#(LIKE I THINK YOU CAN LET UP ON HIM A LITTLE YEAH)

[quarterlifekitty]

cw: piss mention.

Being Johnny’s friend, and him desperately wanting to take things further— he comes up with a terrible idea to drive you into his arms in a way he thinks is rather subtle.

He’s going to get Ghost to hit on you next time you’re out at a pub. Ghost has an uncanny ability activate the prey drive— he gets too close, speaks too low, looms too tall, and stares too deep (not to mention the kind of language he uses in his pickup lines).

So Johnny casually gets up to go piss, leaves you sitting at the bar, practically passes the baton as he goes by Ghost on the way.

And Simon, he loves the classics.

So he starts off by staring down at you as you sit in your stool, unblinking, and saying “I can smell your cunt.”

You look up with rapt attention, clenching your thighs.

Soap watches from across the bar for a signal, either a grimace on your face or a discreet hand gesture from Ghost that they’d worked out earlier.

But he underestimated your freak. And Simon wasn’t about to back down when it was clear you liked how he came across.

Simon perches himself next to you, crowding in close and speaking into your ear, Johnny able to see as your stunned expression turns into a bashful smile, like he just told you that you have beautiful eyes. He actually said “bet you’d let me spit in your mouth if I told you to open up, yeah?”

Things escalate. You barely touch your drink, too absorbed in what Simon is saying to you.

“Saw those fuckin’ thighs from across the bar, Jesus Christ— want you to sit on my jaw and fuck my face— warm my cheeks with those thighs while I shove my tongue in that sweet little pussy. I’d let you piss in my fucking mouth if y’wanted to.”

When Soap finally forces himself to go back to the bar, you subtly tell him you’re gonna head out and that you had fun. He awkwardly bids you goodnight with his mouth nearly agape as Simon grabs hold of your hand to pull you along.

And he looks too damned eager to get you out of there— doesn’t even have the decency to throw a smug look at Soap. Because truthfully? He’s kinda forgotten why he came here in the first place. He’s got more important shit on his mind now.

[cream1111]

🍎 phone call. . .ᐟᅟ

⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀caleb/mc!reader, 1.6k, incest, somno, dubcon, mutual masturbation, phone sex, pillow humping. @rukii-afterdark , order up! ! part 1

ring ring . . .

you jolt up, eyes popping open before they settle onto your phone, with a groan you pull it closer. squinting  your  sleepy  eyes  at  the  bright  screen, you see the caller's name. caleb. you sigh, it's  1am,  much  later  than  he  usually  calls. you answer and let the phone fall next to your head.

“gege,  why  are  you  calling  so  late?”  you  whine, fighting back a yawn.

“aw,  did  i  wake  you? you sound like you're half asleep”  caleb  sounds teasing but sympathetic, and  slightly  out  of  breath...  maybe  he's  settling  into  bed  himself.

“yeah  a  bit,"  you groan a bit, your annoyed tone remaining playful "but  it's  ok…  what's  up?”  you  ask,  closing  your  eyes,  and  snuggling  back  into  your  bed.  letting  your  phone  rest  on  the  pillow  next  to  your head. 

“it's nothing serious,  i just missed  you,  l⎯”  his  breath  hitches. you  peek  your  eyes  open and  glance  at  your  phone, wondering if the call dropped. you don't have the volume very high, so you're not sure. you  pull  it  closer,  it looks like the call is still going. you press it against your ear.  it's not entirely silent, there's  a  shuffling  sound,  but it's  faint.

“are  you  ok?”  you  murmur,  confused. the shuffling seems to stop, but it's hard to tell under the barely audible droning static his mic is picking up. you let your eyes drift shut again.

“sorry,  yeah,  just,  long  day.”  he  replies  quickly,  his  voice  sounding  more  strained.  “what  about  you?  miss  me?” 

“of  course,  everyday,  you  know  that.” you'd roll your eyes if they weren't already closed. as much as you love talking to caleb, you really are tired. "listen, it's late⎯"

"i know, pipsqueak. i'm sorry for waking you. i just wanted to hear your voice." there's a tinge of urgency to his voice. you would've hurried to hang up if you didn't notice it. it makes you feel a bit guilty. he pauses, you wait to see if he'll say more. "how about this, how about you just go back to sleep but keep me on call. hearing your sleepy breathing always puts me at ease"

is that all?

"you're so cheesy," you tease. then you hum, pretending to think about it. but you're just as bad as he is, you can't ever say no to him. "yeah, fine, but i'm really going to bed, you better not keep talking to me. i won't even answer, i'll just snore"

he let's out a soft chuckle. "that's fine, snore all you like" he replies. "sleep well" he whispers, honey sweet. he's always been so sweet with you.

"goodnight" you mumble, already feeling the drowsiness washing over you. you try to quell the small excitement that caleb even wants to do something so lovey dovey with you. it warms your heart a bit, not that you'd admit it out loud. even though it's not that much of a leap, you've fallen asleep together so many times, something about it feels a little more intimate. that he misses you enough to try and pretend you're both sharing a bed. it makes it easier to pretend he is here, he's home and he's with you, keeping you warm.

your breathing evens out, you almost forget you're on the phone.

. . .

through your sleep you hear something, softly, distant. you focus, waking just a bit. you're alone. but you remember you fell asleep on the phone with caleb. is he talking? something woke you, you're pretty sure. you rouse yourself, focusing, listening.

nothing. it might've been in your dream. though you figure you'll scold him anyways, tell him to keep quiet or you'll mute him. but then you hear it again, clearer now.

"h-hah..."

no way. there's no way, is he⎯

"ah⎯ fuck"

you freeze. a blush heating up your face. you shift closer, turning up the volume as quietly as you can. just to be sure. you hear the sound of something moving, fast, wet. he's...

he's jacking off. it sounds so obvious now. the soft panting, the rhythmic sound of his hand on his well lubricated cock. a heat surrounds you, you feel like you're suffocating at the implication. there's also a gnawing unease, that you're misinterpreting this and there's some reasonable explanation that you are blind to. maybe you're just hearing what you want to hear.

you've always wanted him, more than a sister should. you rationalize it sometimes, you're not siblings, not really. it's not hard to want him, it seems just about every girl at his school would agree with you. but the shame helps you weigh those thoughts down, tuck them away in a deep corner of your mind. your relationship is unconventional, but you're just close, you just love each other, would do anything for each other, there's nothing wrong with it. you've held onto this justification for a long time.

but maybe it's a lot simpler than that.

you're not entirely sure about what's happening, if he's doing what you think he's doing. but… it couldn't hurt to pretend.

your rationalizations fade, you push the shame to the side, and you dip your fingers, along your chest, slowly, savoring the feeling. focusing on the panting, the faint sound of his hand.

your fingers dance along your skin, you're teasing yourself, until you slip them past your pajamas, over your panties. you palm yourself, rubbing, imagining the sweet friction was against him, anywhere — his hand, his thigh, his face. you realize, rather quickly, a wet spot has already formed, and you flush, feeling embarrassed with yourself.

did just the thought of him, the sound of him, do this to you?

when did you become so dirty.

you can't help the soft noise that leaves your lips at your discovery, and you realize suddenly that caleb quiets on the other the line.

you pause as well. holding your breath. for a second you can't hear anything. does he think you're awake? does he think you're doing the same thing? does he want to end the call?

"f-fuck..." he moans out, the sounds from before continue, faster, more enthusiastic. you're not sure what he thinks, but whatever it is, he's keeping it to himself.

the idea of him getting more excited, it lights a fire in you. you rub yourself faster. you try to be quiet, you really do, but you can't help the huffs and sighs that leave your lips. it's not that obvious, you think. but caleb seems to get more eager with every tiny sound you make. it's good incentive.

you can't help but think about the situation, both of you touching yourselves while on the phone, not acknowledging it, leaving room for plausible deniability. the idea that you're reading this wrong sends a shiver down your spine.

“ngh.. please” he whispers, barely there. and you don’t know what he’s begging for but you want to give it to him. you rub harder, then sigh in frustration. it's not enough. you flip, shifting onto your stomach, trying your hardest to stay quiet. you place a pillow between your legs, and waste no time before grinding against it.

you huff, loving the feeling. even if you're misunderstanding this, you like pretending. that it was his warm body heating you up, making you feel good. with your phone placed next to your ear, you imagine he was there, groaning behind you, just out of sight, touching himself for you.

you let out a whimper at the thought, a little louder. his response is immediate, a low groan. to your surprise, he speaks.

"you⎯ mm... you must be having a nice dream, pipsqueak."

you bite your lip and keep still at his words. does he want you to respond? does he really think you're still sleeping? you don't want to acknowledge it. you continue, quieter, a little shy. you don't want the illusion shattered. grinding your hips into the mattress, desperate.

you imagine his body, and it's not hard. you've memorized the feeling of his frame against yours. he's pressing into you, in time with his groans, you move at the same pace, whimpering when you buck back against the empty air. but you pull yourself back into your fantasy, he's there, his soft sounds are for you, only you.

"fuck," he hisses out, seeming to bite back the sound.

it's becoming too much, your mind is getting so cloudy, reason and shame seem like distant concepts. in this moment, it’s just the pleasure between you two, his touch, his kiss, his body, him.

"i'm— i'm gonna-" his whispers spur you over the edge.

you can barely hear his grunts as he releases with you. your mind goes blank. you don't bother with being quiet, couldn't if you wanted to. you rut helplessly, greedily, panting and whimpering all the while. as satisfaction washing over you. he hums, before letting out a satisfied sigh himself, and you smile sleepily into your pillow.

but as your heartbeat slows into a regular rhythm, and your face cools down, you're left with a pit in your stomach. the room feels colder, the call is quiet, the guilt comes rushing back all at once with nothing to keep it at bay. did you two really just do that? were you really that reckless?

what are you going to do in the morning?

"shit, i made a mess." he mumbles, but he doesn't sound too upset about it. in fact he sounds a little smug. you don't reply, but it calms you a bit, brings you comfort. a vague acknowledgement at this new game you two are playing. with all it's plausible deniability. you decide you'll follow his lead.

so when he yawns, you let the sound soothe you, you let sleep surround you. you leave your shame to him. he's always been the source, he can shoulder it for you.

it's only fair anyways, you were just sleeping, and he's the one who called you.

he made the mess, he can decide if he wants to clean it up.

[leviismybby]

Levi can get a little possessive, he doesn't get jealous often and he trust you fully but it gets the better of him sometimes. It doesn't help that one of the only ways he can get rid of that jealousy is by having you spread like this for him, hands gripping the sheets as his mouth works on you. You were a moaning mess, your body arching with every move of his skilled tongue. He wasn't being easy on you, his gray eyes watching as you squrim for him. "You think another guy can please you like this?" Levi mumbled against your folds before letting his tongue work on your pussy again. You were so wet and willing for him, in his mind, that made you his. Fully his. He pulls away licking his lips, a small groan leaves him at the mere sight of you like this. "Look at you. I haven't even fucked you yet." Leaning down, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hard bud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, another stranded moan of his name falls from your lips.

It wasn't long before Levi had you with your legs wrapped around him as he thrusted hard into you. Your nails were digging into his back, he let's out a slight hiss as they dug into his skin but he didn't mind it. You were so loud for him, he is pretty sure that whoever is in the next room can hear you moan his name. Good. That's exactly what he wants because you're his. Levi kisses your neck, his hips only picking up thier pace. "Good girl. Keep saying my name like that." The bed creaked under the two of you, Levi knew how and at what speed you liked it, he knew your body like the back of his hand. His cock hits your spot, a gasp follows, he was so deep inside of you. "Yeah? Here? Mhh this pussy is all mine isn't it?" He trails a hand gently down your body before pressing on the area of your lower abdomen, making you feel him twice as much. It's you're reaction that gets him to fuck you rougher, your eyes rolled back, hips arching, oh how he indulged in this. "So fucking loud and pretty for me. I can't get enough." He takes your legs, putting you in a mating press. Like this he was even deeper inside, every move of his cock sends a wave through your body. "Look at me." You do as he says, your eyes lock with his as he starts to move. "Good. Don't you dare fucking look away." He can see you're expressions like this, he can tell that you're close, your pussy was starting to squeeze around him. "Cum for me. Show me that your mine." Levi isn't hiding it anymore, it's clear that this was him making his claim on you. As you cum, your whole body feels puddy in his hands, you cling onto him. "Fuck...can I do it inside princess?" His abs flex, all he needs is your permission, you nod letting him cum deeply inside of you. "You're mine. Only mine." He says as he pulls out of you, letting his cum leak out of you onto the sheets.

[deansbeer]

ೇ WORTH EVERY PENNY. ☆

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

📖 LIBRARY !

PAIRING. dean winchester x f!reader.

SYNOPSIS. he ruined your other sheer lace bra last time while cleaning baby, so you bought a new one. when he sees you in it, though, all he can think about is sliding his cock between your tits—you don't stop him.

WARNINGS. smut | s1 dean | titfucking | use of oil | praising | dirty talk | dean's obsessed with ur tits (as he should) | strong language.

KARI TALKS. the link below is what inspired me to write this filthiness. listen !!! do not come for me !!! or i'll shoot u w my glock <3 because 🖕🏻 n e ways … i love smookums SO bad !!! he's such a lil slut <3 + this is lowkeyyy ass … but in bree's words! fuck it we ball.

🔗 P LINK.

dean owes you a bra. or at least, he owed you a bra.

but instead of whining about it—because let's be honest, you didn't actually care—you just went out and bought a new one. a better one.

it wasn't like you couldn't afford it.

your dad was loaded, ran a huge company known around the world, and you were his only daughter. money was never an issue. but when he made you choose between your inheritance or dean, the choice was easy.

you cut him off without a second thought.

and yeah, maybe that pissed off dean at first—because he had his whole pride thing going on—but you didn't give a shit. you were happy. you had him.

and right now? well, right now, you had his full attention.

"jesus, sweetheart. that's new."

you're lying on your back, your arms bent at the elbows, biceps pushing your tits together, giving him a perfect view of the new sheer lace bra wrapped around you.

it's delicate, expensive, barely even there.

dean's staring. openly. shamelessly. his green eyes dark, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip like he's already imagining all the ways he wants to ruin you.

and honestly? you love it.

"figured i deserved a new one," you say, tilting your head, acting all innocent. "since you completely soaked my last one."

he smirks, kneeling beside you on the bed, his hands already reaching for you. "not my fault you looked so cute all wet and pissed off."

"you drenched me, winchester."

"and you loved every second of it."

you roll your eyes, but you don't stop him when his fingers slide along the lace, tracing the curve of your tits, palming them through the fabric.

he exhales hard, cock already hard in his boxers, straining against the fabric.

"baby," he mutters. "this thing's barely even doin' its job."

you grin. "good."

he groans, squeezing a little rougher, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin material.

"you know," he starts, voice dropping, "i've always wanted to try somethin'."

you raise an eyebrow. "yeah?"

dean nods, his smirk turning downright filthy.

"lemme fuck these pretty tits."

you don't even hesitate. "whatever you want, baby."

dean looks too good, sitting back on his knees, muscles flexing, his cock heavy and hard in his hand.

he groans at your response, muttering a low, "fuck, you're perfect," before reaching over to grab something from the nightstand.

you hear the pop of a bottle cap, and then suddenly, his hands are lathering something warm and slick over your skin—oil, maybe?

whatever it is, it makes his touch glide like silk, his fingers sliding over your tits, spreading the shine, making them glisten under the dim motel light.

you hum, arching into his hands. "this your thing now, winchester? oiling me up?"

he chuckles, but his voice is strained. "nah, just wanna make sure i can slide in nice and easy, sweetheart."

you bite your lip, heat pooling between your thighs.

he positions himself, straddling your waist, his cock nestled right between your tits, the tip red and leaking, aching for friction.

"press 'em together for me, baby," he murmurs.

you obey, pushing your oiled-up tits around his cock, squeezing just right.

dean chokes out a groan, his head tipping back, hands gripping your ribs as he thrusts for the first time.

"yeah," he breathes. "just like that, sweetheart."

dean is a mess.

he starts slow, watching himself slide through the tight, slippery space, his cock disappearing and reappearing between your tits.

his breathing is ragged, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the headboard behind you as he picks up the pace.

"jesus—fuck—"

his words send a shiver down your spine, and honestly? you're just as turned on as he is.

the sheer lace bra does nothing to hide the mess—his cock gliding between your slicked-up skin, the fabric barely covering your hard nipples, everything shiny with oil and precum.

dean loves it.

his eyes are blown out, fixated on the way your tits bounce with every thrust, his groans getting louder, rougher, more desperate.

"so fuckin' good—"

you giggle breathlessly, looking up at him. "you're really into this, huh?"

his eyes snap to yours, his hand is on your chin, tilting your face up.

"you have no idea," he rasps, before spitting right onto your tits.

you moan, clenching around nothing, the slick mess making everything even filthier.

"fuck, fuck—baby girl," he groans, thrusting harder now, his abs flexing, his hips snapping sharp and fast.

you love seeing him like this—wild, desperate, completely wrecked over you.

then—he loses it.

"shit—gonna cum—"

dean pulls back at the last second, his cock twitching, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he finishes all over your tits and that expensive, see-through lace bra.

he groans, long and deep, his head dropping forward, his body shuddering as he coats your skin in thick, warm ropes of cum.

you watch him, breathless, your thighs clenched, your own body aching for more.

"damn, baby," he mutters after a second, blinking down at you, his chest rising and falling.

you glance down at yourself, sticky and shiny, your new bra absolutely ruined.

"well," you hum, amused. "guess i'll be needing another one."

dean snorts, flopping onto the bed beside you, still catching his breath.

"yeah?" he smirks, glancing over. "that means i get to ruin another one, right?"

you roll your eyes, turning to straddle him instead.

"only if you make it up to me first."

he grins, grabbing your hips, pulling you down against his already half-hard cock.

"pretty girl," he murmurs, voice dripping with promise. "y'know, i can do that."

꒰୨୧꒱ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @beausling @aileenunfiltered @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @lacydollette @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @eepwtf @deanswidow @voidsuites @jasvtsc @cowboysandcigarettes @stereotypicalbarbie @unfortunate-brat

[rafesbabygirlx]

can you do something with Rafe and a very naive reader who doesn’t know when a guy is flirting with her and she’s just super friendly? like rafe will get confrontational and possessive but he’s never mean to his girl because she doesn’t know any better and he drags her out of the bar angrily but then is super sweet to her and they have car sex and maybe like the guy walks by and sees them and Rafe smirks at him through the window.

Pleaseeeeeeeeeee??????

Oooooff YES

I feel like I might get a little carried away with this one (I just finished and yes... it is long lol)

𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎!𝚋𝚏!𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚟𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚡 (𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐)

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

The bar was alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. You were seated in a booth with Rafe, Kelce, Topper, and a few of your girlfriends, all of you were caught up in conversation, shouting over the music. Between stories and bursts of laughter, you finally glanced down and realized your glass was nearly empty.

Slipping away from the table, you made your way toward the bar, leaning in slightly to get the bartender’s attention.

“Vodka soda, please,” you ordered.

As you waited, you felt someone step up beside you. You turned slightly and saw a tall brunette guy—broad shoulders, sharp features, a confident stance.

“You here with anyone?” he asked casually, his voice smooth but loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Yeah,” you nodded, gesturing over my shoulder toward my group. 

You didn’t think anything of it, but he moved a little closer, resting his elbow on the bar. “Nice. You come here often?”

You shook my head. “Not really, just whenever my friends want to. What about you?”

“Every now and then,” he shrugged. “I’m Eric, by the way.”

“y/n.”

The bartender slid your drink over, and you picked it up, but you didn’t rush back to the table. Eric was easy to talk to, and after all, it was just casual conversation.

“So, y/n, what do you do?” he asked, taking a sip from his own drink.

“I’m a senior in college,” you said. “Studying fashion.”

His eyebrows lifted with interest. “That’s cool. So you’re into fashion?”

You laughed. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

He smirked. “Alright, be honest—do I look like I know anything about fashion?”

You gave him a once-over, eyeing his fitted black t-shirt and well-worn jeans. “You’re doing alright,” you teased. “No major offenses.”

“Good to know. I’d hate to be a walking fashion crime.” He leaned in slightly. “So, what’s the dream job?”

You hesitated for a second, taking a sip of your drink. “Marketing for a fashion brand, something creative. I love the behind-the-scenes of campaigns and branding.”

“That actually sounds really interesting,” he said, nodding. “Ever thought about starting your own thing?”

“I mean, maybe one day,” you admitted. “I’d want to work somewhere first, really get the experience before diving into anything myself.”

“That’s smart.” He tilted his glass toward me. “To future success, then.”

I clinked my drink against his, smiling. “To future success.”

“y/n.”

The sound of my name in a familiar voice made me turn, and there was Rafe, standing just a few feet away, watching the conversation unfold. His expression was unreadable, but his sharp blue eyes were locked on Eric.

afe walked up behind you, placing a hand on your waist. "Oh hi, Rafey!" you greeted, wrapping your arm around his waist as he moved in close to you.

"And who's this?" Rafe asked, his tone even but laced with something unreadable.

"This is Eric," you said casually. "We just started talking. He's really nice. We should hang out with him."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, is he now?"

"Yeah, he is."

Rafe’s gaze didn’t shift from Eric as he spoke. "And what have you and my girlfriend been talking about exactly?"

Eric shifted uncomfortably under Rafe’s stare. "Look, man, she didn’t say she had a boyfriend."

Rafe let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, so it's her fault you're a creep?"

"Rafe, we were just talking, I don’t understand," you said, your grip around his waist tightening as you started to feel nervous.

But Rafe broke your hold, moving around to the other side of you, stepping directly in front of Eric. His presence alone made Eric take a step back.

"Listen, man," Rafe said, his voice low and firm. "I watched the whole interaction. You saw her with a group, you saw her ring, and you still thought you had a shot?" He leaned in slightly, his jaw tight. "Next time, when a girl gives you a polite response, take the hint and walk away."

Eric put his hands up. "Dude, I didn’t mean anything—"

"Did I say you could talk?" Rafe cut him off, his voice steady but dangerous.

Eric glanced between you and Rafe, clearly realizing he was outmatched. "Alright, man. Chill. I was just being friendly."

"Then be friendly somewhere else, before I make you regret it," Rafe said coldly, taking a step closer, forcing Eric to back away further.

Eric muttered something under his breath before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Rafe exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then he looked down at you, his expression softening slightly. "You okay?"

You nodded, still processing the sudden shift in energy. "Yeah. Rafe, that was—"

"He was too close," Rafe interrupted, sliding an arm back around your waist protectively. "And I don’t like people thinking they can just walk up on you like that."

You sighed, resting your head briefly against his shoulder. "Let’s just go, okay?"

Rafe nodded, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head. "Yeah, let’s go."

With his arm still around you, he led you back through the bar, his grip just a little tighter than before.

Rafe tossed you gently into the back seat, sliding in right after you. His eyes were dark, filled with something unreadable.

"You're too sweet for your own good, baby," he murmured before crashing his lips against yours.

You pulled away slightly, breathless. "I don't know what you mean."

He exhaled, shaking his head with a small smirk. "You see the good in everyone. So much so that you don’t even realize how he was coming onto you. I’m not mad at you, you don’t know any better, but he was taking advantage of your kindness. Thinking he could have you. Take you away from me."

You frowned. "No, Rafe, he wasn’t. He was just being nice."

You let out a small laugh, but Rafe’s hand was suddenly on your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. Your smile faded when you saw the seriousness in his eyes.

"See what I mean?" he muttered.

You swallowed. "No, Rafe, I don’t. Why can't someone just be nice?"

His jaw clenched. "It’s the actions, baby. He was no good."

You sighed, shaking your head. "Whatever you s—"

Before you could finish, Rafe leaned in again, kissing you deeply, possessively. His hands gripped your waist as if grounding himself in you.

"Show me who you belong to," he whispered against your lips, pushing you down to the car floor.

He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he unbuckles his pants. You stare up at him with those big sweet doe eyes of yours and grab a hold of him once he's free, peppering kisses on his tip. Rafe throws his head back once you lower your mouth on him.

"Fuck- just like that," he speaks through gritted teeth.

You bob your head up down, taking in as much of him as you can. He moans at how good you make him feel. But in a split second, the vision of - that guy- all over you pisses him off and he grabs the back of your head and begins to buck up his hips jamming himself into the back of your throat. He doesn't mean to take his anger out on you, his sweet girl, but that shit really pissed him off.

You gag on him and grip onto his thighs, trying to breathe through your nose as best you can. Rafe thrusts a few more times before releasing himself from your mouth. He lets you catch your breath for a second before lifting you back onto the seat and laying you down.

He bunches up your dress around your waist and pulls down your underwear, tossing them into the front seat. He puts his thumb in his mouth getting it wet and brings it to your clit, rubbing it softly. You buck up at the feeling but Rafe grabs your waist and pushes you back down.

"Baby, you are the sweetest girl I know," Rafe murmured while not letting up from your clit.

You moan at his sweet words.

"You mean everything to me. No man could ever take you away from me. You’re mine."

You find it hard to speak, but need to let him know. "Rafe, I’m always yours. You know that."

His grip on your waist tightened. "I know, but I don’t want anyone else thinking they have a chance. I love you too much for that."

You smiled, placing a hand on his chest. "I love you too. Always."

Rafe sighed, leaning down to you for a deep kiss. "Good. Because I don’t plan on ever letting you go."

He moves down and attaches his mouth to you. Swirling his tongue around your clit, replacing his finger. He then sucks on it and you put your arm over your mouth to let out a loud moan into it, considering you're in the middle of a parking lot. Rafe puts a stop to that quickly.

"Let me hear you, no one's around." He smirks up at you and you smile back.

He continues to eat you out before moving up and pushing his pants down more and lining up to your entrance. Wasting no time in wanting to be inside you. He slowly pushes in and you throw your head back into the leather seat. Rafe doesn't take a second to adjust before pulling out and slamming back into you.

He sets a relentless pace, his motivation- that asshole back in the bar and loving the way you squirm beneath him. After a few moments, there is chatter outside the car, you panic but Rafe doesn't let up. Someone comes by the window to the car next to Rafe's. You can't hold back your moans and go to move your hand, but Rafe pins both of them over your head.

Rafe notices that familiar face to be Eric. He's nosy and moves over to the window to see what the faint noises are. Rafe stares at him through it and smirks wickedly.

"Wanna come, sweet girl?"

"Yes," you cry out and let out a loud moan signaling your end.

Rafe continues to fuck you through your orgasm, finding his own coming deep inside you, all while that dipshit from inside stands and watches like the creep Rafe knew he was.

tags + some moots 💗

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @maybankslover @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @percysley @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slut-4-gojo @akobx @jjmaybankmylovee @slurpdew @rafesheaven @cameronsprincess @littlelamy @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @writingroom21 @v3n1ce-bxtch

[minswriting]

ONLY NEED ME - Spencer Reid x Reader

About: You were scrolling on your phone, swiping left and right on tinder to find a date. Spencer finds you scrolling on your phone and asks what you’re doing. So you tell him you are looking for someone to hookup with. He decides to show you that you don’t need anyone but him.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (f), pussy drunk Spencer, jealous spencer

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: happy valentine‘s day my little sluts. although this isn’t valentine’s day themed, let’s pretend that it is lol. i hope you guys enjoy!

It was a rare day when there were no cases and yet, you were still required to come into work, just in case something happened. Usually, these days consisted of paperwork, going over recently solved cases to ensure nothing was missed and that everything had followed protocol. But for a team that is so action-based, having to do paperwork was entirely boring for everyone except Spencer, who was engrossed at his desk, the one across from yours, reading every file intently.

Meanwhile, you were sitting at your desk, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. It had been a long time since you had sex. With your line of work, it’s hard to find time to do anything outside the realm of your job. So you were doing what any normal person would do nowadays: resort to dating apps. You were scrolling on Tinder, mindlessly swiping left and right on people you thought were and weren’t attractive. You stopped at a certain profile, trying to decide if someone was cute or not and if you’d actually be willing to have them in your pants.

JJ walked past your desk and glanced at your phone. “Oh? Who’s this?” She asked, standing next to your chair.

You glanced at JJ before looking back at your phone. “Some random guy,” You said, showing her your phone. “Do you think he’s cute?”

JJ shook her head no, a small grimace on your face. “You can do much better, sweetheart,” She said, her grimace becoming a smile. “Are you finally looking to meet someone?”

You laughed, shaking your head no. “I’m just looking to get dick,” you replied bluntly, giving JJ a cheeky grin.

JJ laughed, nodding her head. “I get it,” she said, sighing. “Will and I haven’t had our alone time in weeks,” She rolled her eyes.

You pout in sympathy before swiping away the guy on your phone. “Do you want to help me look for the perfect person?” You asked.

JJ nodded her head, grabbed a random chair, and pulled it up to your desk. “Hell yeah, give it to me,” She grinned as she looked over your shoulder at your phone.

Unbeknownst to you and JJ, Spencer, though his attention looked as though it were on the files, had a frown on his face. To anyone, it would look as though he were deep in thought. But actually, it was due to listening in on your conversation with JJ. Why did you have to resort to some stupid dating app? Shouldn’t you know better than to trust random strangers on the internet? That’s like kind of what your job is about. Spencer felt a gross feeling in his chest, something he hadn’t felt before. Perhaps he’s been attracted to you since you joined the team some time ago and the idea of you seeking someone else for pleasure made him jealous. Not that he’d actively admit that.

As you and JJ sat there, talking and giggling with one another about random people you see on your phone, Spener bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his attention on the files in front of him. His jaw was clenched, and his hair tousled all over the place. It wasn’t until it was finally time for everyone to go home that he could get some peace and quiet. As everyone, including you, exited the bullpen to go home, Spencer remained alone with his thoughts for a little while longer.

He thought about you going on a date with some random person. How you’d get yourself all dolled up and beautiful for some random loser who likely wouldn’t even know where the clitoris is. Spencer may not have the most experience in the world but he definitely knows where the clitoris is located. He groaned to himself, realizing that his jealousy was consuming him. He rubbed his eyes before sitting back in his chair. And then, Spencer came to a sudden realization, causing him to quickly stand up and grab his satchel before leaving the Bureau.

You were in your apartment, sitting on your couch as you looked through the television channels. You were dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, your hair mostly dry but still a bit damp from the shower you took when you had gotten home from work. You were originally going to see about possibly going on a date tonight but instead, you opted to stay home, too exhausted to really want to go out and meet anyone.

You didn’t particularly care to actually date anyone. Your desires are always laid elsewhere, with a very specific coworker you had. And unfortunately, you could not have this specific coworker as it would break so many Bureau rules. But you were allowed to have your thoughts, thank you very much. And if those thoughts included thinking of Spencer pounding into you and whispering praises into your ear then that was your own volition.

It was currently eight o’clock in the evening when there was a knock on your apartment door. You glanced at the clock before standing up from the couch and walking to the door. You looked out of the peephole, seeing Spencer standing there looking a bit disheveled. You opened the door, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you looked at the brown-haired man in front of you. “Spencer…?” You asked. “What are you-”

“You know, some people use dating apps to target potential victims for violence or sexual assault,” Spencer interrupted you. “Which is why you shouldn’t use dating apps.”

Your look of confusion remained on your face. “You know, that could’ve been a text,” you replied sarcastically.

Spencer bit his lip, looking at you. “Maybe,” he replied. He looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. You were always so beautiful at work, dressed in mostly professional, sometimes casual clothing with light makeup on your face. But right now, you were ethereal. Dressed in lounging clothes with your hair perfectly natural and no makeup on your face. At that moment, Spencer didn’t understand why you even bothered to get yourself dressed up each day when you were perfect just the way you were.

“Why are you here?” You asked softly, noticing the way Spencer was looking at you. You didn’t question it, however.

Spencer remained silent for a few seconds, trying to think of a proper response to give you. He hadn’t completely thought this through when he made the sudden decision to visit you. Finally, he spoke, “Do you want me to leave?”

You shook your head. “No!” You responded immediately. “I just- I’m surprised you’re here is all.” You bit your lip nervously. You hadn’t invited Spencer in yet and that had suddenly dawned on you. You moved to the side, allowing Spencer to step inside before closing the door behind him. You leaned against the door, looking at Spencer as he turned to look at you.

“You shouldn’t resort to dating apps,” He spoke. You furrowed your eyebrows at Spencer, confused as to why he would come here just to tell you that. Just as you were about to respond, Spencer cut you off by speaking once more. “Not when I could help you.”

“What?” Your voice came out more hoarse than you intended.

Spencer cleared his throat, the only sign that his confidence had slightly diminished. “If you need someone to pleasure you, you don’t need to use dating apps when I’m right here,” he said again, rewording his earlier statement.

“Are you saying you want to have sex with me, Spencer?” You whispered, biting your bottom lip.

Spencer moved closer to you until he was right in front of you. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered.

Spencer nodded his head. A silence overcame the two of you before he spoke again, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay,” you responded.

Spencer leaned in and gently kissed your lips. It was nervous and hesitant, as if unsure if you’d actually want to kiss him or not. But when you kissed him back, Spencer became more sure of himself as he kissed you deeply. He brought his hands to your cheeks, cupping them. The two of you moved in sync, kissing one another slowly. Eventually, Spencer pulled away slightly to look into your eyes as you stared back at him. The gaze the two of you had held a hunger that neither of you had admitted to yourselves in the entire time you’d been working together.

Spencer kissed you again, this time more roughly and hungrily. A soft noise escaped your lips from the roughness but it wasn’t unwelcome whatsoever. As the two of you kissed, you gently pushed him around the apartment to try and get to the bedroom. Spencer accidentally bumped into a side table, causing a vase to fall to the ground but luckily it didn’t break. “Whoops,” he said, pulling away from the kiss to look at it.

You put a hand on his chin. “Don’t worry about it,” you said as you pulled his face back to yours. The two of you continued moving throughout the apartment until you reached your bedroom. Spencer’s lips left yours and began kissing your jawline, making his way down to your neck. His touch was like feathers as he lightly kissed along your skin. His lips brushed against your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine and causing you to clench your thighs. An action that wasn’t missed by Spencer.

“Needy?” He asked against your skin.

You nodded your head. “Very,” you whispered.

Spencer let out a hum as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt. He slowly pulled the material up, moving his head away from your neck so he could pull it off of you and tossing it to the side. You weren’t wearing a bra and Spencer couldn’t help but just look at you. “Can I touch you?” He breathed out, eyes locked on your tits.

“Yes, please,” You replied breathily.

He didn’t hesitate to use both of his hands to massage your tits, feeling the flesh in his hands. He thumbed your nipples, causing you to moan softly at the feeling. “You know, some women can orgasm just from having their nipples stimulated,” he murmured, eyes fixated on your breasts.

You let out a small laugh. “I don’t think I’m one of those people,” you exclaimed.

Spencer let out a hum as he leaned down and captured one of your nipples into his mouth. The action caused you to let out a whine as he tongued the nub, his hands still massaging your boobs. He moved to the other nipple, doing the exact same thing. Your cheeks were warm as felt the sparks of pleasure being sent down your spine. Eventually, Spencer pulled away, pressing gentle kisses along your chest before returning up your neck and to your lips.

He guided you to your mattress, sitting you down at the edge of the bed as he pulled away from you. You looked up at Spencer, watching Spencer as he got on his knees in front of you. “Do you want me to continue?” He asked softly.

You licked your lips, nodding your head. “Yes, please,” you murmured.

And that’s all Spencer needed to put his hands on the waistband of your sweatpants and pull them down, tossing the material to the side. You weren’t wearing underwear underneath, causing Spencer to let out a soft hum of approval. “I want to taste you,” he said, looking at you with his puppy brown eyes.

“Please do.” You whispered, biting your lip as you spread your legs for Spencer, revealing your cunt to him.

He let out a groan, his eyes immediately moving to look at your glistening pussy. Without hesitation, Spencer dived in, licking a strip down your slit and then back up, causing you to moan. Spencer hummed against your cunt, his eyes fluttering closed as he tasted you. His tongue began lapping around in figure-eights, teasing your clit with each flick. If you had told yourself that your night would end up with Spencer on his knees, eating you out, you would’ve laughed. And yet, here you were.

Spencer made out with your cunt, his lips moving against your pussy like you were the sustenance he needed to live. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the nub. You let out a loud moan, bringing your hand to Spencer’s hair and tugging on his curls. The action alone caused Spencer to whimper against your cunt as it encouraged him more.

You were whining and moaning, relishing in the pleasure Spencer was giving you. No one had gone down on you in so long and you had almost forgotten what it had felt like. But Spencer? He was built for this. His face was sculpted to eat pussy. If you could live with Spencer’s head between your thighs for the rest of your life, you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, throwing your head back. Spencer hummed against your pussy, his tongue dipping into your hole while his nose rubbed against your clit. He was breathing in your cunt, drunk on your juices. You could feel yourself getting closer, causing you to buck your hips. “I’m gonna cum,” you whined. With a slurp to your clit, you gasped and let out a choked moan, thighs clamping against Spencer’s face as you arched your back. “Spencer!” you moaned his name as you came.

And when you finished, Spencer pulled away from your pussy. His face was glistening with your juices as he looked at you with a smirk. “You’re so beautiful,” he said huskily as he gently rubbed your thighs. “Did I do good?”

“So good,” you breathed out, smiling at Spencer.

“Then you don’t need anyone else, right?” He asked, standing up.

“I only need you, baby.” You replied, looking up at Spencer with a dazed look. “Now fuck me.”

Spencer grinned, undressing himself before crawling onto you. “Gladly.”

And after that, you begin a new journey with Spencer where you explore each other’s bodies. Why do you need to use dating apps when all you need is Spencer?

[isaadore]

MR. AND MRS. PERFECTLY FINE LUKE HUGHES

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing luke hughes x reader

SUMMARY you and luke were the nhl’s golden couple; young, beautiful, and deeply in love. your wedding was named the wedding of the century, and when you welcomed your son, liam, the world saw nothing but a perfect family. but behind closed doors, perfection was an illusion. the man you once trusted with your whole heart started confiding in someone else, leaving you feeling like a stranger in your own marriage. now, you’re playing pretend for the sake of your child, but how long can you keep up the act before the cracks become too deep to repair? word count 1.7k

warnings heavy angst, emotional cheating, marriage issues

note i cried while writing this ☹️ u guys know i can't be too nice and write fluff all the time... the title is a reference to taylor's song, "mr. perfectly fine"!

LH43 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

THE CAMERA FLASHES were blinding, but you didn’t flinch. You had mastered this performance, smiling just wide enough and standing just close enough to Luke to make it believable. To the rest of the world, you were still that couple.

Liam was nestled in your arms, his small fingers curling into the fabric of your dress as he yawned. Luke had one hand resting on your back, the other adjusting the little Devils hat sitting atop Liam’s dark curls. A perfect family photo.

“You guys look amazing,” one of the photographers gushed. “Seriously, still the best-looking couple in the NHL.”

You forced a laugh. “Oh, stop,” you said, brushing a hand over Liam’s back.

Luke chuckled beside you, his voice smooth and relaxed. But only you knew it was rehearsed. “I mean, she makes it easy,” he teased, sending you a grin that made your stomach twist.

It was second nature now: pretending, smiling, playing the role of the wife who still adored her husband. For Liam’s sake, for Luke’s career, for the image you had spent years curating.

But the truth sat heavy in your chest behind the practiced smiles and forced public appearances.

Luke was no longer yours.

The car ride home was quiet. Liam had fallen asleep in his car seat, his little snores filling the silence. Luke was driving, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, sparing you a glance.

You scoffed softly, looking out the window. “You really wanna ask me that?”

His fingers clenched around the wheel. “Look, I know—”

“Do you?” you cut in, turning to face him. “Because I don’t think you do, Luke.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Just stared at the road ahead like if he looked at you, he’d have to face what he did.

What he ruined.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I just—I keep thinking about it. How long did it take before she became the one you turned to instead of me?”

“Come on, don’t do this,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I wanna know.” Your voice wavered, but you pushed through. “Was it when I was up all night with Liam while you were on the road? Or was it when I told you I felt like we were losing each other and you said I was overthinking it?”

Luke swallowed hard, his knuckles white on the wheel. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

Silence.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Thought so.”

Luke sighed, pressing his lips together like he was debating his next words carefully. “I never meant to hurt you.”

You turned back toward the window, the streetlights blurring together as tears welled in your eyes. “Yeah, well. You did.”

Pretending was easier in front of Liam.

At four years old, he was too young to understand why Mommy and Daddy were different now. Why there were nights Luke didn’t come home and why your smiles didn’t reach your eyes anymore.

So you did what you had to. Held Luke’s hand at Liam’s hockey practices. Sat beside him at team events. Let him kiss your temple when cameras were near, even when the touch burned.

And when Liam was asleep, when the house was quiet, you sat on opposite ends of the bed, drowning in unspoken words. Drowning in what could have been.

You still loved him. God, you still loved him.

But he had chosen someone else.

Maybe not in the way that left lipstick stains on his collar or unfamiliar perfume on his skin. But he had given parts of himself, parts that were yours, to another woman. And that was something you couldn’t forgive.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER

Liam had been asleep for over an hour, his favourite stuffed dinosaur tucked under his arm, the steady rise and fall of his little chest the only thing keeping you grounded. You had stayed by his bedside longer than necessary, just watching him, tracing the soft curls at his temple with gentle fingers.

Because once you left his room, once you stepped back into the reality of your marriage, the silence would be suffocating again.

And it was.

Luke was in the kitchen when you finally emerged, leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. His head lifted when he heard your footsteps, but whatever was in his eyes disappeared before you could catch it.

“Liam go down okay?” His voice was casual, like you were just two people coexisting, like there wasn’t an ocean of resentment between you.

You nodded, moving toward the fridge just for something to do, some excuse not to meet his gaze. “Yeah. He was exhausted.”

Luke hummed in response. Another stretch of silence. You grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap, and took a sip. Your wedding band caught the light as you moved, and for a brief moment, you hated the way it still sat so comfortably on your finger.

“I was thinking of taking him to the rink this weekend,” Luke said finally. “Get some ice time in, just the two of us.”

You swallowed hard. You had once loved watching them together, father and son, sharing something that was so deeply ingrained in Luke’s DNA. But now, every moment that didn’t include you felt like a reminder that you weren’t part of Luke’s world anymore. Not really.

“That’s fine,” you said evenly, setting the bottle down with more force than necessary.

Luke sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Can we—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

You let out a sharp laugh, humourless. “Right. Because talking is something we’re great at these days.”

His jaw tensed. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Maybe something that actually means something?” Your voice was rising now, but you didn’t care. “Because I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending everything is fine when we both know it’s not.”

Luke exhaled slowly, staring at the floor like it held all the answers. “I never wanted this.”

You let that sink in. “Neither did I.”

And yet, here you were.

Luke didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to piece together the right thing to say. Like there was a right thing to say.

But there wasn’t.

You shook your head, stepping back. “You don’t get to act like this is some tragic accident, Luke. Like this just happened to us.” Your voice wavered, but you kept going. “You made a choice. You kept making that choice.”

His jaw clenched, and for the first time tonight, something in his expression cracked. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t.” The word was sharp, slicing through the air between you. “Don’t tell me you never meant to hurt me. That doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

Luke ran a hand down his face, exhaling roughly. “I just—” He shook his head, like he couldn’t even explain it to himself. “I felt like I was drowning, and she—”

Your stomach twisted. “She what?”

He hesitated.

You let out a hollow laugh. “Go on. Say it.”

Luke’s eyes met yours, desperate and full of something you weren’t sure you recognized anymore. “She listened. She understood.”

And there it was.

You inhaled sharply, looking away. “Right.”

He took a step forward, but you didn’t move. “It wasn’t about her,” he insisted. “It was about us. About how we stopped—”

“Stopped what?” you snapped, meeting his gaze again. “Stopped trying? Stopped making you feel special? Stopped putting you first?”

Luke flinched, and a bitter part of you relished it. Because God, the hypocrisy.

“I gave you everything,” you whispered. “I fought for us. Even when you started pulling away, even when I felt like I was losing you, I held on.” You swallowed hard, voice thick. “But I was holding on alone.”

Luke looked like he wanted to argue. To fix it. But it was too late for that.

“You want to know the worst part?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “It’s not that you betrayed me. It’s that you needed her more than you needed me.”

Silence.

Luke’s face crumbled, and for a second, he looked like the boy you fell in love with. The one who used to kiss you like you were the only thing keeping him upright. The one who promised forever.

But forever was an illusion.

You let out a breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze one last time. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Luke’s lips parted, panic flashing across his face. “You don’t mean that.”

But you did.

Luke shook his head, stepping closer, his voice tight with desperation. “No. We can fix this.”

You laughed, but there was no humour in it. “How, Luke?”

“We just—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “We just keep going. We don’t give up. We have Liam, we have—” His voice cracked. “We have us.”

You swallowed hard.

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? There was no us anymore.

But there was Liam.

There was the life you had built, the picture-perfect family the world knows and loves. If you walked away now, if you stopped pretending, it would all come crashing down.

Liam would start asking questions. The media would speculate. Your carefully constructed life would become something for people to pick apart.

And you weren’t ready for that.

Not yet.

So you inhaled, steadying yourself. Forced the words back down, shoved the pain into the same locked box where you had been keeping it for months.

Luke watched you, waiting for the final blow. But instead, you did what you had always done.

You smoothed out the edges.

You forced a breath, forced a nod. “Okay.”

Luke blinked, like he hadn’t expected that answer. “Okay?”

You met his gaze, ignoring the way your stomach twisted at the flicker of hope in his eyes. “We keep going.”

Something in his shoulders sagged. “We can make it work.”

You didn’t agree. Didn’t disagree. Just took another breath and nodded again.

Because this was what you did.

You smiled for the cameras. Held his hand at events. Sat beside him at Liam’s practices, feeling his knee brush against yours, pretending the touch didn’t make your skin crawl.

You kept up the performance.

Even when it hurt.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ LH43 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[moonstruckme]

Here’s my idea for Spencer and intern!reader if you’d be so kind to write it <3 something like Spencer comforting reader after she saw/experienced something rough and is trying not to show emotion bc she thinks that’s what being on the team is

Thank you for requesting!

cw: crime scene, no descriptions but there is a body and the killing is discussed in vague terms, nausea, reader is a bau intern but also an adult

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re all bottled up. Spencer should be listening to the police officer telling them about witnesses who discovered the victim, but you’re distracting him. You’re breathing deep and slow, intentionally, and your gaze flickers between the cop and the body like you’re not sure which deserves your attention more. Your skin looks waxy in the morning light. 

Spencer is able to step away fairly easily, leaving JJ and Morgan with the officer as he grasps your elbow to pull you with him. 

Closer, your breaths are audibly stilted. “What’s up?” you ask, sounding remarkably composed despite how your eyes are still moving between Spencer and the victim. 

He walks you away from the crowd, back towards the SUV. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” 

You say it too fast. Spencer watches you realize this, and in the same moment you know of course he has too. 

Still, he says gently, “You look like you’re going to faint. If you are, it’s better if you tell me.” 

You reach the SUV. Spencer opens the passenger side, expecting you to sit in the seat to steady yourself, but you only take refuge behind the door. Away from the eyes of the rest of the team, you close your eyes, sucking in another deep breath. 

“I’m not going to faint,” you say on the exhale. This time, with enough conviction that Spencer believes you. “I’m really sorry, I just—I feel sort of sick.” 

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. 

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine in a minute.” 

“Do you want some water?” Spencer reaches into the glove box to find an unopened bottle. “Here, drink small sips of this.” 

“I’m okay,” you say, twisting the cap off to do as he says. 

“It’s okay if you’re not,” he offers. “I know it’s not your first crime scene, but it can be disturbing, the things we see. You know, for most people, even smelling a dead body without seeing it is enough to…” He slows when he can hear his team groaning at him in his head. Spence, JJ would say, in her fond and motherly way, not helping. “...to…well, you know. It’s a lot.” 

You give a little laugh. Fortunately, you seem not to be affected by Spencer reminding you of the smell. Unfortunately, you now look closer to tears than vomiting. 

“I know we have to see this stuff all the time.” Your voice is choked down to a whisper, face pointed at the ground. Spencer finds himself leaning closer to hear you. “And I know that none of the deaths are pretty, or…or easy. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to let it affect me.” 

“That’s nothing to be sorry about. We’re all affected.” 

“But you don’t show it.” 

“We have…we have practice. But we all show it sometimes. Some cases are worse for some of us than others.” 

“I guess I just haven’t—” Your voice splinters, and Spencer’s heart does a poor mimicry of the sound. “—haven’t seen one this…intentional yet.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as two tears streak down your cheeks. You look frustrated and afraid, and even younger than usual. Spencer has his arms around you without knowing how he got there. 

He understands what you mean. The cases you’ve worked so far have been awful in their own ways, but this killer took his time in a way the others didn’t. He left his victim mutilated, torn apart with a cold-hearted meticulousness that would be enough to horrify even the most seasoned agent. By your anguish, Spencer knows you’ve probably seen it all play out in your mind a dozen times. 

Spencer thinks of himself as an empathetic person. He’s seen some terrible things, but he still tries to meet people, especially people at his job, with compassion and kindness. It doesn’t explain why he’s so startlingly desperate to soothe you. 

He holds the back of your head and keeps you folded into him, his other hand rubbing your back as you take in a wet, shuddering inhale. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.” 

Your voice is a choked, fraught thing. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“I want to be professional.” 

“Sweetheart” —it slips out without him meaning for it to; Spencer ploughs ahead before either of you can think about it— “you’re not being unprofessional. This is…this is what we do. It’s hard sometimes. Everyone here understands that. Everyone on our team has done what you’re doing.” 

Another short, soft laugh, followed by a sniffle. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is that why you’re so good at this?” 

Spencer pauses. “No, I’m…well, I wouldn’t say I am good at this, actually. I’m glad you think so, though.” 

“Yeah, you are.” You straighten, wiping underneath your eyes with a knuckle. “God, everyone is going to know I cried.” 

He can’t deny that. “They won’t care,” he promises you instead. “No one will ask questions if you don’t want them to. We all get it.” 

“I knew there were some really fucked up people out there,” you say in a small voice. “I just haven’t really thought as much about the people who…” Your gaze shifts, as if drawn by a magnet, through the tinted window of the SUV and back toward the crime scene. Your expression goes haunted. “...who they…” 

Spencer puts his hand to the side of your face. It’s not like him, and your eyes widen at the contact but you let him direct your attention away. Your skin is warm and tacky against his fingertips.

“It might help to sit down for a minute,” he suggests gently. You’re pliable, allowing him to nudge you back into the passenger seat. “Drink some more, okay? Do you still feel sick?” 

You think about it, then shake your head. “Not really.” 

“Let’s wait a bit anyway.” 

You swallow some water. Worry your lip. “You shouldn't have to coddle me.” 

“It’s not coddling,” Spencer says quickly. Too quickly, maybe. Luckily, you’re not as skilled a profiler and you don’t catch him. “It’s okay to step away sometimes. They don’t need us over there right now.” 

“Yeah.” You breathe out. “Yeah, okay. Thank you, Spencer.” 

He gets called lots of things. Spencer is one of them, of course, along with Reid, Spence, Kid, Boy Genius, and sometimes even Professor. None of them sounds as heavy sweet as his name on your lips. 

“We can wait here.” He decides it as it comes out of his mouth. He’ll have to get the details of the crime scene secondhand, might even make a trip to the coroner’s later to inspect the body himself, but in this moment Spencer can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do to make you comfortable. Inconveniences are trivial. “They’ll come find us when they’re ready to go to the station.” 

You look conflicted, your dedication to the team warring with your obvious desire to avoid being near the victim again. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Spencer’s own voice sounds distant as he tries to make sense of the unfamiliar tug in his middle. “I’m sure.”

[mcrdvcks]

7 minutes

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

word count: 9.5k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

Scott and Ororo exchanged a look.

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

Logan exhaled sharply. “Fine.”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

He gave a short nod.

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

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

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

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

He scoffed. “I ain’t a regular.”

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

Logan frowned. “What now?”

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

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

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

Logan narrowed his eyes. “You serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your grin widened. “Fine?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh-huh, sure.”

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

“See ya, sugar.”

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan eyed you warily. “What theory?”

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

You tapped the counter. “Go on.”

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

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

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

“Then I get to gloat forever.”

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

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

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

“Well?” You leaned forward, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.” He took another bite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I had it handled.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just take the damn cookie, Logan.”

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

You grinned. “Called it.”

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

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

He raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

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

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

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

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

You grinned. “Bye bye, sugar bear.”

---

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

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

“Don’t start.”

You smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”

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

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

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

You blinked. “Coffee?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

He lowered the mug slightly. “What?”

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

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

Your smirk faltered slightly. “Huh.”

“What?”

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

He grunted. “Maybe I just wanted coffee.”

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

Logan huffed. “You’re pushin’ it.”

You grinned. “That wasn’t a no.”

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

“Only when you’re here.”

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

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

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

“A scone.”

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

You smirked. “Then why’d you ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grinned. “Well?”

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

“Wow. High praise.”

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

“Go on, then. Let’s hear it.”

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

You tilted your head. “More lime?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And yet, here you are. Again.”

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan frowned. “What?”

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He glanced up. “What about me?”

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

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

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

“We’ll see about that.”

But he didn’t leave.

---

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

Logan was no different.

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

“You’re always on guard.”

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

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

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

You nodded. “Figured.”

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed. “What now?”

“You linger.”

Logan frowned. “The hell does that mean?”

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

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

“And yet, here you are.”

He didn’t argue.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smirked. “Thought so.”

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

You tilted your head. “Does it matter?”

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

You grinned.

---

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

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

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

“Yeah, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Uh—what are you—”

“Where’s it goin’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you helping?”

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

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

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

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

Logan grunted. “Figures.”

---

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

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

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

Logan glanced up. “What?”

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

He scoffed. “Not much.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I get it,” you said simply.

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

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bell chimed as the door swung shut.

---

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

Tonight was no different.

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

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

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

“Somethin’ like that.”

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

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

“No coffee,” he muttered.

That was new.

You eyed him. “Rough night?”

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

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

“I thought I said no coffee.”

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

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

“—Just drink it, Logan.”

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

You smirked. “Good, right?”

“...It’s fine.”

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

Logan raised an eyebrow.

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

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

Neither of you said anything else for a while.

But he stayed.

---

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

Most of the time.

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

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

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

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

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

“She ain’t callin’ you anythin’.”

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

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

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

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

The guy swallowed.

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

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

You exhaled. “Well. That was fun.”

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

You smirked. “Aww, you care.”

Logan grunted. “Don’t start.”

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

“Didn’t need one.”

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

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

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

---

“You’re actually serious about this.”

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

You grinned. “Yep.”

“You dragged me here.”

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

He grunted but didn’t argue.

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

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

Logan, however, looked wildly out of place.

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

“’Cause I am miserable.”

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

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

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

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

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

Logan frowned. “What’s this for?”

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

He gave you a look but took a bite anyway.

You grinned. “See? Was that so hard?”

Logan just grumbled around his donut.

You took that as a win.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got plans or somethin’?”

You tilted your head. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.”

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

You blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His expression flattened. “That a no?”

“Not a no. More like a… not exactly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Where am I supposed to hold?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoffed. “Wow. That cocky, huh?”

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

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

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

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

“That was one time,” he grumbled.

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

“One crash, and suddenly nobody trusts ya.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan rolled his eyes. “Great.”

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

He gave you a look. “Wanna bet?”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut in.

“There you guys are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan just grunted. “’S bullshit.”

Jean smirked. “Then you better stick around.”

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

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

He gave you a flat look.

You grinned. “That bad, huh?”

He sighed. “Too loud.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you two for somethin’.”

Logan immediately shook his head. “No.”

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

“Don’t need to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan clenched his jaw.

You grinned. “I like this rule.”

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

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

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

Logan.

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

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

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

He huffed. “Guess so.”

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

The door shut behind you with a click.

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

He exhaled sharply. “Tch.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

You tilted your head. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chuckled. “That’s fair.”

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

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

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

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

He huffed. “Ain’t my thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Entertain you?”

“Yeah. Tell me something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, come on. You’re having fun.”

“The hell I am.”

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

Logan sighed. “Fantastic.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan grunted. “Lucky for him.”

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

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

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

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

By kissing you.

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

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

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

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

The closet felt even smaller than before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan grunted. “Don’t push it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You arched an eyebrow. "That’s it?"

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

"Well, now that you mention it—"

"Not happenin’."

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

Logan scoffed. "You assume too much."

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

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

"You like it," you shot back easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow. "Changed your mind?"

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

Then he kissed you again.

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

Not that you were planning to.

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

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

Didn’t even argue.

i hope this was valentine-y enough! <3

[luveline]

hey jade!!! do u think we can get a little something with bombshell and spencer 🙏🙏 missing them

—you and spencer get serious. 1.3k

“So,” you say, holding two hands behind your back, shoulders tight in a vague attempt at flirting, “come here often?” 

“To Austin?” Spencer nods. “This is the tenth time we’ve been in the last five years.”

“Big city. Thirteenth most populous city in the entire country, right? That’s a lot of crime.”

Spencer smiles approvingly. “Right.” 

“At least this one was easy.” 

You’re standing in the sunshine outside of a bar near the hangar, waiting for the jet to finish loading, the rest of the team inside drinking a round of well-earned drinks. Spencer was in good spirits but didn’t seem to love the ruckus, so you’d made some excuse about feeling light-headed and promised you’d be alright as long as Spencer came outside with you. 

You don’t not feel dizzy. You’ve been under the weather all week. Spencer’s concern has had moments of obviousness. He’s roped it in for now, only evidence of his worry the lack of space between you. 

You’re enjoying the game you’re playing for now. You lovingly ignore him. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” 

“Uh, trying to get home, honestly.” 

“Yeah?” 

“See, I know this girl,” he says, his voice a soft pattern of itself, “and she’s– she’s great. She really is. She’s smart, and she’s beautiful, and she’s stubborn as a mule when she wants to be. She won’t let me take care of her out here. I’m hoping when we get back, she’ll let me take her home. So I can look after her.” He has no intention of playing the ignoring game with you. 

“Stubborn as a mule,” you murmur, leaning back against the bar’s brick exterior, lulled into security by his voice, and the sweet breeze that passes over you, the right side of cold as the sun begins to set behind the buildings across the street and beyond. 

“You like that one?” 

“No. Not my favourite comparison.” 

Spencer holds his hand out across the way, palm up but low, his fingers still. “Stubborn,” he says as you slip your hand into his, “but in a good way.” 

“…I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say softly. 

“But I want to.” 

You don’t know why you’ve been struggling with Spencer lately. It certainly isn’t something he’s done wrong, and it’s not the first time he’s wanted to look after you. But things between you are looking serious. Just a few weeks ago you took the ‘next step’, long overdue, and you told him you loved him. You do. 

“If I did something–”

You wince and he stops. You knew he’d bring it up eventually, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. What a mess you’re making. “You didn’t do anything,” you say. 

“Are you sure?” 

“No, Spencer, it’s not you, really, it’s not, it’s me–”

The face he makes is of unbridled horror. You’re worried he’ll snatch his hand back. He squeezes tighter. “What are you saying?” he asks, his frown a pout that turns your heart. 

“I’m not breaking up with you. I’m sorry, that was a fright wasn’t it?” you ask, squeezing him too, pulling at him as you slip against his side. Your faces are close enough to kiss. “Not breaking up. I can’t describe how much I don’t want that.” 

“But?” he asks. 

“But… there’s been some chafing, lately, on my end.” 

“‘Cos of me?” 

“Aw, Spencer,” you murmur, turning your front into his side as you hold your free hand over his heart, “no, baby. No… No, it’s not because of you, or– it’s not your fault. I was alone for a while before you, and I guess being sick just reminded me that things are different.” 

“And you don’t like it?” 

“Spencer, please,” you plead gently, rubbing your thumb against his chest. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I love you–”

“I love you.” 

“–and I’m not asking for anything here, not space, not for you to change, I just want to tell you how I’ve been feeling so you can stop confusing it for something you might’ve done wrong.” 

Some days being with Spencer feels like you’re the same soul in two different bodies. It’s moments like this that remind you of how human he is, the depth of his feelings, and how much he cares about you —how much you can affect his life. He’s frowning like he’s not far from tears and you regret ever bringing it up in the first place, but you have to finish now. 

“It’s scary, for me, sometimes, to be with you,” you say eventually. 

“For me, too.” 

“I worry I’ll get used to you and one day I won’t have you.” 

“I promise you will,” he says. 

“But you don’t know that.” 

“For however long you’ll let me have you, you can have me,” he says simply. 

You tease a line into his chest with your two fingertips. “I love how you look after me. There’s nothing like it. I fall asleep sick and I wake up knowing you’re there to make me a cup of tea, and to help me shower when my head’s hurting, you don’t let me down. You know that?” 

“So why can’t I look after you tonight?” he asks, eyes dark as pine tar. 

“You can. You think I’m not going home with you?” 

“I wasn’t sure.” 

“Please let me come home with you.” 

Spencer lets his forehead drop gently against yours. The breeze runs a loop around your legs and cools your too-warm shoulders, pulling your blouse from clammy skin. For a while, you wait for him to speak, but when he doesn’t you figure you’ve overwhelmed him with your confession, maybe you’ve upset him. 

He rubs the tips of your noses together slightly. 

“Are you still dizzy?” 

“No.” Your voice is a croak. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, being scared of the future? It’s okay.” 

“I think it sounded like it was your fault.” 

“I won’t take it that way if you don’t mean it like that,” he promises. “I just want to look after you, angel. I want to be with you. I’m scared all the time that one day I won’t have you, but then you smile at me or you–” He laughs. “You tug on my hair trying to make me kiss you and I don’t feel that way for a while. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

“The only thing that worries me is life.” 

“Not much you can do about that,” he says.

“I know. I didn’t mean for it to get to you, too.”

He makes a nice humming sound, says, “I want you to feel better, and come home with me, and I don’t really care if I have to beg. You know I will.” 

“You should know you don’t have to beg for anything. Not from me.” 

Spencer’s hand comes up to your neck. He holds it carefully, pressing the soft of his cheek against your temple, the other hand working its way behind your back. “And you’re worried I might leave you?” he asks, laughing bashfully as he presses two kisses to whatever bit of skin he can fin, the side of your nose and the soft well under your eye. “When you’re saying stuff like that to me? In public?” 

“It’s hardly the worst thing I’ve said to you in public.” 

Spencer pulls away to meet your eyes. He's smiling. Worry and love line his gaze. “Do you wanna go find something to eat before we leave?”

“Yeah,” you nod, trying hard not to smile ear to ear. “Let’s go eat.” 

[yois2aki]

wc. 1k

remember when caleb straight up said "what if i told you i was always like this?"... well. this is my take on how high school caleb dealt with his possessiveness. when he still managed to keep some of his rationality leading.

caleb wasn’t used to feeling this way. at least, not when it came to you. he had always been the quiet, composed type, the one who didn’t let his emotions show too much, especially not in public. but now? now, every time he saw you laughing with jayden, the guy from your maths class, something in him twisted uncomfortably.

he tried to brush it off, tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous. but today, watching you and jayden walk down the hallway together, side by side, laughing over some stupid inside joke, caleb felt that familiar knot in his stomach tightening. jayden had his hand on your back, a touch so casual, so natural, and it made caleb’s blood boil.

he leaned against the wall, pretending to check his phone, but his eyes kept flickering to you. you didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong, too caught up in your conversation with jayden, your eyes bright, your laughter filling the air. caleb swallowed hard, trying to calm himself, but he couldn’t. his chest tightened with a possessiveness he wasn’t used to feeling.

he noticed jayden get a little too close to you—too close for caleb’s liking. the way jayden’s shoulder brushed against yours as they walked side by side, the way his hand lingered on your arm when he pointed something out. it was enough to make caleb’s teeth clench, his grip on his phone tightening until his fingers ached.

he wanted to say something. to go up to jayden and shove him away from you, tell him to back off, but he couldn’t. he didn’t have the guts to confront you. he wasn’t sure what was going on inside him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

instead, he just stood there, feeling the anger building up inside him, a storm he couldn’t control.

when you finally noticed him standing there, watching the two of you, you smiled and waved. “hey, caleb!” you called, your voice light and cheerful, completely unaware of the tension building in him.

he tried to smile back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “hey,” he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and walking toward you. his steps were deliberate, but his heart was racing.

as he got closer, he could feel the anger in his chest, simmering just below the surface. he couldn’t stop thinking about the way jayden had touched you, the way he had been so comfortable around you. he hated it. hated the way he couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was losing control.

you, still oblivious, were talking to jayden about something. caleb’s gaze flickered to jayden again, and for a brief moment, he could feel his jaw tightening. jayden had that smug smile on his face, the one that caleb couldn’t stand, and it was directed right at you.

he shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to keep his cool, but it was getting harder and harder. “so, what’s going on?” caleb asked, his tone a little sharper than he intended.

you looked at him, the concern flashing across your face. “oh, nothing. just talking about the math homework,” you said with a smile. “jayden’s been helping me out with it.”

caleb’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fists clenching in his pockets. “yeah, i can see that,” he muttered under his breath.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, the worry in your voice now. you had noticed the change in his demeanor, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, the way he was standing so stiffly.

“nothing,” caleb lied, his eyes flickering to jayden for a moment before he quickly looked away. “it’s fine. just… didn’t know you were spending so much time with him.”

you furrowed your brow, now sensing something was off. “caleb, you’re acting weird.”

caleb’s heart hammered in his chest, but he didn’t know how to explain it. he didn’t want to admit how jealous he was, how angry it made him to see jayden so comfortable with you. he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

instead, he just gave a small shrug, avoiding your gaze. “i’m not acting weird.”

you didn’t buy it. you knew something was wrong, but you didn’t press him, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. jayden, however, seemed to pick up on the tension in the air, and with a small smile, he clapped caleb on the shoulder. “hey, man, you good?”

caleb stiffened at the touch, his whole body going rigid. he didn’t like it. he didn’t like jayden’s casualness, his closeness to you. but he didn’t say anything. he couldn’t. instead, he simply nodded, trying to force a smile.

“yeah, i’m good,” caleb said, his voice tight, his words clipped. “just… just tired.”

you studied his face for a moment, the concern still clear in your expression, but you didn’t push him further. jayden, sensing the discomfort, finally decided to take his leave. “alright, i’ll catch you later,” he said to you, giving you a small wave before walking away.

as soon as jayden was out of earshot, caleb let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

you turned to caleb, your voice softer now. “caleb, what’s going on? you’ve been acting off all day.”

caleb’s eyes flickered to you, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet your gaze. he didn’t know how to explain the rush of emotions inside him, the jealousy, the possessiveness, the anger he couldn’t control. it was all too much.

“i’m fine,” he said, his voice a little too rough, the words coming out with more frustration than he intended.

you didn’t look convinced, but you didn’t push him. instead, you reached out, placing a hand on his arm, the simple touch grounding him in the moment. “caleb,” you said softly, “you can talk to me, you know.”

he swallowed hard, his throat tight. but he didn’t say anything. he couldn’t. the words were stuck, and the emotions were too overwhelming. instead, he just nodded, letting you pull him into a silence that felt heavy and thick with unspoken words.

[chxnsgirl]

Hi girlie ! Love love love your work, i was wondering if I can request something extra cute like give me all the fluff you’ve got ! Like you’re married to Felix and have kids but the kids don’t know your name cuz dad always calls you sweetheart or princess or darling, and whenever somebody asks for you they’re like oh no I don’t know her lol like in this house it’s mr Felix Lee and Love Lee kind of vibe you know, thank you so much for considering! ���

this is so cute omfg - i also made felix have a girl dad moment because girl dad supremacy (i have daddy issues)

필릭스 ─── love lee

it’s a quiet, cozy morning in the lee household. sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the living room where felix is sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully braiding your daughter’s hair.

six-year-old lily sits in front of him, wiggling excitedly as she watches her favorite cartoon on tv. "daddy, make sure it’s extra pretty today!"

felix chuckles, his tongue peeking out in concentration. "princess, i always make your hair extra pretty. i’m a pro at this now!"

across the room, you’re nestled on the couch, cradling your newborn son, theo, as he nurses peacefully. the soft suckling sounds and felix’s gentle hums fill the warm space, making it feel like the safest little world.

suddenly, lily speaks up, completely out of nowhere.

"daddy, what’s mommy’s real name?"

felix freezes mid-braid, his fingers pausing in her soft strands. his eyes flicker over to you, and a mischievous grin tugs at his lips. "mommy’s real name?"

lily nods, kicking her tiny feet. "yeah! my teacher said we should know our parents' real names in case we ever get lost or something."

felix snorts. "sweetheart, if you ever get lost, all you have to do is yell, ‘where’s love?’ and i promise, people will know exactly who you’re talking about."

lily huffs, clearly unimpressed. "daaaaddy, that’s not her real name! you always say ‘love’ or ‘princess’—but that’s not really her name!"

you stifle a giggle, adjusting theo in your arms as he lets out a tiny sigh. "well, your dad is just very used to calling me pet names, that’s all."

lily crosses her arms, determined. "but i wanna know!"

felix dramatically gasps. "wait a minute. are you saying mommy’s name isn’t actually ‘love lee’?!"

lily groans, flopping backward against her dad’s legs. "ugh! daddy, stop joking!"

you shake your head, laughing softly. "alright, alright. my real name is—"

but before you can say it, theo unlatches with a tiny smack and lets out a sleepy coo, stealing the moment.

felix, ever the dramatic one, grins and points at the baby. "see? even theo doesn’t wanna hear it. he knows you’re just mommy, the most beautiful, loving mommy ever."

lily lets out an exasperated sigh but eventually giggles, turning around to wrap her arms around felix’s neck. "you’re so silly, daddy."

felix presses a kiss to her cheek, still grinning. "that’s why you love me."

she nods, then looks over at you, eyes twinkling. "i think i like love, too."

your heart swells. "then ‘love’ it is."

©chxnsgirl do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[girl-lostconnection]

Simon hides fruits in his pockets because he knows fruitbat!reader can smell them

Simon: Having fun?

Y/N, sniffing like a bloodhound: Gimme my mango. I know that's for me. You don't like mangos

Simon: Maybe I changed my mind?

Y/N: You always bring me a mango don't fucking lie to me

Also the guys seeing reader grouched over a trashcan as they tear into the juiciest mango known to man. The juice is dripping down their chin. Their arms. Everything's so uncomfortably sticky. They wipe their hands on Soap's shirt when he's not looking

After they're done they're breathing heavily because they inhaled that mango so quickly they didn't breathe at all for like 2 minutes

You are so fucking funny, anon. Yeah, that definitely happened.

They devoured the mango so fast the sugar crashed into their system made them see pearly gates for a moment there

Also I’m a firm believer that Soap is the only person they can sneak on, because Simon is like the Eye of Sauron — sees everything and hears everything, Kyle can also fly so he just perches up above and it’s not worth the trouble chasing him when there’s easier target.

I think Reader wiped their sticky little hands on Price exactly once. Because Price is not the man to do this to so he spent like half an hour licking their hands clean while maintaining very intense eye contact. Reader never wiped their hands on him again.

Price still stares them down every time they are finished with eating, because the man is a freak. He’s WAITING for a chance to let this side of himself out.

The literal embodiment of “healthy dose of PROLONGED EYE CONTACT” read in Bo Burnham’s voice

[steveseddie]

in bloom

written for the @steddiebingo kissing booth mini event | prompt: rose | rating: t | wc: 2,3k | tags: modern setting, flower shop au, wayne is the owner, eddie works with him, meet cute

read on ao3

Work at the flower shop is always a little slow after Valentine’s Day.

Eddie has been helping Wayne at Munson’s Floral Treasures long enough to know this. They’ll still get orders, of course– fancy arrangements for weddings, smaller bouquets for birthdays and anniversaries, but most of these are ordered in advance. They don’t get many people walking in throughout the day, looking for a last-minute Valentine’s Day gift.

Eddie likes to send his uncle home on slow days like this. If there are no deliveries to be made and supplies aren’t coming in, Eddie is more than capable of handling however many customers come in by himself. If he can’t, all he has to do is run upstairs to the apartment and get Wayne.

So far there hasn’t been any need for that today. It’s been almost an hour since Eddie sent the old man away and no one has come into the shop. In the meantime, Eddie answers a few calls, writes down a couple of big orders, and sweeps the floor of the shop before going to the backroom to work on some new arrangements for their window display. In case anyone comes looking for a ‘Sorry I forgot about Valentine’s Day’ gift.

Eddie just got started on the second arrangement when the bell finally jingles.

He puts the shears down and steps out of the backroom, wiping his hands on his apron. “Greetings and welcome to Munson’s Floral Treasures!”

There’s a guy standing in the middle of the shop, facing away from Eddie as he studies the flowers covering the walls. He jumps when he hears Eddie, whirling around and offering a little wave. “Oh, hi.”

God, he’s pretty, Eddie thinks as he takes in the guy’s hazel eyes and soft lips. His eyes travel lower to the chest hair peeking out of the guy’s polo shirt and the way his jeans hug his thighs just right.

Then he remembers he’s working and ogling customers is probably rude. Clearing his throat, Eddie offers him a polite smile. “Can I help you?”

The guy shakes his hair out, running his hand through it to push it back. “Yeah, so, I have kind of a weird request.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Lucky for you, I love weird,” he says, which sounds a little weird and makes Eddie grimace. Jesus, try to be normal, Munson.

But the guy chuckles, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Well, I– I need a bouquet that says ‘fuck you’ in a passive-aggressive way,” he says, his eyes flickering nervously over Eddie’s face.

“That’s it?” Eddie asks with a snort. “Because I promise you, man, that’s not the weirdest thing someone has asked for.”

The guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “No?”

“Nope,” he says, leaning on his elbows and gesturing at the guy to come closer like he’s sharing a secret. “One time a guy came in and asked for a flower arrangement to apologize for breaking into a home.”

A disbelieving laugh tumbles from the guy’s lips. “What? Really?”

“Yup. That was the first time that a sale ended with me having to talk to the police,” Eddie says before pursing his lips. “Actually no, that’d be when I used to deal weed in high school.”

The guy lets out a loud laugh, scrunching his shoulders in a way that has Eddie melting against the counter. Pretty, hot and cute. That can’t be fair. “Well, I doubt my bouquet will involve any police investigation.”

“No?” Eddie asks, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not planning on murdering whoever you’re giving it to?”

The guy’s nose scrunches up. “God, I wish, but no, this is just for my own amusement.”

“Good thing I happen to be in the business of amusing pretty guys,” Eddie says, shooting him a flirty grin, getting all up in his space until the guy’s eyes widen and Eddie pulls back. “Uh, customers! I meant customers, Jesus.”

Luckily, the guy seems far from bothered by Eddie’s flirting. In fact, his eyes sparkle with something that looks suspiciously like interest, his cheeks turning pink.

Most times when Eddie has to put together an arrangement he asks the person to check out the shop while he goes to the work table they keep in the back, but he really doesn’t want to waste a moment with this guy so he says fuck it and starts working on the bouquet right there on the counter.

He can feel the guy’s eyes watching him curiously.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Eddie starts, breaking the silence after a moment. “Who is this going to? Cheating girlfriend? Asshole boss? Shitty family member?”

He glances up just in time to catch the guy staring intently at Eddie’s hands as he works. When he feels Eddie’s attention on him, his head snaps up, the color on his cheeks deepening.

“Uh, no– no cheating girlfriend. No girlfriend at all actually,” he says. Then after a short pause, he adds, “no boyfriend either.”

Eddie almost drops the shears. It has to mean something that the guy wants him to know that, right?

Before Eddie can reply with something stupid like ‘good, do you want one?’ the guy keeps talking.

“You were right about the other two, though,” he says. “My shitty father is also my asshole boss.”

Eddie grimaces at that. Wayne is his dad in all ways that count and working with him isn’t bad, but for a second he entertains the idea of having to work with his father instead and already he’s convinced he’d need a couple of ‘fuck you’ bouquets too.

“Our firm is throwing him a party for signing this big company but they don’t care about how many people he had to fire for that to happen or how many of those so-called business trips he spent cheating on my mom,” the guy explains and Eddie lets out a sympathetic whistle.

“Fuck, man. That’s definitely shitty.”

The guy shoots him a tiny smile. “Yeah, and since I’m expected to attend, I thought I could at least get some enjoyment out of it.” He points at the flowers that Eddie is carefully selecting. “This seemed like a better idea than, like, sabotaging his party.”

Eddie lets out an amused snort. “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

They fall into comfortable silence with the guy staring at Eddie while he works. This time it’s him who strikes up a conversation.

“So, uh, Eddie,” the guy starts, squinting his eyes to read the name tag on his shirt. “I’m not like, telling you how to do your job or anything but isn’t that a lot of orange and yellow? Aren’t those happy colors?”

“Actually, these orange lilies symbolize hatred,” Eddie explains. “And the yellow carnations symbolize rejection and disdain.”

The guy’s mouth falls open in an ‘o’ shape. He leans on the counter and picks another one of the flowers that Eddie has spread out on the counter. “What about this one?”

“Foxglove. They can represent insincerity and deceit.”

The guy nods along as Eddie continues to explain the meaning of every flower he has picked, his eyes sparkling with interest. Flower language is one of the many things Eddie could ramble about for hours, but people usually don’t care enough about it to hear him out. But this guy is listening intently, his chin resting on his hand as Eddie talks.

“And what does that mean?” He asks, pointing at the greens Eddie picked for filler.

“Nothing, that’s just greenery.”

“Oh,” the guy chuckles, ducking his head with an embarrassed little smile. “You– uh, you know a lot about flowers, man. How long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was a little kid,” Eddie says, carefully arranging the greens. “My uncle owns the shop so even before I came to live with him I was helping out here. My dad wasn’t around much, he used to drop me off all the time so Wayne started teaching me how to take care of the flowers, how to make arrangements. Now I also help him with deliveries and stuff.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s nice. I've always liked flowers. And I like doing things with my hands,” Eddie says, wiggling his fingers with a smirk, watching as the guy’s eyes follow the movement.

“They’re good. Your hands,” he says, the color rising on his cheeks when his words catch up with him. “I mean, they look good. What they’re doing looks good.”

A pleased grin stretches over Eddie’s lips. “Thanks, big boy,” he says, grinning wider when the guy’s breath hitches.

“Uh, Steve. I’m Steve.”

Eddie thought he’d have to come up with an excuse to ask for his name, some bullshit about needing it for the receipt, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to now. “Well, Steve, any preference for the wrapping?”

“Um, no. You pick.”

“Alright,” Eddie says, grabbing some green wrapping paper and tying it neatly around the bouquet with a red bow. “All done.”

Steve grabs the bouquet with an awed smile. “It’s perfect. So pretty that no one will know I’m telling my dad he sucks.”

“I aim to please,” Eddie says, grinning smugly.

Steve chuckles, reaching into his jacket for his wallet and sliding a card across the counter. Eddie rings him up as slowly as he can get away with, not wanting Steve to go yet.

By the way Steve lingers after Eddie hands his card back, maybe he doesn’t want to either.

“I should go, let you get back to work,” Steve says eventually. Eddie tries not to look too disappointed. “Thanks, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome, Stevie. Good luck with your dad.”

Steve makes a face but thanks Eddie again before turning around to leave.

When he’s almost at the door, Eddie impulsively calls after him. “Steve, wait!”

Turning around, he raises an eyebrow at Eddie.

“You– uh, you forgot something.”

“I did?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, plucking a red rose from one of their leftover Valentine’s Day bouquets and ducking under the counter to catch up with Steve by the door. “This.”

“For the bouquet?” He asks, tilting his head.

“No, for you,” Eddie says, “on the house.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Do you give roses to all your customers?”

“Only the pretty ones I really want to see again.”

Steve smiles, finally reaching for the rose. “Well, then,” he says, winking. “I’ll see you, Eddie.”

Eddie grins. “Bye, Steve.”

***

The bell above the door chimes and Eddie pauses his pruning to greet the new customer.

“Welcome to Munson’s Floral Treasures, what can I do for– Steve!” He cuts himself off when he recognizes him, a too big grin appearing on his face.

Steve grins right back, offering a small wave. “Hi, Eddie.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see Wayne glancing at them over the shoulder of the old lady he’s currently helping. Eddie knows he’ll have to explain to his nosey uncle why he’s on a first name basis with a customer and why he’s so happy to see him, but he’ll worry about that later.

“You’re back,” Eddie says, turning his attention back to Steve. It’s been a week since the first time he was here and Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t spend his days glancing wistfully at the door every time someone came in hoping it was Steve. “Here for another ‘fuck you’ bouquet?”

Steve chuckles, following Eddie to the counter. “No, I’m here for something else.”

Eddie ducks behind the counter, resting his elbows on the surface. “Another weird request?” He asks, playfully waggling his eyebrows.

“You tell me,” Steve says, copying Eddie’s position on the opposite side of the counter, leaving their faces only inches apart. Eddie gulps, heat rising to his cheeks. “I need you to deliver a bouquet for me.”

“That’s pretty standard for a flower shop, Stevie,” Eddie says, cocking his head in amusement. “But sure, whatcha need?”

“A bouquet that says ‘do you want to go on a date with me?’”

Eddie blinks, trying to make sure he’s not imagining the little smirk tugging at Steve’s lips. “Oh, um, of course. We can do that!” He says, his voice an octave too high. “What’s– what’s the address for the delivery?”

That smirk turns into a full-on grin. “Oh, that’s easy,” Steve says, leaning even closer. Eddie hopes Wayne is too busy with the old lady to see what’s happening or he’ll never hear the end of this. “Munson’s Floral Treasures– ever heard of it?”

Eddie’s stomach flip-flops wildly. “You tryna ask my uncle on a date, Stevie?” He teases, barely able to keep the giddy smile off his face. “He might be a little too old for you.”

“Maybe,” Steve shrugs, walking his fingers on the counter until they’re brushing against Eddie’s arm. “But I think his nephew might be perfect for me.”

Eddie’s knees go weak from Steve’s words and his featherlight touch on his arm. “I think you might be right,” he says, biting his lip.

Steve’s eyes flicker down for a split second. “So, you’ll send that for me?”

“Yup. Happy to.”

“Great.” Steve grabs a pen from the counter and writes something down on the notepad where they take orders. “Here’s my number. You know, so you can let me know how the delivery went and what the answer was.”

Eddie nods, and with a wink, Steve turns around and leaves.

As soon as he walks through the door, Eddie grabs his phone and dials Steve’s number. He watches through the window as Steve stops and digs his phone from his pocket, a smile twitching at his lips as he brings it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“It’s a yes,” Eddie says eagerly.

Steve peers through the window and shoots him a lopsided grin. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“So can I pick you up on Friday at 7?”

Eddie forces himself not to let a happy squeal or punch his fist in the air because Steve can see him. “Yeah, that’s– that’s good.”

“See you on Friday then,” Steve says, hanging up and waving at Eddie through the window before he disappears down the street.

As soon as he’s gone, Eddie breaks into a grin. He gets weird looks from Wayne and the customers that come in throughout the day but it hardly matters. He has a date to look forward to.

[drgnflyteabox]

daddy cool ⋆˙⟡

john price x fem!reader summary: “I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.” ↪or the one in which hairy muscle daddy john price asks you to show him your skills disco style tags/warnings: 70s clubbing, body hair is a central theme, scent kink, daddy kink, deepthroating, rough oral (m), cigars, some alcohol, manipulation if you squint,vaginal fingering + sex, a bit of exhibition kink but not really at all (one line), 'little' not used as a size indicator, dom/sub, oral (f), tiny gape mention

“I think he’s interested in you,” Debbie whisper-screams in your ear. It’s hard to hear her over the boom of the drums, over the four on the floor beat and soaring voices. 

“Really?”

“Girl,” she laughs, incredulous. You look over your shoulder and sure enough he’s fixing you with a stare hot enough to burn through steel.

He’s flanked by two others, but you hardly notice them. You’re staring right into the deep V of his open shirt, at the fur peeking out of it, at the pink of his tongue as it swipes his bottom lip under his mustache. Sinful.

The booth he’s sitting in is draped with orange translucent curtains, creating some illusion of privacy. No overhead lights, either, just a soft cave and dark burgundy leather. Perfect for a bear like him.

“Should I go over there?” you whisper-scream back, curling closer to Debbie, “he’s a bonafide stud.”

She laughs, throwing her long hair over her shoulder, “yeah he is, and he’s looking at you, girl.”

You peek again. He’s smiling this time, like someone who knew you’d look twice. Beyond his shirt, his pants are so goddamn tight you can see almost everything. Christ, who let him out of the house looking like that?

“I’m gonna go over,” you say before you can stop yourself.

A saxophone disco beat booms through the club, thrumming right through you down to your toes, which you move to dance your way to him. Debbie laughs behind you, disappearing into the crowd.

Your hips go side to side, your teeth bite your bottom lip, and you fix him with what you hope is a clear message; you’re hot.

He stays exactly where he is. There’s a smugness about him now, the same smugness you saw when you looked twice.

You can’t really blame him for it. Someone that looks like that is bound to expect attention, desire.

God, he’s just your type. A quiet kind of arrogance, one arm slung over the back of the booth as he lifts a cigar up to his mouth and puffs. Lazily, like a big lion that knows he doesn’t have to hunt to get his food.

“Hello, love,” he says slowly when you get close enough. You’re still bouncing to the music, but you lean forward to hear him better.

“Interested in me, are you?” you’re going for a coy, simpering kind of approach. Something about him makes you want to lay it on thick, want to seduce. To preen a little.

His knuckles are dark in the lighting, hairy and tough like he works with his hands, which you catch as he pats the booth beside him. 

You hadn’t even noticed his companions leaving.

“Saw you dancing,” he lifts a glass from the table, dark liquid, his mustache getting wet, “thought you might be interested, too.”

“You thought right,” you slide in beside him, the leather seat cool even through your tight bootcut pants. You tilt your knees towards him, lifting an elbow to match his on the back of the booth.

Reds, yellows, oranges dance on his skin. The occasional sparkle of the disco ball peeks through, but mostly it filters through the orange booth curtains and spreads into an archipelago of little bright spots. This lighting agrees with him, accentuates the best parts, makes them look darker and more defined. You’d feel like a pervert looking down his shirt if he wasn’t also doing the same to you.

“Name’s John, love,” and when you tell him yours he says, “that’s fitting.”

“So, what do you do?” boring, typical– but it’s all you’ve got. You’re surprised you can get words out at all with the drool pooling in your mouth. This close, you can see how his shirt strains where his shoulders move. A little too small, but it’s probably on purpose.

Should be illegal, honestly.

His eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s the kind of guy whose entire face changes when he smiles, who looks disarmingly more approachable that way.

“I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.”

“Talent?” you cross one leg over the other, trilling internally with satisfaction when you see his eyes fall to your thighs.

You know you aren’t being subtle in the least– and you aren’t trying to be. But you won’t say anything outright, not yet, not while the anticipation feels this tasty.

The booth isn’t private, but it is insulated. The music is loud, but not too loud, just enough that it thrums through you, that you can hear him. Anita Ward croons in your ear, encouraging you. He can ring your bell, that’s for sure.

“That’s right,” he puffs again. The smell makes you lightheaded.

“Moviestars, you mean?” you roll your ankle around, watching him watch you, wondering if he likes the polish colour you picked. 

You like that he’s visibly affected; licking his lips, that meaty hand climbing higher up his thigh.

“Something like that, love,” he smiles again, leans back in the booth and launches a counter attack to your leggy flirtations – he spreads those legs, feet pointed out, hunched just so that his belly starts poking out of those sinfully tight pants.

Motherfucker.

Looking back up at him, his eyes are crinkled at you, head tilted forward. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Which movies have you produced?” you lean your head on your hand, looking at him through your lashes, “anything I’ve seen?”

“I hope so,” he hums. His eyes flit down to your feet again, up to your midriff, then back to your eyes– it’s hot, but it’s also not just a flirtation. He’s assessing, “have you seen Swan Lady? The Nun and the Two Vikings?”

You frown, “no, I haven’t heard of either.”

“How about Call of Duty: Servicing the Captain?”

Ah, it clicks. Your eyebrows go up, into your hairline, “you make pornos?”

“Aye, smart girl,” he gruffs.

Pornos, huh. You could laugh– he looks the part. A little sleazy, unabashed. Masculine not to the point of parody but it’s close. The ‘stache is in style, but in combination with everything else is just the cherry on top.

You only have one question, “you don’t star in any?”

“I prefer working behind the scenes,” something about the way he says behind feels filthy.

John tells all. He does scout, finds girls who want to have a good time (like you), and gently (or so he says) nudges them in front of the camera. I can always sniff ‘em out, he says. The ones that’ll do well on film, that have star quality.

“How can you tell?” you ask, lips pulling on your straw. John has ordered you a tequila sunrise.

You can’t help but trace the skin of his neck with your eyes, roving at the bob of his Adam's apple as he explains. Girls who can take the gloves off, so to speak. Says he can tell by the way they move, how free they are with their bodies.

A little dubious, but it’s honestly doing it for you. You wonder what he saw when you danced up to him, if the sway of your body was free, liberated.

Doesn’t take long at all for him to invite you out either way. John puts his hand on your knee and squeezes, gets real close, gruffs that his place is nearby.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” and of course the only answer is yes, please.

Boney M. soars around you as you follow him out, your hand holding his, your fingers stroking the hairs on his knuckles. 

She’s crazy for her daddy!

On the drive over, he keeps that big paw on your thigh, squeezing almost subconsciously. Just the flex of his fingers.

You widen your knees, hoping for that rough palm to slide upwards, glancing at John as he drives one-handed. Not your first rodeo going home with a man from the disco, but it sure is the first time you’ve felt so keyed up about it.

He’s huge, takes up an absurd amount of room in the car, knee knocking into yours. He even drives sexy, so sure and in control.

“You think I could be in one of your movies?” you say, impish, looking to provoke.

John glances at you for just a second too long, too intense. You can tell he’s picturing you in front of the cameras.

“That what you want?”

“Just picturing it,” you simper, shifting your knee to deliberately touch him again. His fingers flex against your thigh again, jaw moving.

The air is warm, breezy, lights passing by like twinkling firebugs. You roll your window down, smiling at the feeling.

“Picturing it, aye? Is that making you wet, sweetheart?”

Fuck. It certainly is now.

“Only if you can be my co-star.”

“Is that right?” he laughs, low and deep. His hand climbs higher, “‘fraid I’m just the recruiter, but I’ll have to do a quality test.”

“Quality test?”

“Mm,” he hums, “need to make sure you’re ready for the camera, don’t I? You think you’ve got star quality, then prove it.”

Your panties are sticky.

“I can do that,” you breathe.

“Yeah? Can you prove you can be a good girl for me, sweetheart?” his fingers slide, achingly slow, to the gusset of your pants, “that you can look into that camera and show the world you’re a good girl?”

They press against you, right up against your clit through the fabric. You fight to stay still, to not come across like you’re desperate, but god it’s hard. You ache.

“Mhm,” you breathe, subtly tilting your hips forward as he idly pets your pussy.

“Not an answer,” he says firmly. Butterflies dance in your stomach, the air slowly being siphoned out, leaving you hot and bothered. John is barely affected, it seems, driving still, gliding through the night.

“Sorry,” you swallow, “I can do that, daddy.”

“Much better.”

“Still want to prove it to me, love?” he moves to a glass cabinet, pulling out a little box. It opens with a click, revealing a neat row of thick cigars.

“Yes,” you stand in the middle of his living room, appreciating the atmosphere he’s made; low lighting, oranges, reds everywhere. Brown leather and the heady smell of cigar smoke, of leather polish and an incense-y kind of musk.

He walks back towards you, brand new cigar between his fingers, steps heavy on the carpet. You’re made aware of the height difference when he stands right in front of you, looking down not unkindly.

Your skin prickles at his gaze, the same one from the club; that assessment. Like he’s measuring you, testing you, scanning you.

John leans forward, breath puffing lightly across your face. He smells like his house does, only there’s a bit of whiskey mixed in.

You can’t help but squirm just a little, thighs rubbing together, both to relieve the pulsing ache of your pussy and that it’s impossible to stay composed under that gaze.

“Drop down,” he says finally, “to your knees, sweetheart.”

From your knees, you get a good fucking look at those tight pants– at the bulge in them. The hair on his chest sticks out a little, too, peeking at you from above. Hot. So hot.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, daddy,” you bite your lip again.

“Keep those hands down, alright?” he leans to the side and picks up a cigar lighter, watching you as he lights up.

John stands over you, new cigar lit, plumes of smoke drifting from his fingers. His expression is neutral, though he hums in a pleased way as he strokes the softness of your cheek.

“Take me out,” he commands.

You lean forward with your mouth, unable to resist giving him a good long sniff before you pull at his zipper with your teeth. He smells good, musky and strong, a little cologne there but mostly it’s natural.

When your teeth gently take his briefs, pulling, he cups the back of your head with a big hand and strokes your hair.

“Are you going to take it all, sweetheart? Right down your throat?”

You let his cock flop out of his underwear, heavy. The bush surrounding it makes your mouth water. It looks so good, long and a little curved, bouncing as if it’s teasing you.

You nod finally, hands squeezed into fists in your lap just the way he asked, “yes, daddy.”

“That’s my girl, aye? Are you going to give daddy’s cock a little kiss first?”

You lean forward, lips pursed, planting a little kiss on the mushroom head of his cock. Though you ache to lick your lips, to taste him, you wait.

“That’s a good little girl,” he murmurs, “open your mouth.”

You do, holding your tongue out.

He grips the base, holding his cock up, tapping your tongue with the head. You almost whine, before he grips your head firmer and holds you still so he can slide the entire length of that monster right to the back of your throat.

Your nose hits his pubic bone, buried in the coarse hairs there, overwhelmed, hands balling into fists.

“That’s right,” he grunts, “hold it right there, sweetheart, show me you’ve got what it takes.”

God, he’s all the way in, a perfect fit. You try to stay still, anchoring yourself to him, to his palm, to the possibility of hearing good girl.

You gag a little, coughing around him, tears burning at your eyes as drool plip plops onto your chest.

Finally, he pulls out, stroking your hair, “good girl, such a good girl. Ready?”

“Yes,” you garble around the heady of his cock, clit swollen and needy, hands pressing hard into your thighs, “please fuck my face, daddy.”

He does, his pistoning, fucking your mouth like it’s a cunt. His hand cradles the back of your head, pushing you, hips moving, grunting when he’s not taking the occasional puff of his cigar.

You throb in your panties, body scorching hot, gagging every so often around the thick meat of John’s cock. Drool falls in viscous strings, tears following, the world dropping away. 

Nothing else but the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth exists, matters.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he pants raggedly.

You have no idea how long he lasts, only that when he’s finished you're an absolute mess. Wet faced and panting.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his rough thumbs. You look up at him through your clumped lashes, mouth open, “did so well for me, hm?”

“Thank you, daddy,” your voice is a little gravelly, but not painful.

John pulls you up with a hand at your bicep, walking you down a hallway off his living room and towards an open door. 

It’s his bedroom– and it’s decorated exactly as you’d imagined it.

The bed is huge, kingsized with a radio inlay and a thick, padded headboard that extends all around the mattress in a kind of cradle. His sheets are silk, dark, and dark orange.

“Nice digs,” you laugh, “you sure you aren’t a pornstar?”

He laughs behind you, setting his lit cigar into the ashtray on the bedside table. He slowly strips out of his clothes, getting totally naked. Then he slides in, and leans back.

“Give me a show, sweetheart.”

You hum, swaying again. You aren’t a pro at this kind of stuff, but it’s fun regardless to pull your shirt up and over your head like you’re a dirty dancer.

“Like this, daddy?”

John hums.

You slowly slide your pants down, turning so he can watch your ass move, kicking them away. You hear the slick sounds of him jerking his cock as you do.

“Should I take my panties off?” you ask, thumbs slipping into the elastic.

“Yes, take them off,” he grunts, “turn around.”

You do, then slowly slip your panties off. He licks his bottom lip again, quick.

“Come here.”

You slide onto the bed, on your knees, then crawl forward until you’re beside him, where he pushes you to lay on your side.

His heavy palm finds the naked skin of your hip, squeezing, “still want to show me your star power, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” you’re back in it, eyes half lidded. Your pussy is making a wet spot on your thighs, “I wanna show you.”

He pushes you to your back, slaps your thighs until you open your legs and hold them out. Then he pauses, hand at the junction of your thigh and hip, thumb inching towards your pussy.

“Look how wet you are, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You clench, tilting your hips up. Your clit throbs.

“Ah ah, get back down,” he tuts.

Your ass touches the bed again, hips forced down by sheer willpower. His thumb finally reaches you, pulling aside your pussylip to gaze at your wetness.

It gushes out of you, and you’re sure he can see the way your hole clenches.

“Desperate little cunt, aye?” he uses his other hand, two two fingers coming to pull the hood of your clit up and just watch as it jumps needily, “awe, poor thing.”

“Please, daddy,” you could cry, “please, touch me.”

“Touch where, love? Touch this needy little clit?”

“Yes, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he abandons holding you open to bring his thumb to your exposed clit, rubbing in circles. You shout, a tremor immediately beginning. It’s too much and not enough at once, electric and icy-hot.

Then he slips those fingers inside you, slow and testing at first, but when he realizes just how wet and soft you are he curls them inside you deeply and oh, fuck, your eyes roll back into your head.

“That’s the spot, that’s it,” he grunts, shaking you, taking you apart.

John only fingers you long enough to let your wetness spill out of you, wetting your thighs, soaking his fingers– until you’re ready for his cock.

“You’re ready,” he lays the length of it against your pussy for a moment, letting your swollen lips hug his length, before he shifts back and nudges the head at your hole, “yeah, you’re ready for it.”

He stuffs you fucking full. You’ve never been so stuffed in your life, thankful for his diligent attention earlier or you might be really feeling the weight of him.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, back arching, nipples rubbing against his chest hair. It sparks pleasure from your tits right down your cunt, body aflame, hands scratching through the hair at his back.

It’s like fucking a bear, or a werewolf. He’s relentless, too, without mercy. Plows into you hard and long, thrusts measured, never faltering.

John fucks like a pornstar, there’s no doubt about it. He takes up so much space on top of you that without his arms holding him up you worry about being crushed– you crave it, too.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, lip curling, mustache going with it, “want to be on camera, do ya? Let me hear you.”

You let loose, mouth open in one long drawn out sound, interposed only by the gasps you let out each time he hits you deep.

You tilt your head back, bearing your throat, taking each heavy thrust and crying out with them, squeezing around him.

“I’m gonna give it all to you, sweetheart, fuck,” he snaps his hips faster now, “and you’re gonna take it all like a star.”

You nod desperately, feeling his pubes each time he thrusts to the hilt, wet with your juices. You’re so fucking close, one breath to your clit and you’d lose your mind.

He straightens, hands going to your hips, tightening, as he snaps one, two, three times and tenses–

His head snaps back, neck bulging with veins as he comes, teeth bared in a growl as he curses, “fuck, good girl, that’s right– good fucking pussy–”

Hot come shoots inside, heating you up further, making you whine with frustration and satisfaction both.

When the taut line of his body relaxes and he pulls out, a flood of come following him, he slides to his stomach and spreads you open with his thumbs.

“Let daddy make it up to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs to your pussy, “he’s not usually so selfish.”

John looks down first. Your pussy is swollen, well-fucked, and you can feel a slight gape.

“Poor little pussy,” he murmurs, then seals his mouth over your clit until you fall apart.

“You sure you aren’t a pornstar?” your cheek is pressed to his chest, basking in the furriness, arm and leg thrown over his body.

He laughs, “I’m sure, sweetheart. But I will say–” he pauses to lean down and kiss the corner of your mouth, mustache still damp, “you’ve definitely got star quality.”

[demonic0angel]

Danny is the only member of the Justice League who keeps up with Young Justice's missions. As such, he's the only one who knows they are low key beefing with Darkseid. (Who they refer to as "Doug" for unclear reasons)

Flash almost looked like he was about to cry. He grabbed Impulse by the shoulders and shouted, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE BEEN HAVING FIGHTS WITH DARKSEID?!”

“Darkseid? You mean Doug? Yeah, we’ve been beefing with him,” Impulse said with a cheerful smile.

Flash let go of him, putting a hand on his head and looking upwards for divine strength. Impulse immediately ran off when he let go of him, darting back to his friends who accepted him back with grins.

“Barry never said I’d have to deal with this….” Flash muttered, sounding like he was about to cry.

The other Justice League members also looked a mixture of distraught, baffled, and horrified. “Doug? Why do you call him Doug?”

“Because he’s a little bitch who deserves to be named Doug,” Spirit snorted.

Red Robin flicked her forehead, which made her go, “Ow!”

“Robin. When have you been fighting Darkseid? And why has no one else known about this?” Batman ordered.

“Someone does know about it though,” Red Robin said with a shrug. “Red Tornado and Phantom knew about it.”

They all turned towards the mentioned heroes.

Red Tornado looked as exasperated as an android could. “They shut me down everytime I tried to tell you.”

Phantom grinned. “It’s funny. And I know they can handle themselves. They haven’t gotten into any danger and have been very careful. I follow their reports and the only things they’ve been doing were foiling his plans and stopping him. They haven’t gotten into a direct, physical fight with him yet.”

Superboy nodded proudly, “We’re very careful.”

“Oops!” Impulse said, as he shattered a vase on the ground.

Wonder Girl coughed. “Very careful,” she repeated with a nod, moving in front of the mess with the rest of her teammates as they all shuffled in unison to hide the broken vase.

Batman pinched his nose.

Wonder Woman sighed and muttered, “Oh great Hera…”

Superman looked out the window, looking a mixture of both thoughtful and dumbfounded as he mumbled to himself with a great amount of distress, “Doug…..”

Spirit leaned in with her teammates. She whispered, “I think we broke them.”