been leading to this.

“I should probably—” she started, stepping back, but he caught her wrist, gentle but firm, as if he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice rough like gravel, but the way he said it so soft under his gruff voice made her heart stutter.

She hesitated for a beat, then nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

They stood there for a moment, the world humming quietly around them. Bucky’s fingers found hers, their hands brushing again but this time, neither of them pulled away.

He squeezed her hand, like a silent promise, and she squeezed back.

When they finally went back inside, it wasn’t with a rushed, secretive energy anymore—it was quiet, deliberate.

This time, it wasn’t hiding.

This time, they knew.

[purplemoonfox]

Ramblings on the Senate Building in Clone Wars vs Andor and aesthetics IRL...and a tiny aside about the security presence there

Some spoilers for the end of s2 of Andor

I might be late to the party with this (I've never been super involved in fandom, I'm a lurker, so I'm usually on the outs) but oh well.

I cannot watch any scene in the Senate Building in Andor without wincing—and not because the show is bad.

Andor is so good it beggars my ability to describe how much it's what I've been begging for for years and knew Star Wars could potentially be. I cry a lot while watching it though. I’ve got my issues with Bix’s ending (what exactly did the generic baby ending add to the story or to her already crippled agency) but I can deal.

One of these days I'm going to get off my ass and think about the juxtaposition of culture as an active source of community and strength vis a vis Luthen Rael selling other peoples' provenance to rich consumers who keep things on sterile podiums. Maybe tie in that he doesn’t get along with the wider Rebellion somehow idk.

This is going to meander a little, please bear with me. Summary at the very end because I absolutely like to go on.

It’s not that the portrayal of the Senate building in Andor is in any way bad; it’s that it's so white it’s blinding. It's sterile, like a hospital room. And like everything else in Andor, that must be a deeply intentional choice apologies to Valencia, Spain for this entire post, your building seems like it would be very nice when it's not the home base of a shit ton of complacent fat cats content to do nothing until it affects them directly.

Coruscant in general also reflects this...cleansing, as we see in season one when Syril Karn goes back to live with his mother (is this purely a Topside thing?). In the prequels we see so many non-humans, whereas in Andor, 90% of everyone we see are human. Coruscant (and we only see Topside, tbf) is more colorful at a ground level in the prequels and TCW than it ever is in Andor. Hell, it even seemed to me like Coruscant's air traffic had been cut down by at least half, as well.

For comparison, here is a still from TCW of a concourse:

Note the dark, rich colors. Other areas are similar in theme and illumination.

Here's one from AOTC, and I believe this one is in the Senate building, not the Executive building:

Now here's Andor:

That is excruciating. I need sunglasses, my eyes are shit enough. Also, blue, like the Madonna, Mon? Fucking classic <3. Yes i know blue and orange are the Rebellion's colors but my limited familiarity with art history won't be ignored lol.

The thing about conservative bends is that conservatives tend to prefer "clean," modest aesthetics because they tend to look towards a mythical past where people "did an honest day's labor" and humbly didn't have even the desire for fancy stuff (haha so very false people have always liked nice things you just literally can't get nice shit if you're a subsistence laborer unable to go anywhere else because you're legally bound to the land and are one bad harvest away from starving to death while your God-ordained feudal landlord is a dick who deserves more because God said he's a better breed of person...no seriously the Brits still deal with class issues this many centuries later for a reason, and there's also a reason that in some shows somebody has the ONE somewhat pretty hair pin they pull out of an otherwise destitute hovel...although that being said the image of impoverished peasantry was definitely a tax evasion scheme in some cases so like...it's complicated LOL).

Famously, Shitler didn't like women wearing red lipstick, or any makeup really. These days, the "clean girl" aesthetic is apparently popular because men can't tell the difference between a sick person and a woman not wearing any makeup, so no makeup isn't an option.

It also plays into something I like to call "light is not always good, dark is not always bad." Light can be piercing, even blinding; dark can evoke rich and fertile soil. I'd be more inclined to describe the Clone Wars-era Senate building as less fertile and more antediluvian and decomposing, and really lived in like an old house, but there is meaning in gutting it and making it all bright white and almost airy, with no shadows.

Makes it a lot easier to keep an eye on everyone, for instance.

It's in the same vein that "clean aesthetics" creates a narrower definition of what constitutes an acceptable appearance, and makes it a lot easier to catch out and target any divergence from the expected norm. It makes even something as mundane as being sick that day stand out.

The Senate complex etc.

I tried very hard to find some pictures of anything outside the Senate building in Clone Wars, but it seems like that's relatively limited to establishing shots. But note the difference between these two; the below being in Andor:

This is what's between the two in Andor:

This area is, I believe, where Kloris waited for Mon Mothma, and Cassian took off from--and the landing pad images I can find from the prequels are located in the Executive building/Senate office building (when Anakin saw Padme after getting off the shuttle post battle of Coruscant in ROTS, and earlier where Cad Bane landed in TCW).

With architecture like in Andor, it's easy to keep people out in the open on predictable, observable paths (can't walk on water, you'll walk on the pathways around it, and the Empire’s apparent love of reflection pools as a repeated choice of external decoration, as seen outside the ISB too, deserves its own post), and elevated in a way that the amount of stuff between the two buildings does not make possible in the prequels; this is the Executive building in AOTC (also known as the Senate Office building, where Palpatine and the Senators have their offices, and I believe based on building placement that this is not from the side that faces the Senate building, so the Senate building would be hidden behind it):

I looked hard for landing bays for Senators/visitors to use attached to the Senate building itself but it seems like the Executive building is where the landing pad is (which, how the fuck they get between the two in the prequels, I'm still not sure, but in Andor it looks like they can walk). Mon Mothma mentions the loading bay in Andor when they're making their escape, which is in the Senate building, but that's it. If I am wrong, please correct me.

I'm reminded of the difference between Medieval cities and those that came after (and before, really, if we're being honest, as the Romans loved urban planning...they also loved conquest and control): Medieval cities were close, organic, warren-like, and hard to navigate for anyone but those from that area or very familiar with it. Later cities would be constructed with wide, grid plans because...well, aside from being a lot more navigable to an outsider, it's a lot easier to move around on wide avenues and keep your population under control. There is a lot less local knowledge and a lot more power politics in play.

And then irl there's the whole diminishing of the Commons and the ceding of the road to automobiles (it was not a given that cars should take precedent), and...anyway. I digress. I do that a lot.

The ultimate point is, the Empire seems to have done a thorough job of making it impossible for anyone to be out of sight in the Senate. There are no more shadows or warm colors, or columns to talk to your secret wife behind, just stark white to contrast against, on an elevated walkway. The architecture is structural, whereas in the prequels there are organic-looking statues and a lot less of a bottleneck (although I can't easily tell which side this plaza is supposed to be on, to be fair):

Apparently, this, the above Senate Plaza contained an Avenue of the Core Founders which was by the time of the Clone Wars subject to criticism for not being representative of the multi-species Republic, as it was basically of all humanoid peoples, who formed the Republic in the Core Worlds way back when--I think this place still exists during the Empire but as of 5 years into the Empire they were planning to put a statue of Palpatine in it instead, so maybe by the time Andor happens the multitude of statues in this area have been replaced by a statue of the Emperor.

In a rather literal sense by the time the events of Andor happen it seems the Senate has been put on a pedestal in a way that keeps them in the open, observable, and also effectively cut off from the rest of the populace of Coruscant, and differentiated and deprioritized rel. the Emperor can't imagine he wants too many visitors, he wants them squabbling on the floor.

Side note

Also where the abject fuck are my goddamn Corries. Last known sighting of Corries in red paint besides seeing how they held on to the red in TBB is of shock troopers in the comics in 14BBY. Mon Mothma's speech in the Senate happened like twelve years after the comic appearance, and the Stormtroopers we see pursuing Mon Mothma and Cassian aren't wearing any red paint.

There's also no Senate Guards in their Roman-esque armor. The blue-uniformed fuckers with shitty breastplates are probably what's meant to have become of them. Shitty riot gear (also seen when they stormed the safe house) seems to be a mainstay in any security force that isn't the Imperial military itself. In my mind, if the Coruscant Guard still exists at all, it was probably just stripped of of its paint and had its ranks filled with conscripts, even though the Guard evidently managed to hold on to theirs longer than most.

That is very much a choice as well; by stripping the Senate Guard itself of effective armor and stripping the troopers assigned to the Senate (they showed up hella fast if they weren't) of any distinguishing marks, and not even having the Guards on the floor as visibly as they were shown in TCW or the prequels, it essentially keeps all the aesthetic...uniqueness? On the Emperor, and keeps the main source of any actually effective security in the hands of an indistinguishable Imperial military.

In short the flattening of aesthetics is likely meant to emphasize the Emperor's position and importance and erases the diversity of the species within the Empire.

Summary:

The Senate building and attendant security forces' aesthetic changes between the prequel era and Andor could reflect a desire to expose and control the Senate, and emphasize the preeminence of the Emperor while also downplaying individual elements of the Empire.

Oh shit I actually managed to make that a short one

[nastydogpublishingco]

guess

summary: Logan stops talking. He’s mid-scold, tossing his soiled paper towel onto the counter and about to reach for another one when his eyes land on Wade. He’s got his pajamas halfway down his thighs, clearly trying to avoid sticking his fingers all over the gooey fabric, and whatever, that on its own isn’t a big deal. What is a big deal, a huge, massive fucking deal, is what Wade’s wearing underneath his pajamas. Panties.

pairings: logan howlett (worst wolverine) / wade wilson (deadpool)

warnings: smut (good god, so much smut), fluff, pink panties, feminization, dirty talk, emotionally constipated idiots, praise kink, blood kink, multiple orgasms, puppy play, power bottom!wade wilson, love confessions, happy ending

words: 16.6k

Logan was not expecting how pink his world would become when he agreed to live with Wade Wilson.

And not in a sappy rose-colored glasses kind of way, either – literally about 75% of everything the motherfucker owns is a shade of pink.

He becomes acquainted with this the first time he sees Wade in anything other than his Deadpool suit. It was the night following the destruction of the Time Ripper, and Logan was splayed across the lumpy, scratchy thing meant to constitute a couch in the middle of Wade and Althea’s apartment, half-asleep. He was still filthy, hair plastered to his scalp with sweat and grime, skin sticking uncomfortably to the TVA shirt Wade had thrust into his arms and insisted he cover himself with – sniping about his “greasy tits” like he wasn’t ogling them two minutes beforehand, irritating little fucker – but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was content to pass out where he was, arms folded across his chest, head bent at an awkward angle over the back of the couch, legs akimbo – because they had to be, because the couch couldn’t even accommodate someone a whole foot shorter than Logan comfortably so he was really pushing his luck – and his eyes slowly drooping shut, but then Wade re-entered the room.

“Phew!” he’d exclaimed. Steam lapped at his bare ankles, and the warm, humid smell of something artificially saccharine, like fake marshmallow, tickled Logan’s nose. Judging by the slight flush across Wade’s uneven face, Logan surmised he’d just taken a shower.

“Sorry, peanut, you’ll hafta wait on the hot water,” Wade said casually, linking his fingers above his head and leaning back in a stretch, a few notches of vertebrae clicking and popping in a way that’d be concerning for anyone without regenerative healing. He sighed in relief and rolled out his neck.

“The fuck are you wearing?” Logan groused, and yeah, it came out real bitchy, but he was genuinely asking. Wade looked down at himself, eyes wide, his confusion equally genuine.

“What?” he asked, pulling the hem of a T-shirt about three sizes too big for him away from his waist. It was bubblegum pink, with a picture of a blue-eyed, curly-haired cartoon pony on the front posing inside a sparkly pink heart and fluffy white clouds. His sweats – or what Logan could see of them since the shirt hit just above Wade’s knees – were normal, plain grey and cuffed at the ankles, but the shirt . 

“Does it have a stain?” Wade complained, this time using both hands to tug the fabric away from his body and squint down at it. “Motherfucker, I Tide-Sticked the shit out of this–”

“A stain would probably improve that hideous thing,” Logan snarked, the corners of his mouth turning up despite himself. Wade glared at him.

“Hey, what’d Pinkie Pie ever do to you, grouchy-pants?”

“You look ridiculous.”

“And you look like the world’s dirtiest T-Mobile salesman,” Wade deadpanned, eyes flickering over Logan’s sprawled form. He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets, padding toward the kitchen with his chin raised. “At least I’m comfy.”

“D’you have any clothes without kiddy cartoons on them?” Logan asked, trailing Wade’s path to the fridge. He swung the door open hard, not even flinching as it collided with the wall, and stooped, bottles clinking as Wade extracted something. Logan hoped, briefly, that it was beer, but no – Wade righted himself, a mostly full jug of cran-raspberry juice clutched in one hand, and slammed the refrigerator shut with a hip to the door. Logan frowned.

“If I don’t, you gonna go full birthday suit?” Wade asked, unscrewing the lid of his juice and raising it to his lips. 

“In your dreams,” Logan intoned, and Wade guffawed. Asshole might be the only person on planet Earth Logan had seen honest-to-god guffaw at anything.

“Ahh, you underestimate the beautifully Technicolor things this noggin is capable of, honey badger,” Wade hummed, drumming one finger against his temple for emphasis. “Enough to make a Wolverine blush.”

Logan grunted, unimpressed but not entirely unamused. 

Wade was annoying – that was an immutable fact. The sky is blue, grass is green, and Wade Wilson is an annoying motherfucker. But he was also, weirdly, funny . Like, effortlessly, actually funny in a way that annoyed the shit out of Logan – each involuntary chuckle he loosed felt like giving the obnoxious shitheel exactly what he wanted, and it was fucking aggravating. It was obvious, even in the short forty-eightish hours (maybe more, maybe less, time got real fucky in The Void) they’d known each other by that point, that Wade thrived off any kind of attention; it didn’t need to be necessarily positive to add fuel to his tank, and in fact, negative attention appeared to get him revved up the fastest. 

“To answer your question,” Wade said, lips smacking around his swallowed mouthful of juice, “yes, you can borrow my clothes, punkin, even though your big ol’ man tits are gonna stretch ‘em out.” 

“That wasn’t really my question,” Logan reminded him.

“I’ll get you an Applejack shirt,” Wade said dismissively, striding past the couch and swinging his free hand down in Logan’s face. “We can be matchy-matchies.” 

One thick, mottled finger came up between Logan’s eyes, and before he could react, Wade tapped the tip of his nose with a soft boop! and disappeared down the hall, presumably to fetch the aforementioned clothes. Any other person would’ve gotten a ribcage full of adamantium claws for their audacity, but Wade escaped with a smack to the forearm as Logan swatted in front of his face like he was batting away a persistent fly. 

He hadn’t had the urge to skewer the guy since they’d saved the multiverse through the power of fucking holding hands , and while Logan considered that a net positive, Wade seemed determined to motivate Logan’s claws into his body by any means necessary. If the boner digging into Logan’s hip in the Honda Odyssey was anything to go by, he’d say Wade liked getting shish-kebabed even more than he’d verbally let on, and that was really saying something.

That was the other thing – Wade’s flirting (and that was putting it fucking mildly) didn’t bother Logan as much as it should’ve. He didn’t know why  because he felt it really ought to have, and he certainly huffed and puffed like it did, but it just…didn’t. If he was being really honest with himself, it was kind of nice. In a weird, fucked up way, Logan appreciated that Wade didn’t treat him like scum, or a hero, or cower before him like he was a mindless, bloodthirsty animal – Wade fucked with him like he fucked with everyone else. It was a great equalizer, having Wade push his buttons, and it made him feel some odd approximation of gratitude toward the guy. 

If Logan were actually being one-hundred percent honest with himself, he’d admit that it was also nice to feel wanted again, even if it was from Wade, and even if Wade hit on people of all flavors in varying degrees of seriousness, but those were layers he did not wanna peel back at this juncture. Or, maybe ever.

Fabric fwumped down in his lap, a grey T-shirt (that Logan did, in fact, stretch out, whoops), and black sweats. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

Wade belched.

~

The pink does not stop at the clothes.

Wade’s toothbrush is pink and sparkly (and the bristles are so fucked up it looks like the damn thing has a middle part , much to Logan’s utter confusion); his kitchen knives are rose gold with baby pink-and-gold handles, little hearts punched out of the metal near the sharp ends of the blade (“They’re Paris Hilton knives, and they’re hot .”); his Crocs, with all their gaudy plastic charms stuck to the holes (they were called jibbitz , Wade liked to remind him, and Logan did not fucking call them that) are neon pink, and Logan has unfortunately grown accustomed to them since Wade all but refuses to go barefoot in the apartment. In fact, the Crocs are often paired with mismatched socks (one of which is usually, you guessed it, fucking pink ), and they muffle his footfalls so successfully Logan sometimes doesn’t register Wade has entered a room until he’s sidled up beside him.

That never happens. Or, at least, hasn’t happened since…well, since he had people he trusted enough to unclench around. He supposes that makes Wade one of those people now.

Ugh. Gross.

This feeling, this fondness, is ever-increasing, softening the edge in his voice and tamping the ferocity of his snarls day by day, and it is fucking embarrassing . 

Decades of self-loathing and building impenetrable walls around himself, of self-flagellation and binge drinking until cheap liquor oozed out his pores – day by day, they’re fading into the past, receding far enough into the distance as Logan marches forward that they can’t grab him as easily. It’s a good thing, objectively, and Logan knows that. He just can’t believe that when he looks back, nostalgic for his vices, that perpetually abased part of himself longing for miserable familiarity because it’s all he knows, all he feels he deserves , Wade fucking Wilson is right there . 

Wade doesn’t keep the voices at bay because nothing does – Logan’s tried, failed, tried again , and failed spectacularly at finding what would – but he does muffle them substantially. He also doesn’t allow Logan to wallow indiscriminately or for hours (days, weeks, months ) at a time like he used to, which is a blessing and a curse; Logan hates being perceived in that way, hates that Wade has become so attuned to his moods so quickly that he knows when it’s time to jostle Logan out of a particularly rough rumination, but also…well, he gets more shit done without all the broody interludes, he must admit.  

He never asked Wade to do that, any of it, and the same malicious, debased part of him wants to resent Wade for it. Sometimes he fantasizes about going out and getting shitfaced and useless and mean just like the good (bad) ole days to prove Wade wrong, to prove those snotty fuckers at the TVA and the whole goddamned multiverse that branded him as the Worst Wolverine right because he has always been exceptionally talented at wrecking a good thing before it’s had a chance to begin. But he doesn’t. Hasn’t fucked off to a random bar in quite a while, hasn’t had the desire – he counts that as a win, even if he still blows through whiskey at an alarming rate within the confines of the apartment.

He’s started supplanting booze with pulpy reality television, which, objectively, is less of a win, but fuck it.

Logan mulls this all over silently, almost three months to the day that they’d saved the multiverse, chopping potatoes with Wade’s fucking Paris Hilton knives, listening to Wade’s incessant jabbering with actual ( actual, he swears to capital-G God) fucking interest, carefully maneuvering around Wade’s hideous little dog because the one time he didn’t watch out for her he stepped on her tiny little paw, she’d yelped , and Logan felt like an absolute monster. 

Somehow, someway, Wade’s whole world has grown around him. He’s nestled within the chaos, enveloped like an old brick building choked with errant vines of ivy and, if he were a different man, perhaps even the man he’d been when the Professor first found him, he’d loathe it. He thinks he should, thinks he should feel trapped, suffocated, relied upon in a way that would’ve sent the Logan from decades ago fleeing with nothing but the clothes on his back and a pathetic note warning whoever he’d left behind not to look for him, but lo and behold – he just doesn’t. 

He’s comfortable. For the first time in a very, very long time, Logan is comfortable .

“Pink looks good on you, peanut,” Wade says suddenly, derailing Logan’s train of thought. He looks over his shoulder. Wade’s eyes are glued to his ass. Subtle.

“I need to do laundry,” Logan mutters by way of an excuse, turning back to his potatoes. He scrapes them off the cutting board and into the hot pan on the stove, oil hissing as chunks plop in. He pretends he’s more focused on preparing breakfast than he is on Wade’s insistent stare. It’s like a physical presence, as palpable as flesh and blood fingers caressing the spot Wade is ogling, and that thought alone is enough to make the skin on the back of Logan’s neck warm and his nerves thrum with electricity. It’s odd, unfamiliar, but not bad; a welcomed weirdness, like everything about and surrounding Wade. Makes it kind of hard to concentrate on not burning their food, though.

Wade hums and Logan shifts his weight. He really does need to do laundry, all of theirs – because that’s a thing he does now, communal laundry; do you know how ridiculous and out of place the Wolverine looks in a laundromat, weighed down by bags of old lady clothes and bloodied, shredded civilian clothes from his routine sparring sessions with Wade? The answer is very – but that doesn’t make his choice of pajama bottoms today any less bewildering. They’re Wade’s, because yes, Logan has bought plenty of his own clothes by now, and they live in the dresser in Althea’s bedroom right alongside Wade’s, but maybe he likes how much softer Wade’s clothes are in comparison to his, and maybe when he shuffled off their shitty, rickety pullout bed this morning he just plunged his hands into the cracked open drawer and yanked out whatever felt the most well-worn. 

Hello Kitty is emblazoned all over his ass cheeks.

They’re mostly (what Wade calls) Pepto Bismol pink, but the little cat’s white face is stickered all over Logan’s hips and legs, and Wade’s a touch slighter than him so the fabric hugs onto his thighs – Wade is also a touch (stupid asshole) taller than him, so the hems kiss the floorboards and drag beneath Logan’s feet a little when he walks. 

“God, they’re like fuckin’ medicine balls ,” Wade mumbles, mostly to himself, but Logan could hear a sneeze from down the street if he really tried thanks to the enhanced senses, so he definitely hears that. He glances over his shoulder again.

Wade has both hands in front of his face, still dazedly staring into Logan’s ass like it’s a crystal ball spouting predictions about his future, and all of his fingers are curled and twitching – Logan realizes, with a traitorous little snort, that Wade is pantomiming squeezing his ass. He turns around again and stirs the potatoes.

Logan shouldn’t find that endearing – Wade’s lascivious comments and the borderline drooling onto his own shirt – but, fuck him, he does . 

Three months have crept by right under his nose. The air outside crisped and then froze over, the leaves bled orange and yellow before finally snapping off their branches and allowing thick snow to pile up in their stead, and Logan is so fucking fond of Wade it makes him wanna throw up. Perhaps fond isn’t the word; it seems so insignificant when he tries to pair it with the feeling swirling around in his chest, but the other word, well. That one is so much bigger it might swallow him whole, drag him deep, and never let him surface again if he deigns to properly acknowledge it, so he doesn’t. 

It isn’t as if Wade has mentioned anything to him either, aside from the usual. Sure, he’s basically stapled himself to Logan’s side at all hours of the day, but he’s been around long enough to see Wade do that to lots of people – he all but sits in Peter’s lap when he comes over, and even though Althea gripes about it he’s always cuddling next to her on the couch when the opportunity presents itself. Wade is just like that, a toucher, a hugger – affectionate. They sleep with a (fuzzy, salmon-pink) body pillow between them on the pullout, something Logan instated during his first week here, but he still wakes up most mornings with something of Wade touching him. A hand tossed over the meager barrier, grazing Logan’s arm; Wade’s leg stuck out diagonally beneath the covers and hooking their ankles together; once, Logan’s eyes fluttered open in the wee hours of the morning, when the sun was barely tugging itself above the horizon, and realized he was inches away from Wade’s snoring face. The body pillow had somehow been knocked so askew it was dangling off the mattress behind Logan’s back, so he was afforded an unencumbered, uninterrupted look at Wade when he wasn’t performing, wasn’t talking shit, wasn’t on . 

Maybe he laid there for a few moments longer than he needed to before rolling over, maybe he didn’t – that’s his business, thanks.

Wade’s just touchy, it doesn’t mean…Nope. Means nothing. Lots of people are affectionate with their friends, and Logan supposes that’s what they are. Friends (or friend-ish, at least, because he doesn’t know many “friends” who go upstate every so often to rend each other limb from limb only to get Chinese afterward).

“Soooo,” Wade drawls, hefting himself off his barstool onto the kitchen island with a shocking amount of grace. His pajama pants – plastered with that yellow dog and the little boy with the white bear hat from one of the cartoons Wade has made Logan sit through – puddle around his ankles as he sits, criss-cross-applesauce, and props his elbows on his knees. Logan goes to snap at him to get off of there because they cannot afford to replace the fucking thing if Wade accidentally cracks it in half, but Wade, as per usual, opens his mouth first.

“What’d ya get me for Valentine’s Day?”

“Ex cuse me?” 

Logan sets the pan of potatoes aside before bodily turning to face Wade – or, more accurately, to gape at him, brows pinched, eyes thinned. Wade’s dropped his chin into both of his upturned palms, grinning in a way that’s mostly sincere but just on this side of lecherous, dark eyes sparkling with mischief. 

He’s fucking with him. Right? That’s the look he gets when he’s fucking with Logan…and when he’s just looking at Logan. Fuck, he can’t tell. Is it already Valentine’s Day? When the fuck did that happen? And when the fuck did Logan become someone who even cared about shit like that?

“You’re fuckin’ with me,” Logan says, more a statement than a question. His mutation yields the ability to literally smell when someone is lying to him, but when Logan pushes past the starchy, oily aroma of their breakfast and finds Wade’s scent, it doesn’t clear anything up.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten ,” Wade gasps, pressing one hand to his chest and feigning shock. The space where his eyebrows must have been, at some point, bunches together, wrinkling gnarled skin. “Our first one together, too, you rat bastard.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Logan repeats, flatter this time, more certain. He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of Tabasco because Wade likes hot sauce on everything, and he doesn’t remember when he learned that. It feels like one of those Things he’s always implicitly known, ancillary information butting up against vital things like where the exits in any given space are and how to breathe. Warmth wriggles in his gut, writhes up to his chest, threatens to choke him out – he clears his throat and divvies the potatoes onto separate plates, alongside identical piles of fried rice. He deposits Wade’s plate into his lap, determinedly not meeting his eyes.

“Oh, sure, turn it back around on me,” Wade teases, still leering at Logan. Logan ignores him in favor of trying to shake some Tabasco out, but nothing comes. He glares down the nozzle with one eye.

“It’s not even the fourteenth,” Logan points out. He says it like Wade is way off, but it’s, in fact, the thirteenth . Wade flaps a hand at him.

“Technicalities. You’re not gettin’ off that easy, sugartits.”

“Do not call me that.” Wade has a fascination (obsession) with his chest and only uses the word “tits” when he’s referring to it. Logan kinda hates it, but…he also kinda doesn’t, and that’s a whole can of worms he’d like to keep tightly lidded and stuffed away for the rest of for-fucking-ever.

“Peanut is okay, but you draw the line at – Shit!”

In an effort to dislodge whatever was stopping up the Tabasco, Logan had inverted the bottle and smacked the bottom of it. What he hadn’t accounted for was that, apparently, the Tabasco bottle was made out of what might as well have been fucking rice paper – with one well-placed thwack from the palm of his hand, the thing explodes , showering Wade’s plate and pants with bright red-orange sauce and embedding dozens of shards of glass into Logan’s fingers. 

For a moment, Wade is silent, which in and of itself is weirder than the Tabasco bottle detonating. He looks up at Logan, sauce somehow splattered on the bottom of his chin and webbed across one cheekbone. Then, Wade snorts , eyes crinkling at the corners and cheeks puffing out comically. 

“Y’know,” he starts, uncrossing his legs and gingerly placing his plate beside him, glass tinkling delicately to the floor around Logan’s bare feet as it’s knocked loose from Wade’s pajamas, “it’s a little unfair that my pants are ruined because you spanked something else so hard it blew its whole load.”

“You’re disgusting,” Logan informs him, and though he means it, there’s no heat to the insult. He steps back from Wade and looks down at himself. His white shirt is unsalvageable, a fat glob of hot sauce spattered right in the middle of it, and his hands are dripping; the seconds before the micro-cuts in his fingers have a chance to heal, Tabasco dribbles in, and holy fuck does it burn. The Hello Kitty pants are remarkably untouched, however. Small mercies.

Wade hobbles, bow-legged, toward the sink, pulling the stopper and twisting the tap so that the basin fills with warm water. He grabs the half-full bottle of dish soap (you can guess what color it is at this point) and squirts a generous amount into the stream before beckoning Logan with two fingers.

“Shirt, gimme,” he says when Logan stands there, staring. 

“I think it’s pretty ruined, bub,” Logan points out, gesturing to the splotch on his abdomen. “Not much point.”

“Ye of little faith,” Wade says, wiggling his fingers more insistently. “Strip, you ape, I’m quite literally dripping and I don’t want Mary Puppins to get a mouthful of crotch-sauce.” 

Logan blows air out his nose but complies. Tabasco drags against his abs as he peels the shirt off, and he decides fuck it as he wipes his hands off into the already sullied fabric. Wade pretends to be more grossed out than he is before snatching the shirt and nudging a paper towel roll in Logan’s direction.

“I have gotten blood and gunpowder out of white shirts, kitten,” Wade asserts, and the shirt disappears beneath soapy water with a splash. “A little hot sauce ain’t shit.”

“Not a little,” Logan mumbles, scraping at the plane of his stomach with a dry paper towel. His skin is stained orange and tingles where he’s smearing Tabasco into it, and the scent drifts sharply up his nose. Eugh .

“Oh, please,” Wade scoffs, “I’ve busted nuts bigger than this.”

“Jesus Chr–”

Logan stops talking. He’s mid-scold, tossing his soiled paper towel onto the counter and about to reach for another one when his eyes land on Wade. He’s got his pajamas halfway down his thighs, clearly trying to avoid sticking his fingers all over the gooey fabric, and whatever, that on its own isn’t a big deal. They’ve both seen each other in various states of undress by this point, either because they’ve decimated the other’s clothes following a particularly intense sparring session, they’ve crossed paths while one exits the bathroom after a shower as the other one is entering, or because Wade is prone to stripping down to his skivvies following a particularly exhausting night Deadpooling around town and just lying face-up on the floor for Logan to (literally) stumble upon.

What is a big deal, a huge, massive fucking deal, is what Wade’s wearing underneath his pajamas.

Panties.

Baby pink, satin panties that ride high on his hips and do not do anything in the way of adequately obscuring Wade’s dick, which is squished obscenely into the paltry fabric and creating quite the bulge.

Fucking…fuck.

Logan’s mouth dries up. 

Listen… listen, okay, Logan would be a filthy liar if he tried to pretend some slightly prurient thoughts regarding Wade hadn’t crossed his mind after all this time. Despite whatever self-deprecating garbage falls out of his mouth, Wade is not some repellant, grotesque thing that Logan is loathe to look at – he’s scarred, yes, hairless in a slightly disconcerting way, yes, and perhaps Logan was a bit caught off guard the first time he saw Wade shirtless and realized the guy didn’t have nipples , but ugly? 

Not by a long shot. Not to Logan.

He doesn’t understand why other people think so, not when Wade’s big brown eyes are still there, expressive and bright, and when his smile still stretches so wide it makes the corners of his eyes crease, crooked teeth glittering behind marred lips; and who even gives a shit about something as trivial and fleeting as looks when Wade is funny , easily and carelessly funny and able to pull a laugh out of Logan the way no one else can, and he’s so kind beneath the thick veneer of sarcasm and profanity even though he likes to pretend it’s nothing remarkable, like he isn’t doing anything that a normal person wouldn’t do, and –

Yeah, fine; maybe Logan’s thoughts have drifted into sentimental territory, too. Sue him. He has a lot of time to just sit and think nowadays, and Wade’s always here, it’s only natural for his musings to morph around the guy. Expected, even.

What isn’t expected is the way the blood in Logan’s body rushes south at the sight of Wade in panties, so fast he has to dizzily grip the lip of the island digging into his back for purchase. The muscles in Wade’s thighs flex and ripple as he kicks his pajama pants up off the ground, catching them mid-air before depositing them in the sink with an exaggerated flick of the wrist – “Kobe!” – and then he’s just standing there, hands on his hips, wearing a grey Queen T-shirt (that he fucking cropped, because of course he did, so the hem only comes down to his navel), satin panties, a black crew sock, and a white sock with mini bottles of hot sauce dotted all over it. Go fucking figure.

“Well, good thing you were gonna do laundry anyway, huh Wolvie?” Wade laughs. 

Logan tries to respond, aiming for nonchalant and unaffected, but the front of these fucking ridiculous Hello Kitty pants are getting tighter and good Christ the swell of Wade’s ass is criminal in those panties. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, because he knows anything that falls out of his mouth right now is going to sound rough and ruined, so he just nods, lips pressed together in a firm line.

“Y’okay?” Wade asks, crossing his arms. He’s completely shameless, like he’s not aware of what he’s wearing, or this is so normal that it simply doesn’t occur to Wade to be insecure, and God, is that a fucking delicious thought. Images flash, unbidden, through Logan’s mind, like flicking through a lewd photo album of what Wade might be packing under his clothes without his knowledge – does he wear panties under the Deadpool suit, too? It doesn’t seem practical, but then when has practicality mattered as far as horny daydreaming is concerned?

Yep, pants are definitely getting tighter, son of a bitch .

“Mm,” Logan manages, obstinately keeping his eyes above Wade’s head. He can’t meet the playful gaze Wade’s fixed him with because he’s sure his pupils are blown wide right now, which is decidedly not fucking subtle. 

“Didja bluescreen over there?” Wade teases, cocking his head. “Or are you stroking out? Can you even stroke out?”

“‘M fine,” Logan rumbles, like a liar, shaking his head. Maybe he is stroking out. His cock is heavy and swollen against his leg, straining against the inside of his briefs (actually his, this time, this would be interminably worse if he was leaking precum in Wade’s underwear), thick with blood that should be in his brain and helping him sound like a person with a functioning fucking language center instead of a goddamn caveman. 

“You look flushed, peanut,” Wade coos, “you feelin’ okay?”

It’s his tone, so self-satisfied, that smacks Logan out of it enough to blink and look Wade in the eye. That fucking grin is back, downright licentious, and he’s got his head lolled to one side, hips angled, and body slowly rotating back and forth like he’s waiting for something.

Like he’s waiting for Logan to do something.

…Oh.

Oh. Mother fucker .

“‘M fine,” Logan repeats, still more gravelly than he’d like. Wade’s done this on purpose – Logan doesn’t know how, because there’s no way Wade could’ve foreseen the hot sauce explosion and consequent pajama carnage, but the smug look on his face and the way he’s clearly sooo fucking pleased with himself is proof enough that the panties didn’t just happen upon his body by way of cosmic coincidence. He’s dangling a carrot in front of Logan’s face, daring him to take a bite with that salacious glimmer in his eye, and Logan, well…

Logan really fucking wants to. 

He shifts his weight, suddenly thankful for the way Wade’s locked him into an unintentional staring contest instead of allowing his eyes to wander because there’s physically no way Logan can hide the outline of his cock right now without cupping a hand over his crotch, and a very stubborn part of him doesn’t want to give Wade the satisfaction. He’s a little dumbfounded and a lot horny, a cocktail that proves to make him kinda slow on the uptake — Wade seizes the opportunity to push further.

“You got a little…” Wade waves a finger near the corner of his own mouth, jutting his chin out to indicate Logan must have hot sauce on his face. He reaches, dumbly, to wipe it off, even though he doesn’t think there’s anything there, but Wade beats him to it. Wordlessly (yes, really), Wade crowds Logan a little tighter against the kitchen island, dark eyes shining in the yellowish glow of the overhead kitchen light, and his thumb presses into the scruffy edge of Logan’s lips. He slides it sloooowwly over the bottom one, the rest of his fingers curled loosely beneath Logan’s jaw and scraping against his beard; there’s a moment where Wade is almost cupping Logan’s chin in his hand, where the pad of his thumb lingers dangerously close to the center of Logan’s bottom lip like he’s thinking about pushing it down and dragging it away from Logan’s incisors.

Logan has to bite off the groan that rises in his throat when Wade sucks the digit back into his mouth, that foul, incessant, beautiful fucking mouth, and he can see the pink of Wade’s tongue flicker out to gather whatever he’s wiped away. He backs up, and though his body language has cooled to flippant, there’s unmistakable heat in his gaze.

“A large Wolverine with sauce on the side,” Wade says, turning on his heel and puttering off down the hall, assumably to find a new pair of pants. 

Logan just fucking stands there like a moron, still flush with the island, cock throbbing in time with the pounding in his chest, shamelessly gazing at Wade’s ass the way Wade was doing to him not five minutes ago. The panties are bunched up in the cleft of it, revealing an ample amount of supple-looking cheek, and something in Logan’s jaw twitches — his canines eke out of his gums a little further, sharp tips digging into the soft muscle of his tongue, an unfortunate commonality he shares ( shared, past tense, ha, fuck you, Victor) with his brother. But he can’t help it; so much of Wade’s flesh is on display right now and Logan’s dying to sink his teeth into every available inch. He imagines biting into that tender spot where inner thigh meets pelvis, breaking the skin and descending into muscle, lapping up the blood that drools out by the mouthful while Wade keens above him —

Althea’s bedroom door clicks shut, Wade disappearing behind it.

Everything quiets, and once the roaring in Logan’s ears ceases he realizes he’s panting . Like a fucking dog.

Oh, he’s gonna kill that little fucker.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Wade survives only because Althea ambles into the apartment just as Logan’s wrapped a hand around the knob of the bedroom door, and he likes Althea, respects her, and thus decides it’s not a good idea to bite the hand that houses him. 

So he huffs and steps away, ears burning with the sound of Wade leisurely opening drawers and rifling around for new pajama pants; luckily, Althea has two armfuls of groceries that Logan busies himself with unloading, responding with vaguely interested hmms and uh-huhs while she recounts her morning.

He thanks every god there is, maybe a couple of fairy tale creatures too, that she’s blind – his boner doesn’t flag for another five fucking minutes.

When Wade emerges, freshly adorned in lavender shorts printed with a mischievous-looking little bat-creature – Wade has scolded him about its name before, something with a K, Logan doesn’t remember – his expression is genial, casual, like he didn’t just drop trou and leave Logan hard as a rock on fucking purpose , and it pisses Logan off. He glares at the side of Wade’s bald head hard, hoping the heat of his gaze will force Wade to look his way, but the fucker pretends like he isn’t even there in favor of making small talk with Althea. 

The worst part is when Al crosses in front of the sink and wrinkles her nose, shaking her head slightly and coughing. “The fuck did you two need so much hot sauce for?” she asks, feeling along the kitchen island to aid in her retreat toward the dining table. Logan pauses, so tense he almost squishes the entire loaf of bread he’s trying to put away flat, and Wade laughs .

“Logan had a little accident over breakfast,” he says smoothly, brown eyes finally deigning to roll over to where Logan’s standing, and does he glance down at Logan’s crotch, or is he imagining things? 

“You’re the one who doesn’t eat anything without fucking Tabasco on it,” Logan spits.

“Don’t blame me, shnooks, your clumsy paws broke the bottle.” Wade’s hands drift toward his waistband, thumbs hooking into the elastic, revealing maybe another inch of blotchy, scarred flesh as he tugs his shorts downward. Logan isn’t looking for them, but his eyes follow Wade’s movements and happen to find the satiny hem of his panties peeking out just above his fingers. 

Wade has the gall to look all fucking innocent when Logan manages to tear his eyes away.

He turns heel and stomps – well, about six feet away, into the living room because it’s a small apartment, and the alternative is storming outside in Hello Kitty pants and no shirt. He lands hard on the couch, the springs of the pullout bed shrieking angrily beneath his weight, and breathes hard through his nose.

“What’s his problem?” Althea asks Wade.

“Premature ejaculation is a very tender subject for aging Wolverines, Althea,” Wade sighs, condescension dripping from his voice like honey off a wand. Logan growls and utilizes an astounding amount of self-control to not launch himself across the room and bury his claws in Wade’s lungs. Wade tosses a sly little grin over his shoulder to repay him for such kindness.

Premature ejaculation . Yeah, fucking right. Because Logan’s the one who basically came in his pants while they were fighting in the Honda Odyssey. Whether he was also hard is neither here nor there because he wasn’t making the sounds Wade was making, all breathy and punched out, head drifting languidly across his shoulders as he tossed it back and arched into Logan’s claws, mouth probably hanging half-open beneath his mask –

Okay, shit – Logan crosses his legs, smashing the heel of his hand between his thighs. 

Great, now he’s getting hard just thinking about Wade. Fantastic. 

He chews the inside of his cheek — his canines have fortunately shrunk back to their original size — and shuts his eyes, willing himself to think of other things. The dog, baseball, the last episode of The Bachelorette he and Wade watched together, the way Wade snorted and pointed at the TV whenever he found something particularly funny, like Logan wasn’t watching the same exact show; the way Wade unashamedly took up space on the bed, long limbs sprawling in every direction and inevitably rubbing against Logan’s body even with their pink pillow stuffed between them, the warmth of Wade’s skin, how it might feel under the flat of Logan’s tongue —

Whoa .

Logan exhales sharply, and before Wade can finish his slow rotation toward him, he’s on his feet and charging toward the bathroom door.

While he jacks himself off into the sink (he barely remembers to wash the residual hot sauce off his hands), biting so hard into the back of his free hand that blood trickles between his teeth, he distantly recalls the last time he’d had to do this — he was a much younger man, whatever approximation of “young adult” his mutation could provide, still so flush with hormone-addled lust that he physically couldn’t sit still after a beautiful woman merely glanced his way. 

When he cums, it’s with Wade on the brain, smug and pretty and squished into those stupid panties, and he has to steady himself against the wall to avoid shoving the head of his cock straight down the drain hole. He trembles, fucking trembles , reddish drool dripping off his beard and plopping into the sink’s basin alongside his load, and the tips of his claws scrape against the knobs of his knuckles before he can get himself back under control.

He’s gonna kill Wade Wilson slowly.

~

Logan is a patient man.

Okay, that’s a bold-faced fucking lie – Logan has never been, nor will he ever be anything resembling patient one singular day in his whole two-hundred-and-something years of life. 

But on this day, Logan forces himself into some ersatz estimation of patience because Althea has decided she would like nothing more than to dawdle around the apartment all day and listen to a Golden Girls marathon with Wade, who watches and narrates the episodes for her. 

Logan had promised her on New Year’s Eve, when three whole bottles of Jack had him feeling rather amiable, that he’d keep his claws to himself so long as he and Wade were within the confines of the apartment. He felt bad about the grooves he (and Wade) had gouged out of various pieces of furniture and the various bloodstains they’d flung onto the ceiling, and rathered Althea no longer had to start her mornings stepping in errant puddles of still-gooey viscera. 

In return, she’d promised she’d cut back – not quit, heavens no – on the coke. Logan hasn’t held her to that, partially because he thinks she’d be insulted if he brought it up but mostly because she scares him a little. Anyone who can put up with Wade for as long as she has is worthy of a healthy amount of fear in his book.

Which brings him back to his current issue.

Wade is draped along Althea’s side, the two of them snuggling on the pullout while Logan occupies a rickety recliner that struggles to bear his adamantium-enhanced weight. Wade softly whispers what each character is doing on screen while Althea nods and laughs. Logan isn’t really following the plot, doesn’t need to when he’s sat through these very same episodes dozens of times – Wade likes to pop this show on the TV when he wakes up in the middle of the night, and Logan can’t sleep when there are warbling voices of any kind, so they’ve spent many evenings passively consuming Golden Girls together. He usually pretends to be asleep for longer than he is, like Rue McClanahan’s drawl doesn’t immediately rouse him from his already fitful slumber because every time Wade realizes he’s awake, he mutes the show and starts shooting off at the mouth. 

He knows Althea must have the show memorized by now, figured as much within about a month of living here and observing her and Wade perform this exact nighttime ritual five out of seven days a week, so for a long time, he couldn’t understand why they just kept doing it. Surely, it must get boring, and as much as Wade loves to run his mouth, he had to be sick of repeating the same plot lines over and over again.

But watching Wade nuzzle his head onto Althea’s shoulder, eyes fluttering as he struggles to keep them open, lips moving almost imperceptibly against the side of her head, and Althea occasionally squeezing Wade’s hand where it’s curled around her upper arm, Logan knows it’s not about the show at all. It’s about the routine, the familiarity, the assurance that no matter what the day brings, the two of them will still find themselves here at the end of it because as much as they’ll bury it beneath sarcasm and low blows, Logan can see how deeply they care for each other. He’s wondered for a while if Wade needs Althea more than she needs him, and on nights like these, he’s inclined to believe that’s the case.

All of that makes it really fucking hard to stay mad at Wade for his earlier stunt, try as Logan might. 

The anger is still there , to be clear, simmering beneath his skin and warming him enough to kick the scratchy throw blanket off his legs and onto the floor, but…fuck, Wade is yawning and stretching, the arch of his back feline and smooth and so fucking inviting, and then he’s settling back against Althea while blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and Logan can smell him, warm flesh and perpetual sickness and marshmallow soap and something that’s so distinctly Wade. Logan could scent him from miles away if he needed to, could stand in the middle of dense woods and sniff Wade out amongst the pine and wet earth and rotting leaves.

But he doesn’t need to, doubts he ever will, because he’s always here, and Wade is always here , always near him, always clogging his brain with his fucking smell and his laughter and his stupid fucking jokes, and is he looking at Logan right now –

Logan blinks.

Wade is looking. He has no idea for how long, if they’ve been making dead eye contact the whole time Logan’s been lost in thought, but judging by the way Wade’s lips curve and he shifts into a half-sit, he assumes the worst (the best? fuck it, who knows). 

“Alright, baby, it’s time I hit the sack,” Althea says gently, patting the back of Wade’s hand and extricating herself from his grasp. He allows it, one hand still hovering behind her back cautiously, just in case she loses her footing, and Mary Puppins snuffles awake beside the couch. 

“Would you take Mary out for one last potty break?” Wade asks hopefully, and Al cuts a dirty look in his direction.

“Your dog, your problem,” she grumbles, even though Logan catches her feeding the creature scraps of bacon during breakfast almost every morning, and Wade often has to physically drag the dog from Althea’s bed for her morning walk. 

“Some way to treat your granddog,” Wade snipes, swinging his legs over the side of the pullout.

Logan does not look at his ass when he draws himself up to his full height. Nope. No way.

…It’s a nice fucking ass, okay, leave him alone.

“Didn’t sign up for a granddog,” Al points out, shuffling toward her bedroom. “Hardly signed up for you .”

“Yeah, yeah, sticks and stones, Al. You remember that the next time you wanna use my Hulu subscription to watch your fuckin’ show.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” Althea calls brightly over her shoulder, and her bedroom door clicks closed. Logan stifles a laugh against the back of his hand, and Wade shoots him a glare as he plucks Mary’s hot pink leash off the wire hooks by the front door. 

“Oh, sure, take her side,” he snaps, stooping down to one knee and patting his thigh. Mary toddles over sluggishly and waits for Wade to clip her leash to her collar.

“Not like she could tell if the thing did its business outside anyway,” Logan reminds him, and his voice is gruff with fatigue but still too tender to his own ears – he clears his throat. Mad, he’s still mad; he’s supposed to be mad .

“All I’m asking for is a little help, y’know,” Wade laments, “I did not sign up to be a single mother. Isn’t that right, my little angel?”

Mary gnarrs noncommittally and nudges Wade’s shin with her nose – let’s go . He huffs and pads out of the apartment, those absurd pink Crocs thudding against the floor with every step.

Logan waits to exhale until he’s sure Wade is well down the hallway.

He scrubs both hands over his face and clambers noisily out of the recliner, the sudden loss of his weight causing the thing to whip back. He watches it wobble and waits for it to shudder apart – when it doesn’t, he peels the comforter back on his side of the bed and climbs in. Wade’s been sitting here for the last several hours, and so when Logan drives his face into the threadbare sheets, Wade’s smell blossoms anew inside his nose.

He takes a deep, indulgent breath just while he’s alone.

And that is a fucking mistake . He’s since changed out of Wade’s pants, having done a load of laundry a few hours prior, so his black sweats do a much better job at eclipsing the outline of his hardening dick, but his dick is still hardening . He rolls onto his back, glowering down at himself, at the treasonous tent in his pants that doesn’t even have the decency to flag slightly.

He doesn’t understand why his body is suddenly responding to Wade’s presence like this. They’ve slept on this bed together for months, and Logan’s had Wade’s scent stuck inside his nose that whole time – close quarters and all that. Althea’s scent is there too, vaguely floral and naturally sweet, like honey and lavender. 

But today, it’s different . Well, he supposes that’s just it. Today is different, period. Wade’s flirtatious comments haven���t stopped or even slowed down the whole time they’ve lived together, but that’s all they’ve ever been – comments. Words without action.

Today, Wade took action . Maybe he didn’t march up to Logan and announce that he, indeed, wanted to fuck him, but…shit, why else would he practically stick his fingers in Logan’s mouth? 

Logan twirls the corner of the comforter around his fingers thoughtfully. The neon green numbers on the decrepit DVR below the TV glow in the late-night gloom, informing Logan that it’s past midnight.

Hey, now it’s actually Valentine’s Day .

Is that why Wade decided to make a move? It seems silly, too simple an explanation for people like them, people whose (love) lives are constantly upended and ripped apart, that Wade was doing as all leading men do in their respective romcoms and making their Big Move on the most romantic day of the year. 

Then again, Wade is the personification of silly and ridiculous , so perhaps Logan doesn’t have the room to be all that shocked.

But then, why did he walk away? He was right there, all in Logan’s bubble, sucking on his fingers and scantily clad, and Logan hadn’t pushed him away, so why didn’t he finish what he’d started? 

Why didn’t Logan ?

He sits up straight, bedding pooling in his lap. 

…Is that what the fucking asshole was doing? Trying to tempt Logan into action?

“Hey, big and brooding, what’s with the face?” 

Wade’s voice interrupts his revelation, and Logan almost jumps out of his skin because he hadn’t heard him re-enter the apartment. There it is again, that thing , that thing that makes Logan let his guard down, that thing that enables him to be snuck up on like every other person, and it’s because of Wade. 

Wade, who bullies Logan out of the kitchen to do the dishes after he's cooked because he has this fixation on fairness even when Logan insists it’s not that big a deal. 

Wade, who takes everything Logan has ever thrown at him and more with that shit-eating grin on his face, only to dish it back twice as hard. 

Wade, Wade fucking Wilson, the man who yanked him, snarling and drunk, out of his original universe and made him worth something again, who believed Logan could become a better man so passionately that he fucking has . Not overnight, of course, and not without his fair share of sulking and snitting and generally being an asshole, but if Wade had never shown up and dragged him out of that bar, Logan would still be there, bleary and miserable and waiting for the day he finally just fucking keeled over and died.

His eyes meet Wade’s. Wade is blinking at him, half-concerned and half-amused, hanging Mary’s leash back on the hook while she waddles off to Al’s room for the night.

It hits Logan, at that moment, wrapped up in an ancient, moth-eaten comforter, listening to the sound of the ( their ) dog’s nails click-clacking on the creaky hardwood, enveloped in Wade’s smell and pink floral sheets and life , on fucking Valentine’s Day , that he is stupidly, hopelessly, ill-advisedly in love with him. 

He laughs.

He doesn’t stop laughing.

He can’t stop laughing, as it turns out.

He flops back on the pullout, the heels of both hands driven into his throbbing eye sockets, barking out peals of side-splitting laughter and trying to keep from shaking apart.

Wade puts on a pair of panties, and suddenly Logan is having earth-shattering realizations – go fucking figure.

“Okay, uh,” Wade says, tentatively sitting himself on the edge of the pullout. Logan chances a look through his thick fingers. Wade’s face is twisted apprehensively, his brow crumpled, the corners of his mouth drawn downward, and his hands twitch where they’re floating in front of his chest. “See, normally, laughter is a good thing, angel baby, but this is bordering on Joker-levels of batshit-bonkers, and it’s not only freaking me the fuck out, but it might also be copyright infringement.”

Logan laughs harder . Does he know what Wade means? Not really! Does he care? Not a bit! Because he’s in love with him, and his jokes, and his idiosyncratic asides to the middle distance, and his stupid pink Crocs. 

“Are you fucking cracked?” Wade asks, ripping Logan’s hands away from his face, eyes rounding once he realizes tears are cascading down Logan’s cheeks. “Did Al give you crack?”

“I-I – you , I – Jesus, fuck, I – pfff! ” is all Logan can manage before he tips his head back and snorts , giggles bubbling up his throat like foam spraying out of a shaken soda can. His lungs burn with effort, and tears dribble into his sideburns, but he physically cannot stop. 

Well, not until Wade cocks back and punches him square in the nose.

“ Fuck! ” Logan roars, bolting upright and clutching his now bleeding face. He can feel the wound stitching itself shut just as quickly as it’d opened, flesh mending, cartilage and bone realigning themselves, but it fucking hurt – Wade has one hell of a right hook.

“Oh, thank shit,” Wade wheezes, shoulders visibly rounding with relief. “I didn’t know if that’d make you worse or better.”

“So you did it anyway?” Logan’s voice is ragged and muffled, partially from the blood still plugging up his nasal passage and partially because he’s pinching the healing bridge of his nose. 

“I’ve found it’s the most effective way to get you to stop doing annoying shit,” Wade says flatly, and that is rich coming from him, “now, what the fuck is your problem? And do not just stare at me contemplatively for the next five seconds – use your words.”

“Give me a second. I have to clean the blood off my fucking face,” Logan snaps, rolling to his feet and tramping into the kitchen. He blows thick globs of snot and blood into a paper towel, scowling all the while, and Wade theatrically rolls his eyes.

“Yes, poor Wolvie, so delicate, glass bones and paper skin,” he mocks, paying no mind to how Logan bristles. “Talk.”

The last five minutes would’ve made a sane person seriously reconsider any feelings they had for Wade. Logan is not a sane person.

“What the fuck was earlier?” he exclaims. “With the-the hot sauce and the…fuckin’...other shit.” Wow. Good one, very astute.

Wade’s expression morphs briefly, rippling and then smoothing out so fast that by the time Logan realizes there’s been any change, it’s already gone. He shrugs and busies one hand with plucking pilled fabric from the sheets.

“Well, I hardly think it’s fair you’re getting mad at me when you’re the klutz who mushroom-clouded the Tabasco – you owe me a new bottle, bee-tee-dubs–”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Wade’s lips purse, then audibly smack apart. He drags his gaze from the floor to Logan’s eyes; he shrugs. “Like you said, honey badger, it was laundry day. I needed some unmentionables to put on my mentionables, and I just happened to find…these.” He gestures to his lap, and Logan makes a concerted effort to focus on the conversation at hand instead of the fact that Wade’s still wearing the panties. 

“Bullshit,” Logan grunts. 

“Scout’s honor,” Wade mutters.

“And the other stuff?” Logan indicates around his face. He really could not be less articulate if he tried, but Wade crosses his arms and sets his jaw like he understands.

“Look,” he starts, standing, “I heard you loud and clear earlier, okay? Hard no, right? It won’t happen again, so can we just fucking drop it?”

“ What the fuck are you talking about?” Logan whisper-yells, suddenly remembering Al is down the hall and trying to sleep. 

“I don’t need it spelled out for me. I’m not actually that dumb,” Wade hisses. “I know what rejection spelled F-U-C-K N-O sounds and feels like.”

“Rejec – you walked away from me , dipshit!”

“Jesus Christ, are you twelve ?” Wade rasps, but his features are softening – well, as much as features embedded within permanently scarred skin can soften. His arms drop to his sides, and he chances a step forward.

“ Obviously,” he whispers like Logan is very, very stupid, “I wasn’t just teeing you up for a big fat nothing, you fucking donut. I’m not that much of a cocktease.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Logan digs before he can stop himself, and satisfaction curls darkly in his belly when he watches Wade’s brain go offline for just a second. His eyelids flutter, and his lips flap open and close a few times before he gets whatever remains of his wits back about him.

“You…Well, it would’ve been helpful if you’d done more than just stand there,” Wade retorts. “I know you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yourself, but you’re very hard to read sans kitty claws.”

“Would’ve been more helpful if you’d opened your fat fuckin’ mouth and just told me what you wanted,” Logan growls. “It’s not like you aren’t flapping your gums every second of every day anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m getting a lecture about opening up from you now?”

Logan doesn’t realize they’ve been drawing closer to each other until the tip of his nose is almost bumping Wade’s. He has to angle his face up, just a bit, to meet Wade’s glare head-on, and that, well – that pisses him off. 

His claws slip out with a soft snikt .

Sorry, Althea.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Logan surges forward, fists bunched into the collar of Wade’s shirt, tearing it to strips as he forces them both backward. The air leaves Wade’s lungs in a whoosh as his back slams into the nearest wall, and because he starts squirming against Logan’s grip, Logan gathers both of his wrists and pins them above his head, not with a hand but three adamantium claws driven straight through both forearms.

Wade groans, long and low, blood weeping down the muscled lines of his arms. Logan briefly allows himself to admire the shadowed contours of Wade’s torso peeking out between mutilated panels of fabric, if only because Wade’s a bit dazed from his head thwacking against the wall and doesn’t notice.

“This easy enough to read for you?” Logan asks, cruelly twisting his claws.

Wade grins , wide and wild, and because they’re almost flush, Logan can feel him gearing up to kick out before the muscles in Wade’s thighs can adequately carry out the message his brain is sending. Wade’s abs flex and one knee shoots up, aimed at Logan’s ribs. He gets an additional few claws driven into the meat of his thigh for his efforts, piercing marrow-deep and affixing the offending appendage to the wall. Logan’s left standing in the suggestive spread of Wade’s legs, and he decides fuck it , he’s already here – one of his own thick thighs forces itself between Wade’s, nudging the one foot Wade has planted on the ground off to the side. Wade hisses, all of his weight now suspended from his wrists and, by extension, Logan’s claws. They’re chest-to-very-fucking- ripped -chest now, Logan panting through gritted teeth, Wade still having the nerve to look giddy .

“Why, Mr. Wolverine,” he drawls, pitching his voice higher and affecting a cartoonishly Southern accent. If he still had eyelashes, Logan’s sure he’d be batting them. “Where are your manners? You’re s’posed to buy a girl dinner first before you go ripping her clothes to smithereens.” Blood seeps, thick and black in the murk of the night, through Wade’s shorts, oozes off his dangling ankle, and puddles beneath them on the floor. The neck of his tattered shirt is stained crimson, and with every aborted wriggle against Logan’s claws, he smears more blood on the wall. The scent sticks to the inside of Logan’s nose, heady and metallic, and perhaps there’s something deeply fucking wrong with him because his cock twitches with interest with every breath he drags in. It’s so pungent he can almost taste it – almost . 

“Doesn’t seem like you mind all that much,” Logan points out gruffly, and when he rocks his hips up, the dry snag of Wade’s clothed dick rubbing against his makes air stutter in both their throats. Wade is hard , harder than Logan remembered him being in the Odyssey, and when he adjusts the claws in Wade’s leg just a hair, Wade’s shaft practically jumps against his pelvis. Wade hums contentedly, head clunking back against the wall and exposing the long arch of his bare throat.

Oops – there go Loan’s teeth again.

“Ooh, sparkly,” Wade coos, gaze fixed on the mean curl of Logan’s half-parted lips. “Never met an alcoholic supercentenarian with pearly whites like those. Supercentenarian? Bi cente–”

Wade cuts himself off with a lurid gasp, pulse fluttering beneath where Logan’s plunged all four of his sharp canines, and God, the little shiver that ripples up his body makes Logan’s cock throb so hard it hurts. Blood pools in the dip of his tongue, hot and coppery; if Logan could purr, he’d be doing so right about now.

“Ow,  fuck , you little fucking vampire ,” Wade pants, but his cock is still prodding rather insistently against Logan’s lower stomach, so he can’t be that upset. Logan ignores him – in fact, he chews along the bloodied column of Wade’s throat until he finds the juncture of neck and shoulder, nosing it a bit before biting so hard into Wade’s trapezius that he whines .

“D-D’you think if you bit off a chunk of me and swallowed it,” Wade stammers, the inexhaustible machine that is his mouth undeterred by becoming the Wolverine’s chew toy, “you’d grow a whole new Wade in your tum-tum? He’d prolly have to chest-burster you to get out, though, and that’s not very romantic, so maybe –”

Logan retracts the claws sticking Wade’s thigh to the wall, his knuckles slippery with blood, and stuffs his first two fingers between Wade’s lips before he can finish that decidedly unsexy thought. Wade’s so stunned that he lets him , and Logan is deeply (perhaps a bit selfishly) pleased by the lack of resistance when he bullies the digits into the back of Wade’s throat and presses down, forcing the hinge of Wade’s jaw to strain open further. Wade gags, eyes watering prettily and drool splashing against the backs of his teeth. Funny, he would’ve thought Wade didn’t have a gag reflex.

Logan repays Wade’s gorgeous display of submission by spitting his mouthful of blood onto his tongue, then slapping a palm over Wade’s lips so he has no choice but to swallow.

And he does , the beautiful little freak, his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly with the effort as his blown-out pupils hazily focus on Logan’s face. 

God, if he wasn’t in love with the fucker before …

“You want this?” Logan asks raggedly, voice scraping his throat on its way out. 

Wade nods. He tries to say something against Logan’s hand that comes out as garbled nonsense, so Logan pries it away; a splotch of blood rests squarely in the center of it, and more is smudged lewdly across Wade’s lips, almost like he’s wearing lipstick.

“I want you ,” Wade says, and his voice is heart-breakingly sincere, “you fucking caveman. The homoerotic stabbing and bloodletting is just a nice little Christmas bonus – so not complaining about that, by the way.”

“How long?” Maybe it doesn’t matter all that much because when have things like timelines ever mattered to people like them – they saved the entire multiverse together within hours of Logan even knowing the multiverse existed, and a short shawarma break later, he was moving into Wade’s fucking house – but Logan wants to know. Yeah, he just got the balls to name the feeling today , but it’s been making a home in his chest for ages while Logan fought tooth and nail to deny it was there, so maybe it’d make him feel like less of a colossal fucking idiot if Wade said that this was new for him, too, or – 

“Whole time, peanut,” Wade says matter-of-factly. “Whole fuckin’ time. If you want a timestamp, you could try one hour, forty-six minutes, and seventeen seconds into our little quest, but I promise you the stirrings started way before then.”

Oh. Well, now he definitely feels like an idiot – a confused idiot, because timestamp? - but also an elated idiot, so he does what any sensible, self-respecting idiot would do in his situation and kisses Wade so hard and with so many teeth that it’s more of an affectionate, well-intentioned mauling than anything else. But Wade returns it in kind, nipping and sucking and licking his way into Logan’s mouth, the taste of blood clanging so sweetly against the taste of Wade that he groans unabashed into the kiss. 

When they break apart, equally dizzy from oxygen deprivation, Wade struggles anew against Logan’s claws. “Let up, babygirl,” he huffs, hands jerking, tearing deeper holes into his forearms and pouring blood afresh onto the floor, “I can’t do much for you when I’m crucified up here.”

Logan obliges, but he must’ve nicked something vital when he skewered Wade’s limbs (who would've thunk, right?) because without Logan’s body supporting him, Wade almost topples headlong into the floor, giggly and trembling. Logan catches him just in time, both hands (declawed, now) gripping tight around Wade’s waist, and he offers a shocked little laugh of his own.

“Need help, bub?”

“Are you offering me to carry me?” Wade asks, a drunken grin stretching the scarred expanse of his face. Logan doesn’t care what anybody, including Wade, thinks – the guy is fucking handsome. “Gonna hoist me bridal style across the threshold into our marital bed?”

“There’s no threshold,” Logan deadpans, “and not exactly.”

Wade’s girlish little eep! as Logan bends and drives his shoulder into Wade’s stomach, heaving him up and over until he’s slung upside-down across Logan’s back, is very entertaining.

“Okay, I can work with this,” Wade says, propping himself up with his hands against the small of Logan’s back. His voice is strained, probably in no small part due to the breadth of Logan’s shoulders forcing his guts up toward his throat. “Fantastic view of the goods from back here, anyway.”

“Yeah, not doin’ too bad up here either,” Logan remarks, because it’s true, and he’s been ogling it all fucking day anyway, so he indulges himself a bit as he shuffles toward the pullout and smacks Wade’s ass hard with one hand. Wade yelps , both feet accidentally kicking into Logan’s belly out of shock, and Logan hefts him onto the bed only a touch harder than he needs to.

“Je sus , heavy-handed much?” Wade gripes. “Almost broke my fucking hip.”

“Clearly didn’t break your dick,” Logan snarks, jutting his chin at the boner tenting Wade’s blood-soaked shorts and making quick work of peeling his T-shirt off. Wade’s eyes caress him, dragging down the tanned stretch of his abdomen and…well, frankly, unashamedly eyefucking him.

“You’re lookin’ hydrated, Wolvie,” Wade purrs, shucking the desiccated remains of his shirt off and flinging it to some darkened corner of the apartment. Logan makes a mental note to fetch and dispose of it later before looking down at himself. He hasn’t lost any muscle mass, doesn’t know if his healing factor would allow for that, but there’s a healthy cushion of fat lying over his abs now from months of eating and sleeping properly (eh, properly ish , they eat takeout more than they should and Logan’s lucky if gets five hours of consecutive sleep a night, but still). The thick, corded veins that used to run like ropes across his skin have receded, not wholly, but enough to where he doesn’t look like he’s going to pop if he takes too deep a breath. His stomach is softer, doughier, befitting of a man who doesn’t spend every single day subsisting on self-hatred and whiskey anymore.

“Shut up and take your pants off,” Logan grunts, yanking at the drawstring on his sweats. Wade obeys, launching them into the same place he chucked his shirt, but when his thumbs hook into the tops of those fucking panties, Logan stops him. He’s got one hand wrapped around Wade’s wrist, the other braced against the bed as he leans over the long, powerful line of Wade’s body, pants caught around his ankles like a fucking dork .

“Leave those on,” he says, and Wade beams .

“Ohhh, so you do like them,” he purrs, like he’s just figured out one of Logan’s juicy secret kinks, which might not be too far off. Panties look good on everyone, objectively, regardless of whatever’s going on between their legs, but panties on Wade specifically? Yeah, that might be a fetish all on its own for Logan.

“No shit,” Logan breathes, kicking his sweats off, and before Wade can shoot off whatever quip is currently dangling at the end of his tongue, Logan’s knees hit the floor, and he’s dragging Wade by his hips to the edge of the pullout. He doesn’t have a plan – his brain sparked and fizzled unimpressively once he saw the pink satin hugging Wade’s hips again – but he doesn’t end up needing one, as his tongue decides to lick a long, flat stripe up the swollen ridge of Wade’s cock through his panties before his brain has a moment to interject.

Wade presses into the wet heat of Logan’s mouth, moaning wantonly, hips bucking off the bed. Logan’s heart thuds against his ribcage like it’s trying to bust out into the open air, and he’s confident most of the blood in his body has been diverted to his pulsing cock, but he takes his time, mouthing and sucking over Wade’s concealed length agonizingly slow. His saliva seeps into the fabric, darkening it substantially, and fuck, he thinks he can taste the faintest hint of Wade’s precum the longer he goes at this, salty and heavy in the back of his throat.

“Fucking – ugh, God – if you want your present, honey badger, you hafta unwrap it,” Wade jokes, and Logan notes that he’s starting to sound delightfully affected, fucking finally. He shakes his head, looking at Wade through dark lashes.

“‘M fine how I am,” he rumbles, the bass in his voice seemingly reverberating down into Wade’s dick because his back bows, and he fists at the comforter. 

“What, giving me little kitten licks through my undies?” 

Logan chuckles lowly, nodding.

Wade blows air out through his teeth and oh , he’s growing impatient, Logan realizes. 

Serves him right.

“Want more?” he asks, and Wade raises himself onto his elbows. Even in the low light of the living room, Logan clocks the pretty flush scattered across the high peak of Wade’s cheekbones and the dip of his clavicle, the way his chest is rising and falling rapidly, the glimmer of moonlight in his dark brown eyes, and the I love you almost topples out of Logan’s big, stupid mouth right then and there. He silences it by kissing the head of Wade’s cock.

“Fucking duh , hairball,” Wade snits. His thighs spread further apart to accommodate Logan’s width, and one knee hooks over Logan’s shoulder to draw him in closer; his ankle thumps zealously between Logan’s shoulder blades like he’s spurring on a fucking horse. “I was picturing something more along the lines of you fucking me through the floorboards, not these adorable little prom night tongue flicks. This how you eat out all your paramours, mutton chops?”

“You think that’s eating you out, bub?” Logan scoffs, and this visibly catches Wade off guard. Not more than Logan decisively wiping the drool off his chin, tugging the gusset of Wade’s panties to the side, shoving his hands in the backs of Wade’s knees so hard he all but bends him in half, and burying his face in Wade’s ass with all the enthusiasm of a starving man, but, y’know – his eyes do go a little rounder at the edges.

Wade moans, and fuck is it a pretty sound, something Logan didn’t realize he’d been missing out on all this time , but now he knows he needs to hear it far more often, preferably every morning before breakfast and every night after they’ve brushed their teeth.

He’ll be honest – he is making this shit up as he goes along. He’s done this before, the whole eating-a-dude-out-business, but it’s been an age, and he doesn’t even remember the last time particularly well. He couldn’t tell you whose ass he had his tongue embedded in, just that the guy was so quiet it pissed Logan off, and the claws burst forth before either one of them had a chance to finish. Perhaps not Logan’s finest moment, but, hey, his life’s chock full of those, and he’s still here, making the merc with the mouth gasp and shudder like he’s killing him, so – second chances and all that.

“F-Fuck, fuck , Jesus shitfucking Christ, babygirl,” Wade keens, and there’s a not-so-small part of Logan that preens at apparently discovering Wade’s singular off-switch. Ninety percent of everything that falls past his lips is nonsensical, but this is different, better in a way Logan couldn’t have imagined. He licks deeper into Wade’s hole, the dry rasp of his beard against Wade’s cheeks obscenely accompanying the wet, greedy strokes of his tongue and the punched-out sounds Wade is making, each one sweeter and more breathless than the last.

He wrenches Wade closer, rough palms sliding up the pitted flesh of both thighs and slotting them snugly over his shoulders; Wade responds in kind, almost putting him in a headlock as he arches and tangles a hand in Logan’s hair. When he pulls, it’s not hard, really more a reflexive curl of the fingers than deliberate yanking, but Logan growls, and his cock jumps in his underwear. 

(Why the fuck is he still wearing underwear – he manages to shed them without removing his mouth from Wade’s ass and wraps a hand around the base of his flushed cock, squeezing hard.)

“You like having your hair pulled, kitty?” Wade hums. He doesn’t wait for Logan to answer – it’s a resounding fuck yes , but whatever – before he’s gripping one of those adorable little cowlicks by the root and tugging . 

Logan’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he moans, broken and pained , against Wade’s body. Pleasure laps at his nerves like flames, from the sweet sting in his scalp all the way down his spine, settling in his gut to smolder, and he can’t help himself – he pulls away from Wade’s hole, drool strung thinly between his bottom lip and the crack of Wade’s ass, and lurches forward while forcing the leg sprawled over his left shoulder to spread. His teeth find the crux of hip and thigh with stunning accuracy, and Wade howls above him as they sink past knotted flesh and settle into striated muscle. Blood bubbles up against Logan’s lips, spills onto the sheets, and Wade hisses as Logan sets his jaw and fucking shakes him a little, like a predator trying to subdue its prey.

“You’ve got the bite force of a fucking Kangal, Wolvie, anybody ever tell you that?” Wade wheezes, and when Logan looks up at him, he notices the erection hovering by his cheek hasn’t flagged in the slightest. He wants to comment on it, to jab at Wade goodnaturedly a little, but just as he drops the hunk of flesh he’d been crushing between his canines, Wade says something that makes him bluescreen for the second time today.

“Should start calling you puppy instead, huh?”

He has no fucking idea why that, of all things, makes his entire body feel like its humming with electricity or why fireworks shoot off in his head and render coherent thought impossible, but he’s so stunned he just blinks at Wade for a few seconds, the taste of blood thick on his tongue. He must be out of it longer than he realizes because Wade uses the hand in his hair to gently jolt him back to reality.

“Y’alright, Wolvie?” he asks. His voice is still playful, but there’s an edge there now, like he’s approaching seriousness. “Is that a no-thank-you on the puppy front?”

“I…no.”

“Nooo…what? No, you don’t like it, or no, you do like it?”

Wade’s not teasing him; he’s genuinely asking – Logan can tell the difference, can smell it as well as he can hear it – but he still blushes down to his chest like he’s being made fun of  because he really fucking liked Wade calling him…that. No one ever has, which makes sense as Logan’s never been the guy people regard as cuddly, or sweet, or anything other than stupid and senselessly violent. He’s gotten dog a few times, sure, but not during anything even remotely resembling sex, and always preceded by rabid or mad or wild . Logan Howlett is and has always been a weapon, something hideous and destructive borne out of war and blood and suffering, and everyone except the X-Men has always treated him accordingly. 

But not Wade. Wade’s not scared of him, never has been. 

Logan bites the inside of his bottom lip hard enough to break skin and meets Wade’s eyes.

“I do like it.” Stupid fucking shaky voice, what the fuck is that?

“Okay,” Wade says, and the hand in Logan’s hair flattens to pet over his scalp. “So you won’t scoop my colon out and feed it to me if I keep saying it?”

“No.”

“Promise? You can say no, peanut, I won’t get all asshurt over it,” Wade says. 

“Wade, it’s fine,” Logan grumbles. Wade seems unconvinced – he swings himself upright, legs still slung across Logan’s back, and bends forward slightly, the hand that isn’t occupied with stroking Logan’s hair coming down in front of his face. 

“ Promise ?” he asks, and he sticks his pinky out.

Wade is making Logan pinky-promise. Jesus fucking Christ. 

Logan glances between Wade’s finger and face a few times in disbelief. Wade wiggles his pinky at him, determined. Logan sighs.

He links the pinky of his left hand with Wade’s. “ Yes. Promise.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re adorable .”

Wade uses their joined hands to pull Logan closer, and the blunt edge of his nails scratch pleasantly down the back of Logan’s skull as he crushes their mouths together, immediately sliding his tongue past Logan’s parted lips and making the kiss filthy . He breaks it far too soon, and Logan growls to communicate as much, but Wade shushes him.

“C’mon, up,” he murmurs, patting the pullout, “I know that floor can’t feel good on your creaky-ass knees.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Logan argues, but when he tries to manhandle Wade onto his back again, Wade stops him with a sharp tug on the nape of his neck.

“Easy, boy,” Wade says, and fuck if that doesn’t go straight to Logan’s cock. “Trust me, I have no intentions of depriving you of the joy of eating my ass. I just think you’ll prefer it my way. Now, c’mon, uppies, just ‘cause you’re a zillion pounds doesn’t mean I can’t drag you up here myself.”

Logan obliges – yes, his knees crackle like Rice Krispies when he straightens out, and yes, Wade snickers about it. But then he’s easing Logan onto his back, burly thighs bracketing Logan’s as Wade settles on top of him and combs both hands through his hair again, and he’s fixed Logan with a look so soft it makes him squirm. Their cocks bump against each other like this, and Logan hisses when Wade shifts his weight forward slightly and flattens them between their stomachs.

“You’re fuckin’ rock hard, gorgeous,” Wade says. “‘S that all just from goin’ down on me?”

Logan nods.

“You wanna fuck me?” 

Logan grunts affirmatively, and Wade sucks his teeth.

“Uh-uh. Talk to me.”

“Yes,” Logan grits out. 

“Yes, what ?” The grin on Wade’s face makes Logan want to dredge holes into his intercostals, but he fucking pinky-promised he wouldn’t, so he swallows hard and says, “Yes, I wanna fuck you.”

“Good boy,” Wade coos, and there goes that electricity fuzzing through every nerve in Logan’s body again. Wade plants a chaste kiss on the center of Logan’s forehead, right between the furrow of his brow, and starts to shimmy up Logan’s body until he’s straddling his collarbone. 

“Now, I wasn’t kidding when I told those TVA twats I wasn’t a natural bottom,” he says conversationally, like the swell of his dick through spit-damp panties isn’t nudging Logan’s chin, “but for you, my beautiful little furball, I am more than willing to try. So you’re gonna get me all prepped back there, and in return, I’ll blow you so good you see the Canadian Rockies again. Sound good?”

Logan nods, remembers that Wade is insistent on him using his words right now, and says, “Yeah, yes, I can do that.”

In need of no further convincing, Wade adjusts himself to almost sit straight on Logan’s face and lay flat over his front. Logan sucks a breath through his teeth when Wade’s fingers close around his leaking cock and slooowwly stroke upwards, squeezing and twisting before he gets to the head, and a pleased sound rumbles deep in Wade’s chest. Logan’s hands naturally fall on either side of Wade’s hips, framing the tantalizing swell of his ass, and he has half a mind to smack it again.

“I knew you’d be pretty, angel face, but fuck ,” he groans, like Logan’s already fucking him, and pushes the pad of his thumb against the sensitive spot beneath Logan’s head. Logan bucks so hard he nearly throws Wade off, the bitten-off moan in his throat melting into a cautionary growl.

“Oh, hush up and put your face back where it belongs, Captain Snarly,” Wade says breezily. He reaches back and knots all five fingers in Logan’s hair again, pushing it against the cleft of his ass at the same time the overwhelming heat of his mouth starts to descend over Logan’s cock.

For a moment, Logan forces himself to go elsewhere mentally because if he focuses on the feeling of Wade’s tongue swirling around his shaft coupled with the taste of his hole, or the way he grinds back into Logan’s mouth with a sweet little sigh that vibrates all the way down to Logan’s balls, he’s going to cum embarrassingly quickly. Wade is fucking amazing at sucking cock, he finds out, takes most of his length like he was born to do it, and the way his throat squeezes around Logan’s shaft when he inevitably gags is fucking heavenly . There’s a miserly, cruel part of him that wants to force Wade’s head down and fuck his face, but that would mean he’d have to pry his attention away from Wade’s ass, and that simply won’t do.

“‘M plenty wet, honey badger,” Wade gasps eventually, pulling off Logan’s cock with a lewd little pop . His thighs quake as he jacks Logan off, quick strokes to keep him hard. “Get your fingers in me, or I’m gonna end up cumming all over your tits.”

It’d be easier to hide the way that turned Logan on if Wade weren’t holding his cock. He throbs, hard, and it gives him away; Wade hums with interest, like he’s logging something away for future reference, but doesn’t say anything further. Logan decides that’s scarier than him immediately running his mouth. When he prods the puckered rim of Wade’s hole with his middle finger, Wade hisses.

“Nuh-uh, just spit ain’t gonna cut it,” he informs Logan, “as much as I love how confident you are in the fortitude of my asshole. Feel around, there should be some lube in the couch.”

“You keep lube in the couch?” Logan asks, reaching back and searching the crumb-infested crevices of the pullout with his fingers.

“I keep lube everywhere,” Wade says casually, wrist twisting on the upstroke and making Logan fumble the smooth bottle he’d just located. “Couch, under the sink, spice cabinet. Little habit I picked up from Scout Master Kev – haaah , fuck!”

Logan chuckles at the way Wade’s spine curves, and his hand stills on Logan’s cock as lube is spread over his hole. He accepts the invasion of Logan’s finger with a chewed-off whimper, twitching and clenching down around the digit so beautifully. Wade’s fucking hot inside, and this is more familiar territory, fingering someone open, so Logan strokes a soothing hand over the small of Wade’s back and presses in a little further.

“You’re fuckin’ tight, bub,” he says, voice just on this side of teasing, and Wade laughs, a thin, wheezy little sound.

“Thanks, you’re pretty neat yourself.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” It’s a rhetorical question. Logan knows he doesn’t, but Wade shakes his head anyway.

“Think I was born without that function, like how some people are born with gastroschi – Jesus fucking Christ, there, there .”

Logan drags the pad of his finger over what he can only assume is Wade’s prostate, drawing tight little circles around the gland while Wade spasms around him. Something hot drips onto Logan’s chest, so he slides his free hand beneath Wade’s hips, and oh – poor thing is leaking precum like a fucking faucet, so much so that it’s soaked through his panties entirely.

He’s cupping Wade’s dick, so he feels the way it twitches when he says, “You’re wet like a fuckin’ girl down here.”

“That happens when you have the Wolverine buried knuckles-deep in your ass,” Wade says, dropping his head forward and managing a few more twisting strokes on Logan’s cock. “But if you keep dropping little gems like that, I will cum, like, soon.”

“Yeah?” Logan’s never been the most vocal in bed, but he’s more than happy to start if it means Wade will shake and leak for him like this more often, so he teases a second finger into Wade’s ass and grinds the heel of his hand into Wade’s cock.

“So if I keep rubbing your clit like this, you’ll cum?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Wade moans, bucking back into Logan’s touch, pulling a deep, tortured breath in through his teeth. His hand has stilled on Logan, who couldn’t care less, not when he’s found a very fun button of Wade’s to push.

“Didn’t realize your cunt was so sensitive,” Logan purrs, hooking his fingers against Wade’s prostate – Wade whines . “What’s wrong? You gonna squirt in those cute little panties too soon?”

“God, shit, you’re evil –”

“C’mon, princess , it’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about –”

“Cumming, fuck , ‘m cumming, you fucking asshole –”

Laughter rolls through Logan’s chest like thunder as Wade unloads against his palm, cum soaking through satin and seeping through his fingers. He’s never had the urge to call the sounds a guy makes when he’s letting one off pretty , but there’s no other word for it as Wade tremors and pulses all around him, back arched and panting where his face is smushed against Logan’s pelvis. Silence stretches between them, allowing the sounds of the city below to trickle in.

“You…are mean,” Wade asserts finally, though the sting of the insult is lost in the thatch of Logan’s pubic hair. The side of his face is tacky with drool as he peels it off Logan’s body, and the look he levels over one shoulder is all toothless exasperation. Logan snorts.

“You seem to like mean.”

“Hardy har, very funny. Your turn, puppy.”

The name catches Logan off-guard just enough for Wade to swing his thighs over his chest and situate himself in Logan’s lap, and then Wade lining himself up with Logan’s achingly hard cock and sinking down, down, down . He’s pulled the soiled front of his underwear beneath his balls so his seemingly infallible erection bounces free and slaps wetly against his stomach, smeared with his own mess.

Logan wants to lick it off.

“Jeesh, okay, might’ve jumped the gun,” Wade winces, eyes screwing shut as he works himself on Logan’s cock. “God, you’re like a fuckin’ Coke can.”

“Need t’ stop?” Logan asks. He’d let Wade pull off him right now with no problem, but his voice is harsh and tumbles like broken rocks out of his mouth, and the clutch of Wade’s body around his dick is dizzyingly perfect, so maybe there’s a hoggish little gremlin in the back of his head that prays Wade won’t want to. 

Someone – perhaps one of those fae he was beseeching earlier that afternoon – heeds the aforementioned gremlin because Wade shakes his head, bracing one hand behind him on Logan’s thigh and making grabby-fingers with the other.

“Not a fucking chance, just gimme the lube.”

Logan does, and he doesn’t bother holding back a moan as Wade coats him with what is definitely too much lube – he thinks the contents of half the bottle are driveling into the sheets and staining his inner thighs. But the way Wade sighs , high and relieved, as he rests both hands on Logan’s chest and takes half of him in one fluid push makes him forget anything that isn’t the man above him.

When Logan bottoms out inside of him, he’s half-expecting a smartass remark from Wade – fucker’s got him trained at this point, and he’s more or less accepted it – but instead, Wade cups his face in both hands and kisses him, hot and desperate and so full of need it makes Logan buzz from head to toe. He clasps the back of Wade’s head to keep him close while the other hand snakes around his hips, gripping so tight he’s sure it’d leave bruises if Wade were capable. He thrusts upward tentatively, mostly a test to see if Wade’s adjusted to him yet, and greedily swallows the punched-out noise released against his tongue as a result.

“Fuck me,” Wade demands, biting Logan’s lower lip hard and lapping up the resultant bead of blood that appears.

“You sure?”

“Abso-tively,” Wade assures him, straightening his spine and rocking back onto Logan’s cock. The muscles in his torso surge and flex beautifully, even under all the scars and pockmarks. Logan unconsciously slides his fingers down Wade’s front, mapping each ridge and hollow with reverent fingertips. He needs to fuck Wade just like this in the day time, when sunlight is splashing through the apartment’s windows, because he needs to see the sweat glistening on his flesh, the determined clench of his jaw, the mesmerizing flutter of all those muscles working to accommodate Logan’s girth in vivid, sun-drenched detail.

“C’mon puppy,” Wade croons, cocking his head to the side and grinning. “I know you wanna, it’s all over that pretty face, so be a good boy and fuck me stupid already.”

Whether or not Logan almost immediately cums from that is his business (he does , and he has to silently review times tables in his head to coax himself back off the ledge).

The pullout screeches when he starts fucking up into Wade in earnest, and he distantly remembers Althea is somewhere, hopefully still unconscious, but that’s all drowned out by the sound of Wade Wilson whimpering for his cock like he’ll die without it. He’s loud, which Logan supposes he has no right to be surprised by given Everything Else about him, and his hips stay on a constant swivel, rolling into Logan’s thrusts and meeting him halfway each time. Skin smacks against sweat-damp skin, lewd and raucous, and Wade keeps uttering pretty little half-shouted expletives every time Logan’s hips cant against his ass. 

Logan’s wrong; he’s the one who’d die without this, without Wade. He knows it intrinsically, like it’s always been a part of him. Wade is a part of him in more ways than one, their DNA inextricably tangled together – Logan’s is the reason Wade is who he is, what he is, an unfortunate ripple in the river that was the Weapon X program, and Wade is woven through his body on an atomic level thanks to the Time Ripper. It’s a disgustingly sappy thought, but Logan has been known to be a disgustingly sappy person when he allows himself the luxury, so he rides out the wave of emotions as Wade rides him into the mattress.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” Wade slurs, hands slipping along the sheets and finding Logan’s. He winds them together, knitting his fingers in the spaces between Logan’s and pressing them above his head as he leans forward. “I take back everything I said in the Odyssey, sugar pie – you fuck way harder.”

Logan hums, and his thumbs rub over the backs of Wade’s blotchy hands, a gesture he’s not wholly conscious of doing. He’s already close, and if he had the wherewithal to be embarrassed about that, he would be, but he’s so lost in Wade’s body, his mouth, his words, that he chases the feeling.

“Shoulda done this months ago,” he says, and Wade clenches around him so deliciously that stars pop behind his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ wanted to, just…didn’t,” Logan admits lamely, because it’s the truth, and his filter is crumbling like a wet paper towel the longer he’s inside Wade. 

The pullout wails like it’s about to collapse, distracting Logan enough for Wade to yank him upright by the hands. His palms settle on the heated nape of Logan’s neck, and their slick foreheads bump together as they both speed up their movements, Wade bouncing sinfully in his lap and Logan’s thighs burning with effort. They’re huffing each other’s hot air, trying to rend the other closer than they already are with such force Logan’s sure it would turn an ordinary person black and blue.

“You’re gonna fuck another one outta me,” Wade laughs, and he sounds amazed. “That hasn’t happened in a while.”

“Gonna cum again?”

“Yeah, pup, I am, don’t stop, keep fucking me.”

“ Fuck , Wade, I –”

“God, Logan, I love you, please .”

And that’s all it takes.

Logan’s not sure which part clinches it and sends him toppling over the edge – the confession, the way his name falls from Wade’s lips like a prayer, or the shattered please tacked onto the end – but he cums hard. His brain whites out with bliss, and when he comes to, he’s still spilling inside Wade’s ass, and his teeth have found their way back into Wade’s neck with rapacious precision; blood gushes over his tongue, and he laps it up, gluttonous, covetous. Wade cums, untouched, between their stomachs, hot white splattering messily across their flesh, and Logan realizes with a kind of faraway amusement that he’s threaded both hands in Logan’s hair to ground himself.

Time passes – Logan’s unsure how much because he feels like he’s wrapped snugly inside this moment for months, years even, and the rest of the world has slowed down accordingly to allow for such a thing. Eventually, he falls backward, dragging Wade on top of him as exhaustion creeps molasses-slow through his body. He doesn’t pull out because some animal part of his brain wants to keep Wade attached to him somehow, and Wade doesn’t argue the point. In fact, he just sighs and nuzzles his face into Logan’s neck.

Sleep almost overtakes him before he remembers what Wade just said.

“I do, too, y’know,” he rumbles against the shell of Wade’s ear. Wade hums.

“Do what, peanut?”

“What you said…just a second ago…I jus’ wanted you to know that I, y’know…feel the same.” He’s terrible at this, and he always has been. Feeling his feelings is hard enough; verbalizing them is like having his teeth pulled and regrowing them over and over again, but he couldn’t just not reciprocate. He doesn’t want Wade to think this was a fluke, that he went and spilled his guts for a one-and-done kind of thing, and he hopes he’s communicating coherently enough through the receding fog of lust and the encroaching threat of sleep warring in his head.

Wade says nothing for a short, terrifying moment.

Then, he kisses the side of Logan’s neck and adjusts himself so he’s on his side, dragging Logan’s leaden arms over and around his body until he’s being sufficiently spooned. Logan embraces the position, absently kicking half of the comforter over their lower bodies and tucking his face against Wade’s nape, one arm looped around Wade’s waist, the other threaded under his body and draped across his chest.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Wolvie,” Wade exhales, and Logan rasps out a laugh.

“Mm-hm.”

~

Logan wishes he could say that he woke up the following morning with Wade securely in his arms, or to the smell of breakfast being made in the kitchen.

Instead, he’s smacked into consciousness by something wet and cold slapping over his face, and he gasps so hard he nearly sucks it into his throat. Only after he pries an eye open and forces himself to focus does he realize Althea is standing above him.

“Oh good, you’re up,” she says, and tosses something against Logan’s chest. He looks down. A wet cloth is scrunched beneath his shoulder, and a purple bottle of all-purpose cleaner is digging into his pecs. “You can help your boyfriend scrub the blood outta my floors.”

“Al, I told you I had it handled,” Wade says from somewhere behind the couch. Logan rolls over, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He feels sluggish and warm, body aching with the stiffness only a much-needed sleep can bring, and a quick look at the DVR informs him that it’s well into the afternoon. 

Wade successfully fucked him to sleep, and he stayed asleep. He ought to kiss the little shit – oh, wait, he can . He thinks. He’ll try.

Wade is stark naked save for a ridiculous pair of yellow rubber dish gloves, down on his hands and knees, a thoroughly abused-looking plastic bucket to his left, a bloodstained scrub brush to his right. Logan wonders absently where his panties ended up but resolves to follow that train of thought later. There’s a swirl of red-brown froth on the floor in front of Wade, and he’s got grotesque suds scattered all over his arms and knees. He shoots an apologetic look Logan’s way, a faint smile quirking the corners of his lips.

“Mornin’, peanut.”

“‘S not morning,” Logan reminds him. Wade shrugs.

“Flirt while you clean, if you don’t mind,” Althea grumbles, muddling toward the kitchen. Logan rights himself, stretching both arms above his head and arching his back.

“ Ohhhh , big stretch,” Wade coos, like he’s talking to a cat.

“Sorry about the mess,” Logan says, sheepish, and Al waves him off. 

“I don’t give a shit what y’all do,” she says, “as long as I don’t step in it when I wake up. That goes for more than just blood, just so we’re clear.”

“ Althea ,” Wade gasps, scandalized. “How dare you insinuate such a thing – I’m a virgin .”

Al mutters something under her breath that sounds like fucking idiot before sticking a mug beneath the percolating coffee maker.

Logan stands, and he knows Al can’t see anything, but he feels strange just walking around with his dick swinging, so he locates his discarded briefs from the night before and tugs them on. He throws his rag over one shoulder and pads over to where Wade’s knelt. The wall Logan had pinned him to is slathered with dried, rust-brown blood, and he notes with a grimace the six fresh holes he’s going to have to patch at some point. Wade pokes his calf with one finger, and he glances down.

The grin plastered across his face is nothing short of luminous. Logan can’t help himself – he bends at the waist, cradling the hinge of Wade’s jaw with both hands, and kisses him, morning breath and all. Wade returns it in kind.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Logan says.

“Seems we made an oopsie,” Wade laments, waving his scrub brush around. Logan grunts affably. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Meh. What’s a little bloodshed in the pursuit of love?” Wade rolls to his feet, snapping his rubber gloves off with a flourish and dropping them in the bucket. He strolls into the kitchen, and Logan notes with a hint of bitter disappointment that none of the marks he’d made on Wade’s body last night are still there. He knew they wouldn’t be, but that doesn’t stop him from wishing there was some physical proof in the aftermath.

“‘Scuse me, angel baby.” Wade thwacks the head of a decrepit mop down on the floor, soaking up the foamy remnants of his blood with little tentacles of cloth that perhaps were white at some point. When he scoots past Logan, their hips knocking together, he sneaks a kiss on the cheek.

Logan reciprocates by twisting his rag taut and snapping Wade on the ass with it; Wade shrieks and raises the grungy mophead threateningly.

They clean, and when they’re done, Wade takes him by the hand with the promise of a shower (which can’t come a moment too soon because they’re both grubby with a myriad of bodily fluids), and perhaps that is all the physical proof Logan needs.

[ghuoab]

𝄞— Still hunger, but a different type.

Chapter one: A new feeling.

—————————————————————————————————————

AU: stoic!abby, setting in Salt Lake City (community college AU).

Tags: stalking is mentioned, Ow*n, Jerry, and Manny are alive for the plot, homophobia mentioned, reader is depicted as lonely, obsession/obsessive behavior, distance, lesbian!abby, !! self harm is mentioned!!.

Summary: You experience a complete 180° change to a new city, Salt Lake City. You meet Abigail Anderson, and you forget who you once were, all in exchange for a slither of the affection you never experienced. Meeting someone new can either change you, or break you. Which will fate decide on?

You were new to Salt Lake City. New to this other world you’ve never seen, too naïve to comprehend. You grew up in an unknown town deep in New York, closer to the cows and grueling pigs than the city that always seemed so illusory. Now you’re here. New places, new expectations. You left the crows’ warning, despite them staying up all night the exact morning you were meaning to leave. Maybe you should’ve listened.

You’ve found out it isn’t too bad in the city. The people of Salt Lake City are nice, but not like the town folk you were used to. Big families for neighbors, silence within the land (but loud enough for the cattle to sigh and groan). The first morning there truly felt like a blur, only because you landed before the suns existence shone, and the plane felt somewhat unsafe.

Your mother hadn’t checked in after you landed. The only reason you left was because of your mother. You’d always said you wanted a change, but you were never ready for one— but your mother signed you up without question. She said it was “for the future”. Your dreams were crushed, ones of being a poet and local artist dying like a small flame that never got to burn. But she’s always been that way. Crazy, naïve, despite being 50 already. You think it was your alcoholic dad that crushed her.

—

Everything was… normal before. You were the same old person, you always had been, but you don’t know how it all started. How she changed you.

You had almost every class with her. Abigail Anderson. Most of the students as well, sure, but you immediately fell for something about her the moment you saw her. Maybe it was the way she helped you out the first day, telling you where your classes were. Or maybe it was her smile that made you gain a sweet tooth, a slight craving and ache. The moment you saw her, you knew something changed. You just didnt know exactly what, and it confused you. Scared you.

You hadn’t ever been attracted to anyone before, really. Your mom had always chastised you for it, “thanking” god yet hating him for how you came out, but she also never told you how to deal with things like those. Never had the time to. Usually the internet helped. But not this time, you suppose.

You began to see her more often. She was everywhere (literally), despite the school being huge and having three separate buildings, and being in almost every class with her. At first you thought she was following you, but maybe that was denial. You wished it, for sure.

She’d always see you, too, noticing you immediately like you stuck out like a sore thumb. Maybe it was the way you dressed, since you wore actual clothes while others attended classes in their pajamas. She was always being too kind, inviting you over with her friend (Manny, but you knew he didn’t want to get to know you). You’d always politely decline, too shy or overwhelmed to look at her, or to conjure up anything else to say. She’d always smile and turn away before you did, and you always caught a view of her backside; of her neat yet slightly loose braid, her soft cotton hoodie, her obnoxious muscles peeking through the fabric.

As the months of school slowly pass, the craving grew. The ache in your stomach, in your chest— it didn’t stop. Denial rushed through all parts of your consciousness, but even you knew it was a white lie.

You slowly, slowly opened up to her. Small talks during class, or adding her on social media. Each time you spoke, you remembered the situation like the back of your hand, savoring it like old and rich wine. Writing about it mostly helped, but each interaction churned to memory and burned into your soul.

You slowly began stalking her on social media. The moment you had it, you wouldnt let go. Using different fake accounts, you stalked her and her family. Her father, Jerry Anderson, was a rather prideful man. Proud of his girl, posting about her regularly too, and it made it so much easier. You loved her, so much. Too much. Why couldn’t she see that? To yourself, you knew if she did, you would bury yourself six feet under and never return.

You kept her things. Pencils she gave you were one. You knew she loved wooden, because of her heavy hands, or maybe it was because she bit them when she was too focused. You kept them, either way, storing them in a box, special just for her, deeply rooted under your bedroom’s slightly lifted wooden floor. You stared at her when she wasn’t looking, recorded her voice. More often than not did you visit the recordings of her voice in the middle of the night, a slight ache between your legs, nervous to satisfy that itch like she was watching you. It was enough to have you high and dry.

You wrote more about her in your journal. Her soft lips that had a small scowl to it, her long braid (which made you curious to what she looked like without it), those blue irises that always made you nervous when settled, soft freckles dusted across her face and built shoulders.

You quickly did everything to impress her. You posted more, in hopes that she would see it. You’d walk around campus more, preferably around her dorm building; in the bench outside her window. Near that old oak tree. You’d learn more about her watching her there, or while she rambled loudly during lunch to both you and Manny (whom never payed attention, or so you thought, or about Lev, a boy whom she adored too much sitting at home waiting for her, or her shameful fear of heights every time she walked past a bridge to get to another building. And Alice.

At first, the name made you physically flinch and made your eyes dart away. But after further rambling, she kept on mentioning ‘too hairy’ or ‘too playful’, and you knew she had a dog. Even a name out of her mouth would put you on full blast, almost ruining everything you’ve ever could’ve had with her.

—

The first semester passed, and you two were slightly close friends. You’d open up more to her, too, but not enough. She was always curious about you, but that achy-feeling always made you second guess telling her. Maybe it was guilt, or nostalgia eating at you.

Manny was the first to notice the hiccups within you. The first time was when Abby was loudly rambling about Alice and playing some obnoxious game on her phone, that Manny saw your expression. Sour, hate-instilled. He’d seen it more times after, too. When she mentioned it to Abby, she refuted it.

“No— What? She was just eating, or something. I had my eye on her, too,” Abby sighed, scratching the back of her neck. “My neck is killing me, serious—“ She began, then manny quickly interrupted.

“Abby, no you weren’t. You always get tied up in that game. Who even plays that anymore?” Manny sighed, turning to her. Abby stopped for a moment when his tone got lower. Quieter.

“I saw it. She did it, okay? I don’t think I remember someone looking that... I don’t know. Not since I forgot mothers’ day, and my mami didn’t contact me for days after.” Manny said, looking at Abby in the eyes.

“Que lo juro. I’m just saying to be careful. Last time we made friends with someone, they outed you to the whole school, and...” Manny explained, his words dying on his tongue.

Abby pinched the bridge of her nose at the silent mention of Owen. She sighed and held onto her backpack straps.

“Okay… sure. I’ll keep an eye on her,” she nodded. “Please don’t mention him again,” she asked, looking away from him. Manny sighed and continued walking to his class, and Abby went on with her day.

Manny had noticed, and now both of them had an eye on you. It didn’t take long for you to notice them pulling away towards you. What hurt more was that Abby never spoke to you.

—

You couldn’t stand it. Abby had slowly stopped talking about herself to you, and you didn’t understand why. She’d always sneak glances, although failing awfully. She didn’t say much like she usually did or laugh whenever you made a light joke or whenever you commented something about yourself she didn’t know.

The second semester had became more busy. More projects, and more essays, more tardy slips walking into class. You stopped sleeping full nights and pulled all-nighters, and it affected you more than you would admit.

Manny and Abby slowly stopped contacting you. It didn’t bother you, since you went to school together. You tried to talk more, butchering your last chances with lazy jokes and stutters that silenced you before you could go on. But when they stopped sitting with you at lunch, ditching you for the library, it made you feel a certain way about yourself.

Your mom had stopped talking to you months ago, your friends a million miles away and too busy with work, and now you were bed written with debt and your own consciousness eating away at you.

The hunger grew faster within you. To satisfy yourself, or maybe a last attempt, you unscrewed your cheap pencil sharpener, the blade slowly cutting off the last bit of what your old self had over you. Dignity lost, taking all that resonates with it to the grave. Just like old times.

You didn’t know what you needed.

————————————————————————

————————————————————————

One day, you built up enough courage to open up to Abby. You wanted to have something serious, especially since you hadn’t exactly been honest with her. Not with anyone. Not yourself.

You meant to tell her in-person many times but you wanted to do it privately. She either bolted out immediately when classes ended, or Manny was there. You stared at her all art class, so frustrated with yourself you couldn’t build up enough courage for a simple conversation. She was too busy on her phone to even think about you, or notice anyone, really— and it ate you up inside. Bad.

After classes, you stared at her contact for more than thirty minutes. It took you ten to perfectly write out an invite to your dorm, and another five to send it.

: hey, abby. i hope you’re doing okay today. i was wondering if you could come over to my dorm room? i want to talk.

Staring at your phone, heart pounding too loud in your ears, you barely missed the text back.

: hey (y/n). i actually can’t right now. i have a lot of homework to do.

“So homework’s’ more important than me?” You said aloud, eyebrows furrowing. You felt a violent rush of emotion in your chest, slowly rising within you.

: please. i need to talk to you, abby

: please

You sat there waiting for thirty minutes. Nothing was ever sent back to you, and she didn’t even read the message.

Before you knew it, there were hot streams of tears falling onto your cheeks. Warm water not relieving, emotions scattered, wellbeing teetering off of the edge. You don’t know why you would ever act this way.

All you know is that the old you would’ve ate you up.

[daxisyzz]

Marked What's Mine

Pairings: husband!bucky barnes × wife!reader

Summary: You can hold your own—always have. But that doesn’t stop your husband from going full Winter Soldier mode when he sees someone laid a hand on you.

Warnings: Language, injuries, soft-but-intense husband!Bucky, protective behavior, possessiveness, comfort, fluff, violence mentioned (not graphic), "who did this to you?", lots of banter.

Word count: 1.3k+

A/n: this fic is from my poll where husband au and who did this to u prompt won. I will do the enemies to lovers in my next fic. Thank you for reading <3.

Divider credits: @saradika

Night- 1:47 AM

You turned the front doorknob with all the delicacy of a trained assassin—which, to be fair, you were.

No sound. Good.

You stepped inside, sliding your shoes off silently and tiptoeing like the floorboards might narc on you. You could practically hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He’d be asleep. He had to be.

You could get to the bathroom, clean up, hide the worst of it. He didn’t have to know. You didn’t want him to worry, to spiral. Not again.

You made it three steps down the hallway.

Then— “Don’t move.”

Shit.

His voice cut through the silence, low and lethal. It came from the living room.

You closed your eyes. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

A light flipped on.

Bucky stood by the couch, arms crossed, half in shadow. The sight of him—barefoot, hoodie loose over his broad chest, hair tousled from waiting up—would’ve been comforting, if not for the look in his eyes.

His gaze traveled from your face to your arms, your ribs, where blood had started to seep through your shirt.

He didn’t say a word.

You tried to play it off. “Before you say anything, it looks worse than it is—”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who did this to you?”

You exhaled slowly. “Buck—”

“Don’t. Just…” His jaw clenched. “Stay right there.”

“Bucky, it’s fine. I dodn’t even need stitches—”

“You’re bleeding.” His voice trembled with something dangerous. “You’re limping. You snuck into your own damn house like a thief because you knew I’d lose it if I saw you like this. And guess what? You were right.”

He was in front of you in three long strides.

His hands—warm, shaking—came up to cup your face, careful to avoid the bruises.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” you whispered. “You’d only worry.”

“I worry when you’re five minutes late for lunch. You think this is gonna lessen that?”

“I’m not made of glass—”

“You’re made of everything I live for.”

Your breath caught.

He scanned your injuries with haunted eyes. “Who did this?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

You sighed. “I didn’t want you to spiral. Last time you saw me with a busted lip, you threatened to drown a guy in the Hudson.”

“I should’ve.”

“Bucky—”

“Tell me his name.”

You met his eyes. “If I do, you’ll find him.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And if I don’t?” you added.

“I’ll find him anyway.”

You groaned. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

He lifted you into his arms like it was nothing—like you didn’t have two working legs—and carried you down the hall.

“I’m intense,” he corrected. “Not dramatic.”

“You literally brooded in the dark waiting for me to get home.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice? Like my wife could come home hurt and I wouldn’t feel it in my chest?”

You let out a weak laugh. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You married me, doll. That’s on you.”

Twenty Minutes Later...

You sat on the bathroom counter while Bucky dabbed antiseptic over the cuts along your ribs, his brows furrowed like each mark physically hurt him more than it hurt you.

He hadn’t stopped touching you.

Even now, his thumb rubbed soft circles into your thigh as he worked.

“Doesn’t even sting,” you said.

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, placing another bandage carefully. “You came home bleeding. You flinched when you took your shirt off. You snuck in.”

“I didn’t want to see your sad little kicked puppy face,” you teased.

He glared. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you. You’re high maintenance.”

“Says the woman who took on a six-foot mercenary solo and got cracked in the jaw for it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t win?”

He paused. “Wait. You won?”

“Cracked three of his ribs and made him cry.”

He stared.

Then—slowly—he grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You tried not to bask in it, but you totally basked in it.

Still, he wasn’t done.

As he finished wrapping the final gauze, he stood between your legs and stared at you like you held gravity in your hands.“I breathe for you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s it. That’s the only reason I get up in the morning.”

Your throat went tight. “Bucky—”

“You come home hurt, and it feels like the world’s off its axis. I can’t think. Can’t function. You’re not fragile, babe. You’re the strongest person I know. But the thought of losing you? I’d lose everything.”

God.

You buried your face in his chest, arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Too late. You did. You always do.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead.

Next Day – 2:00 PM

You woke up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow:

Had to step out. Be back soon. Don’t move too much or I’ll find out and carry you around like a baby until you learn your lesson. I love you more than oxygen.

—B <3

You rolled your eyes.

And sighed.

And smiled.

He came back at sunset. Calm. Too calm.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“You found him, didn’t you?”

He dropped his jacket. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s not gonna be walking straight for a while.”

“Bucky…”

“And probably won’t be talking much either.”

You stared at him.

“He’ll live. Probably,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I was nice. For the first ten seconds.”

“Jesus—”

“He laid a hand on you. You really think I wasn’t gonna rearrange his face?”

You huffed, arms crossed, but you were secretly touched. And maybe a little turned on.

“You are so dramatic.”

“No. Dramatic is you sneaking past your literal super soldier husband with blood dripping down your shirt.”

“Fine,” you muttered, walking toward him. “You win.”

He caught you easily, arms pulling you in.

“I always win, doll,” he murmured, kissing your bruised temple. “Especially when it comes to you.”

The Next Morning – 9:07 AM

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the bed where you were curled up like a cat. One leg over the sheet. A little sore. A little achy. But warm.

Bucky stirred beside you, his metal arm slung protectively over your waist.

“You awake?” you mumbled.

“Was watching you breathe,” he rasped, voice still sleep-rough. “You twitch your nose when you’re dreaming.”

“You’re creepy.”

“You married me, sweetheart. This is your fault.”

You snorted, rolling to face him, wincing a little. He was already awake, already watching you with that look. Like you were sacred. Untouchable. His.

“You hurting?” he asked immediately, shifting to sit up. “Need painkillers? Water? I can carry you to the bath—”

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

“I’m okay. It’s just a bruise, not a broken limb. Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re three seconds from spoon-feeding me cereal.”

“…Is that an option?”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled, warm and smug, tucking you tighter under his chin. You stayed like that for a while. Tangled limbs. Warm sheets. His fingers trailing soft patterns on your back like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered finally.

You didn’t pretend to not hear it. “Okay.”

“I know you’re strong. I know you can take care of yourself. But if something happens to you—I stop breathing. You get that?”

You swallowed hard. “I get it.”

“I love you so much it makes me a little insane.”

“Only a little?”

“I toned it down for your sake.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you’re crazy.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

You looked up, brushed the hair from his forehead, kissed him slow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[cosmictheo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 | bob reynolds

( gif credits to @springseventeen )

—summary: bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it. —pairing: bob reynolds x female!avenger!reader —word count: 5k (wow) —content: ultimate husband material boss. pure fluff tbh, bob's insecurity and low self-esteem, his need to be loved and approved. he is literally starting to act like your house-husband. he wears an apron!!! you reassure him as he deserves. bucky is such a dad. love confessions, some intense make-out session but nothing more than that. bob loves the reader so much it's crazy.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Bob.

He had been quite special since you had met him, really. 

Yelena had told you that he liked you. Then Bucky had told you so too. And so had Ava. And Alexei. And John.

But how could Bob not like you, in all honesty? You'd been unnecessarily nice to him since you'd met. You didn't know him, he was a complete stranger, and yet you still showed him compassion and kindness. You stood by his side when you all together escaped the death trap that Valentina had set for you, and you defended him when Walker was getting especially mean to him. 

How could anyone not like you? That was the real question. You were perfect. In every sense of the word. Both figurative and literal. From your soul to your mind. You seemed to be an angel fallen from heaven. Something ethereal, something crafted by his own mind, made in the most beautiful dreams.

Bob would normally think of himself as a big idiot, a loser. That he could never have you. A part of him insisted that never, not even in a million other universes could he ever deserve you. He wanted you as his lover or his friend? It didn't really matter, he just wanted you in his life.

And yet, he was flirting with you anyway. Or at least that's what he thought he was doing.

“Here,” he'd told you every morning since you'd set up at the tower as the New Avengers... you insisted that you all should think of a new name. In his hand he held a cup of coffee, your favorite coffee, and on his face there was a sheepish little smile, your favorite smile. His eyes held that softness all over, that slight, hardly visible gleam, that you could always see it anyway, always, you caught a glimpse of it. Every time he looked at you. As if stars were hung from your hands. Well, technically they did, due to your superpower, that is.

“Thank you, Bobby,” you would say, offering him a warm smile, pronouncing that nickname so fondly and gently, that it had become a favorite nickname for his name. After so long hating it, after having caused him so much pain. Sure, now, his heart pounded when he heard it, his breathing quickened as well, but his chest swelled with tenderness. It was a good emotion, coming from a nice place. It didn't make him feel pain or sadness. Quite the opposite.

Bob was used to being an alien, isolated, left behind, to be hurt and broken. But you, you never left him behind. You always turned to look for him, to walk beside him, to gaze at him with those pretty eyes filled with concern and caring. You owed him nothing, you barely knew him, and yet, you were willing to walk in the void, in the darkness that concealed his heart and illuminate through with your light. You had saved him. And since then, you were his anchor.

You were patient. With his mood swings, his stuttering, his lack of confidence and his self-proclamation to inclination to ruin everything. He could never ruin you, you always assured him.

Love.

Bob had never even thought that he would ever have love in his life. That he would never truly grasp the concept of love, of loving. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve you.

You were the closest thing to love he will ever know. There was love in everything you did, in everything you said, in the way you called his name and in the way you looked at him.

He loved you.

“Relax, kid. You miss your Romeo that much?” Bucky blurted out in a tone that bordered near teasing, giving you an amused glance as you both walked over to the entrance of the Watchtower of the (New) Avengers, your home.

A mission had been assigned to the both of you as a duo. To locate the position of a small but potentially dangerous group of terrorists in the suburbs of New York city. There was an indication of where their base might have been. With your super senses it had been easy enough to just stumble upon it and with Bucky covering your back, you had arrested them all in less than twenty minutes.

It had been a successful mission. But the anxiety of being out in public had never really been something you could ignore, so the urge to go home was always lurking in the back of your mind.

To return to Bob, as well. Bob was a lingering thought in your mind now, an incessant remembrance. Something worth coming home safe and sound for.

“Drop it, Barnes,” you replied to your old friend, mumbling softly.

Bucky cracked a little chuckle, pressing the button to the top floors on the elevator once you were both inside. You could feel his intent gaze on your face and you could also sense all that he was trying to talk to you about.

“Look, I've never seen you like this before, okay? In all the years I've known you." He began to lecture you in a 'fraternal speech' mode, turning around so he could look at you, noticing how your cheeks were slightly flushed. “You're happy. It's been months since I've seen you as happy as you are now. You've been smiling and laughing more, you even started playing the piano again. And that's good, sweetheart,” he offered you a small smile, completely sincere and gentle, “You deserve to be, you know? Happy. You've been through a lot. And you have helped to protect this world longer than all of us. You deserve everything you want.”

You smiled back, but it soon twisted more into an apprehensive grimace, “Yeah, I just—” you heaved a sigh of concern, sensing that Bucky wanted you to talk to him, not from the exterior, but from your inner self, about how you felt. “It scares me....”

Bucky shook his head lightly, extending his flesh-and-blood hand to rest it on your shoulder, expressing sympathy. His fraternal demeanor always managed to make you feel comforted.

“It's normal to feel fear” then he cocked his head, narrowing his eyes as his face grew full of playfulness, “But, sweetheart, have you seen him? He's the strongest guy currently on planet Earth. What I know is that anyone who would try to hurt him or you is the one who should be afraid. He almost wiped out all of us together at once. It was kind of humiliating...”

“That wasn't him” you immediately replied using a low tone, remembering how chaotic and painful that day had been. You had had to fight the Void, you were the strongest among all the others, after Bob of course.

“I know,” Bucky replied, sighing softly, “What I'm trying to say is that you both deserve to be happy. Shit, the guy looks at you as if the stars hung from your hands. You both deserve to have something to fight for and protect. How are you going to protect a place that has nothing to protect?”

“That doesn't even—”

Bucky rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue disapprovingly, “Makes sense, I know—” he shook his head, frowning and gesturing with his hands in exaggerated fashion, “You know what I mean, kid.”

“Yeah... I know” you smiled softly at him, thoughtfully.

Once you had entered into your floor, you had gone straight to your room. You took off your suit, tossed it in the laundry basket, and then changed into more comfortable clothes.

You were combing your hair when you heard three soft knocks on your door. You didn't have to look to know who it was, you had already recognized his racing heartbeat from the moment he had turned around the corner.

“Come in!” you exclaimed, concentrating on combing your hair, letting it loose.

The door opened to reveal Bob. He was wearing a chef's apron, with an adorable cat pattern design. And his face was even more adorable. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes were soft all over, and a sheepish smile graced his thin lips. 

He was wearing that beanie again. 

He had been wearing it for more than two days now, for some unknown reason, making it impossible for you to see his hair. It wasn't even cold in there, the building's heating system was perfect.

“Hi,” he greeted you, raising his hand to wave at you with it, making you smile, “I cooked for you”

He watched you put the hair comb on your vanity desk, his blue eyes fleetingly roaming over all of you. 

Bob thought you always looked beautiful. In the suit or in a shirt of some really old band you'd never heard in your life. But the suit truly looked good on you. The colors were perfect and even though you said the cape was ridiculous and over the top, it made you look magnificent when you flew.

It was like a second skin, the fabric clinging tightly to your body, molding your curves so perfectly. He never thought he would be jealous of a piece of fabric.

Before he kept picturing you in your suit, he let his gaze wander across your room, falling on your record player, playing a Jeff Buckley song, from your favorite albums, he knew. Many times he had listened to it with you, sitting right there on the bed next to you.

His eyes then fell on the pair of small pictures you had on your nightstand next to your bed. In one of the pictures, he could see himself sleeping with his head resting on your shoulder, your self also sleeping on the couch, just having a Disney movie marathon. Alexei had taken the picture, of course, and you had begged him to give him a copy. Bob had also asked for one, keeping the picture next to his bed. It was a cute photo, you looked so cute in it.

“You cooked for me, Bob?” you asked back, your face expressing the tenderness you felt inside. “Again? You know you shouldn't—”

He turned back to you and nodded his head, interrupting you, “I know you like tacos, you said so the other time. I thought you might like to eat them after the mission.”

Realizing you weren't saying a word back and just stared at him, he grew even more nervous under your powerful gaze, his fingers fidgeting at his sides and his gaze dropped to the floor, puffing out a small awkward chuckle.

“But— uh— if you don't want to eat them, it's okay‒ you must‒ you must be tired. I don't think I cook very well either—”

“Why are you wearing that beanie again?” you interrupted his rambling, genuinely confused. 

You had noticed the way he was pulling the edges of the fabric down his forehead, preventing any strands of his hair from slipping out and being seen.

“Uh?” he stammered, his brow furrowing slightly, “Oh, this? It's nothing, it's just—” he gestured with his hands anxiously, making it impossible for him to look you directly in the eye, “It's a bit chilly in here. I don't want to catch a cold.”

You sighed softly, looking at him with concerned eyes, “Bobby, I can literally sense you're lying to me.” You then slightly shook your head, “You can't catch a cold since Project Sentry, honey. And it's almost twenty degrees in here.”

He shifted his body weight down between his two feet, still staring at the ground, resembling a child who was being scolded. When he eventually looked up from the floor, his eyes held a dull, sad look.

“It's just...”

This time he interrupted himself, growing quiet and letting the silence carry his words away. It took him a few moments to reflect on an answer for you, sorting through the words and phrases that were rushing through his head.

You waited so patiently for him. As always.

“The bleach is wearing off and I have a horrible mix of colors. My hair is just a mess now,” he was finally able to express, motioning with his hands, in some way to detract from what he was talking about, but you could see beyond that. You understood that this was something important to him, something that had been troubling him.

You patted the bed, sitting down on it and inviting him to sit down as well, “Come here, Bobby." 

He obeyed you, of course, making his way to your bed, awkwardly tripping over his own feet on the path.

Once he was seated next to you, he made an effort to maintain eye contact with you, but just couldn't, casting his eyes down to his lap, where his hands were fidgeting, revealing sheer nervousness and anxiety.

“You don't want to be seen with your brown hair?” you asked him in a soft tone, intending to seek his gaze and attempting as well to let him allow you to let you see beyond his mask and beyond what he usually pretended to be. “I like your natural hair color.”

“Brown?” he questioned back, appearing genuinely troubled, even more gloomy now. His brow was furrowed and his voice wavered into disbelief, “But it's so.... lame.”

“Let me see” you pleaded and Bob immediately gave in, sighing shakily before raising his hands to his head, tugging the cap off and allowing you to see the, as he put it, mess that was his hair. But it wasn't at all.

Sure, the ends were still affected by the bleach, they were mainly burned and dehydrated, and now most of his hair was brown, gradually returning to its natural color. A couple of wavy strands fell on his forehead, contrasting so beautifully with the color of his skin.

Bob looked embarrassed now. Still gazing down at his lap, his hands clenching the beanie between his fingers. He was expecting you to make fun of him, to make some joking remark about how ugly his hair was or how ridiculous he was for even giving so much thought to how it looked in the first place.

But you, you just offered him a gentle smile. And then your hand ran down the side of his head, picking up a brown lock and brushing it back away from his forehead. That's when he finally looked back up at you, awestruck.

“Your hair is so pretty just the way it is, Bob” you began to tell him and your voice delivered so much reassurance and comfort, it was so soothing. The way you pronounced his name made him feel his heart flip in his chest. “You don't need to change anything about it. You don't have to prove anything. You're not him.”

“I know,” he whispered, holding your gaze, pressing his face against the palm of your hand, clawing desperately for your touch. He didn't want to beg. He didn't have to. He knew you could feel it, his longing, the aching, the need for love, for your love. “I just thought that.... well, they all said that blond was better, to be the Sentry, to look stronger and— and‒ and attractive. I thought, that way you'd like me better—blond, I mean.”

“Does the opinion of others matter much to you?”

Bob shook his head, just barely, so as to avoid under any circumstances straying far out of your hand, and then murmured, shyly, “Only yours.”

“I like you in any way, Bob” you replied, assuring him, and when he placed a kiss on the palm of your hand, you felt your heart halt, “Every side of you. The good side, the bad side. I like you. All of you.”

Bob swallowed saliva, parting his lips to let out a soft shaky sigh, “With you it's only the good side. You bring out the best in me.”

“Can I kiss you?” you even had the audacity to ask. When he was looking at you like that, as if you were the most precious creature in the entire universe. When you had never felt or known love as pure as the love Bob was extending to you through his mere gaze.

“Y‒yes, p‒please” he begged.

You kissed him. 

And the world stopped. All the noise muffled around him, the voices whispering that he'd made a mistake once again hushed. The darkness was succumbing to the light. Your light.

His lips followed yours like an instinct, like something they had been used to in another life, in another universe. Like picking up an old habit. Like second nature, his hands landed on your waist, a tentative but yearning touch.

Your mouth connected with his like old pieces of a puzzle finally coming together, fitting as if they were made for each other. Now, everything seemed to make sense, the whole universe, all the pain, all the suffering, all the mistakes, everything that had brought you there, to that very moment.

“You're everything I've dreamed of” he whispered against your lips once the kiss was over, still with his eyes closed, like it was all a dream, if he dared to open them, you would disappear from his arms. So he held you close, pulling you desperately against him.

You kissed him again. 

Eventually Bob opened his eyes and they instantly softened as they found yours looking back at them. It wasn't a dream, no. It was reality. This was really happening.

He had kissed you- well, you had kissed him. But you were there, in his arms, his hands molding the curve of your waist as if they were made to hold you. All of a sudden, he realized he wasn't really meant to be anyone in this life, not some superhero, some weapon, some asset, no, Bob was meant for you. He was made to be yours. 

His hands were not made to destroy, they were made to hold you. To protect you.

His whole being was made to love you.

Bob loved you.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, his eyes lowering from yours to your lips again, and again, and again....

His fingers caressed your hips, nudging your bare skin below the hem of your shirt, and the very touch sent shivers down your spine.

“Don't hesitate, just kiss me” you assured him back in a whisper and he savored the breath of your utterance, kissing you again, most passionately this time. 

Your hands embraced his neck and you pulled him close to you, leaning back against one of the many pillows on your bed. He kept kissing you, like a starving man, careful not to crush you with his weight, one of his hands rested on the side of your body against the bed.

His hair brushed against your face, tickling you.

“I'm bad at this, I'm sorry—” he suddenly apologized, as if he just was coming back down to the ground and snapping back to reality, detaching himself from you, only barely, just enough to be able to look at you. Above you he looked like a god. Looking down at you with those eyes, darkened by love and longing. His face was all red and his pupils dilated. Up close, you could distinguish the tiny greenish shades within all the light blue of his orbs. “I haven't kissed anyone in— God, I can't even remember— I'm sorry.”

“Hey, it's okay” you tried to reassure him, looking up at him with doting, soft eyes. He took the moment to just admire you, his lips parted, reddened from all the kissing. “Me neither.”

“What?” Bob displayed his incredulity at your words, his brow furrowing faintly, barely a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. His unoccupied hand trailed up your body, tracing your curves, all the way to your jaw, his fingers fondly caressing your skin, looking down at you with adoration, not even missing a chance to marvel at you to blink, “That makes no sense— You're a good kisser. The best kisser.”

Now it was your turn to blush, shifting your gaze down to his chest, avoiding his, feeling flushed and really hot all of a sudden. But Bob didn't let you stray too far from him, as he kept his hand on your chin, lifting your face so he could gaze directly into your eyes.

“Don't look at me like that” you pleaded in a quiet whisper, locking your gaze with his again. The blue of his eyes sparkled in reflection of yours, all threatening to surround you entirely and pull you into the serene indigo sea they held within them.

Bob soaked his lips with his tongue, catching a glimpse of your gaze dropping to them for just a second. His finger nuzzled up against your cheek, tracing a tender caressing line across your skin. The touch struck an earthquake inside you and your heart thumped unquietly in your chest, menacing to leap out to join his.

“I always look at you like this,” he uttered your name as if it were his own religion, “You are so pretty...”

You are incomparable in his eyes. His love for you is unconditional, even on bad days. His loyalty relies on you blindly, unbreakable.

“Y‒you make me happy” he murmured after a comfortable and serene silence, full of emotions, good emotions. “I'd forgotten what that felt like. But you gave it to me again. Happiness. Belonging. Love.” He breathed out a chuckle, appearing incredulous, “God, I even started cooking. I mean, w‒when had I ever done that?”

You kissed him again, devastatingly gentle, tender, loving, just the way you always addressed him and only him. 

And he drank in everything you gave him, every kiss, every caress and every touch, as if you were the reason he existed, the reason he breathed.

He breathed out a raspy whimper against your lips when you pulled his hair at the nape of his neck, your fingers sinking through the brown locks, pressing him closer to you.

“Do that again, please” Bob pleaded in a husky whisper, in between kisses, nearly in despair, breathing out in a cracked voice.

You tugged on his hair once more and Bob's voice broke into a groan, his eyes squinting, gazing into yours as if they were the center of the universe.

“Can I touch you?” you asked him before kissing his lips once more and you could almost feel him vibrate against you as he nodded his head in a frenzy.

He kissed you again, uttering your name like a prayer, “Please touch me, do whatever you want to me, but don't ever stop touching me.”

You breathed out a little giggle as when you realized that he was in fact wearing an apron. He looked so cute in it.

“The apron looks good on you.” he blushed furiously at your words, if it was even more possible. His skin was now crimson, as red as a tomato. “You would be a fine house husband”

The lights in your room flickered just as you pronounced the words, and you knew it had been him. So powerful, so strong, yet he was melting apart under your touch, completely at your mercy.

His skin was warm, it felt like porcelain under your touch.

The lights faded in and out again.

“I'm d-doing okay?” Bob asked, his hands settled on your hips, digits sinking into the fabric of your shorts. His lips quivered, forming a hint of a nervous smile, looking down at you, searching for your approval,

“You're perfect, baby” you assured him, kissing his chest one last time before beginning to make a path of kisses through all his face, making him smile.

“Perfect, perfect, perfect” you murmured several times against his warm skin.

Bob gasped shakily, his hands groping as much of you as they could, slipping under the thin fabric of your shirt, “Fuck-- you drive me crazy. You're so pretty, so good to me... You make me so happy, baby”

And then you hugged him, pressing him against you close, impossibly close. He carefully rolled you both over on the bed, with him now under you, so that he could hold your whole body, feel your full weight pressed against his.  

Your eyes filled with tears at his statement, fully understanding that it was difficult for him to express his emotions, to say out loud what he was feeling and what was going on inside his head. But anyway, he had done all that for you.

“You make me happy too” you whispered to him, reassured him, promised him back. He hugged you tightly, snuggling close to you, locking his body to yours.

Bob placed a tentative but loving kiss on your shoulder just as you were pulling away from him, gently tugging on his shoulders to make him sit up on the bed as well, in front of you, with your legs entangled.

“You must be tired. Your mission went well?” he asked curiously, releasing one of your hands to run it up the side of your face and you pressed it against his palm as an instinct, closing your eyes and letting yourself feel the warmth and reassurance his touch provided, “I missed feeling you here.”

He was looking at you in awe. The way you pressed yourself against his hand, the same hand that had hurt so many people, that had caused so much pain and destruction. And now it was holding your face as if it were the whole world.

“Feeling me?” you raised your eyebrows, tone of voice growing teasing.

Bob blushed, and let go of your hand to pass it through his hair, “Y‒your presence, your heartbeat, your breathing, y‒you know.”

“My heartbeat?” you asked him another question just to tease him.

He became even more nervous, his hand returned to yours, interlacing his fingers with yours and giving you a gentle squeeze, asking for silent mercy, but you looked at him attentively with a smirk, “All I can think about is you, h‒honestly.” he watched as your smile quivered with his words, “You're everywhere. I just... feel you.”

He left you speechless once again, looking up at him, holding your breath.

“I'm sorry—I'm just saying what comes to mind” Bob rushed to apologize once again, lowering his gaze to your joined hands, feeling your warmth engulf him all over, as your thumb stroked his knuckles soothingly. His own thumb traced your cheekbone as if he were brushing the most magnificent shape in the world. You were. In his eyes. “I'm not being polite right now. It's nothing—”

“Bob,” you called his name, interrupting him and causing him to look up at you, both of your hands going to cup his face. He fell silent, gawking at you, in utter awe, roaming his eyes over every inch of your face, intending to remember every single detail, every fragment of your complexion, “You're everything. Everything.”

His eyes glistened, crystallizing with a couple of tears, not out of sadness or pain, no, they were from happiness, from feeling complete, from feeling that he finally belonged somewhere. By your side.

“Thank you” he then breathed a few times, kissing the palms of your hands pressed against his face, cupping them with his own.

Your fingers caught a lock of his hair that had fallen over his face, brushing it back once again.

“I like it better this way” you commented, smiling sweetly.

“Yeah?” he asked gently, so happy he could leap.

You nodded your head, humming approvingly, “Blond looks good on you too. But I met you with brown hair, so I like you better that way.”

Bob kissed the palm of your hand once more, looking at you tenderly, “You met me at my worst.”

“We all have bad days, Bobby,” you murmured, trying to reassure him, “You've been through so much. And you're still here, still standing. You're so strong”

“Thanks to you,” he replied and hurried to add, blushing, “And to the others— of course. Anyway, you must be hungry. Your stomach is growling.”

He took your hand, and waited for you to put on your shark slippers, still blushing. Then he led you out of your room, 'Lover, you should've come over' playing from your record player as you closed the door behind you. You smiled affectionately, walking beside him.

But your smile was washed off your face once you passed through the threshold of the kitchen, encountering Alexei and John, devouring the tacos that Bob had cooked, especially for you.

Seeing you appear in the kitchen, with both of you looking absolutely terrorized, Alexei took a big sip of his beer, raising his eyebrows, “What happened to you, kids?”

John, sitting next to him, burped, just finishing munching on the last remaining taco, “These were really good.” he wiped his mouth with a napkin and made his way towards the kitchen doorway, patting Bob's shoulder as he passed by him, “Thanks, Bobby.”

Alexei nodded his head enthusiastically, showing agreement, following John, with his half-drunk beer in his hand, “You should be the team cook.”

You turned your face toward Bob, who was staring at the plate, now empty of tacos, with a frown on his face and a small pout curving his lips.

You gave his hand a squeeze, tugging him to walk into the kitchen with you.

“Come on, honey, we can do more tacos” you tried to encourage him, holding back the urge to laugh at the sight of his face all pouty.

“I hope they don't have sex in the kitchen, that would be gross” you heard John say to Alexei with your super hearing.

“I heard that!” you exclaimed, looking toward the open kitchen door.

Then you heard Alexei's guffaw as you turned to look at Bob, pouty and blushing now.

[madamechrissy]

Took you Like a Shot Masterlist

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five ( final)

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

Summary- One VERY drunk encounter between your greatest rival ever - on your last day of college- leads to you being knocked up. Satoru Gojo, a fuckboy, fratboy, rich little jerk, has been a rival of yours since you all met in College, every damn grade you fought for he got with ease. He crashed every Sorority party you threw. The two of you are so infamous in your rivalry, your friend groups were rivals, and for some reason, life is playing some damn joke on you both. Now... you have to tell him the news - but how Satoru takes it surprises you. Can you both raise a baby together!? And do you even really know each other?

Contents/Warnings- gonna be flashbacks to the rivalry/that night, nerdjo but make him a fratboy, enemies to kind of begrudging partners, but then as the pregnancy progresses, they fall in love hehe- fluffy and smutty, MDNI -will have explicit sex etc, art in the banner by Yuana on X - finished! WC 42k

Playlist -preview below!- headcanons - here & here - Fratboy! Sukuna here

It had been an absolutely filthy night, that led to your doctor coming in and informing you three months later-

'You're pregnant'

You came in for a normal checkup, you're on the pill and you have no sex life, aside from one encounter over three months ago. A filthy, questionable ass encounter with what so happened to be your former 'bully' - rich boy, frat boy, pretty boy, pretentious boy- Satoru Gojo.

For years, the two of you were rivals, not just academic either, since you were both top of your class all through college, but at everything. He'd hold your notebooks high and laugh at you, he'd try to ruin and crash every sorority event he could. Known as the Queen and King of the campus, you ran the rivaling Sorority to his Fraternity. The amount of times you all had gone toe to toe was literally notorious, even your best friends hated each other on your behalf, starting an entire war between you all.

You have no clue how it happened, still, how the two of you had the best sex of your life at that damn party, fueled by drinks but also something you'd never admit- you've always wondered. Hearing those stories about his... skills, seeing his perfect body and the way his pretty lips smirked so cruelly your direction, even after all these years- how it all led to this moment.

'Hah, sweets, ya finally admit I'm good at something?' Satoru had murmured in your ear, while he'd had you bent right over some bed at some party- both of you were seniors in college on your last and final party, finally you thought you'd be rid of him, of this ass of a man. He was going to live the rich life, working for his family, you were moving on to a whole different career.

'One t-thing... that's it...' You had cried out when his cock had shoved in so deep, making you cum all over him, his fingers gripping your hips while he'd pumped deeper and deeper, impossibly until he'd been right on your cervix. 'F-fuck!'

'Fuck... you had a pussy like this and we've been fighting!?' Satoru is whispering, resting his snowy locks against your neck, biting it with sharp teeth as you milk his cock. 'so greedy, huh?'

'S-shut up, mnh- just... keep... there, there shit!' Satoru had slammed right against your cervix, feeling you pulsing around him, it had been too good, too tight, too fucking wet, he'd paused then, looking at your arched ass, your skirt shoved over your hips. 'Keep g-going, please...'

'M'gonna cum, tho-she's too tight- shit can I?'

Your drunk ass had said- sure. You're precise on that pill, every day your alarm goes off in the morning, you take it. How could...

"Pregnant!?" You repeat. Unbelievable. No fucking way. You...

"Yes sweetie I suggest prenatal and an ultrasound, hmm?" The nurse says so sweetly, as you feel sick to your stomach, which your hand goes down to touch.

Pregnant. With rich, notorious fuckboy Satoru Gojo’s baby- now you would have to tell him!?

Shit.

[agreeewrites]

PLEASEEEE MORE POSSESSIVE JELOUS DRACO🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️YOUR BAD SANTA FIC WAS LITERALLY EVEYTHING. POSSESSIVE MEN GOT ME WEAK

thank you for the request!! hope this is satisfactory 🫶🏻

Flutterby Baby | D.M.

feat. Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Draco finds out another student sabotaged your Herbology project.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, draco’s pov, established relationship, possessive!draco, bullying, hurt/comfort, men suck, sort of rough fingering & piv, affectionate degradation if you squint (he refers to her as a plant), blood/fighting

masterlist

Draco watched as you pushed your pasta around your plate, staring absently at the whirls of sauce on the porcelain. You’d been quiet the entire meal, only speaking when directly spoken to by your group of friends, and even then, it was half-hearted, brief answers.

Both were unusual for his talkative, carb-loving girl.

He placed a light hand on your thigh, leaning closer to you. The warmth of your skin, the sweetness of your perfume, beckoned him even closer, but he ignored his impulses. “Everything alright, darling?” He asked, low enough that your friends couldn’t hear.

“Yes, just not very hungry,” you said in your pretty little voice, placing your hand over his and pecking his cheek.

He didn’t buy it. “I can track down some takeaway and we can eat in my dorm, if you’d like,” he offered, wondering if the commotion in the Great Hall was a bit too much for you.

You shook your head, another stunning development. You never turned down takeaway. “I’m fine, baby. Thank you, though.”

“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll make one of these sod’s fetch it for you,” he teased, hoping to get a smile out of you. He didn’t.

Draco sighed, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning back to the conversation he was in the middle of with Theo and Pansy. He continued to watch you in his periphery as you started to play with his fingers, twirling his signet ring around and around. As much as he enjoyed the mindless contact, the delicate brush of your skin, he knew this was a nervous habit of yours.

He had half-a-thought to excuse you both, but he knew that would only draw more attention to your melancholy state, which would likely make you feel even worse. He could pick your brain later. Right now, he needed to make sure you were fed.

Casually, he picked up his fork, twirling a bit of his own pasta around the tines. Without breaking away from his conversation, he held the fork up to you, hoping you’d take a bite without really thinking about it. It was a small ritual the two of you developed during lengthy family dinners, something you often did automatically if he offered food to you. He felt you shift forward, your mouth wrap around the small bite, and you ate it.

He squeezed your thigh, a flare of affection making his heart pound. Good girl, he thought, but refrained from saying aloud.

The rest of dinner continued like that, Draco keeping your friends talking and distracted while he fed you small bites of his own dinner, your fingers twined with his in your lap. When he held up a bite and you gave small shake of your head, he knew it was because you were actually full, and he set his fork down, satisfied. For now.

That night in the common room, you were curled up in your chair by the fire, a book open in your lap while everyone pretended to study around you. He watched your eyes, your hands curled around the cover, and you were motionless. No pages turned, no lines devoured.

His worry deepened. Blaise seemed to notice as well, and gave him a curious look, dark brow raised. And of course, Theo caught the exchange, but turned back to his work, pretending he didn’t.

A prickle of suspicion climbed Draco’s neck. Typically, Theo was the first one to make a fuss over someone being in a sour mood due to his inability to tolerate negative emotions, but this time, he stayed silent.

Very odd, indeed.

But he could worry about Theo later. Draco lifted himself from the couch and walked over to you, dropping onto the floor in front of your chair. He tilted his head back, resting it against your shins. You reached down, dragging your fingers through his hair while you continued “reading” your book. He let his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and tried to think of a way to draw you out of your head.

Lips pressed against his forehead, your perfume wafting over him, and he hummed in appreciation, reaching up to cradle your face. You leaned your cheek into his palm, and he titled his head back a little further to connect your lips in a soft kiss.

Your lips moved against his, brief and tender, and some of his tension unwound. It didn’t seem that you were upset with him, which was a relief. But, he wasn’t any closer to figuring out what exactly was troubling you.

“I’m going to go to bed,” you murmured in his ear, and he blinked in surprise, checking his watch.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock.

“So early, love? Are you feeling alright?” He turned to face you, rising to his knees. The group noticed, but he was too concerned to care. He placed the back of his hand on your forehead, your cheek, your neck, but you waved him away.

“I’m fine, D. Just tired,” you said, averting your eyes from his and rising from your chair.

“Baby—”

You leaned down and kissed him again, cutting off his protest. “I love you, I’ll see you in the morning,” you said, pecking his cheek one more time before walking towards the girls dormitory and ascending the stairs.

Draco slumped back to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“What did you do to her?” Pansy accused after a moment of tense silence.

“Nothing,” he snapped, though it was mostly toothless.

“She was acting strangely at dinner too,” Blaise noted. “She didn’t even have dessert.”

“Yeah, and she loves those chocolate things—what are they called?” Theo chimed in.

“Cauldron cakes,” Draco answered, glaring at them, irked that they were paying that close of attention to you. That was his job.

“Are you going to follow her?” Blaise asked, glancing at the stairs.

“No, he should give her some space,” Pansy said, giving him a pointed look.

“I’m perfectly capable of managing my girlfriend’s needs. Thank you,” he bit, and they fell quiet. He would leave you be, for now, but if you were still in a funk tomorrow evening, he’d be forced to intervene.

You were decidedly still unlike yourself come the following morning, and when he saw you during your shared Potion’s class. He continued to monitor the situation, trying to be patient like you often asked him to be, but that went out the window when you returned from your Herbology class with Theo in tears.

As soon as Draco saw your red and puffy eyes, he was on his feet. You ran straight into his chest, burying your wet face in his robes and digging your chilled hands into his back, trembling as your tears returned in earnest.

“Darling, what’s happened? What’s going on?” He cooed, wrapping his arms around your shaking torso, petting your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You didn’t respond, just held him tighter as you cried.

Theo tried to slip around the two of you, but Draco pinned him with a glare.

“What happened?” Draco hissed at him.

“Her Flutterby bush is dying,” Theo whispered, and you started to cry harder.

Shit. You’d slaved half the semester over this Flutterby bush in Herbology, it was your pride and joy, and you often stayed after hours with Professor Sprout to tend to it and the rest of the greenhouse. You had the greenest thumb Draco had ever encountered, and that plant was your baby. There was no way it would just suddenly die.

Draco raised a brow, and Theo made a ‘tell you later’ face. He nodded his head to dismiss his friend and turned his attention back to you, his poor, sensitive girl.

“Baby, it’s going to be alright. I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s going on—”

You shook you head. “It doesn’t make sense,” you sniffled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “It was perfectly fine. There’s no bugs or blights, I don’t understand.” You lifted your face, cheeks streaked with tears and lashes spikey, your eyes rimmed with red. The state of you made his heart ache.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispered, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs and pressing a kiss to your nose. “If anyone can save it, you can. You’re brilliant, love.” He used his sleeve to wipe your eyes and your nose before bundling you into his side. “Come on, relax for a bit with Pansy. That’ll help you think a little more clearly, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him deposit you on the couch beside your friend, who immediately abandoned what she was doing to fuss over you.

He kissed the top of your head, satisfied that you were well looked after for the time being. “I love you, I’ll be right back, okay?” He murmured, and you nodded again.

Theo was waiting for him in the hall. “Okay, so don’t get mad,” he said, holding his hands up.

Draco’s anger instantly flared. “Don’t give me a reason to get mad then.”

“She told me not to tell you because she knew you’d get all—” Theo gestured vaguely at Draco. “All…this.”

“Out with it, Nott,” he growled, fully prepared to punch his best friends nose through the back of his skull. What could you possibly want to keep from him?

“We think someone poisoned her plant,” Theo said, grimacing.

Draco froze, rage flaring so suddenly it darkened his vision. “What?” he snarled.

“We can’t say for sure yet,” Theo said hurriedly, trying to get ahead of the oncoming storm. “But there’s this one guy—”

“Who?”

“Reinhardt? Renfield? Something like that, I don’t know, he’s a Gryffindor. But he—Draco, where are you going?”

Draco was already halfway down the hall, formulating a plan in his mind about how to find this guy, and how to make him wish he’d never been born.

Theo grabbed his shoulder. “Listen, I have a better idea than storming the Gryffindor common room,” he said, and Draco paused.

“Go on.”

Draco loitered outside the Greenhouse, hidden by some trees, a stupid plastic ear in his hand. Theo had the other tucked into his robes, and Draco could hear Sprout beginning her lecture through their connection.

Draco sighed. This was ridiculous, he should just waltz in there and figure out exactly who this—

“Hey, y/n,” he heard someone mutter, an unfamiliar male voice, and he immediately held up the ear to listen. “Flutterby’s not lookin’ so good. Maybe I could help clear away some of the dead stuff?”

Draco's ears started ringing so loudly, he almost missed your response.

“I'm killing it just fine on my own, Renley, I don't need any assistance from you.”

He heard Theo snicker in the background, and Draco smiled. Atta girl.

“My mandrakes are thriving, thank you,” Renley replied, his voice tight with indignation. “It's a real shame about yours, though. Probably would have gotten you top marks.”

You didn't respond, and Draco gripped a tree branch to stop himself from charging through the glass to get this audacious fucker.

“Fuck off, Renford,” Theo warned, the feed clouded by his robes rustling.

“It's Renley,” the prick corrected, his voice a little louder, and Draco could practically hear Theo roll his eyes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?” Sweetheart? Oh, this fucker was a dead man walking. “I'm willing to stay after and help you out. I'm good with poisons—”

“Poison’s?” You asked, a snarky lilt to your voice, and Draco loosed a relieved exhale despite the implication. For the first time in days, you sounded like yourself. “Who said anything about poison?”

“Oh, I—uh—”

“Reindeer, how did you know her plant was poisoned?” Theo prodded, his smirk audible.

“I don't! It's obv—it’s probably not p-poison!” Renley stammered.

“What's this about poison?” Sprout interrupted at the same moment Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle emerged from the treeline.

“Check fucking mate,” Draco mouthed, grinning.

“Professor Sprout, I do believe Renley here just confessed to poisoning y/n’s beloved Flutterby bush,” Theo said.

“Is this true, dearie?” Sprout asked you.

“Yes ma’am, it explains the strange phenomena we noted, as well as the sudden nature of the ailment. Renley’s been taunting me for days, and finally his mouth got ahead of his brain,” you said, poised as a Queen, and Draco was so proud of you it hurt.

Sprout gasped. “Mr. Renley! To Dumbledore's office this instant!”

“Crabbe, Goyle, grab him,” Draco ordered, stuffing the ear into his robes.

The two of them lumbered over the door, staying out of sight until the culprit stepped out into the sunlight, and Goyle grabbed Renley by the shoulders and started to drag him back around the Greenhouse.

“Hey! What the fuck—” his words pinched to a strangled whine when he saw Draco and Blaise waiting a few feet away, arms folded over their chests, completely hidden from the rest of campus.

Goyle shoved him to the ground at Draco's feet, and the coward was already sniveling.

Draco crouched down, nose to nose with the fucker that made his girl miserable, and smiled. “Was it worth it, Renley?” Draco asked, his voice low.

“Look, Malfoy. I didn't mean to—”

Draco didn't give him a chance to finish his paltry excuse and cocked his fist back, slamming his knuckles square in the side of his jaw. The bone crunched under his fist, sending Renley flying sideways in a spray of spit and blood, and Draco rose, clenching and unclenching his aching hand.

Normally, he'd step back and let the others get their hands dirty, but you were his girl. And if anyone was going to defend your honor, it would be him.

“No, no please!” Renley begged when Goyle hauled him back up. Draco punched him again, dead on the nose, then the temple, then the sternum. Goyle let Renley fall, groveling and weeping as blood ran down his face, his eyes already half-swollen shut.

Draco grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head up so he could whisper in his ear. “You're lucky it wasn't poison,” he snarled, and dropped Renley’s head into the dirt. “Leave him on the front steps of the castle,” he said to Crabbe and Goyle, who immediately pulled the boy up and started dragging him back towards the castle.

Blaise chuckled. “That was fucking brutal, mate.”

Draco looked down at his bruised and bloody knuckles, the pain bright and deliciously satisfying, his signet ring splattered with red. “Like I said, he's lucky I didn't decide to poison him.”

The chatter of students filled the air, and he looked up to see the Greenhouse emptying. Theo headed straight for them, glancing at Draco's knuckles and the blood in the grass before breaking out in a wild grin.

“Sorry I missed it,” Theo laughed.

“Where is she?” Draco asked.

“Staying behind to administer the antidote. Sprout is leaving her to ensure Renley is dealt with accordingly.”

“Well, she certainly won't be disappointed,” Blaise snickered.

“So she’s alone?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was hoping to clean himself up before seeing you, but wasn't sure he could resist the temptation. Not with his blood still running hot and your smart little voice echoing in his mind.

“Yep.” Theo smirked. “See ya’ back in the common room.” He and Blaise turned and started heading back to the castle, leaving Draco alone.

He rounded the greenhouse, knocking with his sore knuckles so he didn't startle you.

“Draco? What are you—saints, your hands!” You cried, rushing over to open the door for him. You grabbed for his hands, face pinched with worry.

“I'm fine, love,” he cooed, letting you fuss. The air in the greenhouse was thick and warm, coaxing him in like a embrace. It smelled fresh and lush, sweet soil and green leaves, like you.

Merlin, he couldn't think straight with you looking at him like that.

“Who did—” you paused, eyes narrowing. “Renley?”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

“Draco!” You huffed, dropping his hands. “I had it under control!”

“I know you did! You were amazing! I just...accelerated the consequences.”

You glared at him, but he could see you softening by the second.

“Baby, I'm fine. And he'll be fine in like, four to five business days.”

“Draco!” You shouted, but you were smiling. He fucking loved what you called his name in that exasperated but undeniably affectionate voice. “You don't have to get involved all the time. I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, and Professor Sprout was working with me to solve it and—”

Draco reached out, pinching your cheeks with one hand, pursing your pouting lips and dragging you closer to him. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat. No one fucks with you so long as I'm breathing, is that clear?”

You nodded, eyes round and sweet like honey.

He released your face, sliding his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck and craning your head upwards. “Can I kiss you now? Or would you like to keep telling me off?”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a playful, smiley kiss. “Anything for my hero.”

“Anything?” Draco purred, walking you back into the long work table. You gasped, arching against his chest, and he caught the sound with another kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips to taste you.

Your tongue tangled with his, so eager as you pulled his tie to bring him closer. He guided your tongue into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing you to bite your lip, toying with your mouth like he owned it.

And he could feel how much you loved it, your hips pressing against his as your hands wandered his chest, unable to pick a resting place.

He smiles, moving his hands to grip your hips. In a quick movement, he spun you around. Your hands slapped onto the table to catch yourself, your perfect ass pressing back against his rapidly hardening cock.

“Draco,” you whined, trying to look over your shoulder at him.

He tsked, sliding up your skirt, admiring the way his ruined knuckles looked against the soft flesh. “Do you want me to be gentle with you, darling?” He already knew what your answer would be, especially after a few stressful days, but he felt inclined to double check.

You shook your head side to side, pressing your ass back into his hands. “No.”

He smiled, squeezing the ample flesh, then delivered a swift slap that made you gasp. “That's my girl. You want me to scare away all those bad thoughts? Turn your brain off for a bit?” He slid his right hand between your legs, gliding two fingers over the damp spot on your panties.

You nodded, nails scratching along the wood when he applied a little pressure, moving his hand in a slow circle.

“Words, love,” he said, pausing his movement.

“Yes, baby. Please,” you whined, and his cock gave a painful lurch against his thigh.

“Colloportus,” he murmured, flicking his wand to lock the Greenhouse door. “Don't move,” he ordered, then walked over to the sink, washing the blood from his hands and muttering a quiet episkey to fix most of the damage on his skin. Some cuts remained, and his hands were still sore and slightly bruised, but it wasn't nearly as bad.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to you, where you remained perfectly still, nibbling at your lower lip. In quick movement, he pulled down your panties, letting the fall around your ankles, and kicked your feet further apart, forcing you to lay your chest against the table.

“There we go,” he purred, bringing his hand back between your legs.

You were already soaked, hot and slick as his middle finger swiped through your sex. He started massaging your clit, quick, light circles that had you moaning breathlessly.

“Better, darling? Nothing to worry about besides being my good girl.” He moved away from your clit and eased his middle finger inside of you, his signet ring kissing your entrance before he curled his finger up. Your walls fluttered around him, sucking back against his finger when he pulled it out, only to graciously stretch for him when he added a second.

“Fuck, D,” you moaned, rocking your hips against his hand. “You said you wouldn't be gentle “

He smirked, enraptured with the way your pretty little cunt yielded for his battered hand. “Just so pretty,” he hummed, leaning down to whisper in your ear, pressing you harder against the table. “Can't help but worship you a little.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he slammed his fingers inside of you, drilling into your channel with sloppy, punishing strokes. You cried out, feet sliding around on the floor, but he had you pinned and at his mercy.

“This better, brat?” He growled, nipping at your ear when you keened for him, unable to formulate a response. “Oh, how that fucker wishes he could see you now,” he drawled, straightening while his fingers fucked into you. “What'd he call you? Sweetheart?” He chuckled. “Sweet doesn't begin to cover it.”

“How did you—”

He slipped his fingers out to work your clit, the bud swelling under his touch as your orgasm built, and your words twisted into a moan. He tried to stay focused, keep you on the edge until he was sheathed inside of you, but couldn't bring himself to stop just yet.

“Are you sweet, baby?” He asked, swatting your ass cheek, enjoying the way your flesh rippled.

“Only for you,” you gasped, starting to tremble as that knot wound tighter and tighter.

“That's right,” he praised, undoing his trousers and taking his cock in his hand. He was insanely hard, the head a deep pink, pearly precum beading from the slit. He pumped himself twice to relieve some of the ache, then notched himself at your entrance, not pausing his assault on your clit for a moment. “All fucking mine,” he growled at the same moment he thrust inside of you, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out, muscles contracting hard around him, and he groaned low in his throat. You were so fucking tight, gooey and supple when you weren't squeezing the life out of him. He drew back a few inches before snapping his hips forward, gripping your ass cheek in his free hand to keep you spread for him as he pounded into you.

He felt your orgasm hit the second before you did, your cunt clamping down on him a heartbeat before you screamed, your whole body locking up before going completely limp. He didn't let up, no matter how much you shook, how much you begged. Your tears left damp spots on the wood, your knees trying to buckle inwards, but he planted his feet on the inside of yours, forcing you to stay upright.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasped, snaking a hand up your spine to grip your hair and pull your head back. “Doing so well for me, sweet thing.” He was panting, the heat of the greenhouse coupled with the exterior making sweat collect around his hairline and drip down his spine. His knuckles burned from the salt, hands ached from being used long past when they should have been bandaged, but he didn't give a single fuck.

“Draco, shit—fuck me so good.” You reached back for him, nails dragging along his forearm, and he felt himself teeter on the edge of release, his balls drawing up tight as liquid heat spread through his pelvis.

“Give me one more, baby. I know you can. Then I'll water my favorite plant.”

Your pussy clenched at his words, a wanton moan falling from your lips, and he smiled. You were such a little freak, his little freak, and he loved you all the more it.

“You like being my pretty little houseplant? All mine to take care of?” Fuck, he was close, rambling in an attempt to distract himself and spend just a little longer in the delicious heat of your body.

“Yes, yes—fuck!” You were coming again, your whole body convusling as it ripped through you, and he was done for. He came with a yell, hips stuttering against your ass as he pumped rope after rope of release into your spasming cunt.

“Bloody hell, baby,” he moaned, bracing his hands on the table as he came down, his hips involuntarily rocking into your greedy warmth. You, poor thing, were left drooling and trembling, completely boneless, held up entirely by the table and his hips. He leaned forward, pressing kisses into your hair. “Did so good, love. So fucking perfect,” he murmured, throat tight with affection.

“Squishin’ me,” you giggled, squirming beneath him, and he straightened, nearly toppling over himself at the weak feeling in his knees.

“Sorry, darling,” he chuckled, and you groaned, pushing yourself up on trembling arms. He moved his feet, letting you close your legs, and he hissed through his teeth at the new tightness around his softening cock, stealing a final thrust before slipping out of you.

“Mm, how did you know he called me sweetheart?” You asked, peeking over your shoulder at him while he grabbed his wand to clean you both up.

“I have my methods,” he replied, righting your clothes and helping you stand up, relishing in the lingering tremble in your limbs.

“Were you spying on me, Draco Malfoy?” You teased, tugging him down by the tie so you were face to face.

He smirked. “Perhaps.”

“What a horrible invasion of privacy,” you snickered, giving him a playful peck.

“You want to punish me for it?” He nipped at your lower lip and you grinned, pushing lightly on his chest.

“Enough you, I have to administer the antidote before my plant gets any sicker.”

“Good thing I already cured mine,” he teased, and you swatted him before slipping out of his arms.

“You're insufferable.”

“And you're adorable.”

You grabbed some items from the shelves and a watering can, then paused, turning to look at him, a deadly serious look on your face. “Can we get takeaway after this?”

He snorted, his heart doing a giddy little flip. “Of course we can.”

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[harrysfolklore]

nepo boyfriend - fc43

summary: franco colapinto is dating leo messi's daughter, which makes him a "nepo boyfriend"

folkie radio: GUYSSS HERE IT IS! took me a minute to do this requests but there you have it. i had to educate myself on messi lore for this and omg he has the cutest love story with his wife, im obsessed lol. anyway, i hope you like this!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by francolapinto, olliebearman and 202,826 others

yn.messi home 🤍🇦🇷

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username1 IT GIRLLL

username2 coolest nepo baby

username3 ESPERA is that franco colapinto??

└ username1 she's been dating franco for years now 👀

└ username4 our boy stealing messi's daughter's heart purrrr

username5 little messi has a boyfriend???

└ username1 yeah he's literally argentina's next f1 star

francolapinto mi hogar está dondequiera que estés ♥️ [home is wherever you are]

└ yn.messi 🫂🤍

username6 imagine your dad being the most famous sportsman ever and dating a cute guy and wearing cute outfits. she has the dream life

username7 i can’t wait for franco to make it to f1 so they become the paddock it couple

liked by francolapinto, yn.messi and 509,268 others

williamsracing BREAKING: Franco Colapinto joins Williams Racing for the rest of the 2024 season. Welcome to the family, @/francolapinto!

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username1 OMFGGGGG

username2 poor logan but franco is really talented he deserves this chance !!

username3 HES SO CUTE HELLO??

yn.messi mi campeón 🫶✨ [my champion]

└ francolapinto ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

└ username1 LEO MESSI’S DAUGHTER??

alex_albon Welcome to the team mate!

└ francolapinto gracias Alex! Ready to learn 💪

username4 ARGENTINA IS BACK IN F1

leomessi 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

└ username2 LEO COMMENTING ON F1 POST??? history

└ username3 argentina’s pride and joy already

username5 IS HE SINGLE??? PLEASE TELL ME HE IS

username6 new fans you better learn the franco lore bc there’s plenty of it

username7 WAIT UNTIL YOU FIND OUT THAT-

liked by francolapinto, lilymhe and 389,766 others

yn.messi first of many. orgullosa de vos siempre 🤍 [proud of you always]

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username1 awe 🥹🥹🥹🥹

username2 MY BABIES

username3 THEY’RE TOGETHER ???

francolapinto gracias por todo mi amor ❤️ [thank you for everything my love]

└ username3 HE CALLED HER MI AMOR I'M CRYING

└ username1 someone check if i'm breathing

└ yourinstagram i love you!

username4 THE WAY SHE'S BEEN THERE SINCE FOREVER

└ username1 that's real love right there

└ username2 watching them grow together >>>>>>

williamsracing Our favorite supporter 💙

└ yn.messi 🫶🫶

lilymhe welcome! 🥹💗💗

username5 my girl really said forget football i'm going racing

└ username1 leo watching his princess date a racer instead of a footballer: 🧍‍♂️

└ username2 the crossover we didn't know we needed

username6 remember when we thought those pics in buenos aires were edited??

username7 THE MINI MESSI AND THE F1 DRIVER, THIS IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE

username8 first we got leo bringing us the world cup now franco in f1 🇦🇷

└ username2 and yn connecting both worlds, iconic behavior

username9 the way he looks at her in the first pic >>>>>

username10 IM SO CONFUSED RIGHT NOW

liked by username1, username2 and 56,827 others

f1gossip 🚨 Williams driver Franco Colapinto spotted with YN Messi (yes, THAT Messi's daughter) at dinner in Monaco

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username1 WAIT WHAT??? HOW DID WE NOT KNOW THIS

└ username2 they've literally been together for like four years 😭

└ username3 where have you been living?? under a rock??

username4 messi's daughter dating an f1 driver?? didn't see this coming

└ username2 she's been at every race supporting him!

username5 they're literally the cutest couple in f1 rn

username6 probably just wants messi's connections for sponsors tbh

└ username2 he literally got the williams seat on merit stfu

└ username3 tell me you know nothing about franco without telling me

username7 she could do better than a pay driver

└ username2 clearly you haven't watched a single f2 race

└ username3 worry about your own life challenge

└ username4 he's literally argentina's biggest racing talent in years

username8 why isn't she dating a footballer instead??

└ username2 because she can date whoever she wants??

username9 they've been together for ages, internet using internet internet explorer fr

└ username3 real ones remember their first spotting in buenos aires

username10 the amount of sponsorship money williams must be getting

username11 this is actually so cute. from f2 to f1 together

liked by username1, username2 and 5,028 others

francoupdates here are some pics of franco and yn messi through the years since some of you are new to this

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username1 THE WAY SHE'S ALWAYS BEEN HIS BIGGEST SUPPORTER 😭

username2 power couple since day ONE

username3 that pic of her at the pitwall watching him race >>>>>

└ username1 the way she still does this at every race 🥺

username4 REAL ONES HAVE BEEN HERE

username5 they were so tiny i can’t

username6 LOS AMO

username7 young yn watching franco race vs now analyzing his data

username8 here to spread the colapinto x messi agenda

username9 argentina’s it couple since forever

username10 SIMP BABY FRANCO I CANT

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liked by landonorris, yourinstagram and 1,023,477 others

francolapinto Points ✅ BZRP cap ✅ Nepo boyfriend things ✅

Gracias por el apoyo! [thank you for the support]

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username1 FRANCOOOO 😩😩

username2 he’s never letting the nepo boyfriend thing go i love him

username3 this divaaaa

yn.messi and they said dating messi's daughter got you the seat... weird way to spell pure talent

└ francolapinto clearly i'm the worst nepo boyfriend ever

└ francolapinto te amo hermosa ❤️

└ username1 HELP THEY'RE SO FUNNY TOGETHER

williamsracing More of this please! 💙

username4 worst nepo boyfriend ever actually delivers results

username5 embarrassing nepotism attempt tbh

username6 not him actually being talented and making us all proud

username7 THE ROOKIES BRINGING POINTS HOME

leomessi 🙌🙌 Vamos!

└ username1 JUST ICONIC

└ yn.messi the payment for his permanent seat is due next week don’t forget!

└ username2 IM SCREAMING

username8 the way they're both trolling the haters i love them sm

liked by francolapinto, alexandrasaintmleux and 402,277 others

yn.messi mi lugar favorito [my favorite place] 🤍 pit stop before mexico city

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username1 AWEEEEE

username2 how can anyone hate this couple

username3 THE. HAND. PLACEMENT.

francolapinto perdiste en fifa mi amor [you lost in fifa]

└ yn.messi te dejo ganar 😌 [i let you win]

└ landonorris exposed by your own girlfriend mate

└ username1 I LOVE THEM SO BAD

leomessi ❤️

username4 this is what we mean by relationship goals

username5 THE WAY SHE EXPOSED HIM ABOUT FIFA 😭

username6 football royalty 🤝 f1

username7 this is such a great crossover i can’t

username8 LOS AMO [i love them]

lilyhme 💗💗

username9 taking franco to her dad’s matches 🥹🥹

username10 i’m so parasocial about them

liked by username1, yn.messi and 12,043 others

francoupdates Franco opens up about his relationship with YN Messi in recent interview:

"I met her at an event in Argentina back in 2019. She didn't even know what DRS was back then and now she corrects my racing lines in the sim. We grew up together through all this - F3, F2, now F1. She's been there through the tough times, sleeping in paddocks, the uncertain seasons. The nepotism jokes are funny because if you knew how many nights we spent budgeting for the next race... Being Leo Messi's daughter was never part of our story. It was just YN and Franco, trying to make it work while chasing a dream and loving each other very much”

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username1 NOT ME CRYING OVER THIS

username2 NOT HIM SAYING SHE CORRECTS HIS RACING LINES 😭

└ yn.messi someone has to 🤷🏻‍♀️

└ username1 HI YN I LOVE YOU 😭

username3 "just YN and Franco" 🥺

└ username2 this is actually so wholesome

username4 "budgeting for the next race" but they said nepotism 🙄

username5 THIS IS THE PUREST THING EVER

username6 MY CORAZON [my heart]

username7 haters don’t know a single thing about their story, they have been soulmates for years now

username8 cute but we do need messi connections for that seat 😩

username9 IF THEY DONT GET MARRIED ISTG

username10 real ones have been here since that buenos aires spotting

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francolapinto added to their stories

[the prettiest is ready for vegas]

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liked by yn.messi, williamsracing and 678,923 others

francolapinto 3 more races let's gooo! ready to prove nepotism requires talent sometimes 😌✌🏼 (yn stop rolling your eyes at my jokes mi amor)

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username1 I LOVE HIM SO BAD

username2 he’s never letting the nepo boyfriend jokes go

yn.messi i'll stop rolling my eyes when you stop missing apex points honey 😘

└ francolapinto MI AMOR WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS

└ alex_albon she's got data to back this up mate

└ williamsracing YN: 1, Franco: 0

└ username1 I LOVE THEM SM

username3 NOT YN ROASTING HIS RACING LINES IN THE COMMENTS

└ username4 MOTHER CHOSE VIOLENCE TODAY

username5 no one can convince me they aren’t the best couple ever

username6 bro got called a nepo boyfriend once and now that’s his brand

landonorris 😂😂😂

username7 okay but when is messi going to get franco a seat fr

username8 worst nepo kid ever he doesn’t even have a seat yeat

liked by username1, username2 and 43,022 others

f1gossip Franco Colapinto and YN Messi spotted getting cozy at XS Nightclub in Vegas after qualifying 🎰 Apparently someone forgot Papa Messi might see these 👀

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username1 FRANCO BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING LEO'S GONNA SEE THIS 💀

└ username2 man's risking it all before his first full season

username2 breaking: franco colapinto will not race tomorrow due to mysterious disappearance

└ username3 leo messi spotted buying a plane ticket to vegas

username4 it was nice knowing you franco 😭

username5 WILLIAMS RACING SUDDENLY LOOKING FOR NEW DRIVER

username6 someone check on franco pls

username7 pov: you forgot your girlfriend's dad is literally lionel messi

username8 leo messi about to show up at williams garage

username9 THEY’RE SO CUTE THO

username10 MY PARENTS ACTUALLY

liked by francolapinto, lilymhe and 401,827 others

yn.messi vegas was fun ‼️ papi please don’t check your phone

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username1 HEEEEEELPP

username2 BESTIE YOU’RE INSANE

alex_albon Kids these days.. they don’t know how you behave

└ username1 imagine alex just babysitting them at the club 😭

username3 BABY WE ALL SAW THE PICS

username4 just in: leonel messi spotted planning vehicular manslaughter

username5 FRANCO MOVE TO ANTARTICA ITS NOT TOO LATE

francolapinto i’m scared..

└ username1 WE ALL ARE

└ username2 THIS IS TOO FUNNY

francolapinto hermosa 😍😍

└ username3 he said yup my gf’s dad could kill me but i’m still thirsting over her

username6 CAUGHT IN 4K AND FULL HD

landonorris 😂😂😂😂 never a dull day with y’all

username7 franco consider witness protection

username8 DROP THE HAIR ROUTINE QUEENIE

alexandrasaintmleux been there donde that…

username9 there goes your possible seat franco leo messi is not paying for it anymore

username10 MENACES

liked by username1, username2 and 29,726 others

francoupdates Franco with one of YN’s little brothers in Qatar! The Messi’s are there to watch him race 🥹

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username1 OH MY LORDDDDD

username2 THIS IS SO CUTE IM MELTING

username3 her dad is there to have a chat with franco about those pictures in las vegas

username4 FRANCO SEAT CONFIRMATION INCOMING

username5 this is so adorable and the fact that yn’s brothers know him since they were born lrettt much 🥹🥹

username6 FRANCO YOU’RE SO LOVED

username7 leo be like: hello franco i just want to talk

username8 ARGENTINA’S ROYALTY

username9 yn tried to hide her dad’s phone and he just showed up at the paddock with the whole fam

username10 I LIVE FOR THIS

liked by username1, username2 and 43,098 others

f1gossip"Yeah, no pressure right? But honestly, they're like my second family now. Leo's probably more nervous than me - he keeps sending me good luck messages. Thiago and Mateo have been explaining F1 to Ciro all week. And YN... well, she's in bossy mode so she's more focused on telling me where I'm losing time than giving good luck kisses. But having them here means everything." - Franco talking about his girlfriend's family watching him race in Qatar!

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username1 THE WAY HE GETS SHY TALKING ABOUT THEM

username2 leo sending good luck texts is killing me

username3 YN REALLY SAID RACING LINES > KISSES

username4 imagine getting good luck texts from messi 😭

username5 VAMOS FRANCOOOO

username6 messi family taking over qatar paddock we love to see it

username7 NEPO BOYFRIEND THINGSSS

username8 yn's dad is there to buy franco a set soooo trueee

username9 GOOD LUCK KISSES 🥺

username10 the way he lights up mentioning yn though └ username1 even if she's roasting his racing lines 😭

liked by yn.messi, landonorris and 1,026,287 others

francolapinto Special helmet for Qatar 🇶🇦Celebrando la copa del mundo [celebrating the world cup] ⭐️⭐️⭐️ Had to honor the greatest of all time and well... my future father in law 😅 Gracias Leo por todo [thank you for everything], specially for not killing me for dating your daughter

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username1 FRANCO OMFG

username2 HE REALLY DID THIS

yn.messi "future father in law" someone's feeling brave today

└ francolapinto had to shoot my shot mi amor

└ username1 HE REALLY WANTS TO DIE TODAY

└ leomessi 👀

username3 DID HE JUST- IS THIS A PROPOSAL HINT???

└ username2 MAN'S REALLY ANNOUNCING HIS INTENTIONS ON MAIN

username4 FRANCO CHOOSING VIOLENCE TODAY

username5 bro using a helmet reveal to ask for blessing, respect

landonorris At least the man’s got game 😂

username6 HELP DID HE JUST SOFT LAUNCH A PROPOSAL

└ username1 leo reading that caption: 🔪

username7 future father in law... franco woke up fearless

username8 LATINO GANG RISE UP VAMOS FRANCO

username9 THE WAY HE JUST ANNOUNCED HIS DEATH WISH

williamsracing Lovely helmet design! Also, security has been increased around the garage

alex_albon might need witness protection after this one mate

└ yn.messi don't worry guys papa already knew about the helmet

└ francolapinto MI AMOR YOU COULD'VE LED WITH THAT 😭

username10 never beating the nepo boyfriend allegations

username11 buttering messi up so he can buy him a seat we know

liked by lilymhe, francolapinto and 402,389 others

yn.messi my nepo boyfriend who couldn't even get a point in his first race just finished his first formula 1 season 🥹 so proud of you mi amor, from watching you race karts to F1... i'd say dating the goat’s daughter worked out pretty well 😌❤️ @/francolapinto

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username1 THIS IS SO CUTE

username2 the second pic i’m SOBBING

francolapinto from being the worst nepo boyfriend to getting points... all thanks to you mi amor ❤️

└ yn.mesi you're still the worst nepo boyfriend but i love you

└ alex_albon get a room you two

williamsracing Nepo strategy successful ✅

username3 living the nepo dream fr

username4 THE WAY SHE'S ALWAYS BEEN HIS BIGGEST SUPPORTER 😭

username5 from karting girlfriend to f1 wag upgrade

username6 they keep bringing up the nepo boyfriend thing 😭

└ username1 she'll never let him live it down

username7 YN AND FRANCO SUPREMACY

username8 the nepo jokes never get old

alexandrasaintmleux 🥹🥹🥹🥹

leomessi Estamos muy orgullosos ❤️

└ username1 THIS IS SO ADORABLE

└ username2 franco you’re so loved

username8 SHE'S SO PROUD OF HIM I'M CRYING

└ username2 the way she never stops teasing him though

username9 MY PARENTS SINCE THAT FIRST BUENOS AIRES SPOTTING

username10 OUR BEST WAG NEEDS TO STAY

liked by yn.messi, landonorris and 1,011,965 others

francolapinto What a year... Couldn't have done this without my biggest supporter since karting days @/yn.messi ❤️ Thank you for believing in me even when I was "the worst nepo boyfriend" 😅

And to the entire Messi family - gracias por hacerme sentir parte de la familia desde el primer día. Leo, gracias por confiarme lo más precioso que tienen (y por no matarme todavía).

[thank you for making me feel part of the family since day one. Leo, thank you for trusting me with your most precious treasure (and for not killing me yet).]

Time to work harder for 2025 💪🏼

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username1 FRANCOOO OMFG

username2 this is so CUTE

yn.messi still the worst nepo boyfriend but i guess you're MY worst nepo boyfriend ❤️

└ francolapinto te amo mi amor

└ username1 THEY’RE THE CUTEST

username3 “trusting me with your most precious treasure” IM DEADDDD

username4 man wrote a whole love letter to the messis

└ username1 AS HE SHOULD

leomessi You’re family 🤍 [eres familia]

username5 NOT LEO SAYING HE'S FAMILY I'M CRYING

└ username2 from fearing leo to being adopted by him

williamsracing Family ✅ Points ✅ 2025 loading...

└ username3 GIVE HIM A SEAT

username6 THE SECOND PIC, THEY WERE LITTLE BABIES

username7 THE WAY HE THANKED THE WHOLE FAMILY 😭

└ username1 securing that messi blessing

[quin-ns]

Cherry (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 3K

Summary: you didn’t except that the first time joel said he loved you that he would mean he was in love with you. you did love him. like a friend. even a father. but you always wanted to hear those words, and you couldn’t break his heart, could you?

Tags: (18+), cw: dark themes, age gap, biting, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, couch sex, complicated/unhealthy relationship, mutual desperation, not dubcon but heed the adjacent warning (joel doesn’t know how yn really feels), sorry I don’t know what came over me guys I wanted something with some insane desire, angst, and smut

A/N: guys… I haven’t written for joel in almost 2 years that’s actually crazy… how?? he’s literally my fave dilf ever?? what a fic for me to come back to joel with tho wow enjoy fellow freaks I’ll write fluff for him soon too

tlou masterlist + main masterlist

It didn’t matter how long Joel had tried to convince you that he had just done the right thing, you still believed you owed him your life. Because he saved your life.

And after a period of Joel insisting you stay away from him for your own good, back when you lived in the QZ, he eventually took you under his wing. Now, he was intent on keeping you there.

It was his responsibility to protect you. It was his responsibility to make sure you had everything you needed. It was his responsibility to make sure you never got consumed by the darkness of this world like he had. It was his job to keep you safe. And you? You loved it.

More like you loved Joel, but you never bothered to separate the man from his actions. Why would you? You loved him. You really did. And he did the same for you.

The love you had for him was all consuming ever since he had told you, “I want you by my side, no matter what.”

Being in Jackson brought peace and security, and you were assured that your connection wasn’t merely out of necessity. You continued to choose each other. You would always choose him over everything else. It was just what you did.

You loved him because he saved you, but it was more than that. So, so much more.

You loved him like a friend, who you could talk to about anything. Your age difference hindered your ability to relate to one another on a lot of things, like the way you looked at the world, or how you solved problems, but even when you weren’t agreeing, you at least understood one another in a way no one else could.

In Jackson, it had been suggested that you could live with some other girls closer to your age, but Joel ended that discussion. Instead of a two bedroom house, he took up residence in one with three. You never would’ve wanted to live apart from him and Ellie, but you were relieved he had been the one to decide. It reaffirmed that you were just as important to him as he was to you. You needed that reassurance more often than you’d ever let him know.

When you first arrived, before you found your place in the community, you would hide out in the house. It was hard for you to grow accustomed to the way of life here, and even harder to trust people. Joel made sure you never stayed alone too long. When Ellie was out, which was more often than you but less than Joel, he would end up returning. Some days you found yourselves talking nearly every waking hour, and laughing together more than either of you could’ve expected.

He knew you loved him like a friend, but you loved him like a father as well. You never told him that flat out. You could just hear the grumbly comments about making him feel old, and even though it would be light hearted jokes, you wanted to keep the relationship as it was.

Joel was a toughened person, but he treated you delicately when he could. It would get to a point where you thought the label ‘fragile: handle with care’ was printed on you, but he never talked down to you. You liked that he protected you and made you feel safe without controlling you like he would a daughter. Not like how he was with Ellie. You were fine seeing him as a father without him seeing you as a daughter. It was best this way.

Needless to say, you loved him simply as the person he was. It overwhelmed you sometimes.

No, not sometimes. Often.

Everything he did made you okay with the fact that he had never said the exact words. He’d come close, had said them in many other ways, had proved to you that he did, but you never got the real thing. That was something you had thought you could live with as long as you could feel it. And as long as you could continue to love him as well.

So with Joel, now, sitting on the couch by your side, facing you and saying, “I love you. I have for a while,” your heart jumped from your chest. It changed everything in an instant.

You were smiling before you registered that he wouldn’t meet your eye. And was that… shame, maybe, in his voice? The way he kept it low, like he wasn’t sure he should be speaking.

Joel, in the distant past, would get frustrated with your naivety before it became a thing that endeared you to him.

It took you a long moment to get it. Then, all at once, you did. You wondered if he could read the shift in your face. From the moment your awe became tainted with understanding.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Joel continued. “But you know I hate lying to you, and not telling you… it felt like lying and I couldn’t do it anymore.” He swallowed. “I love you,” he repeated, to both you and himself.

Deep brown eyes that held years of life you couldn’t even begin to understand met yours, and you couldn’t seem to speak. Those words felt forbidden from him. You had spent so much time wanting to hear them, longing to hear them, before you made peace with the fact you wouldn’t. You had become okay with never hearing them from Joel because he consistently proved it to you in every other way.

And now, here he was, telling you he loved you, and you hadn’t leapt at the chance to say it back.

You knew why, and so did he. You could see him searching your face and with every second that passed, you watched his confidence crumble.

Joel was hurting. Your silence made him ache.

He took a long breath, bowed his head and shook it a little to himself. Experiencing regret in its entirety.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered finally. It felt like a knife to hear the defeat in his voice. He turned to face forward. “I- I should’ve known better.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I’m so much older than you, and I’ve done things that I can’t come back from, and you…” Joel stole a lingering glance. “You’re so perfect.”

You were the furthest thing from perfect, but you believed that Joel believed you were. It was the way he said it. He was so sure and you loved him for it. For seeing you in ways you couldn’t even see yourself.

You watched him, knowing that the man you loved was hurting. It didn’t seem fair to let him continue when you knew you were the only one that could make it stop.

It was almost an out of body experience, the way you moved. First closer to him, so close your legs were touching. Then your hand reached for his, your smaller fingers wrapping around it to squeeze. When he met your eyes, you saw the moment hope replaced pain, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“I love you, too,” you said, because it was true.

It was both a surprise and not when he kissed you. It was soft at first, and it reminded you of the way he often was with you. When you didn’t pull away, it ignited something in him. Suddenly his hands were on your face, deepening the kiss.

You kissed him back because he needed you to.

When Joel felt your lips moving against his, it told him two things. One, it told him what he needed to know, which was that you loved him. And two, it told him what you wanted him to believe, which was that you wanted this.

Joel grew a little more sure, pulling you closer to him. He couldn’t get enough and was struggling to hold back. You could feel it. Both his want and his restraint.

You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, so you put them over his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck, letting your fingers card in the longer ends of his grown out hair. You always wondered what his hair felt like.

Joel liked your curiosity and let his own get the better of him. His lips trailed from yours down to the side of your neck. You sucked in air, your face hot as you tried to catch your breath, when all of the sudden his kisses were replaced with a small, suckling bite. You gasped. You couldn’t help it. His hands moved, one resting on your back when the other held the back of your neck. Not hard, just keeping your close. You buried your face into his shoulder as he grew more confident with the use of his teeth.

The moan that escaped your lips when he soothed the harder bite with his tongue made his grip tighten. His breath hitched. You swallowed, flustered, unsure of yourself as your body shivered on its own. Joel pulled back to look at you, just long enough for you to see the desire clouding his eyes, and then he was crushing his lips against yours.

The weight of Joel’s body pushed you down onto the couch. You kissed him back, trying to keep up with his rough, hungry mouth, but your inexperience was catching up to you. You’d only ever kissed boys before, and now you had a man on top of you, his body pressed firmly to yours, his hands running down your frame as he devoured your lips and nipped at your skin. Muttering about how beautiful you were and that he was trying to be gentle but that you could tell him to stop if you wanted. He didn’t know you wouldn’t because as wrong as it felt, you wanted to give him everything he wanted. In turn, all you wanted was to hear him say he loved you again.

You didn’t need it before but now you couldn’t get enough. It wasn’t enough when Joel peppered kisses to your lips and neck. It wasn’t enough when he pressed himself between your legs and caused you to dig your nails into his back. You needed more. You needed him to say it again.

You let him take off your clothes when he asked so, so sweetly. You knew Joel was going to admire you, and he did, and that look on his face was worth the uncertainty you felt. He wouldn’t let you cover yourself, and it felt kind of nice when he kept your arms from crossing over your chest. It reminded you how strong he was, but how even with all that strength, and even when using it on you, he was careful. He didn’t want to truly hurt you, and you loved him for it.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he promised, lips against your ear as his fingers settled between your legs.

“I know,” you managed, breathless.

It made him smile, which made you smile. You couldn’t stop staring at him when he lifted his head to look at you. That is, until he pushed a finger into you. Your eyes fluttered shut and he was immediately in your ear again, and you understood for the first time the term ‘sweet nothings’. His low, soothing voice against your ear helped you relax as he pushed in another finger, and after a few minutes, another.

You were wet, you couldn’t help it. You found yourself apologizing, but he encouraged it. He liked you squirming beneath him, liked that your body was responding.

“It’s okay, baby, you’re doing good,” he groaned. “I want you to be ready for me

You didn’t know what possessed you to say it, but the words, “I am,” slipped from your lips. It was all he needed to hear.

His fingers slid from your body. A little voice in the back of your head told you to get them back, but it was silenced when he pulled the rest of his clothes from his body. You felt the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance. You couldn’t look down, and you were too embarrassed to look him in the eye, so you shut yours.

A hand touched your face.

“Look at me,” Joel urged. “Don’t be shy. I wanna see you.”

You obliged, forcing your eyes open, watching him above you. You found it hard to believe you never fully saw how handsome Joel was.

When he began to push into you, the stretch was much more than his fingers. You had to open your legs wider. Joel ran his hands up and down your hips and waist, soothing you as he eased himself inside, telling you, “It’s okay, you’re doing great. Just relax. You’re taking me so well,” and you couldn’t help but bask in the praise. It hurt a little, but you were practically purring by the time he was fully seated inside. You didn’t mean to, but your body squeezed him, and his cock throbbed inside you.

Joel made a noise of pure bliss as he let his weight rest on you. You were so overheated, sweat slick between your bodies. When he started kissing you again you almost forgot about it. He was a good kisser, which made sense given he had more experience than you. A twinge of jealousy ran through you at the thought of him with anyone else and you pulled him closer. It wasn’t quite a laugh he let out, most just a sound of amusement at your actions.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

One of his hands found the back of your head, holding you so your mouth was his and he could have his way. The other hand ran over your ass and down your thigh, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him. You did.

He started to move, then. Pulling back a little and pushing in. It was such a foreign feeling. You couldn’t keep your noises to yourself, but Joel savored them. When he started to move a little faster, his methodical motions turning into thrusts, he seemed to be seeking those reactions from you.

It was a cycle. The rougher he moved, the more whimpers and moans he pulled from you, and then in turn the sounds spurred him on. You were holding onto him for dear life by the time he was pounding you into the couch, groaning your name, telling you how good you were.

“It’s like you’re made for me,” he grunted into your ear, and you hoped he meant it, because you believed it.

“I’m yours,” you told him.

“Tell me again,” Joel started in a grunt, thrusting forward. He held himself completely inside you for a moment, shuddering as your nails dragged down his back. It took your breath away, feeling so full. He pressed his forehead to yours as he said, “Do you mean it? You love me?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. It was true. It was the only thing you’d known to be true and maybe this wasn’t the way, wasn’t something you imagined, but it didn’t make that simple fact any less true.

“Say it.”

“I love you.”

Joel groaned, shoving his hips forward. You whimpered. He was already in you to the hilt.

“Again,” he groaned.

He needed it just as bad as you did.

“I love you, Joel. I love you.”

He pulled out before thrusting back in. Again and again you told him, and he moved, building back up to an even harder pace than before. You could hardly stand it but you told him over and over again like a chant;

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” and even breathless you never faltered. Even when Joel kissed you rough and needy, like he was starved, you still got out the words, “I love you.”

Your legs were barely holding on despite your effort. Your hands began to slide from his back but you continued to grasp onto him. One of his hands found your wrist. You would let him if he wanted to, but you didn’t want him to hold it down. You needed to touch him. Needed to feel him. Needed the security that he proved.

As if he could read your mind, he turned his face to kiss your palm, then let your wrist go. He gave you free range. You chose to run that hand fully through his hair. Every part of you needed to be touching every part of him. He invaded your mind and soul, the last step was your body, and he was accomplishing that this very second. You belonged entirely to him. Even as tears pricked in your eyes at how overwhelming it all was, to love and be loved by Joel was all you’d ever wanted and known for years.

He huffed out a half grunt half laugh when your body started to tense. He was pleased. Could read your body better than even you. You were so lost in the sensation that you let out a yelp when a hand moved between your legs, rubbing at you in tandem with his cock slamming into you.

“That’s it,” he coaxed. “Just let go.”

And you did. It didn’t even feel like a choice. It just happened. The pleasure became too much to handle. It rippled through your whole body as the knot in your belly snapped. You tensed and shuddered around Joel, holding onto him as your cunt clenched down around him, trying to keep him inside to allow you ride out the wave without feeling empty. Joel wasn’t keen on denying you. His thrusts became shallow but hard, sending jolts through you until you felt it. With a groan he stilled inside you, and then warmth flooded your insides. He rocked his hips forward a little as he spilled inside you, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

As the haze started to fade and awareness returned, something akin to dread settled over you. Everything became all too real all at once.

Joel kissed life back into you. His hand between your legs moved to run across your belly and thighs, while the other held your face so he had as much access to your lips as he wanted.

You started to move, feeling crushed, but Joel took care of that. He managed to turn your bodies so you were lying on top of him, but he was careful to not withdraw from you. He bucked his hips up a little and you whined. Joel chuckled as he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you to him. You turned your head to the side, your cheek resting against his chest. You listened to his heart rate come back down, unfocused eyes trailing around the living room. Joel kissed the top of your head and ran his calloused hands over your back.

“How did I get so lucky?” he asked, not really looking for an answer. You didn’t have one, anyway.

You wanted to crawl off of him. It was all becoming too much again. As good as it had all felt, it confused you, and you thought maybe you wanted to cry, but then came the words that had you subdued.

“I love you, Y/N,” Joel breathed.

You didn’t think he understood the power he had in his words. As far as he knew, you loved him the same way as he loved you. You would continue to let him think that if it meant you could protect him from the heartache, and if you could keep hearing him say the words you craved. You knew, eventually, you could learn to love him this way, too. If he was happy, you knew you could be too. Being loved by him was all you ever wanted. It didn’t matter how else you felt because that need would take priority over everything. You would always choose him over everything else. It was just what you did.

joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose @dontphunkwithmylove @cilliansangel @amethystwonders11 @frogsmuahh037 @andy-rocks @melllinaa @alitaar @melanie451 @b00kw0rmsworld @reverieisaway @avengersfan25 @aheadfullofsteverogers @strangeh0rizons @spideysimpossiblegirl @shannonmariebee @str84pedro @koukatsuki @darleneslane @larascorneroftheworld

I wasn’t sure whether to use the taglist for smut since I’d only written fluff for him before, so if you’re on the taglist and only want to be tagged in fluff not smut just lmk

if you would like to be added to the joel taglist just send me an ask or a message!