#ordering a vanilla shake

[fortunaestalta]

[eebie]

i have work today

[sugarwarachan]

sex pollen troubles - ft. k. bakugou

summary: prohero!Bakugou gets hit with a sex quirk. too bad his roommate hates him—right?

wc: 1.8k

pairing: prohero!Katstuki Bakugou x roommate!reader

content warnings: MDNI, Bakogou has a roommate because his therapist tells him to, fem!reader is an investigative journalist, gratuitous use of Ace (hello gilmore girls fans) idiot Katsuki, pining Katsuki, fingerless gloves make an appearance sorry not sorry, making out, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names like baby, pretty girl, princess, breeding but only if you squint

a/n: word vomited this out in less than 24 hrs

He’s praying you don’t pick up.

“Bakugou?” You sound annoyed, a little suspicious even.

He never calls you.

“Ace.” You hate that nickname, but the thought of saying your actual name in the desperate growl that is his voice right now makes his head spin. “I need - fuck - are you home right now?”

Sex quirks are a dime a dozen these days. He’s been hit with a few before, simple one that are usually pretty easy to shake. (He still hates the premature ejaculate memory, though, coming home with his boxers stiff and an image of you spread out on his bed playing like a film in his head. He hadn't been able to look you in the eyes for weeks.)

He’s never been hit with one as strong as this. The second the mist hit his nostrils he was huffing up the scent of vanilla and citrus and strong black coffee, just the way you like it, before he realized what was happening, the villain ripping down the street in the opposite direction while arousal hit him like a truck.

Bakugou's practically doubled over talking to you now, the ache in his dick throbbing in time with his fucking heartbeat.

“Yeah, I’m home.” Even annoyed you sound like heaven. “What’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”

He barks out a laugh, and before he knows it, he's telling you the truth. “Got hit with a sex quirk. A big one.”

Your breath bitches slightly on the other line. He’s pretty sure his cock jumps at the sound.

“And I - " need you right fucking now - “fuck - I can’t call anyone else.”

It has to be you. He’s got women he could call, sure, anyone who might want to get into a pro hero’s pants, but it has to be you for a reason he doesn’t want to look at too closely.

You’re silent for a beat, before you say, “Send me a pin. I’ll come get you.”

He hated you at first. Always talking his ear off about every fucking thing, bringing up articles that remind you of cases you're covering—it was like living with Deku dialed up to 11.

But what he hated even worse was when you stopped talking. When you realized he wasn’t actually gonna come around and be nice to you, when you figured out, oh fuck, he’s actually just an angry prick, and left him alone.

One day he could count on constant chatter when he was back from patrol, the next, nothing at all. You even switched up your schedule so he barely saw you, a fact he didn’t tell his court-ordered therapist because he was supposed to be getting better at being around other people, not worse.

He hates remembering this now with his dick hard as steel and weeping from the tip like he’s fucking 15. The alley is secluded, thank fuck, so no one can see him shaking and groaning, forearms braced on the wall in front of him, head hanging down like a panting dog. He can barely move; every brush of his pants against his erection like a live wire to the brain.

By the time you pull up—five minutes, forty six seconds later, he counted—he’s so frayed and tense that the minute he sees your face, he shouts, “Took you fucking long enough."

Your face shutters closed the way it always does around him, and he wants to fucking die.

“Fuck, Ace, I’m sorry - it’s just, I’m fucking miserable right now - "

“Why did you call me, Katsuki?”

It’s a mistake to look you in the eye. His restraint is a razor’s edge at this point, and seeing your beautiful face is too much. You've always been pretty, but the light shining on your soft hair is convincing him he can write fucking poetry all of a sudden.

“You know why,” he grits out.

You step forward, vanilla and citrus and coffee flooding his nose.

“No, I don’t. You act like you fucking hate me half the time and ignore me the rest.” You scrape a hand across your face in frustration. “And then you call me sounding like that. Why wouldn't I be confused?"

“I want you.” It’s out of his mouth in a flash, and he knows it’s the right thing to say by the way your shoulders relax. “I’m a fucking asshole, I know it. I’m not good at feelings, baby, I'm sorry, but I want you so fucking bad it’s like I could break my teeth over it. It has to be you, Ace, fuck, I’m sorry, it can’t be anyone else - "

You shut him up your mouth, your lips locking into his as both of your noses bump against each other. He doesn’t care; he just needs you as close to him as he can get you. It’s better than anything he imagined, finally touching you, finally giving in to the attraction that’s dogged him ever since you walked into his life.

You taste like coffee and a little bit of that strawberry lip gloss he loves so much. He licks into the seam of your mouth and relishes the shiver that goes through your body.

“Like that, baby?” He breaks away, nosing at your jaw, nipping at the juncture of your throat. That makes you gasp. “You smell so fucking good here.” He jerks his hips, hisses through his teeth as his cock jumps in his pants, pulsing with need.

“Let me,” he hears you say, and you’re tugging his pants open to get your hand around him. The second your fingers wrap around him his eyes roll up in his head. He could cum just from this, he realizes.

“Of course you’d have a pretty dick,” you say with a look of annoyance, and he’s not entirely sure what to say to that besides puff up his chest. You laugh, and it’s almost fond, and goddammit he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything else -

With a growl, he pulls your hand away and backs you up against the wall, peppering kisses down your neck. The whines he’s pulling from your mouth is making everything in his life worth it. He’d fight a thousand fucking villains if it meant this, fingering the seam of your panties under your little skirt as you cry out for more.

“Wear this for me?”

“Like fucking hell I did,” you retort.

“Sure thing, princess.” He runs the pad of two fingers over the soaking wet seam of your panties. A feral grin passes over his face as your thighs tremble and press together. “This just happened to you all on your own?”

He roughly pulls your panties to the side to gather up the slick at your entrance, pushing your hips apart and settling himself between them.

“You’ve gotta come first, pretty girl.” You like when he calls you pet names; he’s been watching the way your skin breaks down out in goosebumps each time. It’s a like a drug being this close to you, making you feel this good. “The second I’m inside ya I’m gonna blow my fucking load so be good and come for me, yeah?”

The rough material of his fingerless gloves rubs against your clit as he stuffs two fingers in your pussy. Your little hole sucks him in greedily as you whine and buck against him.

“Harder, Kats, please - you won’t fucking break me - "

He adds another finger to stretch you out, keeping his palm rocking against your pubic bone with every grind. You’re fluttering around his fingers, whimpers echoing off the walls in the alley.

“That’s it, baby, there you go. Fuck, yeah, you like me stuffing this pretty pussy full?” You dig your nails into his scalp as you hold onto him for dear life, whimpers ratcheting up to moans and cut-off screams as he starts to feel your cunt clamp down hard on him.

You moan his name against his neck as you cum. “Just needed to think about me stuffing you full?” He can’t help but smirk, which quickly turns into a hissing groan when your hand finds him again and positions him right at your core.

“I could say the same for you,” you smirk, rolling your hips and coating the head of his cock in the slick of your orgasm. He chokes on his spit, bracing one forearm on the wall behind you, his free hand stilling your hips in place.

“Lift me up,” you pout.

“Didn’t know you were bossy.”

“Didn’t think you would like it,” you shoot back, rolling down onto his cock and taking an inch of him inside you. “This position’s better, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, you devil woman.” He can barely think. “Baby, I don’t - god fucking damn it - I don’t have any - "

“I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

“Same. Clean, too, I mean.” He’s rambling. He never rambles. “I’ve got my check-up stats in my phone if you’d like to see them.”

You laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard in his entire life.

“Can I kiss you?”

It takes him aback, but he’s been dying to know what you taste like since he met you, honestly.

“Yeah, pretty girl. You can kiss me.” He nips at your mouth and laughs at your pout when he pulls away. “Let me get all the way inside ya though first, huh?”

He feeds you his dick inch by inch, clenching his teeth at the way you squirm and plead for more. You’re slippery and warm, your cunt making obscene squelching noises with every rock of his hips.

With one final thrust, he’s seated up to the hilt, balls slapping against the meat of your thighs and ass.

“So fucking perfect,” he moans in your ear. “All for me - just for me, isn’t that right, Ace?”

Your head jerks up and down in affirmation.

“Say it, pretty girl. Say you’re fucking mine. Tell me how much you like my dick getting this pussy nice and tight. Bet I can get her to scream again, huh?”

He pinches your clit between two fingers. You jerk in his arms.

“Close, princess? Like it a little mean?”

He rocks his his up so he’s dragging the head of his cock across your g spot, over and over. Your eyes roll back in your head and your breathing gets shallower, shorter.

“Please please don’t fucking stop, ohmygodohmygod feels so fucking good, Kats- "

Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice and all rhythm flies out the window. He grabs the meat of your hips and fucks up into you roughly, shooting thick ropes of cum against your cervix.

The creamy sticky ring at the base of his cock when he pulls out is probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He looks up at you, sees the appreciative gleam in your eye. You're turned on by that, too.

“Can we do this again when we’re home?” he asks. “Maybe after I’ve made you dinner?”

The smile you return is like the sun. “We better.”

[somanyideassolittletime]

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who forgets that you know him better than he knows himself. 

Standing in line inside your usual smoothie shop, looking at the menu, his hand resting on your waist, whispering to you, “Which one is your favorite?” 

You point at the berry option, “berry blast, but it’s too sour for you, you won’t like it.” 

He scoffs, “Yeah? Which one do you think I like then?” 

you ponder, scanning the practically memorized options available by now. “The chocolate banana one,” 

“That doesn’t look like something I’ll order,” he says, still stubbornly ordering the berry blast. Missing the eye roll you give him. 

You know him too well that he won’t like what he ordered, so when it’s your turn to order, you order the one that Jack will like, dismissing his side glance at you in front of the cashier. 

Both of you sat down, he took a sip, trying hard to control his face over the taste, but you know him inside out, it’s too damn sour for him. So you push your smoothie his way, “try this,” 

He looked at the smoothie way too long before caving in, finally taking a sip. “It’s good, alright.” pushing back the smoothie at you. 

You held back a laugh, looking at him still trying to pretend he enjoys his choice. But when he puts down the cup, you switch yours wordlessly, because frankly, you like every option the store has to offer, so anything’s fine with you. 

He looks at you, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to put an offended face, “I was enjoying that.” 

You roll your eyes, playing the bit, “wanna switch back?” 

He seems to contemplate before shaking his head softly, muttering “no.” You smirk at him, now enjoying your actual favorite drink. 

It takes him a few big sips, actually enjoying his drink, before he whispers softly, “Thank you.” 

“We’re way past that, hon,” 

“Still. I’m the man, I should be the one who makes sacrifices for you,” he explains, though he knows you both don’t actually care about those kinds of things. 

You laugh at him, “drama queen,” earning a laugh from him. 

“How you’re never wrong at this kind of stuff for me freaks me out,” he grumbles just enough for you to hear him. 

“Eh. I know you.” You shrugged, not even thinking about it too much. 

Which then leads to Jack asking you to pick his order every time you try out new places, because deep down, he know that you’ll never do him wrong, and he damn love you for that. 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who doesn’t care about what people think of him because the only opinion he cares about is yours.

One time, Jack came to work smelling like a vanilla garden, earning a double check from Walsh, who walked past him. 

Jack sucked at long distance, a fact you both already established way too long ago, and now you’re away from him. 

He misses you like hell, he can’t sleep without your body warmth beside him, he can’t sleep without seeing you before bed, and seeing your perfume just sitting there taunts him. 

So instead of spraying your perfume into your side of the bed like most people do (though he also did that, but it wasn’t close enough for him), he chose to use your perfume the entire time you’re away. 

You teased him about it when you get back. You were about to do your laundry when you spotted Jack’s last worn clothes, picking them up to put them with the rest of your clothes inside the machine, when you smelled your perfume. 

You walk to him, his clothes in hand, “You like me that much, you wanna be me, abbot?” 

He groans, walking to you, hugging you tightly, putting his face in your neck, “I missed you like crazy, hon.”

You chuckled, kissing his shoulder nonetheless, “Most people sprayed it on the pillows, you know, not actually wear it.” 

He leans back, looking at you, you know that look, “no, don’t tell me,” you pull away from him, running to the bedroom to sniff at the pillows. 

He stands by the door, looking bashful. “Walsh told me I smell like a cake,” 

Instead of teasing him, you walk over to him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him on the lips, one he returns passionately. You pull away, putting your head in his chest, “ugh. You’re so sweet sometimes.” 

“Like your perfume?” 

“Even sweeter,” you say, giving him another kiss, not caring about the dirty laundry anymore. 

The next day, he went to work, back to wearing his slightly musky ozonic cologne, Robby smirked at him, “Take it the wife’s back?” Jack nods, smiling to himself, “yeah, fuckin’ finally,” 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who always takes photos of things that remind him of you.

Strolling inside a toy slash trinkets store with Robby looking for a gift to give to Langdon’s son, debating what to get him with Robby, when he suddenly stops. Looking at the ugly plushie, he knows you will say cute instead. y/n will like this. 

He took out his phone, opening the camera app, quickly taking a snap of said plushie before sending it to you. 

| Jack: (image sent) 

| Jack: You want? 

He waited for your reply, smiling to himself when you did reply, almost immediately. 

| You: OH MY GOD SO UGLY I LOVE HIM 

| You: YES YES YES I WANT 

| You: thank youuuuu 

| Jack: No problem, wait for me, okay 

| You: yessir, thank you, love u 

“Yeah, I don’t think Langdon will approve that ugly thing, man.” Robby’s voice breaks him out of his daze, and Jack chuckles, “Yeah, for y/n. Said it’s so ugly it’s cute” 

When both men finally settled on something and finished paying, Jack proposed to take a walk for a bit before going home, and Robby, having nothing else to do, agreed. 

Robby kept it to himself, seeing Jack, who kept on stopping once in a while to take pictures with a small smile on his lips. He know Jack too well that he’s intending to show those pictures to you. 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who hates his picture taken but loves taking pictures of you.

“What do you think?” he says, facing the phone screen away from him to show you the picture he just took of you, waiting for your approval. He knows it’s perfect, he’s even already made a mental note to change his lockscreen to this photo once he’s at home. But you’re picky about your pictures. 

He doesn’t even understand why you’re so picky over the smallest things. For him, every picture of you is perfect, but being the good husband that he is, he will always gladly retake it if it’s not up to your standards. 

“Oh my god, I think I trained you too hard, now you take pictures like a pro.” You take the phone from his hand, kissing his cheek before shoving him to your spot earlier. 

He looks at you stepping away, phone angling in your hand to take his pictures now. “Your turn,” 

He takes a step forward to protest, but the look you give him stops him, returning him to his earlier spot like a punished kid. 

You laugh behind the phone, making him smirk at you, perfect, you think, before snapping the photo. 

Truthfully? He doesn’t understand why you keep insisting on taking pictures of him; pictures of you are enough for him, he doesn’t need pictures of himself anyway. 

But the next time he sees your phone’s lock screen, and it's the picture you took of him, he can’t deny the swell of pride feeling his chest. 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who’s too prideful to wear his glasses. 

You’re currently doing groceries with Jack, who purposefully forgets his glasses at home because he doesn’t want to wear them, saying he doesn’t need them. 

He’s trying hard to read the label at the back, eyes squinting slightly, trying to play it cool, but deep down he did regret not bringing his glasses because since when does the labels are so damn tiny??? 

You know that Jack will purposefully leave his glasses on the nightstand, you know that he’s too stubborn to admit that he actually needs them, that’s why you always do a one last sweep for his glasses every time both of you go out. 

Wordlessly, you stuck your hand inside your bag, looking for his glasses. Taking them out when your hand finally found them. Walking over to him, opening the glasses in your hand before perching them on his nose. 

He looks at you through his glasses, looking back at the now easy-to-read label. When he looks at you again, a small grateful smile on his lips, you could’ve sworn your breath hitched, he just looks so…you’re not even sure the word existed to explain how good Jack looked right now. 

“Thank you,” he says, kissing your hair. “Still feel weird with them on, hon.” 

You give him a peck on his lips, “hush. You look hot.” 

He smirks again, looking even more… again, the word didn’t exist just yet. “Yeah? Y'’ think so?” 

You nod at him, taking the box in his hand to toss into the cart before you initiate something close to a public indecency action. 

Thinking about Jack Abbot, who always kept notes about you. 

You found out one evening, currently watching a movie, that you suddenly ask him, “Jack. What’s your notes app look like?” 

“What do you mean?” he says, hands still wrapped on your shoulders. 

“They said that guys sometimes have weird notes,” you explain to him, feeling the rustle when his free hand tries to look for his phone. 

He hands his phone to you, still locked. “Go check it for yourself.” 

You look at him, shocked that he gives you access to his phone so easily, “Whoa, bad decision giving me your phone.” 

He scoffs, “You say that like you didn’t just ask me to look through your phone when you’re showering this morning.” 

“That’s different, I don’t have anything to hide.” 

“And you think I do?” he says exasperatedly. 

You sigh, realizing that he’s right, you’re both at a point where you don’t even care if he looks through your phone, it’s filled with him anyway, same goes for him. You put his phone in front of his face to unlock it, opening the notes app to see together. 

You scroll away, looking at some grocery list, medical stuff, until one title caught your eye, it was your name. You ask for his permission first, to which he replies with a hum. 

You clicked on the title, and your heart warmed upon looking at what’s inside. It’s literally about you. Unending pointers of things you liked, things you don’t, brands you prefer, up to the third alternative in case your preferred brand is out of stock. What shocked you the most was that he kept notes on things he noticed that made you happy and things he noticed that made you sad. 

“Jack,” you call to him, not knowing what to say. 

“It’s not too weird, is it?” he says. You shake your head. 

“You’re such a simp, it’s perfect.” You nudged his side with your elbow. 

“Just wanna be better for you,” he admits softly. 

“You missed one thing that makes me happy.” 

“Yeah? What’s that?” because he was damn sure the list is very up to date. 

You didn’t say anything, instead typing under the list. 

Jack. 

He didn’t say anything back, opting to just kiss you senseless instead. 

[shouyuus]

tsukki knows all your orders by heart, knows that you like an extra pump of hazelnut in the fall, and likes your coldbrew with vanilla foam in the summer. he knows your favorite brand of toner and makes sure to always keep a backup in the bathroom cabinet, knows which of your huge collection of cute mugs you like the best and tries to always make sure it's washed and dried.

he always leaves one of his old crewnecks (the one you steal most often) in the laundry hamper when he travels because he knows you wear it when he's gone (it smells just like him), even though he'll never admit it if you ever asked --

"that old thing? it was just dirty -- didn't you see i put it in the hamper? mah -- maybe i'll toss it soon --"

"no, don't!" you protest, a bit too quickly; he quirks an eyebrow even as you flush something furious, biting your lips.

"oh?"

you chew on your bottom lip for a long second before sighing, "i -- it's my favorite of yours..."

tsukki stares, his gaze unwavering as you squirm in your seat. then, he lets out a tiny scoff, reaching over to pat your head as you crinkle your nose, trying not to preen against the warmth of his palm.

"i know. if you like it so much, you can keep it."

you shake your head, pouting slightly. he cocks his head.

"no?"

you flash him a cheeky, lopsided smile that sets his heart racing inside his chest. a faint flush of color rises in his cheeks as he squints at you -- that expression of your has never boded well for him.

"well, if you stop wearing it..." you say, tugging his hand from your head to clasp in your hands, your fingers lacing through his; tsukki swallows passed a skip in his heartbeat as you press your lips to the inside of his wrist, right where his pulse is thump-thump-thumping away, the stupid, traitorous thing.

"it won't smell like you any more."

[beloveds-embrace]

Bakery/coffee shop au where you had a very specific policy: you never served people what they asked for.

It wasn’t out of spite, nor was it an act of rebellion against customer service norms. It was simply your way of making sure people got exactly what they needed rather than what they thought they wanted.

Most of your regulars had adapted to this- especially the elderly man who came in every morning demanding a single plain scone and left delighted with a caramel-drizzled apple turnover. But then you got a new group of people.

The first time they walked into your bakery, you knew exactly what kind of men they were.

Soldiers. Hardened, disciplined, probably running on fumes and caffeine, and if the way they carried themselves wasn’t an indication, it was their clothes. Though you weren’t surprised; there was a base nearby, and you’d wondered when soldiers would start dropping by.

They carried the weight of long nights and heavier burdens, eyes scanning every corner of your cozy little shop like it was some kind of trap. Which, to be fair, it might have been.

Because nobody left your bakery with what they ordered.

The first stepped up to the counter. Blue eyes settled on you, sharp and assessing, like he expected you to obey just like that..

“Black coffee, love. No sugar, no cream.”

You glanced him over. Stiff shoulders, exhaustion hanging off him like a heavy coat. He needed warmth. Comfort. Something to loosen the knots in his back before they set in permanently.

“Got it.” You said.

Next up was the one in the balaclava. Tall, imposing, eyes dark as pitch. “Tea. No sugar, no milk.”

You raised an eyebrow. Tea wasn’t a bad choice, but judging by the way his fingers twitched against the counter, he wasn’t looking for something soothing- he was looking for something mindless, something habitual. He needed a bit of a shake-up.

“Sure thing.” You lied.

The third one leaned against the counter. The cap on his head was placed strategically to make him look more attractive than he already was when he tilted his head. “Americano.”

“Of course.” You said, already planning something completely different.

And then there was the last one. Built like a tank, with a mohawk and a Scottish accent.

“Black coffee.” He said.

You nearly laughed. Absolutely not.

With their orders taken- and their fates decided- you got to work.

A few minutes later, you carried their drinks to their table, sliding them in front of each man with a satisfied smile.

Mutton Chops was the first to frown. He stared at the London Fog in front of him, the soft scent of lavender and vanilla wafting up from the cup.

“…This isn’t black coffee.” He said.

“Nope.” You hummed. “It’s Earl Grey, steamed milk, touch of honey. You looked like you needed something smooth. Something to relax.”

He studied you for a moment, then grumbled something under his breath and took a sip. His beard twitched slightly- almost a smile.

Balaclava, meanwhile, was frozen in place, staring at his Mexican hot chocolate like it might explode. “This isn’t tea.”

“You do actually like tea, but I think you shouldn’t be ordering it.” You mused. “You just drink it because it’s simple and familiar. This? Better than tea for now.”

He didn’t respond, so you continued.

“The chocolate’s warm, familiar, but the spice gives it a bit of a kick. Keeps you from getting too comfortable.”

Cap Guy was next, looking between his caramel macchiato and you with a raised eyebrow.

“Not an Americano.” he (uselessly) pointed out.

“Americano is boring,” you said with a grin. “You seem like the kind of guy who enjoys something sweet. Indulgent.”

He gave you a slow, considering look, then took a sip. His lips parted slightly, eyes widening as the caramel hit his tongue. “…Alright. Fair play.”

Then there was Mohawk.

He had been quiet the whole time, but now, he gawked at the Black Forest frappuccino in front of him like you had just served him a live grenade.

“Are you serious?” he demanded. “I asked for black coffee.”

“And I ignored you.” You gestured to the drink, entirely unapologetic. “You’re buzzing with energy, but you’re also dead on your feet. Black coffee would just make you more jittery. This, though? Sugar, chocolate, cherries- it’ll wake you up and make you happy. Ta-da!”

He eyed the extravagant swirl of whipped cream and chocolate shavings like it personally offended him. Then, cautiously, he took a sip.

Silence.

Then, in a hushed voice, “…Steamin’ Jesus.”

“Well, I only steam milk here… but I’ll take this as a compliment. Enjoy, gentlemen!”

Yeah, you knew exactly what kind of men they were. It might be just a touch too confident of you… but you know they would no doubt return.

[rustedpipe]

we need to end customers. blasting them with psychic lasers

[seasidefallenangel]

gimme, gimme, gimme a man

calling bllk boys your husband while you're still dating ft. isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

notes: fluff, banter, down bad loverboys, use of "wife" in sae's but gn other than that, part 2 here

༄ isagi: “... i’ll grab a chocolate shake, and my husband’s gonna get the vanilla.”

✣ freezes on the spot and stares at you with wide eyes. him? husband? you wanna marry him? he was hoping you were in the long haul the same way he was, but hearing those words from your mouth made him even giddier than he assumed he’d be. imagine when you two actually get married? he’ll be in the trenches.

⁀➷  “did you mean that?” he asks when the worker closes the window while you wait for your order. you can practically see the tail wagging behind him as he beams at you with those sparkling blue eyes. when you give a nod and a small smile, he has to stop himself from blowing up with excitement. instead, he kisses your forehead and murmurs, “i can’t wait to marry you one day.”

༄ nagi:

“oh, that copy in the corner! my husband’s been looking all over for it.”

✣ eternal soldier in the idgaf war. you can’t even tell if he heard you because his facial expression doesn’t budge in the slightest. he’s still tap-tapping away at his phone while the shop employee grabs the game case and hands it to you. it’s only once you’ve paid and left the store that he finally puts his phone down and rests his head on your shoulder from behind, staring up at you with those big, brown puppy eyes.

⁀➷ “‘husband’”? he asked softly, curious but not displeased. you nod sheepishly, admitting it just sort of came out before you had a chance to think. he hums softly, wrapping his arms around your waist and snuggling into your neck. cute as it is, you’re still very much in public, and he’s not exactly light. when you ask him to get off, his face shifts into a pout and he mumbles, “can’t believe i’m gonna marry someone so mean.” despite his attitude, this’ll be lingering on his mind for awhile.

༄ rin:

“excuse me? my husband wanted to kn-” “boyfriend.”

✣ is having absolutely none of it. he swears his blood pressure has gotten concerningly high since he started dating you and dealing with all your stupid pranks. it seems like he’s annoyed since he immediately interjected, but it’s more the opposite. he knows he wants to marry you, but do you really think he’s worth the trouble? looking that far into the future worries him, but he’d never let you know that. ⁀➷ a pair of lithe fingers squeezes your cheeks after rin pulls you away from the employee with a deadpan expression. he pulls at your cheeks with narrow eyes, asking you, “what the hell was that about? husband? are you stupid or something?” your lower lip juts out as you express to him that you really do want to marry him someday, and just wanted to hear how it sounded coming from your mouth. he knows you’re playing him as you try not to grin, but the confession is rather cute. he lets it slide with an “idiot” under his breath, and you decide not to mention the slight blush on his cheeks and the fact he has your hand in a vice grip as you walk out of the store.

༄ sae:

“oi. my wife asked for a medium. remake it.”

✣ beats you to the punch. he’s always one step ahead in every aspect of your relationship, but this is too much. how on earth did he know that you were gonna call him your husband to see his reaction? well - he didn’t. he just refers to you as his wife internally most of the time, and occasionally when he’s out buying gifts and tells the employee who he’s buying it for. after all, you’ll be his wife one day. might as well start early.

⁀➷ sae glances down at you, raising an eyebrow at your disgruntled expression. when you bemoan that he “stole your thunder,” he flicks you on the forehead before wrapping an arm around your waist. his lips brush against your ear, making you shiver while he speaks, “you do know that you being my wife also means i’m your husband, dumbass. does it matter who said what?” when you sputter and try to pull out the fact he hasn’t even proposed yet, he tugs you closer, looking irritated that you’d even bring up something so simple. it’s a cold day in hell before anyone else gets the chance, and he informs you as such, saying, “because none of the diamonds i’ve found are big enough,” leaving you speechless while he pretends like nothing happened. you’ll never win against him - ever.

[psformybss]

“Current Boyfriend”

drew starkey x actress!reader

You’re both curled up on the couch in your shared apartment, a rare day off where neither of you is on set, flying out, or doing press. The weather outside is gray and cozy, rain pattering gently against the windows. Inside, though, it’s chaotic—because you’ve decided to film a TikTok with Drew, and he doesn’t know he’s about to be ambushed.

The camera is subtly perched on the coffee table, angled just right to catch both of you—him in a hoodie and sweatpants, you in one of his old t-shirts with your legs tucked under his. He’s sipping from a mug of coffee, blissfully unaware that you’re seconds away from disrupting his peace.

You hit record and turn to him, speaking sweetly.

“Okay, I’m gonna ask my current boyfriend some questions about me to see if he gets them all right.”

You deliver the line casually, almost too casually.

Drew pauses mid-sip, lowering the mug slowly as his eyebrows draw together. “I’m sorry,” he says, blinking. “Your what?”

You keep a straight face. “My current boyfriend.”

He tilts his head, mouth falling slightly open in a way that’s both confused and deeply offended. “Current boyfriend???”

“Yeah,” you say, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Current. Boyfriend.”

He stares at you for a solid three seconds like he’s waiting for the punchline. When you don’t offer one, he lets out a disbelieving laugh, sitting up straighter and adjusting the throw blanket over your legs.

“Oh, word?” he says, eyes narrowing. “So I’m… just the latest edition? Like a damn iPhone?”

“Basically,” you reply like this isn’t escalating fast.

Drew dramatically clutches his chest. “That’s wild. That’s real wild. Here I am, thinking I’m your man, and I’m just out here holding the title temporarily.”

You smile sweetly. “That’s right. So let’s see how well my current boyfriend knows me. First question—what’s my go-to coffee order?”

He eyes you with mock suspicion but plays along. “Iced oat milk vanilla latte, light ice, no straw, because the turtles.”

“Correct,” you say, nodding.

“Damn right,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Current boyfriend. You’re lucky I’m caffeinated.”

“Next question,” you continue, completely ignoring his growing dramatic offense. “What’s my favorite movie?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Pride and Prejudice. 2005. Keira Knightley. You force me to watch it at least three times a year.”

“And you love every second,” you grin.

“That’s beside the point,” he shoots back. “You know what? Since I’m apparently just one boyfriend in the rotating cast—”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing as you reach over to slap his arm lightly.

“—I’m demoting you too,” he continues. “Effective immediately, you’re no longer my girlfriend. You’re my main side piece.”

You choke. “Your WHAT?”

Drew sips his coffee again, raising an eyebrow smugly. “My main. Side. Piece. I got a whole fictional roster now. You’re in the top three, but like, don’t get comfortable.”

“DREW,” you shriek, laughing so hard your body folds over. “Not the main side piece.”

He shrugs like he’s talking about the weather. “Hey, don’t be mad. I’m just following your energy, sweetheart. Current boyfriend, main side piece—it’s giving equal chaos.”

You wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, breathless from laughing. “You are so unwell.”

“Says the woman casually demoting me to temporary status on a public platform,” he fires back. “Nah, I’m gonna start wearing a name tag that says ‘Drew: boyfriend in progress.’”

You regain some composure and lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He automatically shifts to accommodate you, his arm looping around your waist like it’s muscle memory.

“Okay,” you mumble into his hoodie. “You’re not temporary. You’re like… forever trial version.”

He gasps again. “You did not just call me a free trial!”

You dissolve into another fit of laughter, body shaking against his as he pretends to be personally victimized.

“Thirty-day money-back guarantee,” he mutters under his breath.

You lift your head just enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m keeping you, you big baby.”

“That’s what they all say,” he deadpans.

“Drew.”

“Until the next current boyfriend comes along.”

You slap his chest lightly again, both of you still grinning like idiots.

The video ends with him tackling you sideways onto the couch, blanket tangling around your legs as you squeal.

[gilbertscurls]

sweet on you — matt sturniolo

The first time Matt walked into your bakery, it was because Chris dragged him in.

“Dude, I need a croissant,” Chris had whined, already pulling Matt through the door before he could argue.

Matt hadn’t even wanted anything at the time. He had stood there, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, scrolling through his phone, half-listening as Chris ordered.

And then you walked out from the back, apron dusted with flour, smiling as you handed over a pastry.

Matt had forgotten how to breathe.

Chris had teased him the entire way home about the way he tripped over his words when you asked if he wanted anything.

And now?

Now he was your most frequent customer.

Not because he had a massive sweet tooth.

Not because you made the best pastries in Los Angeles (even though, let’s be real, you did).

But because you were there.

And Matt? He was completely, ridiculously in love with you.

Your bakery opened at 7:00 AM.

Matt showed up at 7:05. Every. Single. Day.

At first, you thought he was just someone who liked fresh pastries. Maybe an early riser, someone who appreciated a quiet moment with coffee before the world got too loud.

But then you started to notice things.

Like how he always waited until there was no line, even if he got there first.

Like how he spent a few extra minutes “deciding” what to order, even though he always got the same thing—a cinnamon roll and a vanilla latte.

Like how he lingered after paying, leaning against the counter, making small talk even when you were busy.

And most of all—how his eyes always, always found you.

Soft and warm and maybe just a little nervous.

Yeah. You noticed.

It was a particularly slow morning when you decided to call him out.

“You know,” you mused, wiping your hands on a dish towel, “you could probably make these cinnamon rolls at home.”

Matt blinked, halfway through his first bite. “What?”

“I mean, you do know that bakeries sell entire boxes, right? You could just get, like, a dozen and not have to come in every morning.”

Matt coughed, nearly choking on his bite. “I—I like them fresh.”

You leaned against the counter, raising a brow. “Right. That’s the reason.”

His face turned red.

You grinned, enjoying how flustered he looked.

“Admit it,” you teased. “You’re not just here for the pastries.”

Matt groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I really do.”

You smirked. “Okay, so should I stop putting extra icing on your cinnamon rolls, then?”

Matt froze. “You what?”

“Oh, come on,” you laughed. “You think I don’t notice? I literally set aside the best one for you every morning.”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“Are you—” He swallowed. “Are you flirting with me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my God, finally.”

Matt gaped at you. “Finally?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to do something about it for weeks,” you admitted, grinning. “I was starting to think I was gonna have to start writing my number on your coffee cup.”

Matt blinked. Then, slowly, a huge grin spread across his face.

“That would’ve been really smart,” he said.

“Yeah, well.” You slid his coffee across the counter, holding his gaze. “Here’s your last free pass. Ask me out already.”

Matt exhaled, shaking his head. “God, I can’t believe you beat me to it.”

“Clock’s ticking.”

He grinned, grabbing his coffee. “Fine.”

Then, with more confidence than he probably actually had, he winked.

“Pick you up at seven?”

You smirked. “See you then, cinnamon roll.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming

[amirasainz]

Can you please do little reader is daughter of someone and alll the drivers absolutely adore her always carrying her away and cuddling her, taking her off the parent

Enjoy reading and send some requests!

Let me know if you want more Yn Alonso stories.

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

The Princess of Formula 1

The paddock was buzzing with its usual pre-race energy, and while everyone was used to seeing drivers, engineers, and media rushing around, today there was an extra special guest who caught everyone’s eye—Fernando's three-year-old daughter, Yn. She toddled alongside her father, holding his hand tightly, her eyes wide with wonder at all the noise and colors. She was dressed in a mini Aston Martin team shirt, a green cap, and tiny sneakers that made her look absolutely adorable.

Fernando walked confidently with Yn, making his way toward the Aston Martin garage. As he approached, a couple of drivers immediately spotted the little girl and couldn't help but gravitate towards her.

“Hey there, Yn!” Lando exclaimed, squatting down to her level with a huge grin on his face. He reached out a hand, and Yn, curious and already warming up to the friendly face, placed her tiny hand in his.

“Hola, Lando!” Fernando chuckled, ruffling Yn’s hair. “I didn’t expect her to be the center of attention so quickly.”

Lando’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh, come on, Fernando. She’s much cuter than you! Mind if I borrow her for a bit?”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “As long as you give her back.”

Lando scooped Yn up and spun her around, eliciting a squeal of delight from the little girl. “Let’s go find something fun to do, yeah?” he said, bouncing her playfully in his arms.

Carlos wandered over, curious about what the commotion was about. “What’s going on?” he asked, noticing Yn giggling in Lando’s arms.

“She’s playing with Lando now,” Fernando said, shaking his head with a fond smile. “He just took her.”

Carlos chuckled and approached Yn, switching to Spanish. “Hola, pequeñita. ¿Te estás divirtiendo?”

Yn looked at him with wide eyes, understanding her father's language better. “Sí!” she replied eagerly.

“We’re going to play dolls,” Lando said, holding up a small stuffed bear he had found in the McLaren hospitality area. “Well, Yn is, and I’ll just be doing whatever she tells me to do.”

“Dolls, eh?” Carlos grinned. “Lando, do you even know what she’s saying? She might just order you to give her all your snacks.” He winked at Yn. “¿Quieres que le quite las galletas a Lando para ti?”

Yn giggled and nodded. “Sí, quiero!”

Lando feigned a look of shock. “Hey! No fair! I didn’t agree to this!” He glanced at Carlos. “Okay, fine, you’re on doll duty too, Señor Translator.”

Carlos sat down next to them, carefully listening to Yn’s instructions as she showed Lando how to make the bear dance. “She says the bear wants a snack, Lando,” Carlos translated with a teasing grin.

“Of course, he does,” Lando said, “Fine, we’ll go find some cookies.” Yn clapped her hands in delight as Carlos took her hand and led her toward the hospitality area.

Not far away, Charles was observing the scene with amusement. When Yn spotted him, her eyes lit up at the sight of a friendly face she recognized. “ChaCha!” she called out, reaching her little arms toward him.

“Bonjour, princesse,” Charles said warmly, swooping in to take her from Carlos’s arms. “Are you having fun with these silly boys?”

Yn giggled and nodded. “Ice cream?” she asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

“How can I say no to that face?” Charles laughed. “Let’s get you some ice cream.”

Moments later, they were sitting together, Charles feeding Yn small spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream while she giggled between bites. “Just like a princess,” Charles said, wiping a tiny spot of ice cream from her cheek with a napkin. “But don’t tell your papa how much I spoiled you, okay?”

Yn gave a serious nod as if making a grand promise. “Secret!”

Not long after, Lewis wandered by and saw Yn with Charles. “What’s all this, then?” he asked, flashing a smile. “Charlie, you’re spoiling her already?”

“I couldn’t resist,” Charles said with a shrug. “She’s too cute.”

Yn’s attention was already on Lewis, recognizing him from the many times her dad had spoken about him. “Lewie!” she cried out, reaching her arms toward him.

“Well, if the little princess requests,” Lewis said as he picked Yn up and settled her on his hip. “How about we go watch a movie? I’ve got ‘Coco’ ready on my iPad, and it’s in Spanish.” Yn's eyes widened with delight at the mention of a Disney movie.

Yn cuddled up against Lewis as he found a quiet spot in the Mercedes hospitality area. She rested her head on his shoulder while they watched “Coco,” with Lewis occasionally glancing down to make sure she was still enjoying it. Her little face lit up at the familiar songs, and she clapped her hands to the beat.

Across the paddock, Max was adjusting his Red Bull cap when he noticed Yn trotting around after the movie with Lewis, now searching for her dad. Max crouched down, holding his cap out toward her. “Hey, Yn, want to try on my cap?”

Yn nodded enthusiastically, and Max placed the oversized Red Bull cap on her head. It nearly swallowed her whole, and she laughed, trying to peer out from under the brim. “Too big!” she giggled.

“Yeah, it’s a bit big for you, isn’t it?” Max chuckled, flipping the brim up so she could see. “But you look pretty cool, I’d say.”

As Yn wandered around with the cap, Fernando was finally doing an interview, holding his daughter on his hip as she played with the brim of Max’s hat.

“And how do you balance being a driver and a dad, Fernando?” the reporter asked, nodding toward Yn.

Fernando glanced down at Yn, who was fiddling with the microphone cord. “It’s all about priorities,” he said with a smile. “Today, my priority is making sure she has a good time.”

Just then, George strolled by, clearly amused by the sight of Fernando multitasking with his daughter. Without a word, George reached over, scooped Yn right out of Fernando’s arms, and continued walking away, casually chatting with her as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Fernando blinked, completely taken aback. “Did he just…take my daughter away?”

The reporter laughed. “It seems like George has a new fan.”

Fernando shook his head with a chuckle, watching as George carried Yn toward the Mercedes garage. George held Yn up, letting her "fly" like an airplane, which elicited more giggles from her.

As the day began to wind down, the paddock was slowly emptying, and Fernando started looking around for Yn, wondering where she had wandered off to this time. Just as he was about to ask someone, he saw Checo walking toward him, gently cradling a sleeping Yn in his arms. Her head rested on Checo's shoulder, her small fists curled around the fabric of his racing suit.

“I found her napping in the hospitality area,” Checo said softly, handing Yn over to Fernando. “Figured you’d want her back.”

Fernando took Yn into his arms with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Checo. She’s had quite a day.”

Checo grinned. “She’s been all over the paddock—think she’s the real star of the show.”

Fernando chuckled, looking down at his sleeping daughter. “You’re right, she stole the show today.” He kissed Yn’s forehead, feeling a sense of peace and happiness as he held her close.

As the sun began to set over the paddock, Fernando walked out with Yn in his arms, thankful to have his little girl back and ready to head home.

[mcrdvcks]

7 minutes

chapter summary: You own a small bakery in Westchester. One day, Logan comes in for an order for the X-Mansion. After that he becomes a regular—something he persistently denies.

word count: 9.5k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i'm a sucker for baker!reader and logan. though this version of reader is a little bit more extroverted and less 'innocent' than the other baker!reader's i've seen. anyways, this is my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt and @lubdubology's valentine's writing challenge!

i'm not a valentine's girly, maybe because i just find it to be a commercial holiday with no meaning (or maybe because i'm 20 and my only valentine has been my dogs) but i hate chocolate and the holiday so...

warnings/tags: baker!reader, fluff, wrote this with x2 logan in mind, but you can imagine any logan, not proofread

Anytime the X-Mansion had a special occasion, they got baked goods from your bakery—a small shop in Westchester.

The first time Logan met you was by accident, or rather an order given to him by Jean. “It’s Rogue’s birthday. You don’t want her to miss out on havin’ a cake, do ya?”

Logan grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. He wasn’t in the mood for errands, but Jean had a way of making things sound like a guilt trip, and he wasn’t about to deal with that all day. So, here he was, pushing open the door to some small bakery he’d never been to before. The smell of sugar and vanilla hit him immediately, warm and inviting, but he didn’t care about that—he just wanted to get the cake and get out.

The place wasn’t busy, just a couple of customers sitting at tables, sipping coffee. He stepped up to the counter, glancing at the display case full of pastries, then tapped the little bell once. A moment later, you stepped out from the back, wiping your hands on your apron.

“Hey, sorry about that—oh.” Your eyes flicked up, and you did a quick once-over, taking in the broad-shouldered, grumpy-looking man standing at your counter. “You’re definitely not Jean.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’.” Logan exhaled, already regretting this. “She sent me to pick up a cake for Rogue.”

“Right. The X-Mansion order.” You nodded, disappearing into the back. “Give me a sec.”

Logan drummed his fingers against the counter, glancing around. The place was small but homey, shelves lined with small bags of cookies, muffins, and whatever else people liked to buy on impulse. It smelled good—annoyingly good.

You came back out a few moments later, balancing a cake box in your hands. “Here it is. Vanilla with chocolate frosting, right?”

“Beats me. Jean just said ‘get the damn cake.’”

You huffed a short laugh, setting it down and ringing it up. “Well, let’s hope she ordered what Rogue actually likes.” You gave him a once-over again, tilting your head slightly. “You new around here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Logan pulled out his wallet, shaking his head. “Been stayin’ at the mansion a while now. Just don’t do bakery runs.”

“Shame. You seem like the type to appreciate a good cinnamon roll.”

He gave you a flat look. “Dunno what that means.”

“It means you’re a grumpy bastard, and grumpy bastards usually like cinnamon rolls.” You smirked, sliding the cake box toward him. “I have a self-proclaimed ability to guess what people like. You’re either cinnamon roll or an apple pie.”

Logan huffed, eyeing you like he couldn’t decide if you were messing with him or just plain strange. “That so?”

“Mm-hmm.” You leaned on the counter, clearly entertained by his skepticism. “And my guesses are usually spot-on.”

Logan crossed his arms. “What if I don’t like either?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then you’re just lying to yourself.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This what you do? Size people up based on pastries?”

“Works better than you’d think.” You tapped the counter lightly. “So, which one is it? Cinnamon roll or apple pie?”

Logan gave you a flat look, then sighed. “Pie.”

You grinned like you’d just won a bet. “Knew it.”

“Tch. Lucky guess.” He grabbed the cake box and turned toward the door, already done with this conversation.

“Uh-huh, sure.” You leaned on the counter, watching him. “Come back when you’re not on a mission, and I’ll prove it.”

He paused, just for a second, then shook his head and walked out. The bell over the door chimed behind him.

“See you later, sugar,” you called after him.

He didn’t look back, but you swore you saw the faintest twitch of amusement before the door swung shut.

---

It had been a few months since the last time Logan had been over to your bakery. Then Scott and Ororo cornered him, telling him that “it was the least he could do for Jubilee.”

“I’m not goin’ to the damn bakery again.” Logan said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Scott sighed, unimpressed. “Logan, come on. It’s just a cake.”

“You say that like it’s a quick in-and-out job,” Logan grumbled. “Last time I went, I got roped into some damn conversation about cinnamon rolls.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow. “And that was… a problem?”

“Yes.”

Scott and Ororo exchanged a look.

“Look, Jean’s busy, and we’re in the middle of planning the party,” Scott said, folding his arms. “All you have to do is pick up the order. That’s it. No small talk, no distractions.”

Logan exhaled sharply. “Fine.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Scott smirked.

Logan ignored him, grabbed his jacket, and headed out.

---

The bakery smelled just as annoyingly good as last time. Logan stepped inside, tapping the bell on the counter once, hoping you wouldn’t be as chatty this time.

You appeared from the back, wiping your hands on your apron before looking up. The second you saw him, a slow grin spread across your face.

“Well, well. Thought I scared you off for good.”

Logan sighed. “M’just here for the cake.”

“Uh-huh.” You grabbed the order slip from the counter. “Jubilee’s birthday, right?”

He gave a short nod.

You disappeared into the back, and Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. The place wasn’t too busy, just a few customers sitting at the tables, chatting over coffee. It was cozy, warm, the kind of place people probably lingered in for hours. Not his thing.

You came back a moment later with a cake box, setting it down in front of him. “Vanilla with strawberry filling. I think she mentioned something about pink being mandatory.”

Logan pulled out his wallet. “You keep track of all your customers’ favorite cakes?”

You shrugged, ringing him up. “Just the regulars.”

He scoffed. “I ain’t a regular.”

“Not yet.” You smirked, handing him his change. “Though, I gotta admit, I’m a little disappointed.”

Logan frowned. “What now?”

“You never came back for me to prove I was right about the pie.”

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t see a reason to.”

“Oh, there was a reason.” You leaned on the counter, tilting your head slightly. “You just didn’t wanna admit I was right. Which is why you can’t get the cake until you try a slice of pie.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “You serious?”

“As a heart attack.” You crossed your arms, matching his stare with a smirk. “One bite. That’s all I’m asking.”

Logan exhaled sharply, glancing at the cake box like it might disappear if he didn’t grab it fast enough. “I don’t got time for this.”

“Oh, but you do.” You were already turning, heading for the back. “Sit tight.”

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, but he stayed put.

A minute later, you came back with a small plate, a fork, and a slice of apple pie. You set it down in front of him like you were presenting something sacred. “Here. Try it.”

Logan glanced around, already regretting this. A couple of customers had noticed, though no one was paying too much attention. Still, he felt like he was being set up. “This ain’t poisoned, is it?”

You snorted. “Please. If I wanted to take you out, I’d do it the old-fashioned way.”

“Comfortin’.” He picked up the fork, giving you one last look before taking a bite.

Warm, just the right amount of cinnamon, flaky crust—damn it. He hated when people were right.

You leaned on the counter, waiting expectantly. “Well?”

Logan chewed, swallowed, and grunted. “S’fine.”

Your grin widened. “Fine?”

“Yeah.” He took another bite, mostly out of spite. “Nothin’ special.”

“Oh, now you’re just lying.” You tapped the counter. “Admit it. I was right.”

Logan shoved another piece into his mouth, refusing to say anything.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He pushed the plate back slightly and reached for the cake. “That enough of a taste test for ya?”

“For now.” You slid the cake toward him, clearly enjoying this way too much. “But next time? You’re trying the cinnamon roll.”

Logan grabbed the box and turned for the door. “Ain’t gonna be a next time.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

The bell chimed as he stepped outside, but he caught your voice just before the door swung shut.

“See ya, sugar.”

---

The bell over the bakery door chimed as Logan stepped inside, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. No one sent him this time—no guilt trips from Jean, no nagging from Scott. Just… a damn craving, apparently.

You looked up from behind the counter, eyebrows lifting in surprise before a slow smirk tugged at your lips. “Well, well. Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

Logan grunted, eyes flicking to the display case. “M’just here to pick somethin’ up.”

“Oh, sure. Totally believe that.” You leaned on the counter, chin resting in your palm. “Let me guess—apple pie?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re way too smug about this.”

“Because I was right.” You straightened up and grabbed a slice of pie from the case, sliding it onto a small plate. “But, you know, since you’re here, might as well test another theory.”

Logan eyed you warily. “What theory?”

Without answering, you turned and grabbed something else, placing it next to the pie—a cinnamon roll, warm and fresh from the oven.

You tapped the counter. “Go on.”

Logan huffed. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“Consider it a challenge.” You smirked. “If you don’t like it, I’ll let you walk out of here without any ‘I told you so’s.’”

He eyed you, then the cinnamon roll, then back at you. “…And if I do?”

“Then I get to gloat forever.”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath, but grabbed the plate anyway. Pulling out a few bills, he slid them across the counter.

You rang him up, watching as he hesitated before finally tearing off a piece of the cinnamon roll and popping it into his mouth.

His chewing slowed. You caught the slightest flicker of something—not quite annoyance, not quite satisfaction—before he swallowed.

“Well?” You leaned forward, grinning.

Logan picked up his plate. “M’leavin’.”

You laughed. “That good, huh? You know, you could just say ‘thank you’ like a normal person.”

Logan scoffed, tearing off another piece of the cinnamon roll. “Ain’t my style.”

You smirked, resting your elbows on the counter. “Yeah, no kidding. You’re more of the grumble and disappear type.”

He didn’t argue, just kept eating like acknowledging you would give you more reason to gloat. The place wasn’t too busy, which meant you had all the time in the world to mess with him—not exactly the outcome he was hoping for when he walked in.

“So, what’s the verdict?” You tapped your fingers against the counter. “Cinnamon roll or apple pie?”

Logan chewed, swallowed, and exhaled through his nose. “Pie.”

You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Just like that? No hesitation?”

“Nope.” He took another bite.

You shook your head, grinning. “That’s crazy. ’Cause it sure looks like you’re enjoying that cinnamon roll.”

Logan grunted, not meeting your eyes. “S’fine.”

“You said that about the pie, and look where we are now.” You rested your chin in your hand, watching him. “Face it, Logan. You’ve got a sweet tooth.”

“Tch.” He picked up the plate and turned toward the door, clearly done with this conversation.

“Don’t be a stranger, sugar,” you called after him.

He didn’t look back, but you caught the way his shoulders tensed—like he was fighting the urge to respond. The bell chimed as he stepped outside.

You smirked, already looking forward to the next time he walked through that door.

---

Usually, you did just fine lugging the large bag of flour from the crate to the kitchen, but after spending all day on your feet testing new recipes you weren’t exactly at your best.

You faintly heard the bell ring above the front door, and you called out “we’re closed!” before tugging the bag of flour again.

“You’re closed, huh?” A familiar gruff voice cut through the quiet.

You groaned, still struggling with the damn bag of flour. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Heavy footsteps approached, and before you could protest, the bag was lifted right out of your grip. You turned to see Logan holding it effortlessly like it weighed nothing.

You huffed. “You know, some people ask before just stepping in and taking over.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were losin’ that fight.”

“I had it handled.”

“Sure you did.” He carried the bag through the doorway leading to the kitchen.

You followed, arms crossed. “What are you even doing here? You already got your sugar fix for the week.”

Logan set the bag down near the counter and dusted his hands off. “Needed somethin’ to do.”

You blinked. “So, out of all the places, you came here?”

He grunted, looking vaguely annoyed with himself. “Yeah, guess I did.”

You smirked, leaning against the counter. “Startin’ to think you like it here.”

Logan exhaled sharply. “Don’t push it.”

You tapped the counter lightly, still amused. “Well, since you’re here, you want something? Or are you just here to rescue me from my tragic battle with flour?”

Logan glanced around like he was debating whether he’d regret staying longer. Then his eyes landed on a tray of freshly baked cookies on the cooling rack.

You caught his look. “Ah. Now, let me use my special talent here—” You tapped your chin in mock thought. “You seem like a peanut butter guy.”

Logan scoffed. “Now you’re just makin’ stuff up.”

“Oh, am I?” You picked up a peanut butter cookie and held it out. “Go on. Prove me wrong.”

He stared at you, then at the cookie, then back at you. “This a new thing? You testin’ psychic powers on baked goods?”

“Just take the damn cookie, Logan.”

He rolled his eyes but took it, biting off a piece. His chewing slowed just slightly, the way it always did when he didn’t want to admit something was good.

You grinned. “Called it.”

Logan muttered something under his breath but didn’t stop eating.

You leaned on the counter, watching him. “So, what’s the excuse gonna be next time?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

“Mhm. You keep coming back, whether it’s for cake, pie, or playing the hero with fifty-pound bags of flour.”

Logan finished the cookie and dusted off his hands. “You assumin’ a lot.”

“Oh, I don’t assume.” You smirked. “I just have a talent for predicting things.”

He shook his head and turned toward the door. “Don’t wait up.”

You grinned. “Bye bye, sugar bear.”

---

The next time Logan showed up, he didn’t say anything at first. Just walked in, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and stood at the counter like he was already regretting the decision.

You looked up from the register, eyebrows raising. “Back again already?”

“Don’t start.”

You smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”

Logan gave you a look that said he didn’t believe that for a second. His eyes flicked to the display case, scanning over the usual selection. You leaned on the counter, waiting.

“So, what’ll it be?” You tapped your fingers against the counter. “Pie? Cinnamon roll? Maybe a cookie? I know a guy who’s a big fan of peanut butter.”

Logan exhaled, shaking his head. “Just coffee.”

You blinked. “Coffee?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

You tilted your head slightly. “I just figured if you were gonna show up unprompted, you’d at least pretend you weren’t here just for the free samples.”

He gave you a flat look. “M’not here for free samples.”

“Uh-huh.” You turned, grabbing a mug. “Black?”

“Yeah.”

You poured the coffee and slid it across the counter. Logan took it without a word, lifting it to his lips.

You watched him take a sip, arms crossed. “So, what’s the excuse this time?”

He lowered the mug slightly. “What?”

“You always have an excuse for coming in. First it was Jean, then Scott, then some tragic flour-related emergency.” You smirked. “What is it today? Did someone put you on coffee duty?”

Logan didn’t answer right away, just took another sip. “No excuse.”

Your smirk faltered slightly. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” You shrugged, resting your elbows on the counter. “Just didn’t take you for the type to stop by for no reason.”

He grunted. “Maybe I just wanted coffee.”

“Maybe.” You studied him for a moment. “Or maybe you just wanted to see me.”

Logan huffed. “You’re pushin’ it.”

You grinned. “That wasn’t a no.”

He shook his head, setting the coffee down. “This place always this damn chatty?”

“Only when you’re here.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, but he didn’t argue. You took that as a win.

“Oh, I know somethin’ you can do for me.” You quickly ran into the backroom and grabbed a cooling scone—raspberry lime.

Logan eyed it with mild suspicion as you set it down in front of him. “What’s this?”

“A scone.”

He gave you a flat look. “I can see that.”

You smirked. “Then why’d you ask?”

Logan exhaled sharply, picking it up like it might bite him. “And I’m supposed to do what, exactly?”

“You’re supposed to eat it,” you said, leaning on the counter. “It’s a new recipe. Gotta make sure it’s good before I start selling them.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “And you don’t got anyone else to taste-test this?”

“Not anyone who’ll give me an honest answer.” You tapped the counter lightly. “Customers are too polite, and the old ladies who come in every Sunday think everything I make is ‘just delightful.’ I need actual feedback.”

Logan looked at the scone like it was some kind of trap. “…It got any weird crap in it?”

“Weird crap?” You blinked. “It’s raspberry and lime. How is that weird?”

He grunted, still skeptical, but took a bite. His chewing slowed slightly, which you’d come to recognize as the telltale sign that he actually liked something but wasn’t about to admit it outright.

You grinned. “Well?”

Logan swallowed, then shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Wow. High praise.”

He took another bite, shaking his head. “You want feedback or not?”

“Go on, then. Let’s hear it.”

He chewed thoughtfully, eyes flicking toward the ceiling like he was actually considering his words. “Not too sweet. Tart enough to keep it from bein’ boring. Texture’s good.” He paused, taking another bite. “Could use a little more lime.”

You tilted your head. “More lime?”

“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely with the scone. “You got the raspberry down, but the lime’s kinda fightin’ to be noticed.”

You pursed your lips, considering it. “Huh. Okay, I can work with that.”

Logan took another bite, looking vaguely annoyed with himself. “Didn’t expect you to actually listen.”

“I asked for feedback. What kind of baker would I be if I ignored it?” You smirked. “Besides, I already knew it was good—I just wanted to see if you’d admit it.”

He scoffed, setting the half-eaten scone down. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“And yet, here you are. Again.”

Logan grunted, picking up his coffee. “Don’t make a big deal outta it.”

You grinned, tapping the counter. “No promises, sugar.”

---

The bell above the bakery door chimed, and you barely glanced up from where you were wiping down the counter. “We’re closed,” you called automatically.

“You keep sayin’ that, and yet, here I am,” came a familiar gruff voice.

You looked up, smirking as Logan stood at the counter, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he was already regretting coming in. “Back again already? Thought you were done giving me a hard time.”

He grunted, eyes flicking toward the display case. “Just get me a coffee.”

You arched an eyebrow but didn’t question it, grabbing a mug and pouring it fresh. As you slid it across the counter, you tapped your fingers against the wood. “You know, most people would just admit they like a place instead of making up excuses to show up.”

Logan wrapped his hands around the mug, not looking at you. “Ain’t an excuse. Just needed coffee.”

“Sure.” You leaned on the counter, watching him. “So, what was it this time? Jean send you? Scott? Or did another bag of flour need rescuing?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “No reason.”

That gave you pause. You tilted your head slightly. “Huh.”

Logan frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.” You smirked, clearly amused. “Just didn’t take you for the type to stop by for no reason.”

He gave you a flat look. “You got somethin’ against repeat customers?”

“Oh, no. I love my regulars.” You grinned. “Especially the grumpy ones.”

Logan shook his head, lifting the mug to his lips. He didn’t argue, which only made you more smug.

---

The next time Logan came in, it wasn’t for coffee.

The place was quiet—late enough in the evening that most customers were long gone. You were behind the counter, finishing up some inventory, when the bell chimed.

You looked up, brows lifting. “You know, I could just give you a key at this point.”

Logan ignored that, stepping up to the counter. “What’s good today?”

You gave him an exaggerated gasp. “You’re finally asking for a recommendation? I’m honored.”

He sighed. “Just tell me what’s good.”

You smirked, grabbing a plate and sliding a freshly baked hand pie onto it. “Figured I’d experiment today—blackberry and bourbon.”

Logan picked up the hand pie, giving it a brief once-over before taking a bite. He chewed, swallowed, then gave a short nod. “Not bad.”

You put a hand over your heart. “Wow. Practically a glowing review.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but something about the interaction had softened. He stayed leaning against the counter, glancing at the cooling trays behind you. “So, you always wanted to do this?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely. “The whole bakery thing.”

You shrugged. “Pretty much. Always liked baking, figured I might as well get paid for it.”

Logan hummed in acknowledgment, taking another bite. He didn’t say anything for a while, but he didn’t leave either.

After a few beats of silence, you decided to return the question. “What about you?”

He glanced up. “What about me?”

You leaned on the counter. “You always wanted to be a broody loner who shows up at small businesses unannounced?”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You grinned. “Yeah, but I grow on people.”

“We’ll see about that.”

But he didn’t leave.

---

You had a habit of observing people. It came with the job—regulars had patterns, little quirks that gave away more than they realized.

Logan was no different.

The third or fourth time he came in, you started noticing them. The way his eyes scanned the room the second he stepped inside, like he was cataloging everything. How he never sat with his back to the door. How his shoulders only slightly relaxed after a few minutes, like he was still debating if he should be here at all.

“You’re always on guard.”

Logan, who had just taken a sip of coffee, lowered the mug slightly. “What?”

“You’re always watching everything,” you said, casually wiping down the counter. “Like you’re waiting for something to go wrong.”

Logan’s expression flickered—just for a second. “Force of habit.”

You nodded. “Figured.”

That was it. No prodding, no pushing. Just an acknowledgment.

Logan’s fingers tapped against the side of his mug. “That a problem?”

“Nope.” You smirked. “Just an observation.”

Logan held your gaze for a second longer, then shook his head. “You notice too much.”

“Perks of the job.” You leaned forward slightly. “You know what else I noticed?”

He sighed. “What now?”

“You linger.”

Logan frowned. “The hell does that mean?”

“You stick around longer each time.” You grinned. “Almost like you enjoy being here.”

Logan grunted, grabbing his coffee. “You’re annoyin’.”

“And yet, here you are.”

He didn’t argue.

---

The bell above the bakery door chimed, right on schedule. You smirked to yourself as you wiped your hands on your apron. Logan had been showing up like clockwork now—never admitting it, of course, but his routine spoke for itself.

When you turned around, you were already holding out a plate.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “What’s this?”

You set it on the counter with a flourish. “Leftover peanut butter cookies. Tragic, really. If only someone around here liked them.”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You plannin’ on feedin’ me every time I come in?”

“Would you complain if I was?” You leaned on the counter, raising an eyebrow.

He grumbled something under his breath but grabbed a cookie anyway, biting into it like he was proving a point.

You smirked. “Thought so.”

Logan chewed, swallowed, then gestured toward the plate. “These actually extra?”

You tilted your head. “Does it matter?”

His jaw flexed slightly, like he didn’t know how to respond. Instead of answering, he just grabbed another cookie.

You grinned.

---

It had been a long day. A really long day.

One of the ovens had decided to throw a tantrum, a supplier had screwed up an order, and to top it off, you still had to prep for a catering job in the morning.

You didn’t even look up when the bell chimed. “We’re closed,” you called tiredly, shoving a crate of flour toward the back.

“Yeah, yeah.”

You blinked, glancing up to see Logan standing near the counter, arms crossed.

You huffed. “Starting to think you don’t understand what closed means.”

Logan ignored that, glancing around at the half-prepped trays, the mess of ingredients still covering the counter. “You runnin’ this place by yourself?”

“Yep.” You exhaled, pushing hair out of your face. “Well, mostly. Sometimes I hire help for big orders.”

Logan grunted, then—without a word—walked past the counter, grabbed the flour bag you had been struggling with, and lifted it like it weighed nothing.

You blinked. “Uh—what are you—”

“Where’s it goin’?”

You stared at him. “You do realize you don’t work here, right?”

Logan gave you a flat look. “You askin’ me to leave?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “Corner shelf, second row.”

He carried it over like it was nothing, then turned back expectantly.

You crossed your arms. “What, you lookin’ for a job now?”

Logan snorted. “You couldn’t afford me.”

“Oh, please.” You smirked. “I’d pay you in coffee and pie. You’d be set for life.”

He shook his head but didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced around the kitchen again. “What else?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you helping?”

“Tch.” He grabbed another crate before you could protest. “You’re losin’ this fight, just let it happen.”

You watched him work for a moment, a little stunned. You weren’t used to people sticking around just to help. It wasn’t a grand gesture, wasn’t something he was making a big deal out of—it was just Logan, stepping in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned back to your work, shaking your head with a small smile.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But you’re not getting paid.”

Logan grunted. “Figures.”

---

It was late—too late. You should’ve locked up an hour ago, but you were dragging your feet, finishing up inventory while Logan sat at one of the tables with his usual coffee.

You glanced over at him. He had been coming around more, sticking around longer. He never said why, and you never asked. It was just… the way things had settled.

“You always this restless?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Logan glanced up. “What?”

“You always show up late.” You leaned against the counter. “Ever sleep?”

He scoffed. “Not much.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Because you can’t, or because you don’t want to?”

Something flickered in his expression. He looked down at his coffee, fingers tapping against the side of the mug. “Both.”

You studied him for a moment. “Bad dreams?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly—so quiet you almost missed it—he muttered, “Somethin’ like that.”

You didn’t push. You could’ve asked more, pried for details, but that wasn’t how this worked. Instead, you just nodded.

“I get it,” you said simply.

Logan looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… understanding.

Logan took another sip of his coffee, then exhaled. “You should lock up.”

You smirked. “You gonna tell me what to do now?”

He stood, grabbing his jacket. “Don’t need to. You’re already dead on your feet.”

You huffed. “You know, for a guy who claims he doesn’t care, you sure do act like you do.”

Logan pulled his jacket on, not looking at you. “Get some sleep, Y/N.”

You watched as he headed for the door, shaking your head with a small smile.

“Night, sugar bear,” you called after him.

He didn’t look back, but you saw the way his shoulders tensed—like he was fighting the urge to respond.

The bell chimed as the door swung shut.

---

By now, Logan had stopped making excuses for why he kept coming back. He still didn’t admit anything, but you noticed the pattern—how he always came in around closing time, how he lingered longer each visit.

Tonight was no different.

The bell chimed, and you barely looked up from wiping down the espresso machine. “Y’know, if you’re gonna keep doing this, I really should just give you a key.”

Logan grunted, stepping inside. “Don’t need one.”

You smirked. “Because you’d just break in?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

You rolled your eyes, finishing up before leaning on the counter. “So, what’ll it be? Coffee? Something sweet? Or are you just here to loiter?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He walked over to his usual seat—the one near the window, back to the wall—and sat down with a sigh.

“No coffee,” he muttered.

That was new.

You eyed him. “Rough night?”

He exhaled sharply but didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

Without another word, you grabbed a mug, poured something fresh, and set it on the table in front of him.

“I thought I said no coffee.”

You sat across from him, propping your chin on your hand. “It’s tea.”

Logan frowned at it. “The hell do I look like, some kinda tea-drinkin’—”

“—Just drink it, Logan.”

He huffed but didn’t argue. Took a sip. Grunted.

You smirked. “Good, right?”

“...It’s fine.”

You leaned back, watching him. “You don’t have to talk, you know.”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged. “Just saying. If you wanna sit here in broody silence for an hour, I won’t stop you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his expression. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea.

Neither of you said anything else for a while.

But he stayed.

---

You had dealt with rude customers before. It came with the job—some people were just assholes. But most of the time, they were harmless.

Most of the time.

Tonight, some guy had been giving you a hard time—complaining about his order, getting a little too close, sneering in that way that immediately put you on edge.

“You got a problem with your ears, sweetheart? I said extra caramel—”

“I heard you,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm. “But that’s not what you ordered.”

The guy scoffed, leaning over the counter. “So now you’re callin’ me a liar?”

Before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“She ain’t callin’ you anythin’.”

Logan was right there—sudden and solid, standing just slightly in front of you.

The guy turned, sizing Logan up. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Logan didn’t answer. Just held his gaze, silent, still.

You had seen Logan fight before—you knew what he was capable of—but sometimes, it didn’t take claws or violence. Sometimes, it was just him, standing there, making someone realize they’d made a mistake.

The guy swallowed.

“Forget it,” he muttered, grabbing his coffee and leaving without another word.

The door shut behind him, and for a moment, the bakery was silent.

You exhaled. “Well. That was fun.”

Logan turned, looking you over like he was checking for something. “You alright?”

You smirked. “Aww, you care.”

Logan grunted. “Don’t start.”

You crossed your arms. “What, no dramatic one-liner? No ‘stay away from her’ speech?”

“Didn’t need one.”

You shook your head, still smirking. “You’re ridiculous.”

Logan didn’t answer. Just grumbled under his breath and went back to his seat, like nothing had happened.

But you noticed the way he didn’t touch his drink for a while—like he was still too on edge to relax.

---

“You’re actually serious about this.”

Logan stood at the entrance of the farmers’ market, arms crossed, looking very unamused by the whole thing.

You grinned. “Yep.”

“You dragged me here.”

“Oh, please. No one drags you anywhere. You came willingly.”

He grunted but didn’t argue.

You had invited him on a whim, half-expecting him to say no. But to your surprise, he had shown up—grumbling the whole way, sure, but still.

The market was lively—small tents, fresh produce, the smell of roasted coffee and warm pastries in the air. It was a nice change from the usual bakery setting.

Logan, however, looked wildly out of place.

“You look miserable,” you teased, nudging him.

“’Cause I am miserable.”

“You sure? ’Cause I saw you eyeing those smoked meats at the last booth.”

Logan huffed. “That don’t mean I wanna be here.”

You smirked. “Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

Still, he stuck close to you as you weaved through the booths. He didn’t complain when you stopped to look at pastries, didn’t roll his eyes too hard when you bought something ridiculous just because it “looked cute.”

At one point, you handed him a fresh apple cider donut.

Logan frowned. “What’s this for?”

“Because you look like you wanna kill someone, and I need you to chill.”

He gave you a look but took a bite anyway.

You grinned. “See? Was that so hard?”

Logan just grumbled around his donut.

You took that as a win.

---

Logan, for the first time in a while, came to your bakery for an order. It was for the Valentine’s Day party at the mansion and Jean and Ororo put him on pickup duty.

It was close to 3 pm when he arrived and the sign on the door was already turned to CLOSED.

He opened the door and walked in, the bell ringing above.

You were behind the counter, carefully arranging a tray of macarons into a pastry box. You glanced up at the sound, then smirked when you saw who it was.

“Ah, my favorite grump. Here for the party order?”

Logan grunted, stepping closer. “Jean and Ro made me do it.”

“Of course they did.” You shut the box and slid it across the counter. “Bunch of heart-shaped macarons, just as requested—raspberry, chocolate, vanilla bean, and peanut butter.”

Logan eyed the box, then flicked his gaze back to you. You looked… different. Dressed up. Not overly fancy, but enough to make him pause. His brows pulled together slightly.

“You got plans or somethin’?”

You tilted your head. “What?”

He gestured vaguely. “You’re dressed up.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Why, you jealous?”

Logan scoffed. “Ain’t jealous. Just askin’.”

You hummed, clearly entertained. “No date, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Logan crossed his arms. “Didn’t say nothin’ about a date.”

You grinned. “Mhm. Well, in case you were wondering, Jean invited me to the party.”

His expression flickered—something unreadable for half a second—before he exhaled sharply. “That right?”

“Yep.” You grabbed another small box from behind the counter and handed it to him. “These are yours, by the way.”

Logan frowned slightly, opening the box. Inside were four macarons, but unlike the ones in the party order, these were regular round ones.

“Didn’t think you’d want heart-shaped ones,” you said, watching his reaction.

He stared at them for a moment. “These the same flavors?”

“Yep. One of each.” You leaned on the counter, smirking. “Figured you’d appreciate the peanut butter one the most.”

Logan huffed. “You really don’t let up, huh?”

“Nope.”

He shook his head but didn’t argue. Just shut the box and grabbed the party order. “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride.”

You blinked. “What?”

Logan gestured toward the door. “Party’s at the mansion, ain’t it? You’re goin’, I’m goin’. Might as well save you the trip.”

You smirked, grabbing your coat. “And how exactly are these macarons supposed to survive on a motorcycle?”

Logan gave you a flat look. “I got it handled.”

You chuckled, stepping around the counter. “Alright, sugar bear. Let’s see what you got.”

He grumbled something under his breath but held the door open for you anyway.

You stepped outside, pulling your coat tighter as the cool air hit. Logan followed, already heading toward his bike.

You stopped short, staring at it. “Okay, I gotta ask—where exactly are these macarons supposed to go? You got some hidden pastry compartment I don’t know about?”

Logan shot you a look. “I said I got it handled.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s not an answer.”

He exhaled sharply, then crouched slightly, reaching for the saddlebag attached to the side of his bike. With practiced ease, he unlatched it, revealing a snug, padded compartment inside.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s… oddly convenient.”

Logan shrugged. “Picked it up a while back. Good for keepin’ shit from gettin’ smashed.”

You smirked. “So, what you’re saying is, this is a dessert-safe motorcycle?”

He grunted, carefully placing the boxes inside. “Sure.”

You shook your head, amused. “You are full of surprises, sugar bear.”

Logan ignored that, straightening up before turning to you. “You ever been on a bike before?”

You hesitated. “…Define ‘been on a bike.’”

His expression flattened. “That a no?”

“Not a no. More like a… not exactly.”

Logan exhaled through his nose. “Great.” He swung a leg over and sat, steadying the bike before nodding toward you. “C’mon.”

You gave him a look. “You’re just assuming I’m gonna get on?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You got another ride?”

You huffed, stepping forward. “Fine, but if we crash, I’m haunting you.”

Logan scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. Foot on the peg, swing your leg over, and don’t make a damn production out of it.”

You did as he said, slightly awkward but managing without embarrassing yourself. Once seated, you hesitated, hands hovering near his back.

“…Where am I supposed to hold?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Then, without looking back, he reached for your wrists and pulled your arms around his waist. “Here.”

You blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t argue. His body was solid under your hands, radiating warmth even through his jacket.

“This gonna be a problem?” he asked, clearly amused.

You huffed. “Not unless you do something stupid.”

Logan smirked, kicking the bike to life. “Hang on, doll.”

You rolled your eyes but tightened your grip around his waist. The engine rumbled beneath you, the vibration humming through your chest as Logan eased the bike forward. The cool night air bit at your skin, but the warmth of him under your hands made up for it.

As he pulled onto the road, you couldn’t help but squeeze your arms a little tighter. Not out of fear—just instinct. Logan didn’t say anything about it, but you could feel the shift in his posture, the slightest adjustment like he was making sure you were steady.

The ride was smooth, surprisingly so. Logan handled the bike with an ease that made you wonder just how many times he’d done this before. The streets of Westchester blurred past, streetlights casting a golden glow over the pavement.

After a few minutes, you leaned forward slightly. “So, be honest. How often do you use the whole ‘wanna ride?’ line to impress women?”

Logan snorted. “You think I need a line?”

You scoffed. “Wow. That cocky, huh?”

He smirked, though you couldn’t see it. “Ain’t about bein’ cocky, darlin’. Just statin’ facts.”

You shook your head, amused. “Uh-huh. Well, just so you know, I’m only impressed if we get there in one piece.”

Logan huffed. “You doubtin’ my drivin’?”

“I mean, I don’t want to, but I’ve also seen how you drive a car, and—”

“That was one time,” he grumbled.

“And yet, Scott still won’t let you near the X-Jet.”

“One crash, and suddenly nobody trusts ya.”

You laughed, resting your chin lightly against his back. “You’re ridiculous.”

Logan didn’t respond, but you felt his chest rise and fall with a short, quiet chuckle.

The rest of the ride was mostly silent, save for the occasional gust of wind and the steady roar of the engine. It wasn’t bad, you realized. The night air, the open road, the way Logan rode like he belonged there—it was… nice.

After a while, the looming gates of the Xavier Institute came into view. Logan slowed the bike, coasting up the long driveway before finally coming to a stop near the entrance.

As the engine cut off, you let out a breath and loosened your grip. Logan tilted his head slightly. “Not bad for your first time?”

You huffed. “I mean, I survived, so I’d call it a win.”

He smirked. “Told ya I had it handled.”

You slid off the bike, stretching your legs. “Alright, sugar bear. Let’s get these macarons inside before Jean hunts us down.”

Logan grunted but grabbed the boxes from the saddlebag, handing you yours before leading the way inside. The moment you stepped through the doors, the distant sound of music and chatter spilled into the hallway.

You smirked. “Sounds like the party’s in full swing.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Great.”

You nudged him playfully. “Oh, come on. It won’t kill you to be social for one night.”

He gave you a look. “Wanna bet?”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut in.

“There you guys are!”

Jean appeared from around the corner, arms crossed but a knowing smirk on her lips. “Was starting to think you got lost.”

Logan grunted, holding up the pastry box. “Got your damn macarons, didn’t we?”

Jean took them, amused. “And you made it in one piece. I’ll call that a success.” She glanced at you, smirk widening. “Enjoy the ride?”

You crossed your arms, smirking right back. “I mean, I was mildly impressed. Didn’t even have to cling to him for dear life.”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I hate both of ya.”

Jean just laughed. “Come on, you two. Let’s get to the party.”

You followed her down the hall, Logan trailing behind you like he was already regretting every life decision that led him to this moment. The music grew louder as you got closer, and when Jean pushed open the doors to the common room, the full chaos of the Valentine’s party hit you.

Streamers, heart-shaped balloons, and way too much red and pink covered every inch of the space. A long table near the wall was packed with snacks, desserts—including your macarons—and an absolutely massive punch bowl that looked suspiciously spiked.

“Oh, this is festive,” you mused, glancing around.

“Festive’s one word for it,” Logan muttered.

Jean handed off the box of macarons to Ororo, who grinned when she saw you. “Glad you made it!”

“Of course,” you said, smirking. “Wouldn’t miss an excuse to see Logan suffer through social interaction.”

Ororo chuckled. “Well, you’re in luck, because he can’t sneak out this time. Scott already said if he disappears before midnight, he’s getting put on dish duty for the next month.”

You turned to Logan. “I like this rule.”

Logan just grunted. “’S bullshit.”

Jean smirked. “Then you better stick around.”

Ororo pulled you away toward the dessert table before Logan could complain more. “Come on, you have to try some of the punch before Bobby finishes it off.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just straight-up vodka at this point,” you said, eyeing the bowl.

“Exactly.”

You laughed but let her pour you a cup. The party was already in full swing—students dancing, music blasting, people laughing over whatever nonsense was happening near the pool table. It was easy, fun, not a bad way to spend a night.

Logan, however, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. He had posted up near the bar, arms crossed, sipping a beer while occasionally glaring at anyone who got too close.

You made your way over, drink in hand. “Having fun?”

He gave you a flat look.

You grinned. “That bad, huh?”

He sighed. “Too loud.”

“Aw, poor thing,” you teased, nudging him. “Bet you’d rather be back at the bakery eating peanut butter cookies in broody silence.”

Logan took a sip of his beer. “Damn right.”

You smirked, leaning against the bar. “Well, if you survive the night, maybe I’ll consider rewarding you with some.”

His eyes flicked toward you, something unreadable in his expression. “That so?”

“Maybe.” You took a sip of your drink. “Depends on how grumpy you get.”

Logan scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he watched you over the rim of his bottle, like he was figuring something out.

Before either of you could say anything else, Rogue appeared, grinning. “Oh, good, you’re both here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I need you two for somethin’.”

Logan immediately shook his head. “No.”

Rogue rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know what it is.”

“Don’t need to.”

She ignored him and turned to you. “We’re playin’ Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “You’re what?”

Rogue smirked. “C’mon, it’s tradition. Just pick a name outta the hat.”

Logan was already turning to leave. “Hell no.”

You grabbed his arm before he could make an escape. “Oh, come on, sugar. Don’t be a coward.”

He shot you a look. “I ain’t playin’ some dumbass game.”

Rogue crossed her arms. “Then you gotta do dish duty for a month.”

Logan clenched his jaw.

You grinned. “I like this rule.”

Logan exhaled sharply, then snatched a name from the hat. He glanced at it, scowled, then crumpled the paper in his fist. “This is stupid.”

Rogue smirked, looking at you. “Your turn.”

You sighed, reaching into the hat. When you unfolded the paper, your eyes widened slightly.

Logan.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the slight twitch of his jaw.

Rogue clapped her hands together. “Welp, you know the rules. Closet’s that way.”

You turned to Logan, smirking. “Guess we’re doin’ this.”

He huffed. “Guess so.”

Rogue practically shoved you both toward the closet, grinning. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

The door shut behind you with a click.

You turned to Logan, arms crossed. “So. This is happening.”

He exhaled sharply. “Tch.”

The space wasn’t exactly roomy. You were standing close, close enough to catch the scent of cigar smoke and something warm, familiar.

You smirked. “You look like you’d rather fight Sabretooth again than be in here right now.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Ain’t far off.”

You chuckled, then leaned back slightly. “Relax, sugar. It’s just a game.”

He studied you for a moment, then shook his head. “You really don’t let up, do ya?”

“Nope.”

Silence stretched between you. There was something… different about being this close, no bar or counter between you, nothing but the dim glow of light filtering under the door.

Your gaze flicked to his lips, just for a second, before you looked back up at his eyes. His expression was unreadable, but there was something else there—something you couldn’t quite place.

You raised an eyebrow. “What’re you thinking?”

Logan exhaled slowly, then smirked. “You really wanna know?”

You tilted your head. “Yeah.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make your breath catch.

“…Thinkin’ this is a real stupid game,” he muttered.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Terrible answer.”

Logan grunted, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well. Ain’t much of a game to begin with.”

You smirked, leaning back against the closet wall. “You know, for someone who acts like he doesn’t give a damn about party games, you sure are committed to standing here in silence.”

Logan shot you a look. “Ain’t like I got a choice.”

“You always got a choice, sugar,” you mused, tilting your head. “Could’ve taken dish duty.”

“Rather be in here than deal with Scott’s bitchin’.”

You chuckled. “That’s fair.”

Silence stretched between you again. The closet wasn’t big, barely enough space for both of you without standing close. Logan stayed where he was, arms crossed, shoulders tense.

You tapped your fingers against the wall, glancing at him. “You ever actually played this before?”

He exhaled sharply. “What, you think I spent my younger years crammed in closets with gigglin’ teenagers?”

You grinned. “I dunno, Logan. You’ve been around a while. Gotta imagine at least one girl managed to talk you into it.”

He huffed. “Ain’t my thing.”

“Yeah, I figured.” You shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “You don’t really seem like the party type. More of a ‘drink alone in a dive bar and pretend you don’t wanna talk to anyone’ kinda guy.”

Logan shot you a dry look. “You got me all figured out, huh?”

You tapped your temple. “I’m observant.”

He didn’t answer, but you caught the slight twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

You let the silence linger for a beat before speaking again. “You know, seven minutes is a long time. You might as well entertain me.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Entertain you?”

“Yeah. Tell me something.”

He scoffed. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” you mused. “You just don’t like talking.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You do enough of that for both of us.”

You pressed a hand to your chest. “You wound me, sugar bear.”

He exhaled sharply. “Don’t call me that.”

“You never complain when I say it outside of a closet.”

“’Cause outside of a closet, I can walk away.”

You smirked. “You sure about that? ’Cause last time I checked, you keep coming back.”

Logan grunted, looking away. “This is the longest seven minutes of my goddamn life.”

“Oh, come on. You’re having fun.”

“The hell I am.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. If you’re not gonna talk, I’ll just have to fill the silence myself.”

Logan sighed. “Fantastic.”

You ignored his sarcasm and leaned your head back against the wall. “Alright, let’s see… Did I ever tell you about the time a guy tried to rob me with a butter knife?”

That actually got Logan’s attention. His brows pulled together slightly. “The hell?”

You grinned. “Yeah. Came in one night, all twitchy, pulls a damn butter knife from his sleeve like it was supposed to be intimidating. Told me to empty the register.”

Logan tilted his head. “What’d you do?”

You smirked. “Took the knife out of his hand and gave him a scone.”

Logan stared at you, then shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer resourceful,” you said, grinning. “Besides, guy was clearly desperate. Didn’t have the heart to kick his ass.”

Logan grunted. “Lucky for him.”

“Lucky for me, too. He actually came back a week later with a real apology. Bought a dozen muffins.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Only you.”

You shrugged, clearly pleased with yourself. “Hey, you’re the one who said I talk too much. This is what you get. I could also talk about the time my cousin carpooled with—”

Logan cut you off mid-sentence. Not with a glare, not with a grumble—no, this time, he shut you up the only way that was guaranteed to work.

By kissing you.

It was sudden, barely enough time to react before he stepped forward, backing you up until your shoulders hit the wall. His hand came up, palm pressing flat beside your head, caging you in without a single word.

Your breath caught, brain short-circuiting for half a second before instinct kicked in. You kissed him back, fingers curling slightly at your sides like you were debating grabbing onto him.

Logan didn’t rush it—didn’t press too hard, didn’t let it turn into something it wasn’t meant to be. But it was firm, deliberate, enough to make your knees feel just a little weak.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, he pulled back.

The closet felt even smaller than before.

For a few long, charged moments, neither of you said anything. You were still pressed against the wall, Logan still close, his hand still braced by your head. His eyes flicked over your face, scanning for something, though you weren’t sure what.

Your heart was pounding, but you weren’t about to be the one to break first.

So, instead, you smirked, tilting your head slightly. “So… does this mean you’re my valentine now?”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You never let up, do ya?”

“Nope.” Your grin widened. “Not even after being dramatically kissed in a broom closet.”

Logan huffed, but he didn’t move away. He stayed right there, close enough that you could still feel his warmth, still smell the faint trace of whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his jacket.

You tapped a finger against his chest. “I mean, you did just make a pretty big statement. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually like me.”

Logan grunted. “Don’t push it.”

You grinned. “That wasn’t a no.” You reached up, tapping his bottom lip with your finger, “c’mon sugar bear. Would I really be that bad of a valentine?”

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes flicking between yours. "You’re real pushy, you know that?"

You smirked. "And yet, here you are. In a closet. With me." Your finger was still resting against his lip, and you tapped it lightly, just to mess with him. "So, sugar bear, what’s the verdict?"

Logan caught your wrist before you could do it again, his grip firm but not rough. "That name’s gonna be the death of me."

"You’ll survive." You grinned. "So? Valentine or not?"

Logan didn’t answer right away. He still hadn’t let go of your wrist, his thumb brushing absently against your skin like he hadn’t noticed he was doing it. His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up, his jaw tightening slightly like he was debating something.

Then, without a word, he let go, stepping back just enough to put space between you.

You arched an eyebrow. "That’s it?"

Logan crossed his arms. "What else you want, a damn serenade?"

"Well, now that you mention it—"

"Not happenin’."

You chuckled, tilting your head. "Alright, fine. No singing. But I’ll take that kiss as a yes."

Logan scoffed. "You assume too much."

"Mm. Do I?" You tapped your chin in mock thought. "You kissed me. Didn’t push me away. Didn’t tell me to shut up. And now you’re looking at me like you’re still considerin’ round two."

Logan’s jaw ticked. "You’re real smug."

"You like it," you shot back easily.

He didn’t confirm or deny it. Just exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.

"Alright," you said, watching him. "Since you clearly can’t admit it, I’ll do it for you. Logan Howlett, the grumpiest man in Westchester, is officially my Valentine."

Logan rolled his eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, throwing his own words back at him.

Logan shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched—just barely, but you caught it. "You done yet?"

"Not even close." You smirked, reaching for the doorknob. "But I’ll give you a break… for now."

Before you could turn it, Logan caught your wrist again, stopping you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Changed your mind?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just held your gaze for a second longer than necessary before he muttered, low and gruff, "you talk too much."

Then he kissed you again.

This time, there was no hesitation. No half-measures. Just Logan pressing you back against the closet wall, one hand curling around your waist, the other braced beside your head. The kiss was slower this time, deliberate, like he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t talk your way out of it.

Not that you were planning to.

You grinned against his lips, fisting the front of his jacket and pulling him closer. "See?" you murmured. "Told you you liked me."

Logan grunted but didn’t stop kissing you. Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t even argue.

i hope this was valentine-y enough! <3

[scarlethexelove]

Our Omega

Pairing: Alpha!WandaNat x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 5155

Warnings: Smut, Wanda and Nat have a penis, Soft!Nat, Rough!Wanda, Heat, Mating mark, Knotting, Breeding, Someone tries to attack reader but Wanda and Nat stop them, Hints to lactation kink, I really don't think there is much else.

Pt 2, Pt 3

A/n: I really hope this isn't shit. I really liked writing this. Wanda isn't too rough in this one but definitely rougher than Nat. Just sweet alphas who don't treat their sweet Omega like shit.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

The door chimes causing your gaze to lift to the opening door. You’re shocked to see the people walking through the door. The Avengers have just walked through the door of your small bakery. Leading the group is the pack leader along with her mate. Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff, two alpha’s. The rest of the mostly alpha pack followed close behind. Normally so many alpha’s in an area won’t bother you but with you so close to your heat and being an unmated omega is making it difficult with all of them around. You put on a mask knowing you need to be your best when the most famous people in the world are in your bakery. 

With a wide smile you greet the group. “Hi, I’m Y/n. We have a wide array of baked goods for you to choose from. Just let me know what you would like and I’ll get them all ready for you.” Wanda tilts her head looking at you curiously but you just give her soft smile back. Nat is also watching you but you can’t seem to read her. The gaze of both the alpha’s on you causes a light dusting of pink to cover your cheeks.  The rest of the group looked around to see what they wanted to eat. 

Nat clears her throat. “Everyone wait outside.” She demands the rest. “But I want to look.” Tony whines. Nat turns to look at the rest. “I said wait outside. We will get everyone something.”  Nat’s demanding tone has your inner omega wanting to submit causing you to shrink in on yourself. As the rest go to wait outside the two alpha’s turn back to you noticing you’re dropped head and smaller form. “I’m so sorry mega. I thought it would be easier without everyone.” 

You wanted to be thankful for what she did but at the same time you need to be able to handle a room full of alpha’s if you want to have a successful business. But you know she just meant well by her actions. You lift your head and give her a small smile. Brushing off your previous distress and ready to help the two women with everything they need. 

With less alpha’s in the room their scents invade your senses. One of their scents laced with cinnamon and spices, reminding you of fall. The other smelling of sweet vanilla. Both of their scents are intoxicating already. Both women are very attractive but you know you can’t think like that they are already a mated pair and they probably wouldn’t want an omega like you. So you push it out of your mind and focus on running your business.

“What can I get for you?” You ask the women. They look around for a minute before Nat speaks up. “Two of everything.” You can’t help the look of shock at the woman's order. “A-are you sure?” She gives you a kind smile. “Yes please.”  You nod and start moving around to get everything you need. “Of course. I’ll have everything ready for you in a few minutes.” You move around the area gracefully. Throwing in a few extras as you go. Wanting nothing more than to satisfy the Avengers. 

You can feel their eyes following you but you are in your groove currently. Once you are done with everything they come up to the counter and Natasha pulls out her wallet. You wave your hands and shake your head. “No, no, no. It’s on the house, my treat. You guys do so much for the city. The least I can do is give you guys some food.” Nat shakes her head back at you. “I’m not sure your boss would like that. Also I insist.” She starts pulling out money ready to pay. “I’m actually the owner so I can give you whatever I want.” You tell the alpha. You would normally never talk back to an alpha, especially an Avenger but you want to get your point across. But neither of them are going to take no for an answer. Wanda takes some money out of Nat’s hands and gives it to you. You look down at the cash and back up at the alpha’s. You can tell by the looks on their faces that they will not take no for an answer. So you look back down at the cash in your hand and gasps. “This is way too much.” In your hand is almost $500 dollars, way more than what it cost to get everything. 

Both alpha’s shake their heads. “Keep it. You deserve it.” Wanda says. She has the softest and kindest smile you have ever seen. “I-I-I don’t think I can take this.” You stutter trying to hand some of the money back but neither of them will have it. Wanda takes your hands in hers. “Please take it.” You look at her hands around yours and then back up to her face. A small blush covering your face when you nod. “Okay.” You say barely above a whisper. She smiles before she and Nat take the baked goods, making their way out leaving you shocked. 

That is how your friendship with the Avengers started. After that day you saw at least one of them once a week. Sometimes alone and sometimes the whole team would come in. You built a friendship with each member but as they continue to come a crush on the two women formed. They were always so sweet and kind with you. Nat plays up a big persona of being hard and little emotion but you can see right through that facade. Which only makes your crush grow stronger, but you know you can’t act on it. So you leave it at that just a crush. 

With the Avengers frequenting your bakery your business picks up exponentially. You had to hire more employees to help you keep up. One of those being your best friend Kate Bishop. You thank the Avengers for their business and the fact they have brought in more customers for you. Always trying to give them free food but none of them ever take it. 

Today wasn’t like other days. You had 3 call offs and your heat was quickly approaching. You thought that you had a few more days but as the day drags on you know you won’t make it. You have already called Kate who had the day off hoping she could cover. She of course said she would but it would take her some time to get there. So now you’re fighting your heat and just waiting for her to get here. 

The room is filled with alpha's, some of them pausing to look at you. A hungry look in their eyes as they realize what is going on with you. You want to run and hide but you can’t leave the store unattended so you suck it up the best you can. That is until a wave of burning stabbing pain hits your lower abdomen. You wrap your arms around your stomach, hunching over as you hold in a whimper. You don’t even hear the ringing of the bell as another patron enters the building. Another stronger wave has you crumbling to the ground, a whimper escaping your lips. 

You can now faintly hear a commotion but you can’t focus on the words or voices. You look up seeing an alpha about to jump over the counter when they are pulled back harshly. There is a commanding roar of an alpha that causes you to whine and bare your neck waiting for the alpha to approach. You wish your inner omega was stronger but with your heat here you can’t control it. Two alpha’s approach you quickly crouching down next to you. You let out another whine and strain your neck more. 

“Oh milaya, none of that.” Wanda’s hand cups your cheek. Both of their scents invade your senses, calming you down slightly. You can’t help but nuzzle her hand causing her and the other woman to smile at you. A whimper escapes as another wave of pain courses through you. Leaving the women concerned for you. They have been falling for you just as much as you for them but they were worried you wouldn’t like them back or want to be involved with Avengers. 

Just then Kate rushes in the door, her eyes scanning the room seeing that there had been a scuffle. Concerned for your safety when she can’t see you. She knows your heat is close, that is until she catches a whiff of your scent. She knows that you have gone into heat and how dangerous it is for you to have been here. She rushes around the counter stopping when she sees you curled in on yourself as Nat and Wanda crouch next to you. Wanda’s hand is still on your cheek. She lets out a growl at the woman. She knows that you aren’t in any danger with them but she instinctively wants to protect you while you’re so vulnerable. Neither of them move their concern only on you. 

“Kate, we are here to help. We don’t want to hurt her.” Nat speaks calmly to the other omega. Kate looks from them back to you. She can see you, how you're trying to nuzzle in further to Wanda. She lets out a sigh. “Sorry alpha.” She puts her head down. Becoming part of the Avengers pack as Yelena’s omega has gotten her close to them and she didn’t want to disrespect the pack leader. “It’s ok. I know you are only trying to protect your friend.” Nat moves closer to you leaning down and moving to pick you up. She acts slowly to give you the chance to pull away but you don’t. It makes the woman smile as she picks you up. You quickly wrap yourself tightly around her and nuzzle into her scent gland. Breathing in her cinnamon scent that calms you. 

“I think we will take her to the compound, she will be safe there. I don’t trust that after those alphas coming after her that she will be safe. They could easily follow her home.” Nat speaks to both Wanda and Kate. They both nod in agreement. “Kate, do you have this here?” Nat asks as she holds you closer to her. “Yeah I think I got this.” Kate replies before the door chimes. All three women go on defense growling at the scent of another alpha but all calm when they realize who it is. Kate’s mate Yelena struts through the door holding up her hands in surrender to the three as you whimper in Nat’s arms. 

Yelena smirks at the older alpha when she sees you in her arms, wrapped tightly around the woman like a koala. Nat rolls her eyes when she sees how her sister is looking at her. “Lena!” Kate says bouncing over to her and throwing her arms around her neck pecking her lips. Yelena’s hands placed firmly on Kate’s hips. “Yel help Kate out here we are taking Y/n to the compound. Some alphas attacked so maybe help her clean up a bit.” Yelena looks around at the mess brows furrowed as Nat speaks. That is until she catches your sweet scent. Instantly understanding your predicament and understanding why the three were growling at her as she came in the door. 

“Please be careful you two.” Wanda tells the alpha and her omega, handing Kate some money. Kate looks at the money and then back up to Wanda confused. “For damages.” Wanda explains. Kate is about to argue back about that but the look Wanda gives her tells her there is no room for that. She is second in command of the pack and will not take no for an answer. So Kate gives her a nod moving to start cleaning up the place, Yelena helping her mate clean as the two women leave with you. 

Once the alphas get you to the compound they take you to the spare bedroom next to theirs not wanting to overstep any boundaries you might have. It has been hard for them to fight their inner alphas to not to just claim you as theirs. You’re currently wrapped around Wanda tightly as she walks into the room. She goes to put you on the bed but you don’t let go. “Malyshka can you let go?” She asks softly, but your only response is to shake your head and whine. Being in their arms is the most comfort you have had in a long time dulling the ache.

So the women decide to take you into their own room. If it provides you the comfort you need they will take the suffering to make you feel even the slightest bit better. Wanda sits down on the bed with you still wrapped around her. Your head in her neck as you let her scent drown out your senses. Nat walked away from the two of you for a few minutes before coming back. In her arms is a plethora of blankets. She sets them on the bed next to Wanda. “Detka?” She crouches down in front of you two and says softly. “Can you please come out? I brought you blankets for a nest.” Her voice is still soft, watching you for any movement. 

Slowly you pull your head out, eyes landing on the pile. You hesitantly move not wanting to leave the comfort of the alpha but your inner omega is telling you to build your nest. “Thank you Nat.” You whisper, taking the blankets and moving to a corner of the room. It has been a losing battle to fight your inner omega who just craves the women. But you don’t want to overstep too much so you build your nest in the corner. You crawl into it moving things around till you’re comfortable. 

Being around the alphas has dulled your pain. It is still there but in less intense waves, but the slick has increased. You can now feel it coating your thighs. The two have watched you intently, hard uncomfortable bulges in their pants. Wanting nothing more than to claim you as their own. It isn’t until your small voice breaks the silence in the room that they break from the trance. “Alphas?” You whimper. The women quickly move over to you concerned that something could be wrong. You look up to them with tears in your eyes, scared to ask anything more of them but craving their comfort. 

Wanda’s hand gently cups your face, her thumb rubbing over your cheek gently. “Yes, omega. Do you need anything?” Wanda’s softness makes you purr as you nuzzle. “Please stay.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but they hear you. The women share a look before they agree. Nat gets in front of you which you instantly cuddle into her side, your head instinctively nuzzling into her neck. Wanda slots herself behind you. Both of them cuddle you tightly. 

Nat notices it instantly, your warm slick slowly coating her thigh. You start grinding against her thigh. Your brain is not even registering it until you let out a soft moan. A look of panic crossing your face when you realize what you are doing. “I-I-I’m sorry.” You try to pull away but their arms wrapping around you tightly keeps you in place. “What do you need mega?” Wanda kisses your shoulder and mumbles. You let out another whine at her words wanting to beg them to use you, breed you, mark you, to become their mate. “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us, sweet girl.” Nat kisses your forehead letting her lips linger there. 

You look up to the woman in front of you. “I want you, both of you.” You whisper. They are both slightly shocked but not entirely due to your recent actions. Nat’s hand cups your cheek. “Are you sure? This isn’t just your heat?” You shake your head no at her words. “Wanted you for a while. Didn’t think you wanted me. I’m nothing special.” You look down out of embarrassment waiting for the rejection, but it doesn’t come. Nat’s finger hooks under your chin, making you look back up  at her. She gently kisses your lips before pulling back your breaths mingling together in the open space. “We want you too, and you are special. You are the most kind and gentle person we have ever met.” 

It’s so quick that you don’t even notice. Wanda’s arms are removed from you and Nat has pushed you on your back hovering over you. “If you want us to stop or you change your mind you can tell us.” Nat tells you gently pecking your lips. “Are you sure you want this mega?” Wanda asks you. You nod your head. “We need words pretty girl.” You look at Wanda who is laying on her side with her head propped on her hand. “Want you.” Was the only words that slipped past your lips. In an instant with red whisps all of your clothes are gone. You look at Wanda a bit shocked, a smirk playing on her lips. 

Soon the alphas' clothes soon follow. Their rock hard cocks springing free of their confines. You feel Nat’s slap against your stomach causing you to look down. Your eyes widen at her sheer size wondering how she will fit. Your eyes then trail to Wanda. She looks even bigger than Nat, not by much but a noticeable difference. You can feel more of your slick coating your thighs as you whine. 

Nat kisses your head as her hand guides her cock to your folds. Swiping through them coating herself in your arousal, her tip nudging against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You let out a moan as she keeps nudging. When she is satisfied, she moves the tip down to your entrance, looking at you for your confirmation that you're still ok. When you give her a nod, she slowly starts to push in. Slowly sinking her cock into your wet and warm cunt. 

“Fuck so tight.” Nat moans as your walls clamp around her member. You’re so thankful for your heat, your slick allowing her to slip in easily. You wrap your legs around her waist as she sinks in further. When her thighs meet your ass you gasp at the fullness. You’ve never felt this full in your life and it feels so right. 

Nat gives you some time to adjust to the stretch fighting her inner alpha to just pound into you mercilessly. Wanda turns your head leaning in to kiss you. Her hands reach between your bodies as she finds your breasts. Her fingers expertly tweaking your nipples causing you to moan in her mouth distracting you from the fact that Nat has pulled almost all the way out before sinking back in. Her pace is slow at first just getting used to you. You feel so good and she doesn’t want to cum too early. 

When Nat feels like she can, her pace quickens. She fucks into you gently, her thrust deep as she angle just right. Hitting your spot deep inside. Wanda’s mouth is still on yours as she swallows all of your moans. Enjoying your full breast in her hands, groping at pinching her nipples as her mate fucks into you. 

You don’t expect the alpha to be so gentle as she fucks you but it feels so good from her. Her caring and soft side showed through with every thrust of her hips. She leans up grabbing your hips watching as her cock disappears into your hole. Entranced by your sweet scent and how you take her so well. How your hips buck into her to meet her thrust trying to get her that much deeper. The outline of her cock bulging from your skin, she presses down and a loud moan is escaping you. She looks back up to watch as Wanda devours you, catching every whimper and moan until you can’t keep up anymore. 

“So pretty and made for us. Taking me so well.” Nat praises you. “So perfectly wrapped around my cock squeezing me so tight. Fuck.” She moans when you clench. Your panting, eyes closed as your orgasm builds. One of Wanda’s hands drifting down between both of your bodies finding your bundle of nerves pinching it between her fingers. You cry out in pleasure and pain as she continues. Both women bring you so close to the edge. Your walls squeezing Nat tight, her grunts and moans filling your ears. Her knot starts to form hitting against your entrance, just begging to fill you. 

Wanda’s hand continues toying with your clit as Nat drives her hips into you. Your legs are slightly shaking around Nat’s hips. She leans back down the more her knot swells. You're both close to cumming. She kisses your scent gland sending small waves of pleasure. Her hips become more erratic when her knot fully forms. Slamming against your entrance. With a few more thrust her knot pops in and her teeth sink into your neck. You cry out in ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you. She marks you claiming you as her omega. Filling you with her cum as your back arches. Grinding into you as white hot ropes of cum fill you. Your cum coating her cock as your walls squeeze her knot, milking her dry. She lets your neck go and licks your wound clean. You look up at her curious and hopeful eyes. She smiles and leans her head giving you access to the opposite side from where Wanda bit. You lean up sinking your teeth in her scent gland. She moans out and you don’t know how it is possible but you can feel a few more spurts of cum filling you. Which just causes you to moan around her bite. You release her and lick it clean just as she had done for you. 

You’re both panting, Nat’s knot locking you together until it deflates. Wanda’s hands move away giving you two a chance to bond. Nat takes the time to gently move you both so that you are on your side. You feel the bond growing strong as you bask in the aftermath. She gently kisses your lips before leaning her forehead against yours. The room is silent until you break it. “Thank you.” You whisper between you two. Nat smiles. “No need to thank me detka. I have been wanting to do that for a long time.” The three of you laugh. It’s funny how you all wanted each other but none of you thought the other would. “Me too.” You smile, your breath still heavy between you two. 

When Nat’s knot finally deflates she removes herself from you. You let out a whimper at the lost feeling empty as your mixed cum leaks out of you. Wanda kisses your shoulder and mumbles against the naked skin. “My turn malyshka. I want you to ride me.” You look back at her, your eyes wide. “I-I’ve never.” You stutter a little having never ridden anyone before. She kisses your shoulder again. “That’s ok detka. You’re going to look so beautiful bouncing on my cock.” 

You feel Wanda shift as she lays on her back. You turn yourself to look at her. She has her hands behind her head and her cock standing proud. You don’t know how she was so patient when you look at her cock. Her tip is angry red and pre-cum has leaked all down her shaft. Her hand moves to wrap around and gently jerk herself. She had wanted to save all of her cum for you to fill you even fuller than you already were. You hesitate for a moment before getting up and shifting. Throwing your leg over her hips hovering over her cock. Her hand is firmly around her cock lining it up with your entrance. You look at her for a second when she gives you a reassuring smile. You give her a small smile before you start to slowly sink down on her. 

Wanda moves her hand back behind her head as she watches you sink down. “Fuck your right Natty. So fucking tight. Fuck even after you fucked her she is tight.” You blush at her words, finally sitting fully in her lap. You didn’t think you could feel this full. Both of them fit you so perfectly like they were made just for you. 

You grind your hips experimentally, the movement causing you and Wanda to moan. You can see the cocky smirk on her face as she waits for you to fuck yourself on her cock. “Fuck I can feel both of your cums leaking all over my cock.” She bucks her hips up, enticing you to move. You groan, taking her hint as you lift yourself up before slamming yourself down. You set a slow and steady pace as you figure out your moments. Bringing yourself up before dropping back down. Wanda enjoys the sight of your breast bouncing every time you sink back down. 

But your pace is a bit slow for the woman. “Ride me like you mean it detka. I want to see you fuck yourself on my cock.” You whimper, nodding your head and picking up the pace. Bouncing on her cock and grinding your hips when you meet her pelvis. The sight in front of her is perfect as the perfect omega rides her. Even at this angle Wanda can see a perfect outline of her cock filling your tight hole. Moaning knowing that you're so full of her and that she is going to fill you even more. 

Whimpers and moans fill the room as you continue to fuck yourself on her cock. Soon you feel hands on your waist as Nat moves closer to you two she helps guid you quicker on fucking her mate. Wanda’s hands moving to your plush thighs digging her fingers into the soft flesh. Starting to buck her hips up to meet you. Fucking you harder than Nat did. 

“Such a whore for us already. Taking our fat cocks in your tight little hole. Look at that.” Wanda presses her hand down hard on the bulge that appears on your lower abdomen. You cry out from the pleasure and her words, looking down to see her cock moving inside of you. Your walls clench her tightly at the sights. “Oh fuck you like that don’t you little whore. Love being fucked by your alpha’s.” Wanda’s moans, her words a stark contrast to Nat’s praises. She is rougher with her thrusts. Showing a different side to each woman. 

Nat turns your head towards her and kisses you hungrily. Wanda sits up planting her feet and thrusting up hard and rough. You love the difference between the two. A gentle Nat and a rougher Wanda. It turns you on immensely more slick coating Wanda’s cock the harder she drives her hips up into you. Nat still helping you fuck yourself down on her cock. 

“Such a perfect cock drunk whore for us. So pretty being our little cum dump, just for us to use.” With every word that Wanda speaks it sends you closer to the edge, your walls clamping down on her. You don’t know how she can keep her rough pace as your walls suffocate her cock. She moans as your walls tighten, her knot forming and pressing against your entrance begging to slip in. Wanda nibbles at your perky nipples. “Want to be bred full of our cum? Fill you with our pups?” You moan into Nat’s mouth mumbling a yes. 

“These tits would look so perfect, full of milk, your belly swollen with our pups.” She bites down on your nipple causing you to break the kiss from nat and cry out. “Mmm.” You whimper, her thrust becoming erratic as your knot fully forms. Nat lets your waist go and Wanda wraps her arms around you thrusting up harder and faster. You didn’t think she could go any harder or faster but it has you moaning louder. Your arms tightly wrapped around her as your nails dig into her back causing her to moan at the sting.

Wanda moves her head to the other side of your neck biting into your other scent gland as her knot slips inside locking you two together. You scream out and throw your head back as your vision blurs, cumming harder than you ever have before. Wanda’s cum joins Nat’s deep inside you filling the void and feeding the desires of your inner omega. Your whole body trembles in her hold as your bond forms. She pulls away, licking your wound. She lets you take the side opposite of Nat’s mark cementing your bond to both women. Small spurts of cum still fill you as Wanda grinds helping you both to ride out your highs. 

When you come down your rigid body slumps into Wanda nuzzling into her neck. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, kissing the side of your head. Her fingers gently rubbing at your back. Your arms loosely wrapped around her exhaustion taking over as you close your eyes. 

“Are you ok sweet girl?” Wanda questions kissing your head again. You hum in response, throat raw from your previous actions. “I wasn’t too rough was I?” You could hear the concern in her voice. So you pull back a soft smile playing on your lips. “No, it was perfect. Both of you.” Your voice is hoarse. You look back at Nat who pecks your lips. You would think that Nat would be jealous of how your body reacted to Wanda but all you can see is the love in her eyes. The stark contrast between the two is something you already love. How gentle Nat praising you as she fucked into you and how Wanda was rougher degrading you. 

When Wanda’s knot deflates they both help you up on wobbly legs taking you to a warm bath and cleaning you up. Your heat subsiding for the moment, a relief you thought you would never have. You’re all now cuddled up in your nest, your head on Nat’s chest, Wanda’s arms wrapped around your waist. Your eyes droop shut as exhaustion from the day's events gets to you. If someone had told you that you would end up being the omega mate to two Avengers you would have laughed in their face but right now wrapped up with them is all you could have ever wished for. The love of two powerful and amazing alphas and they are all yours. “I love you two.” You mumble so close to sleep. Both women were smiling. “We love you too.” Wanda kisses your shoulder and Nat kisses your head. “Our omega.”

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, pregnancy, strong language, sexism, you're going to want to grab a man and shake him, brief argument between Lando/Amelia, protective!Lando, possessive!Lando.

Notes — In honour of Lando's Monaco win, enjoy this long ass chapter xxx

2024 (Bahrain)

The hotel bathroom was quiet, lit only by the soft gold glow of the sconces and the flickering of a candle perched on the windowsill. The bathwater had gone from hot to lukewarm, but neither of them wanted to move. The air was humid, vanilla scented fog clinging to the mirror, and the silence was beautiful.

Amelia sat with her back against Lando’s chest, her legs stretched out between his, one arm resting over his knee, the other trailing lazy patterns in the water. His arms wrapped loosely around her middle — not tight, just steady. Warm. Anchoring.

His fingers brushed the edge of her tiny bump, which was just now starting to round out more noticeably under the water.

“Susie texted me,” he said eventually, voice low, lips near her ear.

“I know. She sent me a screenshot.” Amelia hummed. “Said you told her you were proud of me. Thought it was very sweet.”

“I am.” His nose nudged against her temple. “You said yes to something that was scary for you.”

“I always try to say yes to things that matter,” she corrected, soft but firm.

“Same thing, sometimes.”

She smiled a little, the kind that didn’t quite reach her mouth but warmed her anyway. They fell quiet again, letting the moment stretch. Steam curled in the air above the water.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lando said after a while, “about how we announce it.”

Amelia turned her head just slightly, enough to glance back at him. “The baby?”

He nodded. “People already suspect. We could just... confirm. Say it in our own way, before someone takes that away from us, you know?”

She thought for a second. “No awkward statement. No grid-side reveal or something ridiculous like that. Just a photo.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“A bump pic. Me dressed comfy. I don’t want to show anyone my scans, they’re private. Ours.” She said.

He hummed his agreement. “I can take the picture if you want.”

She pushed further into him. “Yes, fine. I’ll post that, and you can post whatever you want.”

Lando grinned. “Yeah? Thanks, baby.”

“Mm.”

They sat for another beat before Lando asked, quieter this time, like he was tiptoeing toward something sensitive. “You want to go back to work after?”

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She watched the water ripple as she moved one toe, trailing it lazily beneath the surface.

It was a fair question. With Lando’s salary and her own savings, they were more than secure. Add in both their families’ wealth, and their future, their child’s future, was already built on something solid.

But it wasn’t about money.

It was about legacy.

She loved her work. Loved the process of building something from nothing. Loved running strategy with Oscar and chasing that edge-of-your-seat adrenaline from the pit wall. She loved knowing she’d carved out a place in a world that had once been her only real comfort; a world where she hadn’t always felt welcome, but had made space for herself anyway.

Not many autistic people got the chances she’d had. She knew that. And she wasn’t ready to give them up.

Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He’d known her answer before she said it.

Still, hearing it, the certainty in her voice when she said “Yeah. I do.” — settled something in his chest that he hadn’t even realised was unsteady.

Of course she was going back to work.

Of course she wouldn’t be able to stay away.

She wasn’t built to. And honestly, he hadn’t fallen in love with someone who could. Amelia wasn’t passive. She didn’t sit still well. Her happiness lived in spreadsheets and simulations, strategy calls and sharp, direct problem-solving that left most people scrambling to catch up.

And he was obsessed with it.

Still; some part of him, ancient and primal and just a little bit unhinged, wanted to keep her home. Keep her wrapped up in soft jumpers and warm beds and low, steady heartbeats. Keep her safe. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he didn’t trust anyone else.

And now she was carrying his baby.

That knowledge struck him like a wave sometimes. The reality of it. The fragility. The ferocity of what he felt when he looked at her now; the kind of love that walked hand in hand with fear.

“I’ll get a sling,” she was saying, shifting slightly in the water, her voice more animated now. “Or one of those carrier things. I’ll bring the baby to the track with me. Nap time during debriefs. I’m sure they’ll be able to sleep through Oscar talking.”

Lando huffed a laugh, nuzzling the damp curve of her shoulder. “Probably sleep better with it.”

“I’m serious.” She turned a little, looking back at him. “I’ll make sure they’re safe. Make sure it’s never too loud or too dangerous. But I want them to be involved. Even if they’re too small to remember it.”

“They’ll remember how it felt,” Lando said, voice low. “You being happy. In your element.”

That made her pause.

She blinked. Once. Then again. She didn’t cry, not quite, but the weight of the moment settled heavy between them. “We’re going to be fine, aren’t we?” She whispered.

Lando tightened his arms around her, chin tucked into her shoulder. “Yeah,” he murmured. “We’re going to be brilliant.”

—

Later that evening, Amelia stood in front of the mirror in one of Lando’s old t-shirts; soft, worn-in, hit mid-thigh. The hallway light was low behind her, and Lando leaned silently in the doorway, watching her.

The bump was barely there. Just a shift. A curve where there hadn’t been one before. But he saw the way she looked at it — clinical, detached, like she was trying to solve a problem that couldn’t be defined by numbers.

He knew that look. Had seen it a hundred times when she was deep in a design challenge, stuck on something she couldn’t brute-force with logic.

Only this wasn’t CFD. This wasn’t something she could sketch her way out of.

“Beautiful,” he said finally, softly.

She startled slightly, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. “Sorry,” she muttered, like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

He crossed the room in a few slow steps and slid his arms around her from behind, hands warm over the gentle swell of her stomach. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Just… talk to me. Yeah?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into him slightly. “It’s stupid.”

“Bet it’s not.”

Her gaze dropped to the fabric of the shirt. “It’s just… weird. My body. It’s not mine the same way it used to be.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just held her tighter.

“I know it’s normal. I know it’s supposed to be this way. But I feel like I have to keep checking if I’m still… me.”

“You are,” he said, no hesitation. “You’re still you.”

She let out a breath, shaky. “I have two heartbeats.”

“Yeah.” His hand slid lower, covering hers. “Just another one for me to protect, hm?”

Her laugh was quiet. She looked down again, hands still hovering at the hem of her shirt.

Lando’s thoughts ran in quiet loops behind his steady face.

Amelia was already strong. Already capable. But she was also vulnerable in a way that twisted something primal in him. Not because she was weak, never that, but because she mattered. More than anyone. More than anything.

She turned in his arms and looked up at him. “I didn’t know you’d be like this,” she said softly.

“Like what?”

“Protective.”

His jaw tensed slightly, but his thumbs were gentle as they traced the curve of her waist. “You’re you. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her breath hitched.

“And if anyone even thinks about making you feel less than perfect, or looking at you wrong, I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?” She said lightly, looping her fingers in the hem of his hoodie. “Run them over with your big scary Formula One car?”

“If I must.”

Her laugh was breathy, but her eyes were wet again. She leaned in, forehead to his chest, small and quiet and warm in his arms.

The mirror behind them had fogged over, hiding their reflection.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into her hair. “Both of you. Mine.”

And if it was possessive, if it was a little bit selfish, well, maybe it didn’t matter.

Because it was true.

—

Amelia was called in just after Oscar’s final lap time had been logged and the garage started to empty. The paddock buzzed around her with its usual noise and movement, but her mind was quiet. Focused.

She didn’t knock.

Zak and Andrea were already inside, both standing.

She blinked at them.

Her dad looked uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the heat. His hands were on his hips, eyes on the floor. Andrea was less rigid, but equally tense, shifting a folder between his hands. When Amelia stepped in and closed the door, they both looked up.

“Sit down?” Andrea offered.

“I’ll stand,” she said evenly.

Andrea gave a small nod. Zak exhaled, a breath heavier than it needed to be.

“We spoke to the factory team,” Andrea began, “Reviewed the data from the past three days alongside their notes from the adjustments we made pre-season.”

“They admitted it,” Zak added. His voice sounded rough, like he’d rehearsed this and it still didn’t come out right. “They said you were right. About the aero balance. About the centre of gravity shift. About the torque distribution. Everything.”

Amelia didn’t react. Of course she’d been right.

Zak looked at her like he wanted to see something more; a smile, vindication, even relief. She didn’t give it to him.

“We should’ve listened when you flagged it the first time,” Andrea said. “It was a mistake to sideline your design philosophy.”

“You didn’t sideline it,” Amelia corrected, voice flat. “You replaced it. And let the factory team run with their own version of the spec, assuming I was being difficult instead of accurate.”

Andrea winced slightly. Zak flinched like she’d slapped him, not because her tone was harsh, but because it wasn’t. There was no heat behind the words. Just truth. Clean. Clinical.

Like it was data.

“I’m sorry,” Zak said.

Amelia finally looked at him.

She tilted her head slightly. “For which part?”

Zak swallowed. “For all of it,” he said. “For doubting you. For not defending your position when it counted. For treating you like a junior instead of a peer just because you’re my daughter.”

Silence.

Amelia’s hands were still. She blinked once, slow.

“I’m not here because I’m your daughter,” she said. “I’m here because I’m the best person for the job. I’ve proven that more than once. I led a driver to two incredible championships. But every time I push back, you treat it like a personal affront instead of professional disagreement. And Andrea—”

He looked up, eyes tired.

“—you’ve spent months pretending you trust me when it’s clear you don’t. That has consequences. Real ones. You compromised the car’s integrity because you didn’t want to back me.”

Andrea opened his mouth, but closed it again. There was nothing to say.

Zak was the one who stepped forward slightly, voice quieter now. “I didn’t know how to separate it. You being my daughter. You being in charge. I thought if I gave you too much leeway, people would say I was biased. But pulling back, letting others make the calls, it wasn’t the answer. And I see that now.”

Amelia didn’t move. She didn’t cry. She didn’t fold.

She just looked at him, measured and calm.

“Your worry about nepotism made you blind to sexism,” she said simply. “I wasn’t just second-guessed because I’m your daughter. I was second-guessed because I’m a woman in a room full of men who think engineering should look and sound like them. And you let that happen.”

Zak looked gutted.

Andrea rubbed a hand down his face, shame written clear across it.

“We’re reverting the car to your spec,” Andrea said quietly. “As soon as possible. We’re thinking it might take a while, but you’ll have full oversight. We’ll make sure your pipeline through the factory is restored — direct, no interference. We’ll back you. Properly, this time.”

Amelia gave one small nod. “Miami was your deadline.”

“I know,” Zak said. “It might still look like that — with how long it’ll take to introduce the upgrades in a way that won’t piss off the FIA.”

She hesitated, then nodded again — a fraction slower. “Good,” she said. “Then let me get back to work.”

She turned, her braid swaying behind her, and left without needing anything else.

No smugness. No triumph. Just forward motion; the kind she’d built her whole career on.

—

Amelia stood by the far window, sipping from a paper cup. Her badge was clipped to her belt still, her braid loose from where she’d pulled it apart during debrief. She didn’t move when her dad walked in.

He didn’t speak right away.

Neither did she.

He poured himself a coffee, too. Let the quiet stretch. Then, “I’ve been awful, haven’t I?.”

Amelia didn’t look at him. “Yes. But that wasn’t the worst part.”

He waited.

She turned, arms folded, the paper cup tucked loosely in her hand. “You’ve always believed in me as your daughter. I don’t doubt that. But you’ve never made space for me to be more than that when we’re here. You tell me you’re proud; but the second I disagree with you, or someone else in that room, I become a liability.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not.” Her voice stayed calm, level. Not emotional — precise. “I’m not irrational. I’m not reckless. I know that sometimes I communicate differently. But I am good at what I do. You don’t get to keep acting like those things are mutually exclusive.”

Zak looked down. His face, tired and slack under the motorhome lights, was older than she remembered seeing it last.

“You’re not a liability,” he said quietly. “Honey, I know you’re not. I swear.”

She nodded once, accepting it. No more, no less.

“I’m not angry,” she added. “But I’m not going to forget it happened.”

Zak nodded too. “You shouldn’t.”

They stood there for a beat longer.

Then he cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

She gave him a look.

“I mean—” He raised his hands slightly.

“…Fine.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, awkward. “Is this a bad time to ask if you’re going to want maternity leave?”

She blinked. Slowly. “Seriously?”

“Well, you’re already doing the job of three people. I just thought I should check.”

“I’m not going to be sitting around crocheting for six months, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Amelia shrugged. “I’ll take a few weeks to recover. But I’m not vanishing. I’ll still be consulting. I’ll have a baby sling. And my iPad.”

Zak gave a small, helpless laugh — the first one all day that wasn’t exhausted. Then quieter, “You’re going to be a phenomenal mom.”

She looked down at her cup. Said nothing. But her lip twitched.

Zak stepped forward and pulled her into a quick, firm hug. For a moment, she stayed stiff — then let herself soften against him, just for a second.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “For everything. For trying to keep you away from Lando all those years ago, and for underestimating you again and again. I’ve learned my lesson. It'll never happen again.”

She didn’t say thank you.

But she hugged him back.

—

There were four days until the first race of the 2024 season.

The worst of the heat had passed, leaving just a shimmer of warmth on the breeze as Amelia and Lando strolled side by side down a quiet stretch of narrow street, tucked away from the busier tourist spots.

Amelia had her sunglasses on, hair up in a messy bun. One hand rested lightly on her hip through the oversized linen shirt she’d borrowed from Lando that morning. Her other hand was cradling a half-finished bottle of water.

“You sure you’re not too tired?” Lando asked as they slowed near the edge of a small, shaded plaza.

“If I sit still for too long, my brain starts building hypothetical aero upgrades. You don’t want that,” she replied dryly.

Lando grinned. “God forbid you solve our side-pod turbulence in your sleep.”

“I already did that.” She told him seriously.

They found a little cafe tucked between two sandstone buildings; one of those slightly touristy places, but quiet, with mismatched chairs and a handwritten chalkboard menu. The awning fluttered faintly overhead as they took a seat outside, the table wobbly until Lando kicked a piece of stone under one leg.

Amelia squinted at the dessert menu propped behind the till. “What’s that?”

Lando followed her gaze. “‘Tiramisu stuffed brioche’,” he read aloud. “Nice.”

“I want it.” She said.

“You want it?” He blinked. “You never eat sweets before four pm.”

Amelia gave him a look. “Yes. Well. Apparently, now I do. Make sure it has no alcohol.”

Lando stood without another word and went to order. She watched him through the front window as he paid, then turned slightly to rest a hand on her stomach — absently. Still not fully used to the motion, but grounding herself in it more every day.

When he returned, two drinks in hand and the promised pastry on a little ceramic plate, he placed it in front of her like it was some precious offering.

“Moment of truth,” he said, eyes dancing.

She took one bite.

Then blinked. Chewed. Blinked again.

“Oh wow.”

Lando laughed. “Oh yes.”

“I want twelve more.”

He leaned back, looking smug. “Say the word, and I’ll clear out their kitchen.”

Amelia broke off another piece, then paused mid-bite, frowning at the treat with faint suspicion. “Is it normal to fixate on food like this?”

“Yes,” he said easily. “And very cute.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s irrational. There’s no scientific reason why—”

“You’re building a human,” Lando said, gently interrupting. “You can have cravings. It’s fine. I find it… weirdly hot, actually.”

She choked on the next bite.

Lando grinned wider. “What? There’s something kind of sexy about watching the most brilliant mind in motorsport fall madly in love with wildly specific flavoured carbs.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Amelia swallowed her mouthful and rolled her eyes, but she did smile, just slightly, as she reached for his drink and took a sip without asking.

They sat in the quiet for a while longer, warm air brushing against their skin, the low hum of the city around them. At one point, Lando reached across the table and took her hand, just held it there, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles.

“Tell the group-chat.” She said. “Before we post on Instagram. It’ll be nice for them to hear it directly from you.”

“Okay, baby.”

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2024 F1 Grid

Lando N.

alright lads

Serious message incoming

George R.

Everything alright mate?

Alex A.

Did Amelia lose her iPad somewhere in Bahrain and you expect us to go searching for it? Bc I’m busy

Charles L.

i will NOT be clicking any weird links this time

Lando N.

shut up all of you for 5 seconds

i’m being SERIOUS

Oscar P.

👀

Lando Norris:

Amelia’s pregnant.

We’re having a baby!

Carlos S.

BRO

FELICIDADES

Pierre G.

WHAT

YOU’RE GONNA BE A DAD????

Fernando A.

Congratulations!

I already knew of course, mi Nina informed me herself x

George R.

Mate. Mate.

MATE.

A BABY NORRIS.

Charles L.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

Esteban O.

So you’ll be like… a real life dad? Omg

Lando N.

Yes very real. Baby Norris will be arriving late summer.

Logan S.

Does this mean I won’t be the baby of the grid anymore?

Oscar P.

Sorry Loges. Feels like you’ve been dethroned.

Oscar P.

Also

Lando’s baby is 100% going to know more about aero than half this group before it can talk.

Lando N.

not even a joke

Yuki T.

omg

tiny paddock baby

can i be godfather

Lando N.

we’re not discussing godparents yet 💀

George R.

Tell Amelia congratulations from all of us — and that she’s the real hero in all this

You just did the fun bit LOL

Lando N.

already told her

Max V.

Happy for you both, mate

Hope you’re ready for zero sleep for the rest of your life 👍

Lando N.

ready as I’ll ever be

(i think)

Carlos S.

Let’s gooooooo

Grid uncle squad is forming

Message pinned by George Russell:

GEORGE R.

🎉 CONGRATS LANDO + AMELIA 🎉

Baby Norris incoming — Summer 2024

—

amelianorris just posted . . .

amelianorris We’re having a baby and I am always nauseous 🧡

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, mclaren and 4.7m others

Tagged: landonorris

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landonorris my beautiful baby and my perfect little miracle. ❤️ by amelianorris

user82 the fact that i dont know if amelia is 'beautiful baby' or 'perfect little miracle'.... im so soft for them ohmygod. parents fr

maxverstappen1 Congratulations! You will be wonderful parents x

user26 BABY NORRIS IS REAL OMG!!!!!! THE SPECULATION WASN'T US BEING CRAZY!? BABY NORRIS TRUTHERS RISE

maxfewtrell Congrats!!!! So unbelievably happy for you and Lando. Can't wait to be an uncle 🥰

user60 you're telling me that little lando norris is going to be a dad?????? oh my word im speechless

oscarpiastri All my love to you both (baby and mommy) x

landonorris bro??? oscarpiastri oh right congrats ig user16 LMAO so we all know who his favourite norris is 😭

mclaren A McLaren baby! How exciting. Congratulations to you both!!! xxxx

—

The sun was already climbing, casting shadows across the paddock as the first media crews began setting up. There was a crispness to the desert air, the kind that would vanish by noon. The paddock wasn’t loud yet. That would come later, with the rush of media pens and mechanics and cameras and the first official laps of the year.

Amelia stepped out of the car first, tugging her sunglasses into place. Lando was out a second later, gently shutting the door and circling to her side without a word. His hand found the small of her back automatically, a steady point of contact as they began the familiar walk toward the paddock entrance.

She didn’t need the support, not physically, but she didn’t mind it either. His hand there was warm, grounding. She let herself lean into it slightly.

They weren’t walking fast. They didn’t need to.

A few fans had gathered at the edge of the barriers lining the team access road; early risers, most wearing McLaren caps and orange shirts, phones already out. Normally Amelia would’ve walked right past with a nod or a quick wave, but a young woman in a papaya tee held up a tiny baby onesie with the McLaren logo printed across the front.

Amelia paused.

The girl’s voice was soft but bright. “Congratulations, Amelia! I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Amelia blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sincerity. “Thank you. I’m… working on it.”

Lando smiled at that and stepped in slightly closer beside her, fingers brushing over the back of her shirt as she reached for the onesie the girl was offering.

“It's for you. I sewed it myself.” The fan said.

Amelia took it gently. Held it up. It was impossibly small, white with papaya trim, and a little line of checkered flags stitched along the sleeve.

She let out a quiet breath, something unreadable flickering through her expression.

A few others along the barrier were calling softly now — well-wishes, smiles, and congratulations. One older woman, probably in her sixties, just clasped her hands together and said, “You are both going to be wonderful parents.”

Amelia handed the onesie to Lando without comment and took the offered Sharpie. She signed everything that was shoved at her quickly but carefully. “Thank you,” she said, a little quieter this time.

They hung around for a few more minutes. Lando signed hats and flags; Amelia posed for a few photos, a little awkward, but always soft around the eyes. One teenage girl told her she wanted to be a motorsport engineer because of her. Amelia find herself sniffling, embarrassingly emotional over something she’d been told a hundred times, and Lando reached for her hand again without saying a word.

As they turned to leave, he leaned in close. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

“Good overwhelmed?”

She nodded once. “Yeah. It’s nice. People caring. Being so kind. You have nice fans. You and Oscar. They’re good people.”

Lando didn’t respond straight away. He just kissed her temple, hand still on her back as they walked into the paddock.

The baby onesie remained tucked into Amelia’s bag.

—

The atmosphere was calm — a rare thing for the days leading up to the first Grand Prix weekend of the season. A few drivers had filtered into the lounge after media duties, still in their polos, half-watching a muted F2 session on the TV overhead, trading quiet comments about the heat and the track changes.

The sliding door opened. Lando stepped in first, a hand gently guiding Amelia at the small of her back. She was dressed simply in team kit and a pair of dark sunglasses perched atop her head, posture straight but relaxed.

Oscar was leaned back in one of the corner chairs, legs stretched out, nursing a bottle of water. He glanced up, and his face lit up with something that looked like pride. “Hey,” he greeted simply. “All good?”

Amelia nodded. “All good.”

Charles was beside him, already smiling, the kind that started in the eyes, easy and genuine. “It’s nice to see you both,” he said.

“You too,” Amelia replied, quiet.

Max was near the back wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He gave a small nod. “Well done,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for Amelia to hear as she passed. “It’s nice not to have to worry about keeping your secret.”

She offered him a rare little smile. “I know you struggle with secrets. You did a good job.”

A few others looked up; George, Alex, Esteban.

George was the first to speak now, rising from the edge of the sofa. “Hey. Congrats, guys.” His tone was steady, no teasing. “Really happy for you both.”

“Thanks, mate,” Lando said, his hand still resting gently against Amelia’s back.

Alex gave her a quick nod, not pushing. “You feeling okay in the heat?”

“Tired,” Amelia admitted. “But not bad. The heat is frustrating.”

“You’re in Bahrain,” Esteban said, smiling lightly. “No avoiding it, unfortunately.”

There was a quiet round of low chuckles. No one pushed closer, no one stared too long. No inappropriate questions or drawn-out fuss. They all knew Amelia; knew she wasn’t a spotlight kind of person. They treated her like they always had. With respect. With a bit of caution. With something close to admiration.

Amelia turned toward Oscar for a moment. He tilted his head. “Hi.”

She gave him a small nudge. “How are you feeling about today? First practice of the year.”

“Good,” he said simply.

Lando leaned in slightly. “You want to head over to hospitality? Get some breakfast?”

“In a minute,” she murmured.

It was nice. For now. To be surrounded by people who respected her. Loved her, even.

—

Oscar sat half-suited in the car, balaclava tucked loose around his neck, race gloves rolled halfway up his wrists. The garage was alive around them; murmurs between mechanics, the steady beep of telemetry syncing, a dull hiss from an air hose being disconnected.

Amelia was perched on a stool pressed up against the side-pod of the car, elbow resting on her thigh, iPad propped in one hand. Her hair was tied back into a braid with clinical precision.

“The wind direction’s shifted twelve degrees since morning,” she said, eyes on the live atmospheric feed. “Downforce will wash out quicker through sector two. Turn ten’s going to be problematic for you.”

Oscar leaned his head back against the padding and gave a wry smile. “So, usual Bahrain things?”

“Yeah. Except a little meaner today.” She tapped through the sim data, cross-referenced it with the downforce models. Without looking up, she added, “Let the rear settle through seven or you’re going to spike your tyre temps and ruin the run.”

“Do my best.”

She flicked him a glance, dry and fond. “Thanks.”

One of the support engineers leaned over Amelia’s shoulder. “We’re showing high differential pressure variance through the right rear. Might need a last-minute check.”

Amelia didn't look away from the screen. “Yeah, I flagged it an hour ago. We already swapped sensors — it’s the wind skewing the read. Don’t touch it.”

“Copy.”

Oscar snorted. “Still terrifying when you do that.”

She tilted her head. “Do what?”

“Know things before anyone says them.”

“It’s my job.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath, flexing his gloved hands. “Do I need to worry about rear-end grip into Turn 11?”

“Not unless you've forgotten everything you know about driving a Formula One car.”

“Reassuring.”

Her hand came up, instinctively pressing against the curve of her lower belly for just a second, her expression twisting with something that looked a little green around the edges. 

Oscar noticed, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched her quietly, then offered, “You’re not too hot?”

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “No. I’m fine.”

His brow arched slightly. “You always say that, so I never know when to actually believe it.”

“I’ve got a thermometer that I keep using to check my temperature. It’s consistent. I’m drinking the exact amount of water that my doctor has recommended. I’m taking regular breaks from the sun and eating in intervals of three hours. I am, by definition, absolutely fine.”

He stared at her. “Sure.”

“I’ll bring you something nice for lunch if you can get through this session without causing a red flag.”

“Wow. Conditional nourishment. You spoil me.” He said sarcastically.

Before she could fire back, Lando passed behind them on his way to the other side of the garage, pausing only to brush a hand lightly along the back of Amelia’s shoulder as he went. She didn’t react outwardly, but her entire body softened for half a second.

Oscar clocked the moment. “He’s not going to wrap you in bubble wrap, is he? I need you.”

“He can try,” she muttered, before standing and glancing down at her iPad again. “Alright. First run’s mediums. Five-lap stint. I want lift-and-coast into lap two so we can log some cooling data. Don’t race the lap. This is recon.”

“Understood.”

She stepped back as the mechanics moved in. One of the tyre engineers looked to her for confirmation.

“Release him. Let’s get it done.”

Oscar gave a lazy two-finger salute as the engine roared to life. “Catch you in ten.”

She rolled her eyes but said, “Bring it back to me in one piece.”

—

McLaren’s pit wall pulsed with quiet, meticulous focus.

Amelia sat on her usual stool; headset already in place, tablet resting on her lap, one foot tucked under her thigh.

Andrea leaned against the back rail beside her, arms folded. “Any nerves?”

Amelia didn’t look up. “No. I never get nervous for practice sessions.” She paused. “Unless there’s extreme weather conditions.”

Zak, just settling into his own chair a few feet down, let out a snort. “Let’s not tempt fate.”

Will took his place beside Amelia, offering her a quiet nod. “Track temps are rising quicker than expected,” he murmured. “Oscar might get wind shear on the back straight.”

“I know,” Amelia said, already flipping through telemetry with a few well-practiced taps. “Told him we’d adjust diff mid-run if it hits. He’s got the override mapped.”

The strategists filtered in, eyes flicking between live data and evolving models. One handed Amelia a fresh printout of projected stint lengths based on wind intensity. She scanned it, adjusted two numbers with her pen, and passed it back without a word.

There was a beat of quiet as the first few cars fired out of the pit lane. The soft whoosh of tires on tarmac passed through the headsets. Oscar was next.

“Box clear. You’re good to go,” Amelia said calmly into her mic, eyes on the screen. “Watch your entry on Turn 4 — wind's picking up.”

Oscar's response was dry, as always. “Copy. Let’s have some fun.”

She noticed the red light on the camera above them flicker on. Without missing a beat, she lifted one hand and gave it a small, wry wave; the sort that said, ‘Hello, I’m aware that you’re broadcasting my face right now.’

Oscar’s voice crackled over the radio again as the first run of the day ticked down. “Rear’s light into six, but I can manage.”

“Okay,” Amelia said, scrolling across the telemetry. “I’ll bump rear brake bias up two clicks on the next run. Ride’s holding well, though.”

“Yeah. Feels sharp.”

Andrea stood nearby with arms crossed, eyes on the live delta. Will leaned in closer to her screen, already logging feedback. Zak occasionally asked short, pointed questions and her answers were always clipped, accurate, unemotional.

Still, there was something softer in Amelia’s tone with Oscar. A dry edge, yes, but the undercurrent of investment and care was impossible to miss.

“Sure, ducky,” she’d muttered when Oscar said he was ready to “have some fun” on his out-lap. “Fun.”

Andrea had caught it immediately. “You’re soft on him.”

Amelia didn’t even look up. Just took a drink from her McLaren water bottle — her name printed in block letters on the side, a bold red ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sticker slapped under it like a warning label. “He responds better to praise. I yell at him a lot when he’s on the sim. There’s a balance.”

The morning wore on like clockwork. Data rolled in, Oscar ran clean stints, and Amelia barely left her post except to swap tablets or double-check tire degradation stats with the Pirelli engineers. FP1 ended solidly — no fireworks, but tidy and consistent. Exactly what she liked.

At lunch, she peeled off her headset and headed toward the hospitality area with Lando. He met her halfway, already peeling a banana and offering it to her mid-stride.

“I don’t want your banana,” she said flatly.

He grinned and took a bite himself. “Thought I’d try to help with your potassium. You looked grumpy.”

“I always look grumpy.”

“Grumpier than usual,” he clarified.

Amelia rolled her eyes but accepted the bottle of blue (her favourite flavour) electrolytes he handed over without question. They found a quiet corner inside the team’s motorhome, away from the usual pre-race noise. He sprawled lazily in the booth; she sat opposite, tugging the hem of her McLaren shirt down.

“How are we looking out there?” He asked after a moment, nodding toward the pit lane.

She shrugged, already halfway into reading the FP1 debrief notes on her iPad. “Stable. Better than expected on the straights. Wind's dropping slightly toward sunset, so you’ll get a cleaner second session.”

Lando watched her. “You’re amazing at this.”

Amelia didn’t look up. “Yes.”

He smirked. “But also very modest.”

“No point in pretending I’m not good at my job.” She finally looked up, softer now. “Especially with you and Oscar relying on me.”

He reached across the table and tugged her iPad down slightly. “I rely on you even when you’re not working.”

She blinked once. Then twice. “Lando.” She said. Her cheeks were pink.

Lando just laughed.

—

The desert heat had lessened, but the wind hadn’t. It whipped around the paddock in short bursts, rustling the pit board labels and tugging at Amelia’s hair where it was braided and pinned to the back of her head.

This time, Lando was out first. Amelia watched from her usual perch, shoulder to shoulder with Will, strategists reading live delta and fuel burn beside them. Her gaze bounced rapidly between live feeds and overlays, fingers dancing over the touchscreen surface like it was second nature.

When Lando’s rear stepped out slightly in Turn 12, her voice was calm. “Tell him to adjust your brake migration one click forward.”

Will relaid the information.

“Copy,” came Lando’s voice, low and focused.

Oscar followed soon afterwards on fresh softs. Amelia’s tone changed; not gentler, but more measured. “Remember what we talked about. Brake release into 7. Gentle. Controlled. Don’t throw the car in.”

Oscar’s lap lit up green across sectors.

She let a satisfied breath out through her nose.

—

By the end of the day, both drivers had done consistent long runs and given the strategy team a solid amount tire feedback.

Andrea glanced at her as they began packing up. “Good work today.”

Amelia gave a small smile — appreciative, but measured. Still, she noticed he was making more of an effort lately, and that counted. “Thanks.”

Later, back in the garage, with the mechanics winding down and the last of the day’s noise settling, Lando found her perched on a tire stack, sipping from a cold water bottle. Sweat clung to her temples, and the last of the sun lit her skin in warm gold.

He bumped her hip lightly with his. “Hi, gorgeous. Missed you today.”

She arched a brow. “You’ve been glued to my side every second you weren’t in the car.”

“Still,” he said, grinning as he pulled her into a soft, end-of-day hug.

Under the buzz of the Bahrain floodlights, she pressed her face into his neck with a tired groan. “My feet hurt. And my ankles are swollen.”

Without missing a beat, Lando lifted her off the ground. “Better?”

She sighed, tension melting out of her shoulders. “Much.”

He kissed the side of her head and held her a little tighter.

—

The balcony doors were cracked open, letting in the night air and the quiet hum of the city. Amelia sat cross-legged on the bed in one of Lando’s oversized T-shirts, blue-light glasses on, tapping idly at her laptop. Notes and track maps were scattered beside her, though she was only half-committed to actually reviewing them.

Lando, sprawled beside her with one leg over her thigh and a bowl of popcorn between them, was glued to his phone, thumb lazily scrolling through TikTok. His curls were damp from the shower, and his body still smelled faintly of sunblock and whatever soap the hotel stocked.

He stopped suddenly.

“Babe,” he said, voice quiet, almost unsure.

Amelia didn’t look up. “Hm?”

“No — look.” He turned the screen toward her.

She leaned closer, adjusting her glasses. The video was a fan edit. A slow, cinematic montage. Piano music overlaid with soft synths. The caption read, “Amelia and Lando through the years — from lovers to soulmates.”

The first clip was grainy; a 2018 paddock interview where a much younger Lando, awkward in his race suit, stood across from her in his garage. She looked different and the same all at once: neater, maybe. Definitely tighter, definitely more guarded. She didn’t meet his eyes once.

Then the timeline rolled forward. Garage zoom-ins. Candid paddock moments. A clip of them bickering while walking into the McLaren garage. Amelia pulling Lando’s cap off and tossing it down the corridor. Him handing her a coffee. All of the podiums he’d taken her to watch before it flashed to him up there and her watching, always somebody behind her in his place.

Her in the garage, arms in the air after a good quali. Him grinning at her during interviews he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of.

And then the quiet moments; fan-captured videos of her fixing his collar or brushing lint off his overalls. A slow-motion clip of him watching her walk away, soft-eyed. The first time they were caught holding hands. Her head on his shoulder during a rain delay.

The final clip was from just a few days ago; her at the Bahrain pit wall, hand resting lightly on her small but visible bump, waving at fans. He was standing just behind her, barely in frame, but watching her.

Lando said nothing.

Neither did Amelia.

The music faded out. The screen went black.

Some things are just meant to be — the caption said.

Lando lowered the phone slowly, gaze still fixed on the screen, eyes slightly wet. “Wow,” he muttered. “They got me.”

Amelia blinked a few times. “I remember that day,” she said. “Barcelona test, 2019. You spilled your coffee on my notebook.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled, nudging her foot with his. “You yelled at me.”

“I had to yell at you,” she replied, deadpan. “You tried to dry the notes with a heat gun.”

He laughed, soft and fond. Then he turned more serious, his voice quiet. “You think they’re right?”

Amelia tilted her head. “About what?”

“Meant to be.”

She looked at him fully now, taking in his expression — open, a little uncertain. His hand brushed over her shin, anchoring.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that if someone had shown me that video back then, I’d have said no.”

Lando’s mouth pulled into a crooked smile. “Ouch.”

“But,” she went on, “I’d have been wrong. So... yeah. Meant to be. I married you, didn’t I?”

He exhaled, tension she hadn’t realised was there easing from his shoulders. Then he reached up, hooked a finger around her collar, and tugged her into a kiss — soft, sure, familiar.

When they pulled apart, he whispered, “I’m saving that video.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there’s a million more like it.”

His eyes lit up. “I’m going to watch all of them.”

“Yeah. Should’ve seen that coming.” She sighed.

He grinned and went back to scrolling — but his free hand stayed wrapped around her ankle, thumb brushing slow, unconscious circles against her skin. Amelia turned back to her laptop, but her smile lingered, half-hidden behind the screen.

Meant to be.

That was nice.

—

The sun hadn’t even reached its peak, and Amelia was already overheating. Her McLaren polo clung to her back, her hair was twisted into a no-nonsense knot, and she was halfway through her third bottle of water.

Lando trailed beside her through the paddock, annoyingly energetic. “Okay, but Atlas is cool. Strong. Powerful.”

Amelia didn’t even glance up from her iPad. “An atlas is a book of maps, Lando. Not a person.”

“Exactly. It’s smart. Worldly.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “We are not naming our child after a book of maps.”

They passed a few team staff who wisely kept walking despite the tension radiating off them.

“Fine,” Lando said. “Your turn. What name do you like?”

“Lando.”

“We’re not naming the baby after me,” he said, somewhere between amused and sarcastic.

Amelia stopped walking. Her iPad hung loose at her side. “Please,” she said flatly. “Please can you just… stop.”

Lando blinked. His smile thinned. “Fine. Whatever. Veto all my names. Not like I give a shit.”

The words hit harder than he intended; and he knew it the second they left his mouth.

Amelia didn’t respond. Just looked at him—sharp, unreadable—then turned and walked off toward the garage. The heat shimmered on the tarmac between them.

By the time Lando caught up, she was already perched on a stool in Oscar’s garage, scrolling through tire data like nothing had happened. Oscar lay sprawled across a tire stack beside her, eyes flicking between them with his usual diplomatic neutrality.

“What about Nico?” Lando offered again, voice cautious now.

Amelia turned her head so slowly it was almost theatrical. “Are you joking?”

“It’s a good name.”

“It’s Rosberg, Lando. I work in this paddock. Do you want me to be humiliated?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. Lando looked sheepish.

“Didn’t think about that,” he muttered.

“Clearly,” she snapped—sharper than she meant to be.

The room went still. Even the mechanics seemed to pause, pretending to check something on their tablets.

Amelia exhaled hard and pressed her fingers to her temple. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Oscar lifted a hand like he was waving off a foul. “She’s growing the baby, mate. Obviously she gets to pick the name.”

Lando scowled. “That’s not—”

“No,” Oscar cut in. “It is that.”

Amelia gave him a grateful look. Lando, meanwhile, folded his arms and slumped into the seat beside her. He didn’t speak again for ten minutes.

They made it through the rest of FP3 in a strained kind of silence—not quite a fight, but not not one either. It sat between them through briefings, hydration checks, and another read of Oscar’s sector times.

When qualifying was called, Amelia handed off her tablet and sent Oscar toward his chassis—but instead of returning to the pit wall, she made a detour to the other side of the garage.

Lando was already in the car, helmet on, gloves secured, visor still raised.

She leaned in beside the cockpit, one hand on the halo. “Hi.”

He looked up.

“I don’t want you going out there with us still angry at each other.”

His mouth parted slightly. Some tension uncoiled in his shoulders. “I’m not angry. Just... frustrated.”

“I love you,” she told him.

His eyes locked with hers. The crease between his brows softened. “Baby, I love you too.”

She gave his shoulder a light squeeze—not an apology, just... a truce. 

“I’ll be on the pit wall.”

He nodded once, then pulled his visor down.

Amelia turned on her heel, walked past the media and telemetry boards, and took her seat at the pit wall. She pulled her headset on, pen tucked behind her ear, posture sharp.

Zak glanced over from a few seats down. “Everything alright?”

She didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

He paused. “You and Lando—”

“Fine,” she repeated, firm this time. A quiet warning.

Zak let it drop. He’d learned: if Amelia wanted to talk, she would—and if she didn’t, nothing would pry it out.

Andrea leaned in with a printed tire strategy. “Piastri’s prep lap?”

Amelia nodded, already focused. “He’s ready. Track temp’s down two degrees. We go aggressive into Turn One—he’ll have the grip.”

Zak leaned back and watched her work—cool, composed, headset like armour. Her voice calm, crisp, in control.

—

The motorhome was quiet after quali. Amelia sat cross-legged on the sofa, head tipped back, one hand resting lightly on her stomach. Her water bottle sat half-finished on the table. She hadn’t said much since lunch.

Lando stood nearby, helmet bag in hand, chewing his lip.

“Hey,” he said at last.

She didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

He stepped closer. “I’m sorry. For earlier. I was being a prick. A boyfriend, not a husband. You deserve better.”

That made her glance at him, eyes tired.

“You’re growing a human,” he said, crouching in front of her. “You’re doing it in forty-degree heat and still carrying the whole team on your back, and I’m over here sulking because you don’t like the name Atlas.”

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but her eyes stayed glassy.

“I’m sorry I made today harder than it needed to be,” he said softly.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m trying so hard to act normal. But I’m always tired. I can’t sleep. And I feel like I’m failing if I slow down, but my body won’t let me keep up.”

He didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the couch, pulled her straight into his lap, arms tight around her. Her head dropped to his chest. She melted into the pressure like she’d needed it all day.

His hand moved in slow, steady strokes over her back.

“You’re not failing,” he murmured. “You’re doing something impossible, and you’re doing it perfectly.”

She didn’t respond, just pressed her cheek against him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “We��re a team, yeah?”

She nodded, silent.

When she finally sat up, brushing a tear from under one eye, he kissed her temple.

“You sure you’re okay to run Oscar’s quali?”

“I’m fine,” she said, voice steadier. “As long as you go out there and qualify well for me.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

When they stood, she slid her hand into his, fingers lacing tight. The tension had eased. They were okay. They were fine.

—

Oscar caught it first on Thursday. Lando pulling out Amelia’s chair, grabbing her breakfast, nudging her seat in like it was second nature. She said something under her breath, but didn’t stop him.

Oscar bit back a grin. So domestic.

—

On Friday, Oscar glanced over the monitor just in time to catch Lando’s hand at the small of Amelia’s back as they passed behind the pit wall. Subtle, constant—like he didn’t trust the world to make room for her unless he made it himself.

Andrea muttered, “If he stands any closer to her, they’re going to merge.”

—

On Sunday, Lando hovered. One step behind Amelia, intercepting wandering hands, redirecting nosy media, stepping into frame when someone aimed a camera too close.

“Mate,” Oscar said, helmet under his arm, “we have security, you know.”

“They’re not quick enough,” Lando said without missing a beat.

—

Post-race, Oscar unclipped his belts and looked over to find Lando, still suited up, wrapped around Amelia at the edge of the chaos, whispering something into her ear. She didn’t even flinch, like she was used to the weight of him.

Oscar shook his head. Smiled despite himself. 

—

At the team dinner that night, Amelia leaned to stretch her back and Lando noticed immediately, rubbing slow circles into the base of her spine. Then one of Lando’s engineers came over, and Oscar found himself absolutely ensconced by how it all played out.

Immediately jealous, Lando draped an arm behind Amelia’s head and said, without smiling, “You lost, mate?” He asked the engineer. Poor bloke.

Oscar pushed his plate of chips across the table.

Amelia beamed at him. “Thanks.”

Lando narrowed his eyes at his wife. “You ordered mash, baby.”

“Want chips now.” She told him. She was already dragging one through a puddle of ketchup.

“Should’ve ordered chips for your wife, mate,” Oscar teased.

Lando glared at him.

—

It all came to a head on the Monday.

They were flying commercial, first class, but still, alongside a handful of McLaren personnel for the long-haul back to the UK. Amelia was curled up beside the window, hoodie pulled over her head, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. Her hand rested over her stomach like it always did now—subconscious, protective and probably trying to quell nausea all the while. Lando was next to her, flipping through a movie menu without actually picking anything.

Two rows back, a small cluster of engineers were half-whispering over the tops of their seats. Tired, still wired from the adrenaline of the race weekend, and just loose enough from the champagne at the hotel bar the night before.

“She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, hasn’t she?” One of the engineers muttered — the youngest in the group, barely out of uni and already puffed up with the kind of confidence that comes with zero experience and too many opinions.

Another snickered under his breath.

“Please,” the idiot went on, leaning in like he was about to deliver a punchline. “She so much as fakes some weird little meltdown and Lando probably rewrites the whole weekend’s strategy just to keep her from crying.”

That got a quiet laugh.

“And let’s be real,” he added, voice dropping a touch. “He’s not still at McLaren because he’s irreplaceable. Man married the boss’ daughter. Locked in his contract and his pit wall privileges in one go. Fucking genius, honestly. Should’ve tried it myself.”

A third engineer made a noise halfway between discomfort and amusement. “You know she’s, like, three months pregnant, right?”

The first one just shrugged. “Not like that ever stopped a girl from using it to her advantage.”

Lando’s head turned, slow and sharp. He’d heard every word.

Amelia, mercifully, hadn’t. Her noise-cancelling headphones were still on, hoodie hood pulled down like a signal not to bother her.

Lando’s eyes flicked to her, still unaware, then back to the cluster of engineers. His jaw locked.

He stood without a word and walked two rows back, stopping just beside their seats.

“You. Up.” His voice was low, cold. Directed squarely at the younger engineer.

The guy blinked. “What?”

“I said get the fuck up.” There was no raise in volume, but the danger in it was unmistakable.

Around them, a few passengers glanced over. Lando didn’t care.

The kid stood, suddenly very aware that everyone else had stopped laughing.

Lando jerked his chin toward the galley. “Now.”

They stepped past the curtain separating the cabin from the service area. Lando folded his arms, body angled just enough to block the guy from view of the rest of the cabin.

“You think you're funny?” He asked, voice still quiet but razor-sharp.

The engineer’s face had drained of colour. “I—I didn’t mean anything. It was just—”

“No, you did mean something. You meant every word.” He took a step closer. “My wife’s name doesn’t belong anywhere near your ugly fucking mouth. You hear me?”

The engineer opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Lando stared him down. “You don’t speak about her. You don’t joke about her. You don’t look at her the wrong way. You want to talk shit about me? Fucking fine, I couldn’t give less of a shit.” He let the silence stretch long enough to let the weight settle. “But if I hear anything even remotely like that again, you’re done. I’ll really live up to the guy you think I am and go straight to Zak.And then you won’t just be off the travel team; you’ll be blacklisted from the entire industry. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” the guy croaked.

“Good.” Lando stepped aside, gesturing back toward the seats. “Go sit down. And if I see you look at her one fucking time for the rest of this flight, I’ll assume you didn’t understand me, and mate, I know how to throw a fucking punch.”

The engineer practically bolted.

Lando waited a beat, steadied his breathing, then ran a hand down his face and returned to his seat. Amelia had shifted, half-waking at the curtain being drawn back.

“Hey,” she mumbled sleepily, tugging her headphones down. “Where’d you go?”

He leaned over and kissed her temple. “Needed to piss. You okay?”

She nodded, settling back into the seat and tucking her feet into his lap.

Lando glanced back two rows, just once, then looked down at her and wrapped a hand gently around her ankle.

He was smiling, just faintly. But his eyes? His eyes were still on fire.

—

The hotel room in London was dark, save for the soft glow from Lando’s phone. Amelia had crashed the second her head hit the pillow, curled into the sheets, one knee pulled up to her chest and the other thrown haphazardly across the entire bed.

Lando stood at the window in his boxers, thumb swiping absently across his screen.

He called Max.

It only rang twice before the Dutchman picked up.

“Alright, mate?” Max sounded half-asleep, but not annoyed. Just Max.

Lando hesitated. “Did anyone ever say shit about her when she was working with you?”

Max was quiet for a beat. Then, with a tight tone, asked, “What kind of shit?”

“About her,” Lando muttered. “Just… you know. Fucking guy shit.”

Another beat.

“Yeah,” Max said eventually. “A couple of times. Why?”

Lando exhaled. “One of the new guys in our team said something on the plane back. She didn’t hear it. But I did.”

“Ah.” Max’s voice was a little clearer now. “You threaten to kill him?”

“Pretty much.” Lando rubbed his jaw. “Told him next time he even looks at her sideways, he’s off the team.”

There was a pause on the line. Then Max said, “That’s the right call. I did that a few times, only had to get physical once or twice. Everyone seemed to get the hint after that.”

Lando sank down into the armchair, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “She’s feeling like shit, still nailing every call, and this guy, this fucking kid, thinks he can talk shit about her?”

“I had a guy once say she was a distraction,” Max said quietly. “Because she was wearing a skirt in the garage.”

Lando barked a laugh, mirthless. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Max said, with that resigned sigh that only came from dealing with idiots too often. “She’s the smartest person I’ve ever worked with. Some men just don’t know how to handle seeing a woman be better than them.”

“I just—” Lando exhaled hard. “She doesn’t even know. She trusts these people. And it’s like… she deserves to feel safe. Not watched. Not judged. Just—respected.”

“You can’t fight every battle for her.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

Max chuckled under his breath. “You sound like me in 2021.”

“She’s my wife,” Lando muttered. “And she’s growing my kid. I don’t care if it makes me look soft or dramatic. She deserves better.”

“You’re not soft,” Max said. “Well, maybe for her, but we all are, aren’t we?”

Lando laughed quietly. “She’d murder us both if she heard this.”

“Oh, absolutely. We’d be six feet under.” Then Max said, “You want me to have a word with Christian? Make sure this kid doesn’t try to abandon camp and find refuge with us?”

Lando smiled faintly. “Thanks, man. But I’ve got it.”

“Alright. Call if you need me.”

Lando paused, glanced toward the closed bedroom door. “Yeah. Night, mate.”

He hung up. Stood. Crossed the room and slipped back into bed beside Amelia, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

He lay there for a long time, eyes on the ceiling, thinking of all the things she’d never know he protected her from.

And how proud he was that she never needed him to; but how damn sure he was that he’d do it anyway.

NEXT CHAPTER

[sh1-n0bu]

yall really thought i was done with monster reader? nuh uh. VAMPIRE READER WITH A SHY MONSTERFUCKER CHARACTER

a shy monsterfucker who didn’t knew they were a monsterfucker yet, who didn’t knew of the kinks they had yet to awaken in themselves, who only thought of themselves as vanilla meeting you for the first time and thinking that you feel not so human. don’t get them wrong, there was nothing about you that was out of place. you looked human but you just… didn’t really felt like it at times

maybe it was the way you sometimes yawned and your jaws opened just a little bit too wide. maybe it was the way you were able to see so damn well in the darkness, eyes sometimes nearly glowing until they shake their head and your eyes looked just fine. maybe it was the way they slowly noticed that you barely ate anything whenever you hung out together, merely ordering a black coffee with extra shots or asking for the black coffee to be made just a little bit thicker. maybe it was the way your smile stretched just a little bit too big to be normal, sharp fangs and canines glistening

either way, you didn’t feel normal. you didn’t feel entirely… human, to them. but they find themselves shrugging it off, still thinking of you as their friend and a close companion

it all gets thrown out when you go radio silent one day. no phone calls, no notifications, no messages or hell, letters. just silence. worried sick, they make their way over to your house, using the spare key you gifted them and stepping inside to a dark and messy home. blinds closed shut, home miserable and, were those claw tears in the back of the couch?

feeling their guts churning with the desire to run away, they call out your name under their breath, akin to a whisper. when receiving no response, they call out again, feeling like they want to run away as they think of their choices. only a one step deeper into your messy home and their vision was swimming, being slammed down onto the floor as something hisses above them before it trails off into a low laugh. dazed, they open their eyes to find… you. except, it wasn’t really you. glowing slitted eyes, wide smile and a sense of danger

“fresh prey, walking straight into my grasp. must be my lucky day…” even your voice sounded weird, as if two people were talking at the same time. one, your normal voice and the other more high pitched. like how some creatures’ voice becomes higher pitched to mimic others and lure prey into their grasp. like… a monster

they tried to flee, to talk sense into you, fear and desperation tugging at their heart as their words trail off into a terrified whimper when your jaws open just a little bit wider, slits appearing at the sides as a long forked tongue runs over knife like sharp fangs before closing again. this felt like a nightmare, something they never really thought of happening before. they could only look away, tears stinging in their eyes when your clawed, stretched fingers tear off a piece of their shirt’s neck area open, thinking that you will tear them apart like how you just did with their clothes just now

a shy monsterfucker who lets out a yelp when they feel a wet feeling on their neck, something long and wet slithering over the skin as if softening the flesh there. despite the fear churning their stomach, they couldn’t help but whine out as their body suddenly started to feel hot. so needy and pathetically hard and wet in their pants like a hormonal teenager as they stare at your long tongue. even as you laugh at the flushed look on their face and make some demeaning remark, all they could do was stare

and to their own horror, they let out a fucking moan when your sharp fangs bite down on the same place you just licked at, head thrown back onto the floor as a loud plea for more falls from their lips. pleas of biting their neck more, tear their flesh apart with your fangs, clench down those strong jaws, absolutely ruin them to your own pleasure. they didn’t get it, wasn’t it supposed to hurt? at least, from all the movies and books, but no, it felt good. even as their blood gets drawn out and your canines dig into their flesh, tearing the skin apart, all they could do was moan out loud like a desperate harlot. mind muddled and body twisting to weakly hump at your knee between their legs, even as your jaws let go of their neck and licked the wounds close, they could only whimper at the loss of the feeling

the next morning, they woke up in your bed, surrounded in comfort and soft beddings. was… last night a dream? were they imagining it all? a wet dream?

their confused brain stops whirring question and theory after one another as the door to the room opens, you stepping in with a cup of steaming hot tea in your hand and a plate of some fruits cut into small pieces in the other. looking just fine and normal, no fangs, no blood, no strange slits at the corner of your mouths, no long slithering tongue, just a normal [name], albeit a tiny bit worried. so it was all just a wet dream…

since that day and that strangely realistic dream that the shy monsterfucker thought they had, it became a bit hard for them to look you in the eye and hold a normal conversation. they were fucking embarrassed, hell ashamed even, by their own thoughts that conjured up such image of you in their own sleep. they always knew you gave off an eerie, not-so-very-human vibes but even then, imagining you as a goddamn vampire who saw them as your prey was... a little bit too much. they didn't even found vampires attractive, but if you were to somehow magically turn into one, maybe they wouldn't mind it much. of being your bloodbag, your sweet prey, your willing sacrificial lamb that you toy and flaunt like a trophy pet

shy monsterfucker who gets too sexually frustrated easily ever since that one specific dream, always staring into your mouth whenever you're looking away and talking or laughing, hoping to see a glimpse of an unusually sharp fangs. who think they do indeed see something and immediately lets out a quiet whimper, thighs squishing and rubbing together as that one dream plays out in their mind again. who excuses themselves from the hang out earlier so they can go home under the guise of a "not feeling very good today", when in reality they would be touching themselves again that night, humping their pillows with pathetic broken moans of your name. sometimes, when feeling bolder, they would say the same pleads they did in their dream, asking you to bite them as they throw their heads back, neck free and pristine. if they shut their eyes tight and imagined hard enough, they could remember the phantom feeling of your slithered tongue running over their skin. humping at their pillow harder with a broken sob of your name as their body shakes, soiling their pillow case with their own cum again for the nth time in the last 2 days, changing it once more

they didn't get it, they usually had just a normal amount of sex drive, who barely got horny unless they were intoxicated or something. this newfound sexual frustration was weird to them. new and scary with the ways it left their body all hot and bothered just by looking at you. staring, waiting and gulping down saliva to wet their throat as their mind goes to the gutter. imagining your clawed hands trailing over their bare skin, maybe leave a few small cuts if you feel like it, hold over their hips a bit too tightly to leave a bruise, bite at their porcelain skin. would you make them your personal bloodbag if they acted good and begged hard enough?

shy monsterfucker who gets caught, mind too fuzzy with filthy thoughts as they moaned out your name into their pillows as you invite yourself inside their home with a bag of fresh fruits that you bought for them to get better, the spare key they gifted you in your hand. who didn’t knew they were caught, thinking of it as simply one of their imaginations again as they see you standing on the doorway to their room, leaning on the doorframe with a low hum

“i knew i used too much calming saliva on you” you say out loud, only getting a broken whimper of your name as their fingers curl inside their hole, tired and confused. vampires had a special aphrodisiac like mixture in their saliva that they used to calm their prey before feasting and to their bad luck, you have accidentally used an excessive amount when you drank from them few days ago

“[n-naameee]♡︎ ahck t-touch me! touch me, please♡︎…?” they cried out, hearts swirling in their pupils, face flushed to the tips of their ears as they whined out deliriously with an open mouth. a sweet prey, right in your grasp. since you were the one to cause it, it would only be right to fix your mistakes right? cooing out words of faux comfort, you step over their sweat clung body, taking in the way they looked so out of it. all wet and hard, too dazed to even say your name properly

shy monsterfucker who immediately lets out a squeal when your fingers push into their hole, while their own fingers were inside too! please be gentle, at least let them get their own fingers out first? who only could let out a broken sob when they could feel how deep your fingers curled inside them, feeling the way your fingers stretched and fucked their pathetic hole open easily. they were nothing but just a weak sex toy for you, a meager little bunny whose legs twitched and shook every time the pads of your fingers jabbed at that bundle of nerves inside them, squeaking like the precious little thing they were

“baahn—! aangh ah haang buh-bite..?” they asked, teary eyes staring up at you with so much love and lust as their wet lashes flutter against their red cheeks. “b-bite me♡︎..? aamh haah i... i’ve been such a go-ooddd♡︎♡︎ good bloodbag for yoouu♥︎!!” they blabber on, arm wrapping around your shoulder as they try to pull you down to their neck. the bite mark of a few days earlier already gone and healed thanks to your healing saliva. you could just hear the thrumming of fresh red liquid from under their skin, heart beat loud and erratic like a war-drum, begging you to tear them apart

shy monsterfucker who lets out the loudest moan, breaking down into pathetic blabbers of gratitude and pleads for more as you gave in to the instincts to feed. back arching up from the bed so prettily, soft chest against your own, a rapid beating heart under their own skin that you could feel against your cold, still one. shy monsterfucker who lets out a filthy squeal, tightening around your fingers as they cum on your hand, soiling it as the tears that built up in their heart pupil eyes finally fall down

shy monsterfucker who begs for a kiss, asking for your lips to be against their own. who lets out a cute muffled sob when you do just as they asked, tasting the metallic taste of their own blood on your lips before something long slithers down their throat. long and wet with a thicker textured saliva coating it, being pushed into their mouth, forcing their jaws open as they choke of their own moan as you continue to torture that tender spot inside their tight hole. gagging as your tongue slithers down their throat, feeling the way their adam’s apple feels a little bit wider due to how deep you showed your tongue inside their mouth

shy monsterfucker who could only cum dry, into your hands, tired and body aching due to their constant actions to try and relieve their sexual frustration. mouth left open, swollen lips wet with your mixed salivas that connect your faces just a little bit longer as your forked tongue comes slithering back out. eyes all hazy, nearly shut close with how low lidded they were. you would have mistaken them for unconscious if it weren’t for the weak whimper of a “mmghh—! s-shoo goowd♥︎ t-tongue... wan’ your tongue inside meegh♡︎♡︎” as they weakly wiggled their hips

shy monsterfucker who watches as you seemingly easily manhandle their body so you could do as they nicely asked, their strong body meaning nothing to you. who watches with their hands on the pillows by their head, neck painted a saccharine red that you loved, lust heavy eyes staring at you as a few tears fall from them. who lets out a broken sob as they see the way your jaws open a bit too wide, slits appearing at the edges of your lips to make it easier for your long tongue to come out. like a snake, it licks at their inner thighs, bloodied fangs leaving cuts on the tender flesh there as their legs violently trembled in your grasp

shy monsterfucker who chokes on their moans, head getting thrown back as your tongue pushes past their tight walls, eagerly humping your face as much as their shaking body could allow, feeling the way your tongue reached deep inside them — more than any meager sex toys or dildos ever could, twisting their insides. wailing out “guhhckk♥︎♥︎! s-sho deEEHNGK♡︎ y-your tongue— f-fuckinnh aanh nyah♥︎!! fuckinng my guts! aah ngaah—♥︎!” as they felt the way your tongue moved back and forth inside their hole, claws digging into their legs and thighs to keep them in place, forcing them to keep their legs open. who blabbers drunkenly about their mind melting, mushing up their words as they slur your name before fucking squirting. shrill noise between a moan and a squeal falling from their swollen lips before losing consciousness

shy monsterfucker who will most definitely ask you to bite them again the next time they wake up

⇨ dan heng, yingxing, argenti, moze, bronya, firefly, gepard, robin, caelus, yukong, legolas, lindir, meludir, baizhu, charlotte, diluc, furina, ganyu, kaveh, nilou, kokomi, xiao, calcharo, jiyan, xiangli yao, rover, zhezi, shorekeeper, aerith, zack, angeal, tifa, vincent, sephiroth + anyone you think will fit, really

[greatbigbellies]

THE GREAT BIG GRAVID PREGNANCY KINK ASK GAME

There are some very fun preg or belly kink ask games out there, but the one's I've seen are typically focused on one flavor of said kink, or aren't strictly pregnancy-focused or are heavily gendered.

So I thought I'd to cook up 50 fun, kinky but not outright explicit, questions for an ask game. All pretty broad in application, and gender neutral! Please enjoy! _______________________________________________________

What's your favorite aspect of pregnancy? What makes it hot for you in a kink sense?

Would you rather be with someone who IS pregnant, or be pregnant YOURSELF? (or both?)

Do you prefer pregnant bellies that sit high, or carry low?

Do you prefer a pregnant belly that leans more "torpedo belly" or "beachball belly", or something else?

Favorite pregnancy blemish (stretchmarks, veins, linea nigra, ect), if any?

If you could only pick one, would you keep hyperpreg, rapid preg, or perma preg? Why?

Favorite NON-physical attribute of pregnancy? (Ex: cravings, pregnancy brain, nesting)

Most niche part of pregnancy that fits into your kink?

How pregnant is TOO pregnant where it stops being hot?

Thoughts on ill-fitting/outgrowing clothes with pregnancy?

Do you prefer bare, partially covered, or tightly clothed pregnant bellies?

Do you have a favorite occupation to see a pregnant person performing?

In preg kink writings, when a pregnancy is abnormal in any way, do you prefer when it's supernatural (fantasy), technological (sci-fi), explained some other way, or not explained at all?

Who are some of your favorite preg kink artists/blogs?

Do you prefer when a pregnancy is super encumbering, or doesn't limit the pregnant person in an extreme way?

How do you feel about pregnancy and stuckage?

How do you feel about pregnancy and stuffing, or vore, or wg, or inflation, or any other kink that increases belly size?

How do you feel about pregnancy paired with another, non-belly related kink? (asker may specify)

Thoughts on pregnant belly worship?

Thoughts on pregnant belly manipulation? (like pushing on or shaking a pregnant belly)

What's something kinky you would love to do to a pregnant belly, outside of the realm of normal pampering or worship?

What's an outfit you'd love to see a pregnant person wear?

For kink purposes, what's your favorite stage of pregnancy?

Favorite view for a belly? (straight on, side profile, POV looking down as though it's yours, ect)

Do you prefer a pregnant person dressed to the nines, or basically in their pajamas?

Describe one of your most self indulgent preg kink fantasies in full.

Do you prefer super active pregnant bellies, or bellies with calmer babies?

Do you prefer smooth and blemishless pregnant bellies, or ones with lots of marks and veins and strain?

Favorite non-belly physical attribute of a pregnant person?

Favorite state for a belly button on a pregnant belly? (innie, outie, flat, ect)

Thoughts on pregnant bellies with a soft layer of chub around them?

Favorite word to describe a pregnant belly?

Do you prefer when a pregnant person is "maxed out" and at the height of their possible growth, or big but still growing, lending to some anticipation for what's to come?

What's your ideal rapid preg growth speed? How long should it ideally take to go from a flat tummy to full term?

Do you prefer a large/overdue singleton, or a batch of multiples?

What what point does "high order multiples" become "hyper preg" to you?

Thoughts on monsterpreg? If you enjoy it, what's your favorite monster to be/see someone pregnant with?

If you enjoy pregnancy encumbering mobility, do you prefer if its due to size, or weight? or both?

Do you think of a pregnancy kink as a more "vanilla" kink, or as one of the weirder ones?

What are some aspects of pregnancy that you enjoy in a kink way that AREN'T the pregnancy itself? (Ex: breeding, labor, birth, lactation, ect)

Have you told anyone you know IRL about your pregnancy kink? If so, who (within reason privacy wise), and how did they take it?

Favorite piece of pregnancy-centric media? (could be for kink purposes or otherwise)

Favorite part of a pregnant belly?

Thoughts on belly piercings on pregnant bellies?

In a kink context, what's an activity you would you like to be doing/see someone doing while pregnant?

At what point does a pregnant belly go from "big" to "huge"?

Do you have any preg kink "guilty pleasures"? What is one, if you have any and are willing to share?

Do you have another kink that you enjoy mixing with pregnancy? If so, what is it?

Do you have any irl stories or anecdotes that relate to your pregnancy kink in way way? Care to share?

In as much detail as possible, what's your IDEAL pregnant belly?