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hyper-fixates · 6 days

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Time After Time

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again

Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when he’s close (👁️👁️), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of “baby” once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: 4 times you end up in Logan’s bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.

Notes: this falls somewhere in between “which could mean nothing” and “we can fix each other” 🫡 (written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)

Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.

You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasn’t completely dreamless.

You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.

Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know that’s not the case. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.

No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart that’s working so hard with each beat that it hurts.

“Fuck. Fuck,” you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to what’s happening.

Panic. It’s all panic.

You can’t do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.

Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment you’re fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.

There is no choice. Your mind doesn’t give you one.

The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.

You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff.

You look to your window and see that the sun hasn’t even started to rise yet. You’ll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but there’s not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and think…then think some more.

You’re confident the professor isn’t even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but she’s been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.

A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One that’s only two doors down, one over from Storm.

Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didn’t do a good enough job.

You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used to—

“Uh. Are you okay?”

You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.

“Huh?” You blink a few times, disoriented.

Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asks again, offering a look of concern—or maybe confusion—that you haven’t seen often. A look that’s never needed to be directed towards you.

You come back to yourself. “But—I…didn’t knock,” you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door.

He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. “I could smell you before you passed Storm’s room,” he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh.

You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.

“You’re…awake?” Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly you’re standing outside Logan’s room at 4 a.m.

“So are you,” he counters with a curious look. “So let me ask again. Are you okay?” He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck you’re outside his room at 4 a.m.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” you say, and it’s the truth.

You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Logan’s door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweats—thanks, Charles—that can’t fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.

Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.

“Can’t sleep?” He questions, but he knows he’s right.

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you’re making it Logan’s problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy who’s seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.

It’s not that he’s not a good, nice guy, but you don’t know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.

You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same “team”, but it’s nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. He’s a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.

He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.

“I don’t think I can help you,” he says wearily. “I’m no better. Clearly.” He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that you’re both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.

“Oh—no, I’m not looking for help. I think I’m beyond that at this point,” you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesn’t follow. Tough crowd.

“I, uh, don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” you offer.

You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck you’re here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?

“I’m not really used to Storm being gone for so long,” you admit. “I just feel…all over the place, I guess.”

Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. “I can hear you sometimes,” he says, a knowing—almost sympathetic—look on his face. “We have the same problem.”

You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didn’t think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.

He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.

You don’t move right away. Could this be a false awakening? You’re not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didn’t expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured he’d offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didn’t exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.

You force your feet to carry you into Logan’s room. It’s not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed.

“Were you, uh…sleeping before I came?” You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.

He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.

“Trying to,” he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.

Fucking duh. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” you wince to yourself.

You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I had to get up anyway.” His voice is still gravelly from sleep.

It feels like you’re invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. There’s nothing to make this special.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.

“Try to sleep. If you want,” he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. “It’s easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.” It’s gruff, but he’s sincere.

Maybe the professor is awake after all.

You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?

“Oh, wow…uh, sure.” It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.

“I have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,” he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.

A shy “thanks” is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.

Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. They’d probably kill you specifically to get it. It’s not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all students’ desires. He knows it, too.

“See you later,” he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.

Should you be offended that he didn’t stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he can’t. He couldn’t. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now you’re just…alone…in Logan’s room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.

Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike.

You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.

Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: “We have the same problem.”

Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. It’s suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change.

Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.

Even the Wolverine isn’t an exception.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.

Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila.

“No more, no more. I can’t.” Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.

Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.

“You’re a bad influence,” she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No—I’m under the influence,” you counter, a playful smile on your lips. “There’s a difference. You still have your own free will.”

Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. “We have training tomorrow,” she slurs. “Charles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.” She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.

“He’ll be lucky if we show up at all,” you mumble.

The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleep—like you both should be.

You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like you’re spinning through time and space, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.

You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t do that,” you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.

“Don’t do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?” Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?” He mumbles to himself.

“And with that, I’m done for the night,” Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.

“See you, Logan,” she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.

Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, you’re all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.

As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But you’re not sober, and that’s the problem.

“Not gonna follow Storm?” He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.

A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. “I don’t think I can make it down the hall,” you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and it’s not even fully done working its magic yet.

Logan raises a brow. “Want some help?” There’s no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you don’t know what the fuck to expect from him.

Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?

It’s been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned he’s burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering what—or who—could have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldn’t suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.

“I didn’t know wolverine’s were chivalrous,” you tease.

The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that you’d expect a guy like him to not care about.

You’re not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.

“Not overly,” he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. “I like to think I’m special,” he says quieter.

“Maybe you are,” you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.

The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. “Wow, okay,” you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?

A warm hand presses between your shoulders. “Woah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.” Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.

His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.

Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.

You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstorm—it’s usually too late to do anything once you notice it.

“I drank a lot,” you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.

He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lights—his usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesn’t look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.

Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that you’ve had a generous amount of tequila—and are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. That’s new.

“Can you walk?” He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. “Or will I have to carry you?” He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders.

Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.

“I’m not gonna tell you no, but it feels like I’m floating in a bubble that won’t stop spinning,” you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. “I might fly away.” You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again.

“Yeah, you’re fucked up,” he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else who’s concerned for your well-being would.

“Hey, kitty cat—I’m perfectly buzzed,” you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.

“‘Kitty cat’? Really?” He snorts. “I think you’re past your bedtime by three drinks,” he remarks back with equal levity.

“Then take me to bed if you’re so concerned,” you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point.

Truthfully, you’re probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesn’t need to know that. You just know that you can’t control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.

“Maybe I will.” You don’t see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that you’ve seen pointed towards Scott too many times.

He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back.

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that.

An excited—or maybe shocked—noise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.

The trip to your room isn’t one that should take long, but each sway from Logan’s steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.

You’re fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.

The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. It’s hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Logan’s look of determination to get you in your bed.

He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart.

He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesn’t stop you from staring.

You’re now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.

“Logan,” you start before you can fully process the foolish thing you’re about to say next.

He rounds the bed back to the side you’re huddled on, looking down on you. “Yeah?” The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet that’s lingering in the room.

You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. They’re replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila.

You suddenly feel very awake.

“Hey, hey.” Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than you’ve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. “What—”

“Bathroom,” you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea.

He doesn’t say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room.

You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.

“Fuck,” you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.

Exhaustion hits you like a truck. “Logan…” you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor.

He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.

“Just…help me back to bed,” you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.

He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroom—steering you from behind.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. “Even though you did this to yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you groan.

You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before he’s next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink. All of it,” he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.

You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you there’s no room to object.

You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. “Thanks.”

You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like you’re travelling through space and time.

The clothes you’re in are close enough to pyjamas. There’s no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.

He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly you’ll manage that fills you with anxiety.

You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.

This is Logan’s room. Are you just that drunk that you couldn’t tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?

You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back.

“Why am I in your bed?” You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.

“You can’t take care of yourself tonight,” he says. “You’re too drunk.” He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.

You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.

“Ah. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,” you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.

You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isn’t so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.

A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. “I think you still have some tequila to sleep off.”

Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. It’s not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.

“Is it…safe? To share a bed?” The most coherent thought you’ve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures.

Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than they’ve been all night in this moment.

You’re sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.” His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.

You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room.

Logan wouldn’t put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldn’t risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasn’t absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also don’t really know his demons.

You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. “Why haven’t you been given a new mattress?” You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.

The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.

“Forgot to ask,” he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.

From his tone you can decipher that he actually means “can’t be bothered.” It’s a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesn’t see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.

There has to be less than an arms length between you two. It’s a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe it’s all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of what’s actually happening.

“Thanks for everything,” you whisper as if someone else will overhear.

“Get some sleep,” he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.

You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before.

You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your position—if they felt scared, if they even knew.

He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough.

There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet there’s something that hasn’t allowed the same to be done for his mind.

━━━━

The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.

You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.

You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan.

You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.

Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. “What the fuck…” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.

“What time is it?” Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.

He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. “Seven-forty.”

You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 o’clock.

“Fuck!” You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.

Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to. He doesn’t work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room.

The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasn’t eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesn’t want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that he’s getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he can’t offer you any flattery in his mind.

Another distant “fuck” escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe that’s your hangover talking.

“Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.

“Good luck with Charles.” It’s a genuine advisory. Fuck. You’ll be so incredibly lucky if he doesn’t give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.

You take a deep breath in and slip out of Logan’s room. There’s not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“I was told it’ll take a day to fix,” Storm explains with a shrug. “You’ll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.” A contrite look passes over her face.

You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they weren’t supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reason—to avoid mishaps like this.

Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.

“It’s fine. It’s just one night,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You don’t love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. It’s already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast.

Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. “The living room is always free,” she suggests with a remorseful smile.

But you don’t want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isn’t exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.

“Not a fucking chance,” you laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jean’s room at the very end of the hall.

You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.

“Fuck,” you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.

Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, you’re going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.

You don’t have much of a choice; you’re not comfortable having it be anyone else. It’s only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel he’s the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision.

You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.

You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.

“You start to miss me or what?” A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why you’re here. Again.

You blink at him slowly in hilarity. “Ha, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. “My window—”

“I know what happened,” he interrupts. “Figured you’d go for the couch in the living room.” He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion.

“I think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,” you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.

He makes a face that tells you “touché” and you smirk in satisfaction. “If you don’t mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise I’m not trying to make this a habit,” you sigh. Spending the night in Logan’s bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently.

“I don’t think it would be a bad habit,” he argues. Oh. “C’mon.” He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.

“Thanks,” you squeak. He wants you here?

He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed that’s clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.

“Do you have an early morning?” You ask, slipping under the blanket.

“No. Charles was feeling nice for once,” he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charles’ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.

“Not an early bird?” You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.

“Fuck no,” he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s self-deprecating, but it’s still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you he’s thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.

The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.

“People like us don’t usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,” he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.

He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.

People like us.

“You mean mutants,” you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.

You see his brows pull together. “Yeah.” He has a point.

You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats.

The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but you’ve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.

You pull the blanket tighter against you. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. “What?” He stops toying with the dog tag.

“Your claws. I trust you.” You didn’t feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe you’re reassuring yourself.

He hasn’t had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative that’s been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, it’s his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.

You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.

Logan knows he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t know he’ll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.

A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did that—and why.

You assume it’s his way of saying “thank you” for your trust when you probably shouldn’t be putting that much into him.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.

He knows what you’re asking. “Every time.” He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little.

There’s a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know you’re one in the same in a way, and that’s a connection that Logan hasn’t let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.

To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves.

“What are you?” He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. “Telekinetic? Psychic?” His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.

It never occurred to you that he didn’t know your mutation, or that you’ve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasn’t the one who told you.

“Ha, close.” Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently he’s listening. “Psychometric,” you correct, watching his forehead crease.

“Sounds like math,” he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he’s putting off.

You laugh quietly. “No, it’s extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,” you explain.

You watch his eyes narrow and you know what he’s thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. “I need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,” you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. “The heart remembers everything,” you clarify.

The catch? The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.

“I haven’t looked. I promise.”

“Good. You don’t need to see that shit,” he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he’s a little startled for the first time in a while.

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all,” you state. It’s probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.

“No, you haven’t.” A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow.

“Then I’ll count myself lucky,” you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and you’re definitely not entitled to it.

A faint smile appears on his lips, then it’s gone just as quick. “Get some sleep,” he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours.

It’s a complete repeat of last time.

Something twinges in your heart, and you don’t like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? He’s just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And that’s what you should expect: nothing.

The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. It’s heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.

From above you two might look like you’re transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are.

━━━━

Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someone’s space when they aren’t there.

Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.

If you ever have to spend another night in Logan’s bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says “yes, we’re fucking!”, even if it isn’t true. You could deny it all you want, but it won’t stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if it’s behind a closed door.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“Are you fucking Logan?”

You almost swallow your tongue. “Sorry?” Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.

“Are you guys sleeping together?” Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.

You’re sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. “Why would you think that?” Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.

“Things travel fast around here,” she deflects with a cheeky smile. “And, you know, Logan is…Logan.” She shrugs.

You don’t even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?

“It wasn’t like that,” you grumble. “He was doing me a favour. As a friend.” It hasn’t even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced you’re fucking.

You haven’t even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.

“Right.” She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can.

You roll your eyes. “If anything was happening, you’d be the first to know,” you point out.

She looks back over to you. “I know,” she says with another, more sincere, smile. “You two would be cute, though.”

You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does what—and who—he wants, when he wants.

━━━━

A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.

Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious.

There was never any lighting. That’s just what the pain feels like.

The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute.

You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leave—the blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.

You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isn’t in the cards right now. You’re shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.

Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.

You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.

You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesn’t hurt.

Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.” Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.

You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.

“L-Logan…” you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.

He looks like someone who shouldn’t be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.

“It’s just me,” he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse.

You feel disoriented. “Wh…how…”

“I heard you,” he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.

“What do you need?” He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.

You look at him for a moment. He’s got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.

“I want it to fucking stop,” you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.

You don’t want him to see you like this, even though it’s a commonality between you two. It’s too intimate. You’d take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.

Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Logan’s bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.

“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.

“You.” You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.

He doesn’t flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.

An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.

He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.

He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.

You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.

You’re sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms.

His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. “Face me,” he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely.

You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck.

It’s nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Got anything to say?” He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day.

What does he want to hear?

You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. “I have nothing to say,” you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck.

You don’t necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you don’t want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.

“Bullshit.” He almost rolls his eyes. There’s no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He won’t pry, but he doesn’t believe you.

An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You don’t want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else.

“I just…” You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but won’t. “Want to sleep. Here,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna go back.” You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly.

It’s already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.

His mouth quirks up briefly at that. “What happened to not wanting to make that a habit?” His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.

Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.

“Special circumstances,” you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.

“Seems like you get into those a lot,” he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.

He steps around to the other side—his designated spot—and slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. You’re not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.

The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.

Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.

But didn’t he the last two times? It’s hard for you to remember, but you’d certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his di—

“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first.

The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.

You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldn’t give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.

“Oh, yeah, like you’ve ever cared about modesty,” you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.

It’s not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isn’t shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. You’ve seen and heard enough over the past few months.

You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows you’re right. He’s just glad you’re a little lively and alert.

“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?” He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.

“I should be fine,” you say confidently. “The challenge will be getting back to sleep.” You laugh in exasperation.

It’s always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. You’re pumped full of adrenaline and there’s not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.

You haven’t found anything to help with it. Yet.

“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you go through,” he starts, voice rough with fatigue. “But I do.”

You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. “How do you…help it.” You’re not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions.

“You don’t. It just has to run its course.” He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction.

It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but he’s not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, that’s not always true.

Although you don’t know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will.

You sigh lightly. “We’re quite the pair.”

A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. “I think we’re just fucked up insomniacs,” he suggests with a breathy exhale that’s close enough to a laugh.

You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see what’s haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but you’ve learned that doing so usually isn’t worth the price you’ll pay after. If what’s in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it won’t do you any good either.

“I sleep pretty good with you,” you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.

He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.

“Try not to knee me in the stomach tonight,” he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.

You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didn’t think you drifted that much when you slept.

“No promises,” you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.

━━━━

Your eyes ache—to open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but there’s something else weighing down on you.

A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.

You’re still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but there’s something dense and hot resting over your back.

You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist.

The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.

Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection.

You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. It’s endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.

But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.

You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. It’s already 8 a.m.

You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.

A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesn’t fully wake him. He knows it’s just you.

It’s the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didn’t necessarily have to.

It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. There’s something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together.

You want to be the only one.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

There’s a shadow that’s been following you around the mansion.

As soon as you stepped out of Logan’s room that morning a few days ago, it started.

This shadow likes to be nosy about what you’re doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.

No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and that’s how you noticed he’s basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest.

He’s always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.

“No smoking in the courtyard,” you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest.

You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight.

Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.

He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. “Blow me,” he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.

You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. “Yeah, you wish!” You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldn’t let himself miss it.

Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside.

You have become, by definition, friends…in a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires.

It’s evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. It’s surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. It’s become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.

You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Logan’s bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that you’ll be faced with. There aren’t many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why you’re together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.

That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and you’re not sure how much farther it can go.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“Fine. You?”

“Could be better.” Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.

You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.

“How so?” You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.

A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. “You could be there,” he provokes, his eyes bright.

It’s your turn to raise a brow at him, but you can’t stop your smile. “Oh?”

He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.

“Come on,” he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.

Fuck. That’s good.

That may be exactly what you did for him, but it’s now a figure of speech for something else entirely. It’s almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what you’ve been patiently waiting for.

You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. “How sweet,” you hum.

His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. “You start to miss me?” You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.

“Smart-ass,” he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. You’re almost at the same height like this.

“Save me the left side,” you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. You’re so close, and he’s already so warm against you just like this.

“Always do.”

━━━━

You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard it’s pounding against your ribs. It’s almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.

Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.

It feels like you’re doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.

Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.

“Ah, welcome back.” His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair.

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Knock it off.” You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?

Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. “You enjoy it,” he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as you’re in.

“Maybe,” you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.

“Oh, really?” You scoff. He’s biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what you’ll do next. He’s never gone that far before.

“I’m sorry, that was rude—how can I make it up to you?” He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.

This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasn’t given you much up until this point right now. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you.

In this moment, he isn’t the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. He’s just Logan—for you.

You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. “Get in the fucking bed,” you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. “And do what you promised earlier,” you stare pointedly at him.

He owes you that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” favour he decided to pull out to get you here.

“Mm, alright, alright,” he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. “I thought of a pretty good idea for it,” he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.

Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. “Oh? Wh—woah!”

You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly.

He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know what’s coming. What’s been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips.

The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.

The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. It’s just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room you’ve become too familiar with.

“Logan…” you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesn’t take much to excite him.

“Hm?” He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on.

You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.

“What’s the idea?” Your voice wavers.

You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.

“Something I’ve wanted for a while,” he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you.

Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you.

His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body.

“Show me, then.” You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.

Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.

The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.

Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.

It’s all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.

“Logan,” you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.

Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.

He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. “Hold on,” he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what you’re asking—or trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.

Then the world is tilting.

He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily.

Logan groans. “Fuck—I can smell it. I smell you.” He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips.

“Taste…if you want to,” you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.

Logan’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. “Of course I fucking want to, but—fuck—next time. I promise.” He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip.

“Let’s just take things easy,” he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.

A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.

“I’ll hold you to it, then,” you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.

“I hope you will,” he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesn’t want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that won’t entirely ruin you for tomorrow.

He doesn’t know what you can or cannot handle, but he’s going to find out.

The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. It’s a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverine’s just run hot.

His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of what’s underneath.

You watch him—palming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.

“It’s rude to stare.” He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.

You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you.

He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. “Then stop showing me your dick,” you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.

You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But it’s alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.

He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.

“How about I find somewhere to put it?” His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.

“It would be a damn shame if you didn’t,” you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.

“Good.” He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.

He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.

The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.

“C’mon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,” you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much.

Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. “Is that a promise?” He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.

“Try it and find out,” you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.

He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.

“Hm, guess no lube is needed,” he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.

You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan,” you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You don’t want to be that aware of your naked self right now.

He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.

But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.

“Alright, stay with me,” he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance.

“O-okay,” you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. You’re not even really sure what he’s saying.

He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but you’ve become lost in the feeling of him all over you.

He’s in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.

He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying.

The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine.

“A-ah—fuck. Fuck, Logan,” you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.

He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in.

“Just a bit more,” he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.

Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasn’t really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.

You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end.

Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.

You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.

“Fuck. Already feels too good,” he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.

You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. “Best of luck,” you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.

He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but there’s still some mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh? Yeah?”

You hold each other’s gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.

Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then it’s Logan’s turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over.

It’s a pace that isn’t quite pure, mindless fucking, but it’s also not somewhere near earnest love-making. It’s something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere.

The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you don’t know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.

A helpless groan slips through Logan’s lips. “Where have you fucking been, huh?” He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body.

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. “Two doors down,” you giggle, understanding that’s not quite what he was asking.

“Fucking smart-ass,” he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You don’t think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.

The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess you’re making all over him. It’s smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep he’s been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.

Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure he’s fucking himself in to the base. He doesn’t deprive you of anything.

He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.

“H-hah, Logan,” you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.

You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.

You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.

“Fu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,” you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard he’s driving into you now.

He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. “Can’t always control it,” he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress.

You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that that’s the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now you’ve seen both sides.

“It’s okay,” you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Keep going…keep going,” you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.

You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shoulders—you’re tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.

“Keep squeezing me like that and you’ll get whatever you want,” he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.

You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.

“Just—inside.” You can’t even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Logan’s ears perk up.

He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.

You’re both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You don’t want it to be. You hope it isn’t.

He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forward—only slightly—bringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.

His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.

You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan to—

“Focus, baby. Focus on me,” he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. “Come on…come on, I know you’re almost there,” he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.

The burn in your thigh from the stretch can’t overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.

You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.

He doesn’t pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead.

Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension they’ve been caught up in.

You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.

He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, though—one where he’s completely possessed by bliss.

You probably look like you survived an animal attack.

“Are we even?” Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.

A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. “I think I still owe you,” you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.

You’ll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what he’s done for you, what you’ve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that won’t stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all.

“We’ll figure it out,” he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest.

You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesn’t work. He enjoys it anyway.

“Do I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?” You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.

Logan blinks. “You can stay every night.”

A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.

You—maybe foolishly—trust him. You trust that he won’t accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but you’ve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.

Healing isn’t linear, and you can’t expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point.

You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.

Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. “Can I have the left side?” Rhetorical, again.

Logan chuckles against your mouth. “Always.”

#did my best to appease readers from the criticism i’ve seen about logan fics so. lol #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #xmen x reader #xmen x you #xmen smut #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x you #marvel smut #the wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett fluff #wolverine fanfiction

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gloomwitchwrites · 3 months

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morning after one night stand with 141?

Anon! You have me kicking my feet and giggling over here!! I am cackling so hard omg. I've been waiting for a prompt like this, and I know it has been sitting in my inbox for a while. (Really there are a ton sitting in my inbox and I will get to them all I promise). But after feeling like garbage and having some health issues, this prompt just came to me naturally and I didn't need to force anything. I thought it would be best to tackle this first on my dive back into fulfilling these requests after the 1k follower event.

I went spicy with this one. I won't lie. Because, let's be real, a morning after with any of these four will only end up with you still in that bed. I know I'd fold instantly. No question about it.

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, feelings, oral sex (male & female receiving), sex w/ and w/o condoms, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.6k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

The ceiling fan above you spins slowly. It’s not nearly enough air. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and you’ve hardly slept at all.

The sheets you’re tangled in are thin, but what can you expect from a cheap hotel?

All of this was last second. A moment of tipsy-laced passion. Now you’re reaping the consequences. And the air is too damp, too hot, too—

Fuck.

You glance to your right, at the man softly snoring beside you. All the memories from last night appear before your eyes, replaying like a grainy recording. Images of all the positions this man put you in, and how fucking good his dick felt inside you.

Even now, you still feel the slight sting in your scalp from when he tangled his fingers in your hair while you took him into your mouth.

You need to leave. You need to leave with a thread of your dignity in tact before he wakes up. Before John wakes. You know the name well enough. He had you screaming it nearly all night. Insisted on it, and you happily obliged.

Shifting slightly, you shimmy to the very edge of the bed, trying your hardest to sit up without making too much noise or rocking the bed. Swinging your legs around, you push up, coming to an upright position, feet planting firmly on the floor. Between your legs is a mess. You don’t have to see it to know.

Most of the night, John used condoms. But when the two of you finally curled up together, John had slid his hand between your thighs and parted you just enough to push right on in. You didn’t protest. You had sighed heavily, and then groaned when he rocked his hips, moving inside you.

In the moment you didn’t care. Not one bit. In a way, you still don’t, but what the fuck were you thinking?

You breathe in deep through your nostrils and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Lingering won’t help. You need to collect your clothes from the floor and leave.

As you open your eyes, and blink, you’re faced with your reflection. The full-length mirror against the wall shows the carnage from the night, but it’s not your appearance that has you pausing.

It’s John.

He’s awake.

And he’s staring right at you.

“You leaving me already?” His voice is husky. Sleep-tinged. The sound of it goes straight to your pussy.

“No,” you reply automatically.

He yawns, muscled chest flexing. “You’re lying, love.”

Your limbs do not cooperate. Move. That’s what you need, but your body isn’t listening. It’s melting instead, wanting to draw back into his arms.

“Am I?”

He nods, and rubs his large hand across his chest. The dark hairs there are tempting. You remember running your hands over those pectorals, and how your fingers dug in as you used him to rock back against his cock.

John pushes up and reaches over, that hand pressing against your back lightly, rubbing soft circles.

Fuck.

“Come here,” he says softly, and yet it isn’t soft at all.

It’s not pleading. It’s not exactly a command. John isn’t demanding anything and yet you are unable to form any will of your own. It’s like John has just taken a shot of whiskey.

Finally, your limbs move, but it is not away from him. Your feet find the bed again, and John is grabbing onto your thighs and waist, drawing you back. The whimper you release when both of his hands grasp the backs of your thighs as he pulls you into his lap is obscene. It’s silly. Downright ridiculous.

But it’s cut off. Cinched.

John’s mouth is on yours and then you’re kissing him. It is open-mouthed. A bit messy. But fuck is it good. His hands slide up your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and meander their way over your back. One arm wraps around your waist while the other comes up to your throat.

He won’t let you leave. He won’t allow you to slip away. John’s hand seems so large against your throat, and yet you don’t care. It’s possessive the way he claims your mouth. When you begin to wiggle, John growls, and you’re flipped onto your back.

John doesn’t cease kissing you, and his hands are everywhere. Your legs effortlessly part from him, and you feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

What’s one more? Couldn’t hurt.

You shift your hips, and it’s like John already knows. Drawing your legs up and into a more bent position, there is little effort in the way he buries himself to the hilt. You almost choke on your next breath but that is all you have.

There is nothing lazy or soft about this. John’s hips snap forward and back, skin smacking against skin. He presses his face against the side of your head, lips brushing along the lien of your jaw as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the bed. Your hands claw at his back, fingers digging for a semblance of steadiness.

“Can’t leave yet,” he huffs against your throat.

Your face shifts toward him and John takes this opportunity to find your lips again, and this kiss is so much different. It is passionate, and speaks to something more desperate than a mere need.

This is only supposed to be a night. A fun, drunken fuck you can latch onto your belt.

But no. That’s not what this is.

Not really.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The air conditioning kicks in, and that is what wakes you. A cool burst of air travels over your skin, making you shiver, pulling you from sleep.

You groan, snuggling against the warmth you’re curled against. It’s a comforting warmth. A bit soft with some hardness too. Not completely comfortable but better than the blast of cold air.

When you sink further against this warmth, it shifts beneath you. Dazedly, you blink, pulling back slightly from this nice heat you don’t wish to leave. Your cheek grazes against something scratchy and then you’re frowning down at chiseled pectorals.

The night before comes rushing forward. It is a battering ram of information, one that sends your already foggy brain into overload.

“Morning, love.” The husky, Scottish voice grounds you, slamming you back to reality.

You twist slightly and are greeted by soft blue eyes and a lazy smile.

“Johnny,” you murmur.

“Remembered my name,” he laughs. He reaches over to grasp the back of your thigh, drawing it over his waist. That large hand of his squeezes gently and you shiver.

“You remember mine?” you ask, teasing back.

He hums softly, and then draws you in, whispering your name against your lips.

This was a one-time thing. A quick hookup. You met Johnny at a pub. He had zeroed in on you instantly, making his way toward you with eagerness like he knew he wanted you out of everyone there that night.

And you had melted. Complied. Fallen for his Scottish accent that only seemed to thicken the more he drank. He cracked jokes, and gave you all of his attention. It was nice to be wanted for once, and when he discreetly asked you if you wanted to go back to his place, you didn’t hesitate.

But the morning is here. It has come calling. And now you’re left with the consequences.

“I need to go,” you murmur, drawing away from him.

Embarrassment is starting to sink in. You have no idea what you might look like at the moment but it can’t be anything other than a mess. Your makeup is likely smeared, hair tangled like a bird’s nest, and you fucking ache everywhere.

Which is fucking understandable because Johnny has stamina. You’ve never been with a man with such quick recovery time. He’d finish, take a couple minutes, and come right back at it like he wasn’t winded at all. He also put you in all sorts of weird positions.

No wonder you’re sore.

Johnny’s face falls slightly, and his arms tighten, keeping you crushed against him. “Don’t want to stay for a bit? Could grab some breakfast.”

He’s offering it to you casually as if your rejection won’t mean anything, but you see the hesitation in his gaze. Johnny wants you to say “yes” and yet you don’t know why. It could just be a show of kindness. An offering of nourishment after the workout he put you through last night. But perhaps it’s something more?

No. That’s silly. Ridiculous.

The two of you met just last night. If anything, the two of you have only known each other for twelve hours. That’s hardly enough to go on.

But breakfast sounds lovely.

When you don’t answer right away, Johnny adjusts his hold on you. His face draws close, gaze lazily scanning your body. Slowly, he moves in, brushing his lips against your shoulder, and then the curve at your neck.

“Or we could stay here for a bit longer.” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Breakfast after?” Johnny’s hand changes position, slipping up to grasp the curve of your ass. His body twists, and you feel his hard cock against the inside of your thigh.

Your pussy immediately clenches, remembering all the things he did to you. You attempt to push the feeling aside but it only grows, flowing outward, zapping your self-control.

“Johnny,” you whimper as his hand ventures further downward, sliding between your legs.

His fingers part your pussy, and the sound of the mess between your legs reaches your ears. The two of you didn’t use condoms last night, but you’re both clean and you went for it. It seems overly loudly in the room, and Johnny’s breathing quickens slightly as he explores.

“Don’t mind me adding to this?” His lips come down on your neck before his teeth lightly sink in.

Your lips part and you cry out as Johnny slips a finger inside your pussy. He takes his time, slowly moving in and out of your pussy. Lazily, his thumb brushes over your clit. He repeats the gesture, and your hips buck against his hold.

“Staying?” he asks, lips brushing over collarbone to descend downward to your breasts.

His actions aren’t fair. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. He’s supposed to kick you out. To tell you to leave either politely or like an asshole. Instead, Johnny is trying everything to get you to stay. And you can’t say you’re all that mad about it because—fuck, this man knows how to use his fingers.

Johnny runs his tongue over your nipple and you nearly come undone right then. Your hips flex forward, pushing your clit against his palm. He inserts a second finger, and Johnny groans against your breasts as your orgasm builds toward its peak.

“Stay,” he says, and you squeeze around those two digits, gasping for air as your fingers dig into his pectorals.

Johnny withdraws and rolls you onto your back. You spread your legs gladly, your orgasm still buzzing under your skin. He boxes you in, the head of his cock pushing in. All that soreness returns but it is fleeting. Once he’s seated entirely inside you, you hardly care.

“I’ll stay,” you gasp as he rocks his hips.

“For breakfast, too?”

“Whatever you want.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

When you awaken, it’s a jolt. A sharp shake.

You blink, not recognizing your surroundings for a moment. Hazy memories bubble up to the surface. There was a man with blonde hair and scars. There was whiskey. Lots of it. A bottle shared between you and him.

His hand kept straying to your thigh, squeezing with intention. You leaned in, asked if he was interested in going elsewhere.

This is elsewhere. And it’s not a hotel.

Simon.

You remember him now. His gruff voice, his large hands on your body, and the way he stripped you down in seconds before his mouth sought supple skin. Your cheeks heat with the memory, and you absently press your palm there, the warmth radiating into your fingers.

Glancing over, you find the bed empty. Reaching out, you test the sheets, finding them cold. Simon has been gone a while, but this is no hotel room. It’s too personal, which means he’s somewhere. This must be his home.

If you’re careful, maybe you can slip out. You sit up, and listen. Quiet. No running water or feet padding softly against the floor. The bathroom door is ajar and the light is off. Simon might be out in the kitchen or living room—or he might be gone.

That’s happened before. You’ve awoken only for the man to be gone, leaving you alone in his home to put yourself together and make an exit at your convenience.

It’s…fine.

Simon was a good fuck. You can’t complain on that front. He knew exactly how to work your body. He found all your spots—all the things that make you melt—and stuck with it.

Sighing heavily, you crawl out of the comfortable bed. Your limbs scream in protest, soreness making itself known in places you’ve never been sore before. It’s a game finding your discarded clothes on the floor. With only a sliver of sunlight from the window, you’re forced to grab and hold the item up in the air to determine if the clothing item is yours or Simon’s.

“Finally,” you mutter, identifying your shirt. It’s halfway over your head when you hear the front door. “Fuck,” you hiss, only tangling yourself further.

You take a step back only to smack your leg against the bed. It sends you backwards, sprawling onto your back. You manage to sit up and wrestle your shirt on when Simon enters the room.

He stands in the doorway holding a plastic bag, and wearing a black tracksuit. Simon’s hair is a bit of a mess like he quickly ran his fingers through it before leaving.

“Hi,” you say weakly, because you can’t stand awkward silence.

“Leaving?” asks Simon, but he doesn’t sound upset.

You shrug, and swallow down the lump in your throat. “What’s in the bag?” you reply, switching tactics.

Simon is quiet a moment before he reaches in and tosses something to you. You manage to catch it without fumbling it.

Glancing down, you look at the box. At the—oh.

“We ran out last night,” he states simply.

It suddenly grows hot in the room.

“We did,” you agree, clutching the box of condoms like it’s a lifejacket.

He bought more. Which means—

“You’re welcome to leave,” he says, crumbling up the bag and setting it on top of the dresser. Simon reaches into his pocket and deposits his keys along with his phone. Unzipping his jacket, Simon reveals bare chest.

When the jacket is gone, Simon is left in only black joggers. He’s on full display. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, large hands that perfectly wrapped around your throat as he bent you over and fucked you from behind.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, but you already know the answer. If Simon really wanted you gone, he wouldn’t have left to purchase another box of condoms.

“It’s what you want,” he replies. Simon is so calm—so casual. He’s not moving away from the door. He stands there, shirtless, gaze intense.

You sigh loudly and glance down at the box of condoms. “You did go out of your way to buy these.”

By the time you glance up, Simon is right there, grasping your throat, easing your head upwards so that you can look at him. With his other hand, he takes the condoms and tosses them onto the bed.

“You’re staying.” It’s not really a question, more of a confirmation.

You nod once and Simon’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip. That soft touch is enough to part your lips, and Simon makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a groan.

“Take me in your mouth,” he rasps. “Like you did last night.”

Your hands find the top of his joggers. Sliding beneath the band, you wiggle them down until the base of his cock appears. You pull a bit more, and then it’s free, already hard with a tiny bead of cum blooming in the slit. Your tongue darts out, swiping it up.

Simon shivers, and his hold on your neck adjusts to grasp the back of your head. He doesn’t haul you against him, or force himself down your throat. He is waiting for you, and that action in and of itself is enough to get you to stay a bit longer.

The head of his cock slides over your tongue and you throat him deep. Simon’s eyelids flutter and his groan is sweet. You bottle it up for later with the intention of recreating that sound—to make him moan like that again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sunday mornings are lazy mornings.

Some of the alcohol from last night still lingers in your pores, leaving a tightness behind your eyes and at your temples. But it’s not all that relevant.

Right now, you’re floating. There’s a man between your thighs. Well, his head anyway. And his tongue is doing all sorts of things to you.

Kyle’s tongue lazily flicks back and forth over your clit while he pumps two fingers in and out of your pussy. He is in no rush. No hurry. He’s taking his time, and you’re in blissful motion, hips rocking against his tongue, meeting his fingers with each thrust.

He groans softly against your pussy just before he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your back arches off the bed. Kyle’s name is on your lips. A repetition you cannot cease.

Even with your orgasm blossoming, you feel his smile against your skin. Kyle is smug that he’s done this to you.

What a way to start the day.

Kyle’s fingers slip from your body, and then he’s pushing up, reaching for the box of condoms on the bedside table. He snatches one up, tearing it open quickly.

“How do you want me?” you murmur, not trusting your voice. It’s still hoarse from sleep and the smokes you accepted last night.

Kyle rolls on the condom. His skin is glossy with sweat. The two of you have hardly slept. You thought this would be a quick fuck but it’s something else. Kyle takes his time, and that has drawn this one-night stand out into an all-night fucking marathon.

“You’re good as you are, love,” coos Kyle, settling between your legs again. You both groan aloud when he slides home.

It’s the next day. You should be out of this bed. You should be doing your usual walk-of-shame, and yet you’re still in Kyle’s bed, full of his cock, and completely strung out on orgasms.

“Promise I’ll let you rest after this,” he murmurs, testing with a roll of his hips.

You almost laugh. “You said that the last two times,” you moan as he hits somewhere deep.

“Did I?” he asks, absently.

Kyle is sweet, but he knows how to make you yearn. It’s agony. And it’s fucking beautiful. This isn’t how any of this is supposed to go and yet here you are, getting dicked down by a man who is clearly beyond simple hook-ups.

This man is boyfriend material, and even as your mind starts to drift back into a lustful haze, it’s scheming of ways to keep him.

Shifting slightly, Kyle adjusts your legs, setting a pace that makes each stroke divine. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re exhausted that it feels so goddamn good. And maybe the two of you will actually rest after this.

The birds are chirping, and traffic is already moving. It’s the morning after, and yet the night seems to have been unending.

Kyle leans forward, and then your lips are connecting. Each kiss is deep. Tender. It’s unfair how nice this is. It shouldn’t be like this, and yet it is, and that makes it all the more painful when you do finally leave. This is not your home. It is his.

This is just an agreement made in a smoky pub. Nothing more.

“Kyle,” you moan, drawing his name out as your orgasm crests.

He smiles against your mouth, his pace stuttering out as the rest of him starts to tense.

“Almost there, love. Promise.” That word, promise, is strained. Kyle’s eyelids flutter, and then he too finds his end.

In the muted dark, the two of you exchange breaths. A car honks outside but it’s a muted thing. You’re hardly paying attention.

“Can we rest now?” you ask. It’s almost a laugh, but it’s also cautious. Maybe rest just means rest for him, and you’re about to be kicked to the curb.

“Yeah,” he smiles, rolling onto his back. Kyle reaches down to remove the condom before pushing himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The light flicks on. Water runs. And then Kyle returns with a damp cloth.

“Open those legs for me.”

You do so obediently, and Kyle patiently cleans you up before returning the cloth to the bathroom.

When he returns, the words tumble out of you unexpectantly. “I just need a couple hours and then I’ll go.”

Kyle frowns as he slides back into the bed. “You don’t need to rush out of here.”

You don’t need to rush out of here.

“I don’t want to bother—” Kyle shakes his head and you cease speaking.

“Come here,” he murmurs, offering himself. You slide up next to him, and Kyle wraps his arms around your body, dragging you into his chest.

Your lips begin to form words but Kyle makes a grunt and you promptly close your mouth. Kyle has you locked in his arms, and it’s comfortable. Normal. This is all too personal, and yet Kyle doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe you could make this into something else.

Maybe this is him offering more.

Whatever it is, the concept fractures, slipping away as the warmth and comfort of him lulls you to sleep.

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youryanderedaddy · 4 months

Text

tw: female reader, non - con, sadism, hinted abuse

I'm thinking about the sweet sadistic type.

The way he pins you down and folds your body at whatever angle is convenient for him, completely disregarding those pained little yelps that tear your throat, or so you think. In reality he finds your broken gasps incredibly hot and would do anything to force more out of that cute little mouth despite your protests.

When you're so much smaller than him it's hard to see you as anything more than a defenseless plush toy - impossible to control the cute aggression that overtakes him at the sight of you when all he wants to do is pinch your cheeks and squeeze your thighs red, leaving fingerprints all over your body. He wants to bite your neck, to suck at your sweet spot for so long it stops being pleasurable and becomes unbearable instead - wants you to push at his chest and kick his legs just for the real helplessness to set in your brain.

When he takes you, he makes sure you're stretched, but never enough for it to be painless. Your captor finds sick satisfaction in the way your walls hug his cock all the way to your cervix, tight pussy throbbing in a pitiful attempt to adjust to his massive length - stretching you beyond your comfort. And when you finally cave in and give him those beautiful tears he loves so much, he's the first to caress your hot wet cheeks and kiss your puffy eyes. You're doing so well for me, sweet girl. Just bear with it for a bit longer. But it's never just a bit. He keeps rutting into you for hours, getting rougher and faster with each impending orgasm while you keep falling in and out of sleep, every time waking up to a sinister, lovesick gaze and a hand around your throat. Every time he's thrusting just a bit deeper, making your body jump and twist like it weights nothing.

He loves leaving bruises on you, although he would never admit it out loud. You look absolutely beautiful when you're bare before him, bashfully trying to hide the striking, undeniable proof that you're all his - the blue hickeys on your collarbone, the purple spots across your ass and thighs, the red marks all over your tits. It feels him with so much pride he always ends up pulling you in and kissing you with teeth, leaving a thin trail of blood down your chin. The things you do to me, baby. You really know how to set me on fire.

Still, he thinks you're the prettiest when you're crying. When he has just hit you and your cheek is burning, or when you hear your parents' names on the radio, and you let out those big, pearly tears, when you let your voice out after fighting your misery for so long. Shh, come here, babydoll. I know what will make you feel better. I'm going to give you lots of love until you forget about those pests from your past. Just try not to scream so much this time. You remember what happened last time, right? I would absolutely hate to see you hurt.

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere smut #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere drabble

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juniperskye · 19 days

Text

Let’s start over.

Sneak peek: Aaron and Reader were together back when she was finishing her bachelor’s degree. It went on for a bit until Aaron started to pull away – after confronting him, you called things off. Years later you return to Quantico to streamline the new child crimes unit which will work directly with the BAU. Aaron is surprised to see you and asks you to dinner…some shocking secrets are revealed. (There are timeline edits to this story to fit my vision okay?!)

Aaron Hotchner x (Fem) Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 5301

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap (reader is in their 20’s and Hotch is in his 40’s), explicit language, keeping a child a secret, Hotch not being the best partner (past), description of BAU and other FBI units – some canon typical subject matter, OC’s Nora (child) Theo and Leila (agents), mention of hospitals, and mention of febrile seizure, mention of Jack, mention of Haley (their relationship timeline was adjusted to make this work – they separated when Jack was like 2-3 y/o) let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

** 5 Years Ago, **

“Aaron would you please just tell me what’s going on!” You pleaded.

“Nothing. I told you to just drop it. Nothing is wrong.” Aaron snapped.

Things had been like this for the past few weeks. Aaron was being short with you, snippy about menial things that had never bothered him before. You couldn’t figure out what was going on, it had truly begun to weigh heavily on your relationship.

“We both know that’s bullshit. Why won’t you just talk to me?” You were practically begging him at this point.

“Jesus Christ, would you just let it the fuck go. I said I don’t want to talk. Why is that so hard for you to understand?” Aaron shouted. “Maybe Dave was right.” He mumbled.

“Right about what?” Your voice came out much smaller than intended.

“Maybe you’re too young, too immature. You just don’t understand the stress I’m under.” Aaron huffed out a sigh.

Aaron and you had been together for nearly two years. Initially it had been more of a fling due to the fact that he was teaching a course you were taking to complete your bachelor’s degree. He and you took things to the next level once you’d graduated and now you were about to complete your master’s degree. You loved Aaron, but with how things had been going for the last few months, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was enough.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” You whispered.

“So what? We get in a little fight and you’re going to throw a tantrum?” Aaron spat pure venom.

“A tantrum?” You said, exasperated. “Aaron I’m not a toddler kicking and screaming because I am not getting my way. I’m a grown ass woman asking for some healthy communication in our relationship. We haven’t had a real conversation in months, and I don’t think I can go on like this.” You gasped, the realization finally hitting you…this had to end.

“Sweetheart, we can work this out. I’m sorry okay?” Aaron reached for you.

“No…” You took a retreating step, your back making contact with the back of your sofa. “I think it’s too late Aaron. And honestly it’s rich that you called me immature, when you are so emotionally stunted. You refuse to act your own age and talk things through. Instead, you bottle things up and push away anyone who cares about you. I won’t be your punching bag anymore, I have too much respect for myself.” Your tears had finally broken free, trailing down your cheeks clouded with black from your mascara.

“So that’s it then? We’re done?” Aaron scoffed.

“I guess that’s it.” You gasped.

With that, Aaron grabbed his bag and left. Pausing for a second, before shaking his head and making his leave. The moment you heard the lock click, your knees gave out and you collapsed to the floor as sobs ripped through your body. You laid there for what felt like days, broken and devastated by the loss of what you presumed was your forever. He was gone and you’d have to move on, something you weren’t sure was possible in that moment.

** Present Day **

“Hello? … This is she … Oh! Director Cruz … yes I am getting everything ready. … I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity, truly. … Of course, thank you. … Alright, I will see you Monday. … Thank you … Bye.” You were practically buzzing as you hung up the phone.

“Was that bossman?” Hestia questioned.

“Yes it was! He was checking in and making sure I have everything I need before I start on Monday!” You gushed.

“I can’t believe you are moving back to Virginia. I am going to miss you so, so much!” Hestia whined.

“I am going to miss you too! But it’ll only be like a month until you join me…right?” You inquired.

“Yes! My lease is up then and as long as you’re still cool with us staying with you guys until we find our own place, we will be there!” She explained.

“Ummm of course you guys can stay with us! Free childcare…I’d be an idiot to pass that up!” You laughed as Hestia threw a pillow at you.

You were actively packing up your life and preparing to move back to Virginia. You hadn’t been back there in nearly five years. After breaking things off with Aaron and completing your master’s degree, you’d looked into PhD programs around the U.S. and had ultimately decided on the child psychology program at Colombia University, and while New York wasn’t too far from Virgina, it at least put space between you and Aaron.

About eight months after you and Aaron had broken things off, Nora had come as quite a surprise. Despite the shock that was brought on by your pregnancy, Nora had become the greatest gift you could’ve asked for. Having Hestia around to make up for your lack in baby daddy had brought the two of you incredibly close together.

You had met Hestia in a pretty unconventional way, she was one year into her residency for general surgery, and you had appendicitis. So, she worked hand-in-hand with the surgeon who removed your appendix, and well, the rest had been history. She’s been with you through everything in the last four years, most importantly, she’s helped you raise Nora. You’d been sure to repay the favor, especially within the last year…Hestia’s mom had passed, leaving her 15-year-old sister in her care. The four of you had become your own little family.

“So, what’s your plan tomorrow?” Hestia asked.

“Oh, my parents flew in last week and they drove most of my stuff down on Tuesday. My mom said she wanted it to be set up for us, so we’d be able to move right in, especially since I start work immediately. So, I am just getting the last few things together today and we will head down tomorrow, and I guess we will finish getting everything set up this weekend. They’re staying with me, pretty much until you and Selene can come out. They don’t want me to have to put Nora in daycare.” You explained.

“Aw, I’m so glad they’re able to do that! I know by then you’ll be ready to have them out of your hair, but it is nice that you won’t have to leave her with strangers right away.” Hestia patted your leg. “I do have a question for you though…are you at all worried about running into your ex?”

“I don’t even know if he still works there Hes, it’s a huge place. Who’s to say we even see each other at all?” You shrug.

“You are so full of shit!” Hestia laughs. “Don’t act like you didn’t check to see if he’s still there.”

“Ugh! Yes he’s still the unit chief of the BAU! Of course I looked. And yes. I am terrified, Director Cruz said my unit will most likely work with the BAU more than any other team and I’m not sure I can handle that.” You groaned.

“You can’t avoid him forever babe. Are you going to tell him about Nora?”

“Hes, I don’t even know how I would begin to tell him.” You shook your head. “We ended horribly and she’s four now. What if he freaks out?”

“I mean he might. Hon, you have to tell him, she’s his daughter you know… I don’t think there’s an easy way to do it. Like it’s gonna be ugly no matter what. But at least you’re telling him.” Hestia reasons.

You knew she was right, you had to tell Aaron about Nora, but honestly it could wait. You had an entire unit to run, and you couldn’t let your fear of seeing him and having that conversation distract you from the important work you’d be doing.

Monday came far too quickly. Your parents had been a huge help, and the house was almost completely unpacked. Nora had settled in well with them being there with you both, and you were incredibly grateful to them for supporting you.

You had gotten up early to make breakfast and eat with Nora before heading into the office. When you walked into the FBI building, you made your way to the front desk to get your ID and then headed to the director’s office.

“Welcome! We are so glad to have you and your team joining us at the FBI. Child crimes is something that has needed an official unit for far too long, I am just happy to have you leading it.” Director Cruz greeted you.

“Thank you Director, it is truly an honor to have been asked to lead this team. From my understanding, Theo and Leila will be here tomorrow to begin officially.”

“That’s correct. I want to go over some logistics with you before I show you to your office. As of right now your team will just be the three of you, if we see a need to expand, we will. I am going to assign you and your agents each a specific unit for if you are needed in more than one place. You will be the point person for the Behavioral Analysis Unit and the Sex Crimes Unit, Leila will take point with Violent Crimes and Theo will take point with Cybercrimes. I anticipate that your team will work closest with the BAU and SCU.” Director Cruz explained.

“That all sounds good sir. Are the Unit Chiefs of these departments all aware of our arrival? I just want to ensure they will be prepared to work with us and that there won’t be too much pushback.” You posed.

“I understand. Yes, they have all been informed of your team’s arrival and I have made it very clear that their cooperation is nonnegotiable. At the end of the day, we all have the same goal, so hopefully there will be very little pushback from our agents.” Director Cruz reassured you. “Are you ready to see your office now?”

“Yes sir, thank you.”

Stepping off the elevator onto the sixth floor, you immediately took note of the directory sign listing that the BAU was housed on this floor. It made your stomach churn, knowing that you would most definitely see Aaron every day… not to mention in like the next few minutes.

“Okay so, through this door here is where the BAU is, as I mentioned before. There are two open desks down in the bullpen there for Theo and Leila, and your office is just there. You will be between agents Hotchner and Rossi.” Director Cruz noted as you entered your office. “I’d like to introduce you to agent Hotchner before I let you settle in; I think it is important given how frequently you’ll be working together.”

“Of course, sir.” You nodded.

The ten steps it took to get from your office to his felt like an eternity. You felt sick knowing that you’d have to face the man that had broken you all those years ago. You may have ended things with him officially, but he had truly ended it when he decided that you weren’t worthy of communicating with. At this point you were just hoping that he’d grown up in that area, because you really needed him to take the news of Nora well.

“Agent Hotchner, I have the new child crimes unit chief here for you to meet.” And before Director Cruz could give Aaron your name, it escaped his own lips, framed by his shocked expression. “Oh, you two know each other?”

“Agent Hotchner was a guest lecturer for one of my undergrad courses. He was my inspiration for entering this field.” You supplied.

It wasn’t a total lie…

“Yes, she was a bright student. I’m not surprised to see that she made it to the FBI.” Aaron added.

“Alright then, I will leave you to catch up then.” With that, the Director made his way back to his office.

“How um…how are you?” Aaron inquired.

“I’m well Aaron. I don’t really think anymore small talk is necessary. I should go get settled into my office.” You huffed out a breath before exiting the room.

You made sure to take your time getting settled. Placing some personal things out on your desk and shelves. You had a few plants, some of your favorite pens, some file folders, you hung up your degrees, you organized your psychology books on the shelves along with some law books, and the last, most important detail was a framed photo of you and Nora that you sat next to your lamp.

The day had sped by as you made yourself comfortable on the couch in your office while reading through some emails from other units and some case files of theirs from previous cases to see how they typically ran things. You had been trekking along just fine until a quite knock broke your concentration. Looking up, you weren’t entirely surprised to see it was Aaron standing there.

“I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. It’s almost eight.” Aaron informed you.

“Oh shit! I didn’t even realize!” You scrambled to check your phone.

“I know that you said small talk wasn’t necessary, and I agree. I would however really like to take you to dinner to catch up, and maybe I can explain some things.” Aaron requested.

“Oh, I um. I’m not sure that’s a good idea…I uh-”

“Please. I really need to explain myself, for how awful I was back then. No excuses, just maybe it’ll help you see my point of view. I’ve worked on myself a lot since then.” Aaron pleaded.

“I have to make a call first.” You conceded.

“Of course. I’ll give you some privacy.” He exited your office.

You quickly called your mom, letting her know that you were going to dinner with a coworker, asking her to take care of the remainder of Nora’s bedtime routine. You also had to inform her you wouldn’t need to be picked up. After which you spoke to Nora wishing her a good night and giving her a kiss through the phone. You then gathered your belongings and met Aaron in the bullpen.

“So, I don’t have my car. My parents are in town, they helped me move, so I left my car with them.” You explained sheepishly.

“No worries, if you’re comfortable with it, I can drive us. I can take you home after as well.” Aaron offered.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.” You offered a gentle smile.

Aaron gestured you to the elevator and you made your way down to the parking garage. Aaron, ever the gentleman made sure to open the car door for you, both in the garage and again at the restaurant. There was a tinge of sadness that flooded your mind as you noticed where Aaron took you.

It had been your go to for date nights back when you were together. It was a recommendation from Dave – who you couldn’t help but feel a bit of resentment toward given the “too young” comment. You wondered if Aaron brought you here on purpose, and he must’ve picked up on your thought.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I drove us here. I guess it was muscle memory.” He shook his head.

“It’s okay. I’ve missed the food honestly.” You let out a little chuckle.

“I have too. I uh, I haven’t been here since we ended.” Aaron’s voice trailed off toward the end of his statement.

You were relieved that the night hadn’t been filled with awkward silence. It had, however, been a lot of catching up while Aaron avoided the main reason he brought you here and you avoided talking about Nora. You were both saved by the waiter when he came by to get your order.

“Would you like to see the wine list?”

“No thank you. I’ll just have water.” You were quick to answer.

“Water is fine for me also.” Aaron added.

“Are you ready to order your entrees then?”

“I will have the Mezzi Rigatoni, and she will have the Ricotta Cavatelli.” Aaron declared.

The waiter nodded and walked off. You couldn’t help but look at Aaron with a bit of shock. It is what you always ordered, so you couldn’t be mad, but it felt foreign and all too familiar at the same time. He always ordered for you when you used to go out, he used to know you better than you knew yourself…but that was then.

“I’m so sorry – I don’t know why I did that” Aaron was quick to apologize “Maybe coming here was a bad idea. It’s all too familiar.”

“It’s okay Aaron. I was going to order it anyway. Maybe we should talk about why we’re here.” You suggested.

“Of course. I want to explicitly state that I am not trying to make excuses for how I acted then, because I know I was horrible to you in the end. I do just want to give you some insight as to what I was going through at that time. I really want to communicate now what I didn’t then.” He began.

You nodded for him to continue as the waiter brought your food and drinks.

“So, you know that Haley and I divorced before you and I got together officially. Well once you and I became serious and my time was either spent at work or with you and Jack, Haley didn’t seem to like that. She uh, she tried to fight me for primary custody of Jack.” Aaron explained.

“What? Aaron why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly, because I knew you’d take a step back in our relationship. I knew that with how selfless you are, you’d offer to back off and give me more time with Jack and I didn’t want that. I wanted to have you and Jack, so I kept it to myself. Which broke us anyway.” He concluded.

“I really wish you would’ve told me; things may have been different Aaron. I am glad you’re telling me now though.” You desperately wanted to reach for his hand but ultimately decided against it.

Now was as good a time as any, you had to tell him about Nora. He confessed something and it was your turn. And just as you were about to open your mouth, a shrill ring sounded from Aaron’s coat pocket.

“Hotchner. Yes…CCU as well? Yes – I’m with their unit chief now. We’re on our way.” Aaron hung up the phone and looked over at you. “Is your team here in Virginia?”

“Yes, they’re not meant to start until tomorrow.” You provided.

“Call them in, we have a case. Time is of the essence.” Aaron signaled for the check.

The two of you contacted your respective teams as you made your way back to the car. Aaron once again opened your door for you and drove you back to the office. You texted your parents and informed them of the case and asked your mom to let Nora know you’d be home as soon as you could.

30 minutes later you were on a private jet to Chicago with your team and the entirety of the BAU. You had unintentionally sat beside Aaron and began going over the case details with everyone. Aaron had begun explaining the preliminary profile, and you couldn’t help but chime in. Everyone was watching how the two of you riffed and bounced ideas off of one another so naturally.

“Just a reminder, there are new protocols for entry into the crime scene when we are locating the children. We need to follow those exactly to ensure we don’t harm these children more so than they are already. If you have any questions about those procedures feel free to ask me or my agents.” You instructed.

“Right. Now for assignments, Dave, JJ and Theo I’d like you to interview the family of the latest victim –”

“Molly Leland.” You corrected.

“Apologies. Dave, JJ, Theo go to the Leland’s and find out anything you can. Morgan, Prentiss and Leila, you three go to the abduction site, I want to ensure CSU didn’t miss anything. And Reid you’ll be with us at the station to start on the geographical profile.” Aaron finished, gesturing to the two of you.

Six days. It had been six days, and you still hadn’t made any progress on this case. Another child had gone missing, and things were incredibly tense. Both teams had been in the designated room within the precinct going over theories.

“I think we’re looking at this all wrong…” Leila began, “I think the person abducting these kids is younger than initially profiled.”

“Given their disorganization and the lack of consistent victimology, I’d say that’s a pretty plausible theory.” Spencer validated.

“Okay, Leila what were you thinking?” You inquired.

“What if it is a teenager? My thoughts were a kid who grew up in foster care – hence the random victimology. They just want siblings, and that’s why there aren’t any bodies.” Leila suggested.

“I think she’s onto something. If it was a young adult who was newly alone in the world, they’d be looking to find people to surround themselves with.” Morgan continued.

“Garcia, run a search for kids that just aged out of group homes and foster care.” Aaron called to their technical analyst.

“Within the geographical limits I just sent over to you.” Spencer added.

When your phone rang, you excused yourself from the room, answering the call from your mom. You could immediately tell something was wrong given the slight lilt to her voice.

“Mom, what’s wrong?...Why do you need the children’s Tylenol. … Fever? What’s her temperature? … 103? MOM! You need to take her to the ER. … I’m serious! … I’m coming home. … Yes! … I’ll be there as soon as I can. … Take her straight to Bethesda. …Ok. Bye.”

You turned and jumped in surprise at Aaron standing there behind you.

“I just came to let you know we’re splitting up to check out a few leads. Is everything okay?” He asked.

You could tell he had more questions and that he’d more than likely heard the entirety of your conversation but was holding back in asking them.

“Um no. My daughter is sick. She has a pretty high fever. I uh, I need to get home.” You panicked.

“Okay. We will get you home then. I’ll send the teams out and I will make some calls. For now, just try to stay positive okay?” Aaron had always been the calm in the storm.

He sent three separate groups out to find the unsub and had made a few calls back to the director to get you on an emergency flight home. He went as far as to drive you to the hotel and then to the hangar.

“Aaron.”

“Get home to your daughter.” He offered a small smile.

“Thank you.”

Leila had texted to update you that they had caught the unsub and would be heading home in the next hour or so. You had been grateful that the team had successfully closed the case. What was killing you, was the state of your baby girl. She had an excessively high fever, and it just wouldn’t break.

“Miss, there’s someone here to see you.” The nurse informed you.

You looked over at your mom who gave you a nod and you exited the room. Following the nurse to the waiting room, you were surprised to see Aaron standing there.

“I just wanted to see how she’s doing, and how you are.” He declared.

“I um. I’m…” You couldn’t help but break down.

Aaron immediately pulled you into his arms and moved you both over to a couch in the waiting area. He let his hand brush over your hair and whispered reassurances to you. The two of you sat like this for a while before you slowly pulled away.

“Sorry. She just has this fever, and it won’t break, and they don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Sweetheart it’s okay. She will be okay.” Aaron grabbed your hand.

A moment went by and then an alarm sounded. Your gaze shot up as you watched medical staff make their way to Nora’s room. You got up and ran to her room, with Aaron hot on your heels.

“What’s happening? What is going on? Somebody tell me what is going on!” You were practically shouting as Aaron pulled you from the room.

Your mom was pacing in the hallway as Aaron held you back from storming back in. It was killing him to see you this distraught.

“It was a febrile seizure. This can happen when children have such a high fever. We’ve given her a sedative to try and help her rest and we pushed some more Tylenol to aid in breaking the fever.” The doctor explained.

“Is she going to be okay?” You questioned.

“We’re doing everything we can. A nurse will be by soon to take her temperature again.” The doctor walked away.

“I’m going to go find your dad. That way you two can have some privacy.” Your mom said pulling you into a hug.

“This is Nora.” You told Aaron as you ran your hand over her forehead, brushing her curls away from her face.

“She’s beautiful.” He complimented.

You sat in silence for a bit with him just watching Nora. You could tell part of him was itching to ask, but you also knew that Nora was a bit small for her age so he couldn’t be sure that she was his. This moment of avoidance was terminated the second the billing staff came in to get all of your information.

“Hey there, I wanted to confirm all of the info for billing. Do you have your driver’s license and insurance card?” The staff requested.

“Yes, here it is.” You passed her the card.

She filled in all of your information, clicking away on her keyboard while the rest of the room sat with a looming silence. You could feel the question coming. You had been an idiot to give Nora her father’s last name.

“Okay and can you confirm the patient’s name and date of birth for me?”

“Yes, it’s uh…Nora Leigh Hotchner. That’s H-O-T-C-H-N-E-R. Date of birth is 10/4/2019.” You could feel Aaron’s gaze burning into you.

“Alright, here are those cards back. Thank you.” She made her leave.

“Seriously?”

“Aaron, let me explain.”

“Not here.” He motioned toward Nora.

He swiftly made his way out of the room, and you were quick to follow. In noticing your parents, you signaled for them to sit with Nora as you practically chased after Aaron. He didn’t stop until he was in a private waiting room, it was only then that he turned to face you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? She’s mine? And what, you didn’t think to tell me…I don’t know, FOUR YEARS AGO?” Aaron was fuming.

A part of you understood his response, but another part of you was furious that he wasn’t allowing you to explain before flying off the handle.

“Don’t yell at me. If we’re going to do this, we will talk like adults. I will not sit here and allow you to berate me.” You held your ground.

“Okay.”

“I found out I was pregnant after I left for New York. And at that point Aaron, I was so devastated by our breakup, and I just didn’t think I could be around you. I know that’s not fair, but I had thought you and I were forever and then we’d just ended. I was going to tell you last week at dinner, but then we got called in. Aaron I am so sorry, and I know that doesn’t make up for the time you’ve lost, but I also need you to know that I did what I felt like I had to do.” You let your gaze fall to the floor in guilt.

“I understand. I’m not happy, but I get it.” He reached for your hand.

You accepted the gesture and furthered it by pulling him into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his head atop your own.

“I’ve told her about you.” You whispered.

“What?”

“I’ve told her about you. She’s seen pictures and heard stories. She knows you Aaron.”

He held you a little tighter and you nuzzled a little closer. After a few moments he suggested that you both get back to your girl. You both sat with her all night, letting your parents go home. At three in the morning, the night nurse gave you the good news, her fever had finally broken. The next day, Aaron drove the two of you home, leaving with a scheduled family day where you would introduce Jack and Nora. You had also discussed talking to the kids about their birthday party (since their birthday’s are only 3 days apart). With Jack turning seven and Nora turning 5 in a little more than a month, you wanted to plan something big for the two of them.

** One Month Later **

“Okay, the bounce house is set up and the petting zoo guy just arrived. Where should he set up?” Penelope asked.

“On the southeast side!” Dave hollered.

You were setting up the last of the hors d’oeuvres, while the members of both the CCU and BAU helped get Dave’s backyard set up for the kids birthday party. You were so incredibly grateful for this family you’d come to have.

“We’re here with cake!” Hestia announced.

“Hes! Selene! Hey guys, you can set that up on that round table over there.” You pointed.

Selene came over and gave you a hug, you snuck a snack into her hand and nodded over to your bag.

“My iPad is in there with the Twilight movies all downloaded. Dave has a sitting room down the hall to the right.” You winked at her.

“Thanks mom!” Selene said hugging you once more before heading off.

“Do you have another kid I don’t know about?” Aaron joked, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Ha ha! No, Selene just calls me mom. We’ve both taken care of her since their mom passed, but it became an inside joke that I acted as the mom to Nora, Selene and Hestia.” You huffed a laugh.

“It’s true!” Hestia confirmed, before taking a case of juice boxes outside to the cooler.

“You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” Aaron murmured, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Opposed to what?” You giggled.

“More kids.”

“Aaron! We only just got back together, and we are at our children’s birthday party! Behave yourself.” You hissed.

“I know, but this time around, I’m not letting you go. I plan on marrying you and I just want you to know that I’m open to more children, one day, when and if you’re ready.” He punctuates it with a kiss to your lips.

“Well, I’m open to it too. And whenever you ask, my answer is yes Aaron. You’ve proven to me that you’ve grown since we ended before and I can’t stand the thought of going without you again so, I’m in this, for as long as you’ll have me.” You kissed him once more before carrying a tray outside to the party.

Aaron smiled and grabbed his phone, opening it to check the status of his order. There on his screen was confirmation that your ring had been customized, made, sized, quality checked, and would be shipping out soon.

He couldn’t wait to spend forever with you.

630 notes · View notes

vngelicc · 10 months

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⊹₊ ⋆ “i just been fantasizin', and we got a lotta time, baby, come throw the pipe, gotta know what it's like,”

TAGS — vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pussy eating, light degradation, slight dirty talk, jk’s possessive here, oc’s a cute bean, daddy kinks, some nipple play, public sex, unrealistic sex to me bc how tf did no one see???, pimp!jk, stripper!oc, oc needs to know, WAP WAP WAP, this is for my birthday babes, praise kink(?), happy birthday @hyunjinswifeee this is late sorry :((

WORD COUNT — 3.3 k

Wanna know what it's like, baby, show me what it's like, I don't really got no type, I just wanna fuck all night,

The crowd becomes completely immersed in your smooth hip gyrations and body rolls, they holler and catcall while endless money falls at your feet. Tonight’s a special night, you figured why not spend it at work getting money rained on you. All you really had to do was dance because your oh so lovely boss prohibited you from being requested by the club patrons.

Speaking of your boss, he too was in the crowd just right above you in his private balcony. He was watching with those dark onyx eyes of his, filled with desire and hunger. Each time you looked up he was staring right back down. Jungkook looked so fucking good sprawled out like that over the velvet couch with one hand nursing a glass of whiskey, his hair wild and unkept. Just the display of dominance and power had you weak in the knees.

You bit your bottom lip and slowly ran your hands down your body before reaching back to grip the pole tightly and slowly walking around it. You wanted him to know that you were very much on the same page. The cheers from everyone spurred you on as you spun high on the pole with your head thrown back, the screams grew louder and the crowd wilder as they fought each other to get a better view.

I just been fantasizin', and we got a lotta time, baby, come throw the pipe, gotta know what it's like,

You hold your breath and slowly slide down as your eyes flicker back up to Jungkook who is now standing leaned over the balcony. He stares at you through half-lidded eyes, tongue poking the inside of his cheek and a lit cigar sitting in his hand. You decide to kick it up a notch. Just a tiny bit.

The lights suddenly go out and your shadow is illuminated by fuschia pink LED lights all around you. No one can see a thing but your silhouette as you reach behind you to unclip your bra. The club goers lose it as you dangle the item teasingly in the air before tossing it into the crowd wishing it was Jungkook you were throwing it at.

“More, more, more,” they chant as you move sensually. Luckily another bouncer comes to hand you another bra top to put on just before the lights around you snap back on.

You're exciting, boy, come find me, your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me" fuck that feeling both us fighting, could he try me? Mmm, most likely,

You mouth along to the song while staring right at Jungkook, a tiny smile adorning your lips as you spin around once more on the pole. You don’t look over for the rest of the dance because you’re too nervous to face the outcome. This was the first time you’ve pulled a move other than looking at him and giving Jungkook “fuck me” eyes.

When the show ends you’re pulled to the side by a squealing Soyeon and a giggling Soojin. “Did you not fucking see the look he gave you when you did that?!” Soyeon gasps, “He literally looked so fuckin’ pissed—in a good way though—like he did that thing he does with his tongue and cheek and then he pulled one of his guys to the side!”

“He wants you for real.” Soojin smirks as she pokes your side, “Looks like the birthday girl is gonna get some dick tonight.” She coos in your ear while cupping your tits in her hands, “So what’s your plan, hmm?” She lays her chin over your shoulder, Soyeon nods too and waits for your response.

You contemplate for a second but quickly make up your mind, “I think you guys already know,” you lean back into Soojin with a playful little smile, “who wouldn’t?”

“True,” Soyeon nods, “but you have to tell us the details okay? You gotta tell me if that thing he’s carrying is like nine inches or something.” She looks pretty serious and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat as you reply ‘then why don’t you find out?’ She gives you an almost offended look, “Girl that’s your man first of all, secondly I got my own.” She winks.

The three of you chat a little more until Namjoon, one of Jungkook’s closest bodyguards, comes through the door searching the room. When he makes eye contact with you he strides over with a friendly demeanor, “y/n, right?” He tilts his head a little to the side, “Jungkook’s asking for you, said if you could meet him up in the balcony?”

You nod in a heartbeat, “I’m just gonna clean up a little, ‘m a little sweaty ‘n stuff.” You softly reply as Soojin gets to quickly re-touching your makeup. He nods understandingly and murmurs a low “Come up when you’re ready.” After he leaves, Soojin and Soyeon slowly turn to you with little smirks on their faces and brushes in their hands.

When you reach the balcony you come across Jungkook sprawled out on the sofa with both arms stretched out. He looks a hot mess with the way his tie is hazardously tossed to the side and his white button-up sits messily undone over his chest. “Seems like we’ve finally met.” He hums.

“Hello Mr Jeon,” you softly greet like the polite little thing you are. Your eyes flicker down to the gold cross hanging over his chest, not missing the way his eyes flashed when you said ‘Mr Jeon’. It’s nerve wracking looking into his eyes because Jungkook always held eye-contact and you hated how he made you cower in delight, “I thought I wasn’t allowed to be requested by patrons.”

Jungkook chuckles quietly and brings the cigar up to his lips taking a long drag from it, “Oh? And does that include me too sweetheart?” A pleasant little shiver runs down your spine when the pet name rolls off his tongue so smoothly. You find yourself craving for more.

“I don’t know,” you softly say while inching closer, you come to a stop in front of him, “does my boss consider himself to be included..?” You teasingly run your finger over his shoulder and slowly lower yourself on his thigh, “Does he?” Jungkook’s nostrils flare as he blows the smoke to the side, dropping the cigar on to the ashtray below.

“You wanna give me a dance, is that it sweetheart?” Jungkook drawls out lazily. His eyes inch downwards as he admires the pretty little “outfit” you got on. It reminds him of the little show you put on out there.

Your breath hitches when he grabs the hanging garter string between two fingers and twirls it around in his hold. “...is a dance what you want?” You reply breathily.

Jungkook lays his hand flat on your thigh and strokes over it slowly, idly rubbing his hand up and down over the soft skin. “You offering me more sweetheart?” He licks his lips, “You gonna be a good girl and put on a show like out there—give me a private show just for little ol’ me?” He leans closer to you with his hot breath fanning over your chin and lips.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, “ ‘s not fair.”

He grins and noses along your jawline towards your slender neck, “Not fair? How so sweet girl?” He whispers as his thumb rubs soothing circles on your inner thigh, “Hm?” He blows in your ear causing goosebumps to form all over your body.

You tilt your head to look at him, “Because, it’s my birthday.” Your eyes drop down to his lips as you unconsciously lick your own, “Aren’t you gonna wish me happy birthday?” You whisper.

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook looks up at you in amusement as he leans closer, “Happy birthday sweetheart.”

Jungkook gently slips his lips against yours, barely moving as he inched his hand upward between your thighs. You’re so lost in the taste of him as you let your thighs fall open invitingly, and your hands came up to rest over his shoulders. Jungkook grunts under his breath, he moves his lips sensually over yours causing wet smacking noises to fill the space between you two. You softly whine as your lips become glossy and kissed raw from Jungkook’s little bites and harsh kisses.

“Why don’t you lay back, hm? Gonna show you what birthday girls get from me,” he presses a chaste kiss to your neck as he slowly guides you on your back, “there you go, just like that baby—yea..spread ‘em for me.” He watches you in pure delight over how well you’re following his instructions.

You stare up at him with a dazed look, “Do you give every birthday girl this?” You purse your lips in annoyance just thinking about all the other girls who have probably been under him like this.

Jungkook toys with the strap of your bra, “No, just ones that like to tease me on stage.” He smirks as he hooks his finger under the middle of the bra, he tugs it downward until both tits spill out from the cups, “Will you look at that..” He murmurs appreciatively when he sees your pretty pebbled nipples, “I wonder if you’re pretty everywhere else too.”

Your lips part to say something but Jungkook leans down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples. You sigh quietly and enjoy the feeling of his wet hot tongue circling and licking over your nipple. He moves his other hand to your other tit and gently wraps his hand around the doughy flesh. Jungkook pulls away and leaves a small trail of spit over your hard nub, as he rolls and kneads your tit in his other hand.

A surprised little “oh!” escapes your lips when he dives down to suck on the other nipple. “Mm–wait,” you throw your head back when his other hand dips low between your thighs, pressing two fingers over your drenched pussy. He teases your clit through your panties as he presses the soaked material against your slicked up cunt.

He hums to himself and pulls away to trail kisses down the middle of your body. His other hand slides down your side until he’s resting it against your hip where the waistband of your panties sits. “Been dreaming bout this day n night sweetheart, you don’t even know how fuckin’ crazy you drive me.” He hooks two fingers under the waistband, “You make it so hard for a man sometimes, you got me fiending like a dog for you.” He growls.

You look down at him and slip your hands over his, “Then make me yours,” you breathily whisper, “ ‘s all yours,” you dreamily smile while hooking your thighs over his shoulders.

Jungkook all but tears your panties off with a loud riiip. He leaves open mouthed kisses trailing down until his mouth’s hovering over your pussy, he wastes no time in letting his tongue dip between your folds. He laps at your messy folds and lays his tongue flat against your clit as he flicks it back and forth teasingly. You quickly become a whimpering mess under him.

He uses his grip to bring your cunt closer to his face, his hands slip under your ass cheeks and he grips both cheeks in his palms. Your eyes flutter shut as you slip your hands into his hair, you wonder if anyone was watching right now. The balcony itself had a thick siding but the thought of them watching Jungkook and you sent delicious little tremors down your spine. “Mm–like that,” you whisper softly while lifting your hips more for him.

It feels like he’s making out with your pussy with the way he’s licking and sucking at your chubby folds, taking a lip into his mouth as he sucks on it teasingly before dipping back in to tease your clit. A choked up moan escapes when his tongue slips lower and pokes at your winking hole, “Please, please,” you tearfully whine, “want more.”

Jungkook leaves a gentle little smooch on your pussy before he goes back to business. His hot tongue slips right into you pushing past your tight rim. Your lips fall open in a small ‘o’ as you shudder, he’s flicking his tongue upwards against your g-spot repeatedly. You scramble to get a hold of him with your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Mmm,” you push his head against you and sigh when his nose accidentally bumps into your clit, “...daddy—” You cry out when the pleasure gets too much and you curl into yourself from the sensitivity.

Jungkook freezes under you, he pulls away and climbs over you with your legs falling from his shoulders. “What did you say?” His eyes narrow, they’re dark with hunger and lust. You look up at him through bleary eyes and giggle instead of answering. Jungkook wraps his hand around your throat, relishing in the moan that bubbles out of your throat, “Oh you like that don’t you baby?” He chuckles breathily, “Go on then, tell me what you just said now.” He squeezes gently and runs his thumb over your lips, it’s nothing too drastic but it serves as a reminder.

Your tongue darts out to run over your upper lip seductively, “Would you rather I called you sir? Or Mr Jeon?” You breathily giggle, “Does it turn you on laying me out here in the open for everyone to see?” You whisper as your lips wrap around his thumb, you suck with a low lewd moan.

Jungkook cusses under his breath, “Fuckin’ hell.. Nothing but a straight demon, look at you, jesus.” He bites his lip and pops his wet thumb out of your mouth, “They can look all they want but this pussy’s mine,” he cups your cunt with his free hand, “daddy’s gonna have you all dolled up with a little collar so people know who you belong to.” He smirks.

You mewl at the thought of him putting you in a collar as you eagerly paw at his slacks, “Please daddy,” you slur out, “ ‘m so wet for you. Aren’t you gonna be nice and give me what I want? Or do I have to find someone to do the job for you?” You grin deviously.

Jungkook’s cock is out within seconds after hearing that, he slaps the wet tip over your clit in soft taps. He listens to the wet squelching your cunt makes, it’s like music to his ears hearing how soaked you are. You let your legs slip open wider as he crowds you while slipping his cock between your folds. The tip catches on to your hole and prods at you, “Please,” you whine softly, “wan’ it in,” you buck your hips so more of his cock pops into you.

“Shit, relax for me baby.” He sighs as he slips his cock inch for inch slowly. His cock fits snug in your tight little cunt, you struggle a bit to house the rest of his cock inside of you but eventually he bottoms out with a small smack. “There you go,” he moans in bliss, “doin’ so good for me.”

You shudder at the praise and stare up at him with puppy eyes, “Don’t want it soft and nice daddy—want it fast n hard.” You hook your arms around his shoulders and bring him down for a sweet gentle peck, “You’ll give me what I want, right daddy?” You bat your lashes at him.

Jungkook groans shakily, “Fuck yes—I’ll give you everything you want baby.” He pumps his cock in and out of you, “Gonna have you dripping in diamonds.” He gasps as his hips roll forward with each time being a little more rougher than the last.

His movements cause you to lightly bounce in place under him, you can only moan and whimper as he drives his cock in and out of you. Your pussy hugs his cock tight when backstrokes making it a bit hard to fuck into you. He shoves his hand between the two of you and presses down on your clit with his thumb causing a loud cry to escape your lips.

“Harder..!” You rasp out and throw your head back. Jungkook wastes no time in diving in to bury his face between your shoulder and neck, leaving a mess of hickeys and love bites in his wake.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he gasps, “ ‘s like this slutty little pussy was made for me.” He fucks into your rougher and makes sure to press in deep each time he bottoms out.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, you dig your nails into his shoulder and curl your legs around his waist tightly. “S-So good,” you gasp. His fat cock fills you up just nicely and rubs up against every sensitive spot inside your cunt. You can feel every throb and vein on his cock as he fucks away mindlessly.

Jungkook tilts his face to messily slot his lips against your own, he slams his hips upwards rather harshly. Each punishing thrust leaves you shaking and mewling for more, you weakly hold on to him for dear life and try not loosen your grip on him. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites teasingly as a low whine escapes your lips.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you baby? Got myself a little painslut don’t I?” He purrs low while circling his hips and letting you feel every inch of his cock.

You hiss softly and hide your face in the soft cushioning of the couch, you’ve long blocked out the music in favor of focusing on two things: Jungkook and the wet noises your cunt made. You could feel dollops of slick run down your taint and between your ass cheeks. His cock was drenched in your wetness, everytime he pushed back in a loud squelch was followed shortly after.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum on this cock baby? Gonna make it nice n messy for me?” He huskily whispers, “C’mon baby, answer me.” He lightly slaps your cheek forcing you to look at him.

“Y-Yes,” you softly gasp, back arching when he strikes your g-spot repeatedly.

“Yes what?” He licks his lips.

“Yes daddy.” You whimper out. Jungkook captures your lips in a heated kiss and then proceeds to slam his cock in and out of your battered pussy.

You hug him tightly while messily kissing back as his cock slips in and out of your gaping cunt. He pulls out to the very tip before slamming back in and repeating the process over and over. Loud wet smacks are heard but you’re too cock drunk to see (or care) if anyone is looking. Before you even realize it, your cunt squeezes tightly around him and you cum with a loud cry. Your pussy absolutely gushes around him.

Jungkook groans low in his throat, he comes to a halt and simply grinds his cock into you. He feels more slick coat his cock until he’s covered in slick. He throbs at the sight of your trembling thighs and presses his cock in, letting his creamy cum fill your pussy up. You both slump into each other, he pants heavily and just lays there with his body covering your own.

“Got all night baby,” he murmurs in your ear while kissing the side of your head, “why don’t we get a little more comfortable in my bed, yeah?” He whispers.

You turn to press your lips to his, “Mmhm,” you pull away as a string of spit follows, “gonna give you a REAL show daddy.” You softly say.

Jungkook chuckles quietly, “I’m sure you are.”

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut

2K notes · View notes

wittlesissyb4by · 8 months

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You tried to fight it, you tried to block it out. The hypnotic music worming through your ears, a mixture of infantile lullabies, soothing voices, and even stern ones overlayed with each other. It was all so chaotic it made your head spin, like you were in a trance.

Even though you were blindfolded, you could swear you were seeing waves, spirals, stars. Was it just your imagination? Or was it something they put in your bottle? Maybe it was the sour liquid slowly seeping through the bulb of the pacifier in your mouth. Every time you suckled for air your mouth got a little more numb. Drool seeping from the sides of your lips.

You felt so claustrophobic. Any attempt at movement was haulted in some way, and every time you did, the diaper between your legs crinkled.

But the worst was the churning feeling in your bowels. A combination of bubbling and cramps that made you feel sick to your stomach. You knew what you had to do, what they wanted you to do, but you didn’t want to give this place that satisfaction.

You kicked and screamed and whimpered into your gag, but you couldn’t even hear yourself over the hypnotic music. No way they could hear you down the hall. More likely, they didn’t even care.

You got the feeling you weren’t the only one here. You’d heard the same whimpers and whines when they were escorting you down the hall. But that was just when you were in a straitjacket. What kind of sick ‘rehabilitation’ program was this??

The bubbling in your guts was unbearable. How long had you been holding it? You’d lost track of time long ago. You couldn’t even say how long you’d been here. Was it hours? Or days? Being in a blind, hypnotic haze really messes with perception of time.

You clenched, thrashed, tugged, did anything you could to try to make the cramps go away. But you knew there was only one way to end it. It had to happen eventually. You knew it did. They obviously weren’t letting you go any time soon. Or maybe they would once they got what they wanted?

The voices in your ears told you it was okay. That this was normal. Well…your “new” normal.

It’s what good girls do…

Mess your diaper…

Mary had a little lamb…

Be a baby…

You’re a slut!

Little lamb…litTLe lamb!

It’s not like you know how to be an adult…

You’ll never use the potty again!

It’s okay…

Everything will be fine…

Poop your diaper!

Let it out…

You don’t know if you made the decision yourself, or your fried brain just followed what the voices told you, but you gave one last, desperate clench, then relaxed…letting everything flow out of you.

All of your senses seemed to focus on the warm, icky sensation now present in your diaper. Even the music seemed to stop. As uncomfortable as you were before, that was increased 10 fold.

You tried to struggle more, to escape the messy muck somehow, but it only made it worse. The music kicked back in again, or maybe it never stopped? You couldn’t feel your mouth anymore, just the drool dripping down the sides of your cheeks. The spirals in your eyes intensified.

Maybe they would come change you now. Let you go. Release you from the confines of your mind.

But they were still hours away, or maybe days? There was no telling anymore. The music continued to play, the mixture of melodies numbing your brain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is my new site for wittlesissybaby! Follow me here, Subscribestar, or Allmylinks to stay updated!

Also, please take 2 seconds to go follow this other random blog @wittle5i55ybaby real fast. Just in case…

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froggybells · 2 months

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So what’s the deal?

Sanemi x fem!reader

a/n: HI I AM BACK AGAIN this time my wonderful boy sanemi needs some love. he might b a little ooc but i like to think he wouldn’t resist a beautiful woman (wink wink) reader is totally a tease bc i feel like he would totes get flustered LOL

synop: amidst hashira practice, you get the bright idea to tease sanemi.

Word count: 1k

Part 2 —> here

Part 3 —> here

The first time Sanemi Shinzugawa laid eyes on you, we saw you as nothing more than a pest- always getting into things that you shouldn’t, and seemingly oblivious to the obvious irritation you caused him. He couldn’t help but wonder why no one else shared his frustrations.

Soon something changed. His feelings of irritation soon changed into some sort of possessiveness- needing to make sure you weren’t hurt because it’s obvious your dont know how to take care of yourself.

“Shinazugawa! I don’t understand why I can’t go practice with Tomioka? I was walking by yesterday and saw you trying to kill him! I’m a Harshira too, damnit!” You yelled at him.

“He’s too weak for you to practice with! Plus, you’re too idiotic to do things on your own.” Sanemi stated firmly, giving you a glare. He doesn’t care if you’re a Hashira, he’ll still treat you like an idiot.

“I’m literally the first sun breather in generations!” You said, pointing your wooden sword at him. “Does that not make me powerful enough for you?!” You sighed, rubbing your temples. Suddenly, you looked at him with a sly smirk on your face. That couldn’t be good, you thought.

“Sanemi,” He flinches at the use of his first name, “Let’s make a deal.” He pauses, a deal? He’s definitely curious at your offer. What kind of deal could you make? “And why would I agree to that?”

You scoffed. “No matter how you act, you still respect me and my strength.” He turned his head away. “Tch- fine. I’ll agree to your stupid deal, but it better not be a waste of my time.”

”Let’s do a real practice battle. Not training. If I win, you’ll let me battle with Giyuu,” God, you using his first name made his blood boil, “If you win, well, you can decide the punishment.”

A hint of a smirk appeared on his face. A practice battle? This was going to be easy. “Alright dumbass, you’re on. You won’t win. Not against me.” You drew your wooden sword, getting into proper position. “Let’s get this over with.”

He laughed at you, “Don’t cry about getting your ass kicked when I’m done! Got it?” You charged quickly, ignoring his words, landing a blow to his knee and chest, quickly zipping away. He hisses in both pain and annoyance, but quickly regains his composure, a smirk on his face as he watched you zip away. “You have some speed, I’ll give you that much. Let’s see if you can do it again!” He barked.

He took off after you, aiming for your leg, but you jump quickly. “Too slow ‘Nemi!” You got a hit on the back of his head, knocking him over.

He lands on the ground with a thump, groaning in pain before quickly scrambling to his feet. ‘Damnnit,’ he thought, ‘She’s a lot faster than she lets on.”

“Don’t give up yet Sanemi! Come at me!” In a flash, he’s over to you within a second, hitting you in the stomach. The force knocks you over, hailing a cloud of dust.

His vision now clouded, he couldn’t see where you ran off to. “I”m ending this here!” You yell, kicking his back, forcefully knocking him over. “I win!” You gleam, now sitting on his back.

“Get off me dumbass!” He screams as you kick his sword away. “Nope.” You say, popping the P. “I said get off me, damnit!” You smirk at his words. “Oh yeah? What’ll you give me in return?” He struggles some more, groaning in annoyance as he can barely move. He let’s out a scoff, narrowing his eyes at you. “What do you want, you brat? I’ll give you anything, just get the hell off me!”

You look down on him. “You have to go on a date with me.”

His face turned red. “What?!” He sputters. You have to be joking, there’s no way you’d seriously as him that. “You want me to go on a date with you? Seriously?”

“As serious as I’ll ever be! Can’t our just imagine it! Us strolling around under the cherry blossoms? It’ll be beautiful!” A slight blush dances around your face. He feels a slight fluttering sensation in his stomach- seeing you blush like that was weirdly cute to him. But nonetheless, he was still surprised. why would you want to go on a date with him?

”You really want to go out on a date with me?” He questions, looking up at you, a slight flush on his cheeks from embarrassment. “Of course ‘Nemi! You’re attractive, I’m attractive. You’re strong, I’m stronger. We would make the perfect pair! So what do you say,” You finally step off of his back, helping him to stand up. “Will you go on a date with me?”

The red tinge on his face darkens as you help him up, standing at his full height. He looks down at you, his expression slightly vulnerable. He lets out a huff, not being able to look you in the eye. “Fine, I’ll go on a date with you. Dammit, you’re so stubborn! But just this once, got it?”

”Just this once!” You lean in to whisper in his ear. “Unless you beg for more~” You tease at him. You begin to walk away, a dark crimson staining his face. “Well then, I’m off to my estate! I’ll be back in the morning to discuss our arrangement!” You wave goodbye, not looking back. The truth is, your face was just as red as his, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you this way.

”Damn Woman.” He mutters in frustration.

#sanemi x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kny sanemi #kny x reader #kny fluff #demon slayer x you #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #demon slayer sanemi #demon slayer fanfic

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mrsaltieri-real · 1 year

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Ethan Landry as a Boyfriend Headcanons (SFW AND NSFW)

I was bored so rewatched Scream 6 and these just popped into my mind, hope you enjoy!

Warning/s: 18+, Fem!AFAB!Girlfriend, language, mentions of smut, oral, p in v, riding, sub!Ethan, begging, mentions of orgasm denial, degrading kink, praise kink, sweet and soft Ethan, you get the picture

Word count: approx 600

SFW

Very, very clingy. Feels completely out of touch when he’s not around you. The boy will follow you around like a little lost puppy

Big on physical contact. He likes to always be holding your hand or have your arm tucked into his

Yah, he’s touch starved

He’s literally obsessed with you.

Like, to the point where it’s probably concerning to those around you

He’s a shy little bastard though

Gets overstimulated in large groups of people so will absolutely cling to you for dear life in malls

But he really likes going shopping with you and helping you pick out clothes

He absolutely LOVES when you play with his hair

He’ll lie with his head on your lap for hours just relishing in the feeling of your fingers running through his curls

Likes to fall asleep with you in his arms, or the other way round depending

He’s a big spoon little spoon switch for REAL

He blushes every time you pay him a compliment

“You look really nice today, baby”

INSTANTLY RED. How cute is he?

Bless his heart, he’s not a good cook at all so you’re the one who ends up doing the cooking

But he’ll try his best to help until you have to kick him out of the kitchen for somehow burning water

But he’ll sit at the table and watch you cook away with a big old smile on his face

Doesn’t really use pet names himself, but loves it when you call him “baby,” “babe,” and “honey.”

His love languages are quality time, physical touch and words of affirmation

He could sit and listen to you talk about your day forever

He’s the best to gossip with

“And then he told her to fuck off!”

“Shut up, no he didn’t? What happened next??“

Such a good boyfriend, right?

NSFW

He’s a needy little fucker

Like HONESTLY so fucking needy

Such a sub it’s not even funny

Two words: PUSSY WORSHIP

He’ll literally be begging to eat you out until you cum

Over and over again

Will always want to make sure you’ve had at least a couple of orgasms before he even gets his cock out

LOVES when you fuck his face, I don’t make the rules

Absolute master of eating pussy

Guys got the kind of mouth invented for going down

Loves messily sucking on your clit and getting your juices all over his face

He’s such a slut for you, he’d go out of his way to make you feel good

Don’t ask me why, but he’s a thigh and tits kinda guy and pussy obviously

He likes when you’re on top when having sex, completely dominating and taking full control

He himself doesn’t have a dominant bone in his body

Begs really prettily

He absolutely 100% whimpers

He’s so fucking vocal

Likes when you pull his hair when you’re fucking him

Really riles him up

Won’t say it, but loves to be denied of release

Actively wants you to deny him so that when you grant him permission, the satisfaction is just oh so much better

Again, won’t say it but he loves when you’re blowing him and after he already cums you keep sucking

THAT kind of over stimulation? He likes

He’ll be sobbing, saying “thank you, thank you” over and over again when you let him cum

Likes when you look into his eyes while blowing him too. Does all kinds of things to him

Goes absolutely wild when you praise him

He’s playing with your clit just right?

“You’re such a good boy, baby.”

He’d be trying not to bust then and there

He also loves being degraded

Call him pathetic and needy and he’ll be a whimpering mess, almost sobbing from your words and especially if you’re overstimulating him

But balance out the praise and degradation

He’s a very sensitive guy in more ways than one

When you’re riding him he’ll be gazing up at you, hands on your hips watching your tits bouncing and just feel like he’s in heaven

Loves loves loves when you touch yourself in front of him

Really enjoys lazy, early morning sex

But loves long sessions in the afternoon even more

As I said, deny him and he’ll last as long as he can

Don’t deny him? Baby will cum just from eating you out alone he fucking loves it

What can I say? He’d do anything that brings you pleasure. He’s just that kinda guy

#help these just popped into my head #he’s such a sub it’s not even funny #i love him #scream #scream 6 #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut #ethan landry headcanons

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misspygmypie · 25 days

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You're Not My Real Dad

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Noah Words: 1501 Request: Omg I absolutely love the meet and greet series. 😍 I was wondering if I could request something where Lando and Noah get into a fight. Like Lando told him to clean up his toys and Noah dose the whole 'your not my dad' line. But happy and sweet ending of course. 😌 Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando had barely stepped inside his apartment when he felt the weight of a long race weekend lift off his shoulders. But as he walked through the modern space, lined with sleek furniture and bathed in the soft glow of evening light filtering through the large windows, his attention was drawn to a new challenge awaiting him. His seven-year-old son, Noah, had been struggling a bit with his recent move to Monaco and today was no different.

The apartment was a mix of the unfamiliar and the exciting - a space with stunning views of the Mediterranean Sea. Yet, for little Noah, it was all a bit overwhelming. The transition had been difficult and the chaos of his new room showed his unease.

After a quick shower Lando headed towards Noah’s room, his footsteps soft on the polished floors. He knocked lightly on the door before opening it. Noah was deeply engrossed in constructing a Lego spaceship on the floor, surrounded by an ocean of toys, books and scattered art supplies. The room looked like a miniature storm had hit it.

“Hey, buddy,” Lando said gently as he stepped into the room. “I see you’re building something amazing there.”

Noah looked up briefly, his concentration breaking. “Uh-huh.”

Lando smiled, sitting down beside him. “I’m glad you’re having fun but it’s time we clean up a bit. The room’s a bit messy and we need to get it sorted.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed and he pushed a Lego piece aside with a sigh. “I don’t want to.”

Lando’s heart ached at the reluctance in Noah’s voice. He understood how the move had been hard on him - new city, new school, new environment and now it seemed like even the small tasks were a burden.

“Noah,” Lando said softly, his voice concerned, “I know it’s been a bit tough lately. Moving to a new place can be really hard but we need to take care of our space so it feels more like home. Come on, let’s clean up a bit.” He reached for a stray Lego piece on the floor but Noah’s small hand shot out to grab it back.

“No!” Noah screamed. “I don’t want to! I hate it here!” He pushed the Lego piece away and kicked at a pile of books, sending them tumbling across the floor.

Lando’s patience began to fray but he tried to meet Noah’s gaze. “I understand that you’re upset. It’s a big change and it’s not easy but this mess isn’t going to help.”

Noah’s face flushed red, his anger escalating. “You don’t get it! You’re not my real dad! You don’t know how I feel!” He grabbed a handful of toys and threw them across the room, the clatter echoing off the walls.

Lando’s smile faltered. When he heard those words - “You’re not my real dad!” - his heart sank. It felt as though someone had physically twisted a knife in his chest. The sting of Noah’s outburst cut deeper than any racing setback he’d ever faced. The room, once just a mess of toys and books, suddenly felt like a battleground of emotions.

“I may not be your real dad but I care about you a lot. I’m trying to make things better here. It’s not just about cleaning up, it’s about making this place feel like home.”

“No!” Noah shouted. “I don’t want this! I don’t want you telling me what to do!”

Lando’s face hardened as he stood up, his hands on his hips. “Well, what do you want, Noah? Just to sit here and wallow in the mess? That’s not going to fix anything. I’m trying to make things better for you!”

Noah shook his head, his anger now giving way to raw emotion. “I want my old room, my old friends. I want things to be normal!”

Lando’s shoulders sagged as he realized that shouting wasn’t going to help either of them. His anger dissolved into frustration and sadness. He took a deep breath and walked over to Noah, kneeling down to be at his level. “I know you miss your old life but we have to face this new reality together. If we keep fighting like this, it’s only going to make things harder.”

Noah looked away, his small body trembling. “This place is too big and too different.”

Lando’s mind raced, reflecting on the countless ways he had tried to make the transition easier; setting up Noah’s room, spending extra time with him whenever he could and making sure he felt welcomed in their new surroundings. Yet, despite these efforts, the move had taken a toll. Hearing Noah made Lando question if he had done enough or if he had somehow failed.

In his personal life there were no pit crews or advisors to help Lando navigate these emotional terrains, just him, his love for Noah and the desire to be the best father he could be.

Despite the hurt Lando knew he had to remain calm and supportive. He took a deep breath, pushing aside his own wounded feelings to focus on Noah’s needs. It was clear that Noah was feeling lost and was reaching out in the only way he knew how.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Lando said quietly, his voice steady. “I know things are different for you and it’s not easy but I care about you and I’m here for you, even if it doesn’t always seem that way. Being your dad means helping you through tough times and sometimes that means cleaning up a messy room together.”

Noah’s eyes welled up and he looked down at the scattered toys, overwhelmed. “I don’t want to clean up. It’s too much.”

Tears began to roll down Noah’s cheeks and he buried his face in his hands. The sight of his son, usually so full of energy and laughter, now so vulnerable and upset, struck Lando deeply. He knew this move had been incredibly tough for Noah, tougher than him and Y/N had expected, and the weight of the transition was clearly taking its toll.

Lando gently pulled him close. “It’s okay to be sad,” he said softly. “I understand. Moving is hard and it’s a lot to handle but you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here to help and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together.”

Noah’s bawling became more intense and his little body shook with the force of his crying. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I didn’t mean it. I know you’re my dad. I just… I just don’t know how to feel.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Lando whispered. “You’re allowed to feel however you need to. It’s okay to let your feelings out. I’m here with you and we’ll get through this. It might be tough now but we’ll find our way.”

Noah’s sobs gradually subsided and he looked up at Lando with tear-streaked cheeks. “I really miss my old room,” he said softly.

“I know you do,” Lando said gently, brushing a tear from Noah’s face. “And it’s okay to miss it. We can make this new place special too. Let’s work on it together, one step at a time.”

Noah nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Okay. Can we make it fun?”

“Absolutely,” Lando said, his heart lifting at the sight of Noah’s willingness to try. “Let’s turn cleaning up into a game. We’ll see who can find the most missing pieces and put them away. And afterwards we’ll have a movie night with popcorn and whatever else you want, just the two of us.”

Noah’s face brightened slightly and he gave a small, grateful smile. “Popcorn sounds good.”

“Popcorn it is,” Lando said, smiling back. “Let’s go.”

They began tidying up and Lando made a game out of it, pretending that each toy was a hidden treasure to be found and organized. He exaggerated his excitement over each discovery, making Noah giggle despite himself. The room quickly started to look more organized and Noah’s mood lifted with each passing minute. Noah’s laughter returned as he found a new rhythm in the task and Lando felt nothing but relieved.

When they finally finished the room was clean and tidy. Noah looked around. “We did it, dad.”

“We sure did,” Lando said, giving him a high-five. “Now, let’s pick out that movie.”

They made their way to the living room where Lando let Noah choose from a selection of Disney movies. Noah’s choice was Cars - an obvious choice - and they settled in with popcorn and cozy blankets.

When the opening credits rolled Noah snuggled up against Lando, a sigh escaping his lips. The earlier tension had eased and the comfort of being with his dad made the new apartment feel a little more like home. Lando looked down at the boy in his arms. The transition to Monaco was still a work in progress but moments like these made it clear that, together, they could make it work.

________

AN: Anon, I hope you like it and it's what you had in mind 🥹🫶

I'm starting a new taglist for any stories Lando x Noah related, let me know if you want to be on it!

Also, keep them requests comingggg, I have next week off and need something to do 🤭

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice

#lando imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando angst #lando fluff #lando x noah

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houseofhyde · 26 days

Text

thinking abt aemond falling in love w blind!reader.

pairing. aemond x fem!reader warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to friends to lovers, ableism, so much fluff, a little bit of smut, angst (who said that). no mention of the reader's physical description. wrote in one sitting, no edit, we die like real men. wordcount. 3.1k (this was meant to be a short silly drabble) hyde's input. couldn't get this out my mind so, naturally, i'm making it your problem too now. enjoy, muah x disclaimer ! i'm not visually impaired but i do have several family members who are, to different degrees, and i've tried to stay true to what i remember them describing it like to me. the reader in this is completely blind, however, and that is something i do not have any experience in. please, if you feel anything about my portrayal is wrong or offensive, kindly let me know and i will happily fix it <3

the first time you meet is a few days after the events on driftmark.

with his new disability, the septa encourages alicent to change his usual lessons alongside his siblings for ones held with a couple of other impaired children of highborn status living in the keep.

aemond, of course, protests.

nearly kicking and screaming.

yells at his mother that he doesn't want to be thrown in a box with all the other "broken toys".

he ends up going anyway, dragged there by a handful of guards.

sulks throughout the whole first week, sitting alone in a corner.

and he would've continued to do that forever, if you didn't invade his space.

aka sit down next to him and offer him a book.

"go away," he says, the pout on his lips pointing lower to the ground.

"i don't want to," you refute.

"i won't tell you again, go. away."

"who are you to tell me anything?"

it leaves him speechless, because,

who is he? seriously?!

he thinks you have to be some sort of idiot to not recognise your prince

the following days go the same as the first

you sit near him and hold out a book

he tells you to go away

sometimes you listen

(not without first making it clear that you're moving because you want to, not because he told you to)

other days you don't

you just sit there next to him

staring blankly ahead

not even attempting to open the book that sits in your lap

one day, when he's feeling particularly short on patience

(he had his first sparring lesson with ser criston since losing his eye and it went awfully, each hit and stumble he took to the ground made worse by the echo of aegon's laughter ringing out throughout the whole courtyard)

he asks why you never read that book

"are you an idiot, or something? can't you read? is that why you're here?"

despite how smart he is for his age, he seems to not see the irony in him judging you for being part of an impaired group, as if he isn't also right there with you

such introspection would require acceptance of his loss first, and aemond just isn't ready for that.

"i can't read," you confirm

"because you're slow"

"no."

"then why?"

"i can't see the pages," it's the first time he notices that you're not looking at him. you're trying, face turned and eyes pointed in his direction, but you're staring past his shoulder, "i can't see anything."

he feels guilty,

wretched,

and the sickest twist of comfort.

because he understands

or at least he tells himself he does

because he can't see anything either - out of his missing socket, that is.

the other eye can see perfectly clearly how you don't even flinch as you speak about your disability

and that's when the jealousy takes over.

"then what good is it carrying around that stupid book?"

he says it because he wants to be mean.

so mean that you run away and leave him alone to sulk forever more.

but you just sit there, shrug your shoulders and shift the book around in your palm,

"i like to feel the weight of it in my hand. plus, you never know when you're going to need throw it at someone"

he bites his tongue before he can ask how you can hope to hit a target you can't even see.

the hostility remains

for months, years.

but you sit near him,

he stops telling you to go away,

you still offer the book out to him.

he learns your name.

not because he wants to

but because the septa calls it out one day in the classroom

and you're the one that answers to it.

the first time he sees you outside the study room, you're all alone, none of your father's guards around you,

and that's what really makes him stop in his tracks.

"what kind of lord leaves his daughter to wander blindly around the keep?" he almost says with his usual disgust,

until he notices that you don't have your book

and you're crying.

despite his own discomfort, aemond tells himself he has to comfort you.

because he's thirteen, almost a man.

and what kind of respectable man leaves a girl to cry all by herself?

he wipes your tears with the sleeves of his doublet, waits patiently until your breathing slows, then he speaks,

"what happened?"

"it's you," you say it softly, almost like you can't believe he's the one comforting you.

"it's me. now tell me what happened?"

"nothing," you tell him at first,

until he demands the full truth in the name of his father, king viserys targaryen.

"i overheard my mother speaking to my father about me. i didn't mean to! i just wanted to show them how i memorised the path from my chambers to theirs, without an escort. i wanted to prove that i can be useful, and good, and not a burden. i heard them through the crack in their door. she wants him to send me away to join the silent sisters. she says i can't see, so i may as well not speak either. but my father won't listen. he says i'm his daughter, and that he will not send me away. he loves me too much, i worry he'll hate me for it one day."

that familiar guilty feeling creeps in,

the one he's felt lingering on his skin since the day you told him of your visual impairment.

he's suddenly so aware of the fact he can see you,

and your tear-stained face,

and the shades of blue in your dress.

"where is your book?" he asks.

"i dropped it, whilst running through the halls. i just wanted to stop hearing them, i didn't want... i didn't mean to cause any mess, i'm sorry."

in an act that surprises even him, aemond takes your hand in his

and pulls you both to your feet.

he slowly leads you along familiar hallways, turning corners he's turned a million times.

"where are we going?"

"trust me."

you know he's taken you to the library the minute he opens the doors, a whiff of old books hitting your senses.

he guides you to a book shelf, puts your hand up to touch the exposed spines

and tells you to move forward.

"stop when you feel it's right."

you stop after four steps.

your fingers grazing over a book titled Matters Of The Heart: a Compilation of Fictitious Stories on Love and Beauty.

he pulls it out the shelf,

guides you both over to a bench,

open the dust covered book,

and reads to you.

the following day, when your father's guards guides you down next to aemond in the study room

and you hold your book out to him

he takes it,

shuffles a little closer to you,

and softly recites the words off their pages.

from that day forward, you become an infamous pair in the keep.

the one-eyed prince and the sightless girl,

never one without the other.

aemond becomes your shadow, always two steps ahead or behind you.

you pick out books in the library

and he reads them to you both.

he brings you down to the courtyard

and watches how you flinch each time the clack of wooden swords rings out.

it drives him to be better,

learn to see more in his opponents than even two eyes would allow,

just so he can watch how the smile stretches across your face each time he tells you he won.

you grow so close that one day, the king invites your family to join the royals for supper.

aemond tries not to care that you end up sitting so far away from him at the table.

at least he can look down it and spot you seated at your father's side, he tells himself.

when dinner ends and music starts to play,

aemond ceases the chance to sneak away from his seat and steal the empty one by your side, both your parents having stood to speak with the king.

he brushes two fingers along the back of your hand,

a private, tactile language only you two can speak,

one that tells you it's him, without him even having to say a word.

"prince aemond," you say, and he instantly hates hearing you address him so formally. "you look handsome this evening"

"and how would you know that?" there's no hint of the malice, the mockery he once used to speak to you with, back when he was angry little boy and you were a stubborn girl.

now he's a man of fifteen years and anger is far from something he feels next to you.

he watches you shrug and the smile that he likes best - cheeky, playful - slips onto your lips

"my mother won't stop bringing it up. dashing, she said."

"is that so?"

"mhmm. but she also says my father should offer me to your father and have us both wed, what with our cripple-like qualities making us unsuited for any other lord or lady, so, really, what does she know? for all i know, you're the most hideous thing to walk the keep and i should feel blessed that i can't see you."

"imagine how i feel. i still have to see you."

"oh, the horrors! well then, my all-mighty seeing knight-in-eye-patch, would you lend me your sight one moment and tell me."

"tell you what?"

"do i have anything in my teeth?" you bite back your laughter as you open your mouth and put your pearly-whites out on display for him.

he doesn't even care if the sight is unlady-like

or if anyone else at the table has noticed.

he's too busy laughing along with you and telling lies of how a massive piece of veg is stuck between your upper front teeth.

aegon is as aegon has alaways been,

a thorn in aemond's side,

and he makes no exceptions when it comes to you.

he can't help but laugh at you both

mouth stained with wine as he saunters up and leans his face down between you both.

"isn't it amazing how, between you both, there's only one eye that actually works?"

aemond bites his tongue, like he always does when it comes to his brother.

you, however, aren't quieted so easily.

"oh, so amazing! do you know what's even more amazing? how the stench of you always announces your arrival."

it's the first time aemond feels it.

that flutter in his chest.

and once it starts, it doesn't seem to want to stop,

he seeks you out most hours of the day

and thinks of you when he's not with you.

when he notices the bruises that litter your arms

from bumping into corners and walking into walls

he has a cane made for you, to help you more safely make your way through the keep.

it's the greatest gift he can give you: the freedom to walk your own path.

one day, as he's telling you about the recent flight he took upon vhagar, you ask him what the sky looks like.

"well, it's blue"

you blink at him, wait for the ball to drop.

"but you wouldn't know what that means"

he tries to think of something else, a different way to describe the vastness of the sky

"have you ever ridden upon a horse?"

you nod your head

"have you ever ridden fast upon a horse?"

you nod again.

"that feeling, when you're gripping at the reigns, and the horse's hooves beat against the ground like a drum, and the wind takes no mercy on your hair, and, for a moment, there's this... warmth of possibility, anticipation, right here" he guides your hand to rest atop your chest, on the side that your heart rests. "that you can leap and beat any obstacle in your way, and for a moment the world is open, and vast, and limitless. that is what the sky looks like, the perfect place to race upon horseback."

"except you're on a dragon."

"well, yes, but find me a horse that has wings and i promise to take you riding up in the sky one day."

you ask him to describe more things, more often.

the forest.

the iron throne.

the sea.

vhagar.

each book he reads you.

till one day you ask, "what do you look like?"

he tries his best.

he tells you about his signature targaryen hair,

and helps guide your hand up to touch it.

he tells you about his pointed nose,

and guides your pointer finer up to drag itself down the length of it.

he tells you about his jawline,

and lets you feel that part of him too.

"and your eye?" you ask.

he doesn't say anything

but he does peal off his eyepatch

and guide your hand up to run down the length of his scar.

"what does it look like?"

"gross."

"that's funny, because it just feels like skin. is all skin gross?"

"no but this skin... it's damaged."

"i feel something. it's hard," you murmur, as your nail traces over the curve of the gemstone that fills his socket.

"it's a sapphire."

"a sapphire?"

"yes. it's like a precious, shiny, smooth, blue rock."

"what about the other eye, the one that's still there?"

"what about it?"

"what does it look like? what colour is it? eyes have colours, don't they?"

"they do," he says, gazing into the hypnotising shade of your own, "it's blue."

"the sky, the sea, your eyes. i think blue might be my favourite colour."

he falls asleep that night with a smile on his face

his heart relieved that you never asked him to put into words what you look like,

because there simply aren't enough words known to man,

be it in the common tongue

or high valyrian,

to describe how beautiful you are.

he tells you as much, when you do eventually ask.

in the fallout of storm's end, soaked to the bone and regretful,

it's you who his legs carry him to

your chambers, to be exact

it doesn't even cross his mind to care that his knocking at your door awakens you

he doesn't care, loses all ability to do so when he collapses into your arms

"i made a mistake," he tells you, when you ask what's wrong

"that's okay, mistakes help us learn better."

not this one, he thinks

you're so gentle with him

and your skin is so warm against his cold

that he can't help himself

his lips find yours.

his hands find your hips.

his breath gets lost somewhere between you both.

but that's okay,

you're all the air he's ever needed.

he feels selfish, when he guides you over to your bed.

and he knows he should tell you what's happened,

what's changed.

he knows he shouldn't be touching you with hands that are stained by blood.

but he's desperate,

and he's breathless,

and he's so frighteningly in love with you.

"please, aemond," it's you who begs for more.

it's you who tugs on the leather of his jerkin.

it's you who pulls at the cotton of his shirt.

it's you who he gets undressed for.

you both wind up naked upon your sheets,

limb tangled with limb.

"i wish i could see you," you tell him. "but i don't need to see you to know you're beautiful, aemond. i feel it, in everything you do for me."

so he lets his own eye shut.

decides he doesn't need to see you either,

not like this, his skin tainted with the smell of the rain, and his dragon, and the velaryon boy's scream.

and the truth is, he wants to take you like this.

he wants to be cruel, and damn you to a life by his side.

but he looks at you,

naked beneath him,

lips swollen with his kisses,

the shine of your own arousal peaking out from that space between your thighs,

and all he sees is the girl he read stories to.

the girl who swooned and awed over every cheesy line about a knight,

and all his knightly honour,

loving his lady in the way that's deemed right by the gods and the lords.

and aemond just can't bring himself to defile your honour,

not like this.

so even as you whine,

and moan,

and offer up your maidenhead on a platter of your unapologetic beauty,

the prince just continues to edge at both your own pleasures,

hips grinding back and forth,

lips tangling with your own,

voice whispering nos, and we can't do thats, and not yets.

"tomorrow," he promises, the spill of his pre-seed smearing along your pelvis with each stuttered thrust of his hardened cock against your soft skin, "i'm going to ask your father for your hand."

"but, how?" you sound so pretty, he can't help himself and lets his eye reopen, searing the haunting image of you naked and pliant beneath him into his mind's eye.. "your mother... she said you flew to offer your hand to one of the baratheon girls."

"what i promised lord baratheon was a targaryen prince, and i intend to keep that promise," he speaks with so much conviction, skipping over the events of his nephew, and his dagger, and his joyride in the sky. "daeron is a boy of sixteen, he can have her. but i, i will belong to you."

the will to leave you, maidenhead still intact, somehow finds its way into his heart

he doesn't fail to leave you sated, however,

his finger dancing along the pretty pearl that has you whining his name and losing your mind upon the mattress.

he keeps his word,

wakes not with the urgent need to discuss last night's war-inciting events with his mother

but with the burning desire to find your father and win his approval

he doesn't find him in his quarter of the keep.

or in the training yard.

or in his seat at the small council.

what he does find is his fear stricken mother,

his stoic grandfather,

his giggling brother.

"aemond, what have you done?"

he doesn't answer

they already know what he done,

the whole realm likely knows, his half-sister too.

so he asks what he really cares about,

asks where your father is.

"he's gone," his mother answers.

"after he heard about your business with lucerys," aegon continues. "the traitor's taken his family to dragonstone and bent the knee to our bastard-bearing cunt of a sister."

so yeah that's what i'm thinking about.

anyway, goodnight <33

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen oneshot

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