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salty-autistic-writer · 1 day ago

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Tommy Kinard's Guide To The Best (And Worst) Places To Take A Nap

Tommy and sleep have always had a difficult relationship.

When he was a child, he had a hard time relaxing his mind enough to fall asleep. Restless thoughts and the fact that he could also read one more page of this non-fiction book - just one more - kept him tossing and turning until his eyes burned.

As a teenager, he listened to his parents arguing, their shadows dancing in the hallway. When he drank too much, his father’s voice was like the hot sour breath of a dragon, his footsteps booming and his words sharp.

The neighbours never intervened. They were blind and deaf. Tommy wasn’t. He listened and tried to stay awake as long as possible. At least until the dragon fell asleep. Just in case he had to help his mother. Because there was nobody else.

His time in the military taught him to cherish every possible second of sleep. He developed the talent to fall asleep anywhere, at any time and at remarkable speed. But with this special talent comes the tendency to wake up abruptly as soon as his mind decides it has to be alert.

A noise, even a smell, is enough to push his body out of sleep mode into ready-to-fight mode. That makes sleeping for several hours in a row very difficult. So he usually takes some exhaustion with him when he leaves for work in the morning.

Once he’s working, he has laser focus though, never feeling the missing hours of sleep. No. That only comes later, after the work is done.

His issues made Tommy a napper. And he’s napping a lot.

He’s not picky about where he’s taking his naps. But some places are better than others.

In the helicopter (2/10 - not enough space, leads to pain and embarrassing moment!)

Tommy yawns heartily. He’s working a shift from hell. And he’s tired. So tired that the thought of getting out of the helicopter and dragging himself to the bunk beds at the station fills him with dread. He doesn’t like the beds anyway. It’s never really quiet there. And they are too small. Well. To be fair, most places are too small for him to stretch out his legs.

Finding a comfortable position in the helicopter isn’t easy either. But he has to try. Has to close his eyes. Just … For a few minutes. Then, the alarm is probably going to go off again anyway. He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He can already feel his mind drifting away, and his muscles are finally relaxing. At least, it’s quiet in here.

Is this smart? No. But he’s too tired to make smart choices.

Tommy already knows his neck is going to ache later. But it’s too late.

Sleep embraces him.

L aughter erupts when Tommy opens his eyes and he blinks into the sunlight, confused until his swimming vision clears and he sees Lucy in front of him. Lucy, surrounded by a few other colleagues, taking pictures with her phone and grinning in utter delight. Great. He won't ever hear the end of this.

Gr imacing, he stretches as best as he can, sore muscles burning and bones cracking in protest.

When he jumps out, his legs tingling from being immobile for so long, Lucy shows him a picture of his face pressed against the glass, drool running down to his chin, hair dishevelled. “It’s cute,” she says. “But I’m worrying about your poor old bones, Kinard. If you plan on doing more naps in the chopper, I will buy you a neck pillow.”

At a movie theatre (6/10 - comfy but embarrassing, at least Evan thought it was cute!)

Tommy loves the cinema Evan picked.

He especially loves the seats. They are so comfy. Soft. Warm. Too soft and warm. Tommy can feel himself sinking into them, his eyes getting heavy. He tries his best to keep them open, telling himself he’s not going to fall asleep while he’s about to watch a movie with his gorgeous boyfriend who’s happily snacking popcorn, his shoulder nudging Tommy’s.

For once, they actually managed to go to the movies. Without any interruption. Without anything terrible happening. So he really should pay attention to the movie. Evan is going to want to talk about it later.

But the screen is too bright. He has to rest his eyes. Just for one little moment. He’s not going to fall asleep. He’s not.

It only takes seconds for him to drift off.

A hand on his shoulder. A kiss on the cheek. Soft laughter and warm breath tickling his skin. “Tommy. Hey, Tommy?”

Tommy hums, keeping his eyes closed. Just a little longer. He can tell it’s not even morning yet. It’s still dark outside. Huh. He wrinkles his nose in confusion. Where’s all the noise coming from? Did Evan turn on the TV?

Oh. Oh. Shit.

His eyes snap open and he winces, his hands rubbing over the slightly rough fabric of cushions, the smell of popcorn and sweet beverages reminding him of where he is right now. He fell asleep at the movie theatre. With Evan sitting beside him.

Tommy can feel his cheeks burning. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, wiping drool from his mouth and glancing at the screen, where a man and a woman are arguing.

“Don’t be. It was really cute. My highlight was when your head started to tilt and sank on my shoulder,” Evan says, smiling. “You also didn’t miss anything. That movie was horrible so far. I’m going to tell you what happened later.”

Tommy’s face still burns with embarrassment, but when Evan wraps his arm around him and pulls him even closer, he starts to feel better. It happens, he guesses. Especially after a long day.

In a dressing room (3/10 - not very comfy, loud, but leads to a good solution for future shopping! It's good to have someone who thinks of things you never really thought of!)

Tommy doesn’t like shopping for clothes.

It’s not easy to find something that fits him. He also wishes people would just let him look around by himself before bombarding him with a row of questions, constantly asking if he’s doing alright. Why isn’t one “yes thank you” enough?

Once he does find something that fits and doesn’t scratch or feel too tight, he usually just tries to wear it as long as possible. But his favourite jeans tore and now he has to find a new one.

It’s nice to have Evan with him who gives him something to focus on.

“Hm. No. Let me get you that in another size,” Evan decides, looking at the pants Tommy tried on, frowning. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Okay,” Tommy mutters, too exhausted to really care. He sits on the bench in the dressing room and leans back with a sigh. As he waits, the warmth of the dressing room makes him increasingly drowsy. His eyes get heavy. Soon, he can’t keep them open anymore, his head falling forward as he succumbs to a slumber.

Only to jump when Evan opens the door and presents him with a new pair of jeans. “Sorry, took a while to find it. Here, I - Oh. Did you fall asleep?” “No,” Tommy says automatically. Evan raises a doubting brow.

Tommy notices he’s half lying on the bench now, quickly sitting up and wiping at his eyes. “Maybe,” he admits. “I’m tired.”

Tired of dressing and undressing. Tired of the too-bright shop lights which keep buzzing above his head. Tired of hearing the terrible nerve-wracking music in the background. Tired of seeing his tired eyes in the mirror.

Evan scans him, understanding in his eyes. “Hey, let’s just order some of those online, okay? You can try them on at home,” he suggests.

“Really?” Tommy asks, wrinkling his nose. “But what if they don’t fit?”

“We are just going to send them back,” Evan shrugs. “Come on, let’s leave and buy coffee somewhere.”

I love you , Tommy thinks, getting up happily. And wonders how far away he is from actually saying the words out loud. Feels like they are already lingering on his lips, just waiting for the right moment.

At a bookstore (7/10 - comfy, warm and with cat, but embarrassing!)

Of course, they happen to be outside on one of those rare days when it’s raining cats and dogs. All of a sudden, it pours from the velvety sky.

They flee into a bookstore at a corner, laughing. Evan’s eyes brighten up in delight as he scans the shelves. It’s a tiny store with old hardcover books and narrow hallways. The dust-covered books are piling up everywhere, even on the window sill.

An elderly lady is the only other person in the store. She’s sitting at the counter, hidden by a heap of books. She has one in her wrinkled hands, reading, only briefly glancing up to nod at them and push her glasses up her nose.

There even is a cat. A tabby with a bushy tail, that raises as she approaches Tommy and curls around his leg with a soft meow. When Tommy pets her and looks up, Evan is already gone, looking at books. Tommy discovers a green armchair in a corner and decides to sit down for a while. The armchair is comfy and smells like oranges. Tommy sinks into the cushions, leaning his head back with a content sigh. He can hear the steady drum of the rain against the window panes. It’s making him dozy. Before he can fight the sleepiness, his eyes are already closed and distantly he thinks he can feel something soft, warm and vibrating on his legs, but then sleep reaches for him and pulls him into a quite pleasant nap.

“Tommy?”

“Hm?” Tommy perks up, blinking in confusion. “Is it time?”

“I don’t know. You fell asleep,” Evan says, amused. “And the cat immediately went to sleep on you. I took pictures.”

Tommy swallows, looking at the cat now sitting on the floor, licking its paw. “Sorry,” he says quietly, glancing at the shop owner. But she’s smiling while still reading her book.

“No need to be sorry. It’s cute. Come on, let’s go home and take a nap together,” Evan chuckles.

In the bathtub (8/10 - warm, safe, clean and good-smelling, especially when Evan washes my hair, but it gets cold eventually!)

Tommy doesn’t know how he’s still standing. The shift seemed to last forever. His whole body is sore and aching. All he’s smelling is sweat and smoke. Every step he takes seems to add invisible extra weight he has to carry around.

“Come on, I’m going to draw you a bath,” Evan tells him.

“I have the best boyfriend in the world,” Tommy sighs, as he slowly, painstakingly peels his clothes off his body.

He hates the moment his naked body is hit by the chill of the air. Hates the first dip into the water. But once he sinks into the water and it embraces him, he groans in pleasure.

“I’m going to wash your hair, okay?” Evan says, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and pushing the sleeves of his hoodie back. “Please,” Tommy sighs, gratefully. He could feel how greasy it got with every passing hour. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, relaxing into the rhythmic movements of Evan’s fingers in his hair. Soon, he feels his mind drifting away, like a boat on the ocean. He allows it. He’s warm and safe. He can rest. Every troublesome thought and every ache disappears. Fading away as he dozes off to Evan washing his hair and the smell of his favourite shampoo.

“Tommy?” Evan asks, shaking Tommy’s shoulder gently. “You with me?”

“Huh?” Tommy opens his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling. He’s still halfway caught in the pleasantly floaty nothingness of his nap. “Hm. What?”

“Sorry, but I thought you might want to eat something,” Evan says. That’s when Tommy realises he’s lying in the bathtub, feeling boneless and … chilly. “How long have I been in here?”

“Long enough. Did you sleep well?” Evan asks, grinning.

Tommy grimaces as a shiver runs down his back and inspects his wrinkled hands. “Well, now I’m cold. But it was worth it.”

On Evan’s lap (10/10 - warm, comfy, safe. the best place to take a nap!)

It’s been a long day. It’s always a long day.

Evan takes one look at Tommy and says, “Want to order Chinese and relax on the couch today?”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” Tommy says, grateful. There was a time when he tried to hide his exhaustion and went out anyway to please his partners. But now he’s honest about how he feels and what he wants. He also doesn’t apologise for falling asleep anymore. His work is stressful and functioning can be exhausting. Being tired is nothing he has to be ashamed of.

They end up on the couch, Evan with his laptop and Tommy with his head on Evan’s lap, the rest of his body stretched out. He’s happy he can do that now. They bought a new, bigger and comfier couch a while ago.

Tommy has his eyes closed and relaxes while listening to the clicking noise of Evan typing and breathing in the familiar smell of his surroundings. Warm. Soft. Yes. This is by far his favourite place to take a nap.

He allows himself to drift off. When he comes back to himself, Evan smiles down at him. “Hey. There you are. Sounded like you were snoring the alphabet at one point.”

“Hey,” Tommy scrunches his nose. “Says the man who snores like a boar whenever he’s lying on his back.”

Evan chuckles. He clears his throat, eyes on his screen. “Did you know that neurodivergent people tend to get exhausted pretty fast? Due to the stress of sensory overload and the pressure of social situations. There’s even a word for it.”

“Yeah?” Tommy asks, raising a mildly intrigued brow.

“Yes. Autistic fatigue.”

“Hm.” Tommy shifts, frowning.

They’ve been talking about this topic for a while now. Collecting information. Finding certain things that … fit astonishingly well. It started with Evan talking to his therapist about ADHD and led to Evan going on an extensive research spree on which he found out that quite a few of the things Tommy is experiencing fit symptoms of the autism spectrum and that ADHD and autism have a lot of overlapping symptoms. Tommy grew up during a time when children weren’t autistic, had ADHD or suffered from dyslexia. There were only two possible labels: “normal” and “weird”. At school, Tommy got the “weird” label pretty fast.

Actually, there’s been a teacher who apparently did some research and carefully addressed the possibility of autism, but Tommy’s father was fast to tell her to refrain from calling his son mentally ill. Tommy thinks the exact words Kinard Senior used were “My boy is not a nutcase.” And that was the end of it.

But now, now that he has the freedom to do research and the chance to figure some things out that have always confused him, Tommy is intrigued.

It might be nice to know why some things are as they are.

For example: why does he hear noises no one else seems to hear? Why does he feel repulsion towards certain foods to the point that he has the urge to gag or spit them out? Why is he fidgeting so much without really noticing it? Why does he take things literally, which has led to many embarrassing moments in his life? Why does he sometimes feel like he’s following an invisible script while talking to people, and when they don’t do what he expects, the conversations become increasingly stressful?

Or the “I’m so exhausted” thing that sometimes really hits him out of nowhere, especially when he’s outside.

“Do they also say how you can increase your energy if you experience autistic fatigue?” Tommy asks.

Evan hums. “Snacks. Vitamins. And accomodations. Like noise-cancelling in-ear headphones.”

Tommy perks up. “Noise-cancelling? That’s a thing?” He asks, surprised. He has normal headphones for his training. But they don’t cancel noise.

“Uh, yeah. They have been existing for a while now. Do you want me to order some for you?” Evan asks. “Or we can pick them together?”

“Yes,” Tommy says, fully awake now, sitting up and snuggling up against Evan, looking at the screen. “But I can’t promise I will ever take them out once I have them.”

“Well, you definitely won’t hear me snoring anymore,” Evan says, grinning and typing into the search bar.

(AO3 Link)

#bucktommy #tevan #evan buckley #tommy kinard #autistic tommy kinard #bucktommy fanfic #tevan fanfic

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wanders-in-wonderland · 3 days ago

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Forgiveness

“Honey? Are you still mad at me?”

I roll my eyes and ignore my husband’s voice. Yes, I’m still mad and he can fuck off. I hear his footsteps coming up the stairs and the sound of our bedroom door opening before the bathroom door opens and I see him standing in the doorway.

I meet his eyes in the mirror and glare at him, taking in his sheepish expression. He creeps into the room and comes to stand behind me. “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean what I said.”

I huff and glare harder, “If you didn’t mean it, you shouldn’t have said it.”

He nods to appease me and gently sets his hands on my shoulders, testing to see if I’m going to snap at him for touching me. I don’t and he proceeds to slide his hands down my arms and wrap his around me, pulling my back into his chest.

He holds my gaze in the mirror as he presses us together. “What can I do to make up for it?” He presses soft kisses along my neck and I shiver a little when he finds the sensitive spot behind my ear. “I’ll do anything you want,” he purrs into my ear as his hands start to gently stroke along my body.

I smile at his words and spin around in his arms to face him. “Anything?” My voice betrays my excitement and he raises an eyebrow at me. “You have something in mind?”

I giggle and grab his hand, pulling him out of the bathroom and into our bedroom. I lead him to the bed and I catch the smirk on his face. “Darling, if you wanted to fuck, all you need to do is ask,” he says, eyes darkening as he gazes at me.

I smile at him, “That’s not what I want.” Before he can ask more questions, I give him a slight push so he gets the hint to lay down on the bed. I follow him onto the bed and straddle his hips, settling myself over him. I reach for his wrist and grab the restraints we keep strapped to the bedframe. 99% of the time, I’m the one strapped to the bed but today is going to be different. He lets me click his wrist into the cuff and he grins at me.

“So this is your revenge?” He asks, teasingly. I smile at him as I do the same to his other wrist. “Yes and I’m going to make you very, very sorry you pissed me off.”

I unbutton his shirt and leave it open, not bothering to deal with getting it fully off of him before I trail soft kisses down his chest. I hear him let out a low sigh of pleasure and it makes me smile. My tongue licks down his little happy trail, ending up at the buckle of his jeans.

He’s already hard and I can see the imprint of his straining cock through the jeans. I mouth along the bulge, taking my time and letting his feel the pressure but not anything else through the material of the denim. He groans and I feel his hips thrust upwards. “Are you going to tease me for the whole night?” His voice is a lower register than normal and it sends shivers down my spine.

I smile at him, “You’ll see.” My fingers make quick work of his pants and I pull them down while he cooperates by raising his hips. His pants get tossed somewhere off the bed and I take a moment to strap his ankles down to the bed too, leaving him spread out and immobilized, cock straining proudly between his legs.

I decide to tease him a little more, taking my time to pull my own clothes off. “Fuck, baby, you’re killing me, I wanna touch you,” he groans as more of my body is revealed.

“Nope, this is your punishment,” I say, letting my last article of clothing drop, leaving my entire body bare. I run my hands along my body, taking care to cup my tits the way he likes and pinch my own nipples. He curses as he watches me.

I crawl back onto the bed with him and settle myself between his legs. I wrap one hand around the base of his rock-hard cock and give him a soft stroke. “Fuck,” he groans as his hips buck. I laugh softly and watch his face as I run a gentle finger across the slit of his cock, taking the single drop of precum. Before he can say anything else, I stick my tongue out and lick him from top to bottom and take him into my mouth.

“FUCK!” I hear his shout and the rattle of the cuffs against our bedframe as he jerks in response to my mouth. I work my tongue along the underside of his cock while I let him sink in further down my throat. My husband’s cock used to be too big for me to take fully down my throat, but over our time together, I’ve trained my throat and my gag reflex to be able to take him all at once. And it’s so worth it.

I moan around him, the taste of his precum and musk making my pussy clench. I ignore it for now and focus my attention on bobbing my head up and down his length. I pull off, leaving a trail of spit on his tip, taking deep breaths of air. I glance up at him and smile.

“Fuck, darling, come up here and sit your pretty pussy on my face so I can make you feel good too,” he purrs, licking his lips and staring at me intensely. The idea is a good one but I know if I agree, he’ll no doubt distract me with his sinfully good tongue and I won’t be able to have my fun with him, so I shake my head.

“Nope, I’m staying right here.” His groan chokes off into a strangled moan when I take him back into my mouth, this time, a free hand going up to gently stroke his balls. His hips jerk against me and I control my breath as his cock fills my throat.

I create a tight seal with my lips and bob my head up and down, focusing my attention on his tip while another hand comes up to stroke what isn’t in my mouth. The sound of his moan fills the room and it makes me preen a little inside.

I move my hand faster and match the pace with my mouth. I feel his hips stutter against me and I know he’s close. “Fuck, darling, if you keep going, I’m going to cum,” he groans, voice strained with pleasure.

I don’t stop, maintaining the same pace as his groans start to get louder. I can tell he’s seconds away from cumming when his length twitches and that’s when I pull away.

“FUCK! Baby, please, I was so close.” He whines, his hips trying to follow me but the restraints holding him down. I smile at him and run a finger down his cock, watching it jump as he moans.

“That’s the point,” I purr, letting my single finger run up and down his cock while his orgasm fades away. “You’re really gonna torture me like this, huh?” He says, gazing at me with adoration in his eyes. I smile widely at him and crawl up to give him a kiss.

“Of course, dear husband. How else will you learn your lesson?” I murmur against his lips, cupping his face gently in my hands. He huffs a laugh and steals one more kiss before I pull away.

His cock is an angry red now and I press my mouth gently along it, mouthing softly with my lips and tongue to coat him in spit. When he’s slick and throbbing, I pull my mouth off and grip his length in my hand, giving my wrist a quick twist while I jerk upwards. He groans above me and I smirk, using my hand to stroke him exactly how he likes.

It doesn’t take long for him to get pushed to the edge again, his hips jumping upwards while my hand works him with ease. “Darling, I’m close,” he groans at me, head tossed back while his arms flex against the restraints.

I giggle, “I know.” My hand keeps its pace and I watch his face contort with pleasure. At the very last second, I pull away and watch as his eyes fly open to look at me. “Fuck, please, baby, please let me cum,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation.

I wiggle my fingers at him and shake my head. “You sound like such a good boy begging like that.” I watch as his eyes seem to glaze over a little and I smirk.

I give him less time to recover this round and bend my head to capture the head of his cock into my mouth, letting my tongue circle the slit, polishing him gently. A strangled whimper leaves his throat and I let an approving moan rumble around him in my mouth.

“Please, please, please, I’m sorry I made you mad, I’m so sorry, darling, please let me cum,” his voice is shaky and whiny now, none of the previous bravado present anymore. I ignore him as I continue to mouth at him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Just as before, I pull my mouth off just before he can cum.

“Come on, be a good boy and beg for me,” I purr, trailing a hand up his chest.

He whines, thrusting his hips upwards, “Please, please, please let me cum. Please, I’ll be so good, I’m your good boy, please let me cum.”

I shiver at his voice, so wrecked by need and husky with pleasure. I press my hands against his chest and raise myself up to my knees, straddling him. His eyes flash to mine and he understands my intention immediately.

“Fuck, please, darling, please ride me, please ride my cock. I’m your good boy, please, let me make you feel good,” his words rush out in his excitement and I smile as I lean down to press our lips together.

At the same time, I let his cock nudge against my pussy. I’ve been dripping wet since we started and I slowly start to lower myself, moaning against his lips as the delicious fullness fills me and makes me shudder with pleasure. He lets out the most pathetic little whimper as my warm heat envelopes him and I seat myself fully atop his cock.

I lean back and look at him, his lips swollen, pupils blown wide, eyes desperately begging mine. I’m a queen, sitting atop my perfect throne.

My hips give a little circle and I watch his eyes flutter shut as another whimper leaves his lips. “Does that feel good, hm?” I murmur to him, letting my hips roll against his.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, please, it feels so good, please don’t stop!” He’s babbling now and it makes me laugh a little, how easy a big strong man like him falls prey to my pussy.

I come up on my knees a little and sit back down, the motion making both of us moan. Then, I start riding him. I toss my head back and let my hands run across my tits, playing with my sensitive nipples as I ride him, using him to chase my own pleasure. His whines and whimpers get louder and I know he’s getting close again.

I lean down and wrap a hand around his throat gently. He leans his head back to give me better access and I smile as I tighten my grip. The whimper he lets out is delicious and goes straight to my clit. “Are you going to cum, baby? You’re gonna cum in my pussy while I ride your cock and choke you?”

“Fuck yes, please, please, can I cum? I want to cum inside of you, please, I’ll be your good boy, I’ll do anything, please, just let me cum,” his words are slurring as his eyes roll back and I know he’s moments away from exploding.

I moan softly as I feel my own orgasm approaching. My grip on his throat tightens and I work my hips faster. “Cum, baby, cum for me. That’s it, feel good for me. Such a good fucking boy.”

He explodes with a desperate cry and the feeling of his cum flooding my pussy pushes me over the edge and I crumple against him as my body rides out my orgasm. My grip on his throat loosens and I let myself relax on top of him as both of us come down from our highs.

I reach up and undo the restraints holding him down and I settle myself against him. “I love you,” I whisper into his chest and I feel his arms come around me.

He buries his face into my hair and takes a deep breath. “Fuck, I love you.” I snuggle into his chest and kiss his shoulder.

“And I really am sorry I called Mr. Fluffy fat.”

My head pops up from his chest and I glare at him, “Don’t remind me, I just got over it. Next time be nicer to our cat,” I say, giving his chest a soft slap before I settle back down.

He laughs and pulls me closer, “I do think we need to switch him to diet food otherwise he won’t fit through out cat door soon.” I snort and cuddle deeper into his arms, “Don’t be a dick, he’s happy.”

#nsft concept #overstim kink #cnc overstim #edging kink #femdxm #male sub #fem domme #msub #fdom #fdom stuff

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revelboo · 2 days ago

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Are your shoulders tired from carrying the entire Transformers fandom right now, Rev?

Your fics are also inspiring a bunch of people?!? Nice. Love your fics, dying from the angst, but now I'm writing fluff fics while waiting for you to post hahaaha *dies*

I just started writing TF fics because I couldn’t find what I wanted to read 😆 but I’m loving that more people are starting to write stuff, too! I’ve been trying to pester a writer friend (one of the ones that convinced me to start writing TF smut originally to create a Tumblr and share her stuff, too)

Everything Is Alright Pt 107

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Your palm resting against his own, fingers lined up with his servos drives home how much smaller you are even when he’s mass displaced. How fragile. And yet you can still entrust yourself to him as he curls his other arm around you and tries to explain what he knows of how Cybertronians are sparked. How that spark can become transferred into a waiting protoform. But a hybrid spark? He has no idea if it will still work the same way. You’re so small, will the spark stay your size? Smaller than a true Cybertronian? As defenseless as you are? It’s a struggle to keep his tone calm, to pretend he’s not as scared as you are. As unsure.

• Laying your head against him as he talks, some of your tension eases at the confidence in his rasping voice. Because you really need to believe that one of you has a clue what you’re doing. And there’s still Megatron, who even though he knows you’re no pet, seems determined to force you to keep up the act and play one for his amusement. He’s dangerous. Know that, but speaking to him? You think he’s also lonely and more than a little tired. Hating that he can startle a laugh from you when he wants to, that those big hands are so gentle. That you like those rare smiles and- you like him. Stiffening in Star’s arms, you press your face against his neck, because you can’t possibly like Megatron, public enemy number one and the biggest threat to your life. “What’s wrong?” Starscream asks. What is wrong with you? You have Star and Soundwave. You’re happy with them. You can’t like Megatron, too.

• Wings flaring slightly when you don’t answer him, he takes your shoulders in his hands and pulls you back, not liking when you avoid his optics, face heating. And then hiding your face in your hands as he vents. Another weird human thing? Or something you just don’t want to talk about? Optics narrowing, he rests his helm against your forehead and waits. “It’s nothing. Really,” you murmur, head tipping to brush your mouth against his, trying to kiss away his frown. Wants to trust that, but knows you. Knows you rarely complain or ask for anything. And right now that bothers him. How can he take care of you when you won’t tell him you need something? Resting a palm against your throat before sliding it down to rest over the steady beat of your heart, his optics shutter. Grounding himself in the feel of you. Of home and hope. Won’t push, because he knows he’s terrible at this, too. But he wants to get better. To be better. For you to trust him.

• Megatron can feel Soundwave’s optics on him through the visor. Can also feel the tension in his old friend and he vents softly. “I’m not going to hurt your little human, but you’ll still bring them to me.” But what Soundwave is hinting at, proposing in veiled, cautious words? That he make his own claim upon you just to force Starscream into stopping his attempts to ursurp him is clever, because it’s tempting. And his second in command will despise it. But he knows Soundwave, knows how protective he is of his cassettes and can imagine that protective instinct extends to you as well. If you’re tied to all three of them? Shared between them? You’d be guaranteed safety. “I’ll consider it,” he adds on a growl, annoyed with himself. But when he remembers those angry eyes, the way you’d defended Starscream, arguing with him? You’d challenge him while being no real threat, a little, affectionate mate to sit at his peds while he’s on his throne. Respected and safe because you belong to him. And he remembers the way you’d looked under Soundwave. The sounds you’d made.

• Inclining his head respectfully, some of Soundwave’s tension eases. Betting on Megatron’s own loneliness. That he’ll keep demanding you be brought to him, speak with you and come to know you. Doesn’t really hope that Megatron will love you, only arranging a mating for convenience. To keep you safe whether you want it or not. Telling himself that this is necessary as Megatron strides away, but there’s a shadow of doubt in his spark. Afraid that you’ll hate him for this, won’t understand that he’s doing this all for you. For a future he’s desperate to have.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #soundwave #megatron #starscream

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fadingdaggerr · 10 hours ago

Note

hiii! can you write mel x reader where reader is a baseball player that's why melissa's no. 1 choice of melee weapon is a baseball bat l

also, i looooove your writing style. i love details sm, i feel like the readers can connect more with what they're reading that way. and happy holidazee!!

strike and sink

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: request above! | 4.3k

includes: r has some anger issues, author clearly never did team sports

warnings: touch of violence, kissing/making out

note: i genuinely know NILCH about baseball. i was a competitive fighter this is not my strong suit okay. everyone hold hands, we’re gonna pretend any of this makes sense together.

The slowly warming spring air was a relief of the bitter winter that plagued the city for months. The ice is gone, grey skies clearly to the scenic blue, the streets becoming more active as people pull themselves out of a small hibernation. It’s invigorating for Melissa, practically skipping towards the main door of work, happy to not have the chill making her knees stiff.

The morning had given her too much pep, noticeable even to her as she tries to fight a smile that won’t quit. Part of the day's comfort seems to radiate off of her. From her warm bed, to the warm shower, to the warm body that joined her, now in the warm air around her. A sheer joy and excitement stay around Melissa as she treks through the halls of Abbott.

After dropping her things off in her classroom, she makes her way towards the lounge to find Barbara and the rest. Pushing through the door, she hears Janine and Jacob talking about something she has no interest in, Barbara off towards the television to gaze at Jim Gardener.

Melissa feels like Coke and Mentos as she pours herself a cup of coffee, trying to get her routine out the way before she snaps. When the morning update ends, and her other half reunites with her at the table, her resolve cracks.

Turning in her chair to address the room, she asks, “who’s got plans Saturday?”

“Well me and Gregory were go-” Janine begins.

“Cancel it!” Melissa says, pointing at her grade partner with a smile, “we’re going to a baseball game.”

“The Phillies?! I didn’t think they were playing this weekend?” Jacob guffaws.

Melissa’s face pinches up briefly, “no, dingbat. It’s a minor league game. Got some free tickets to spare and I’m feeling charitable.”

The younger teachers, to their credit, hide their confusion at Melissa’s excited offer. Never once did they imagine that she would care for minor league anything, but free is free. The three nod together in excitement, knowing better than to question anything. The grin on Melissa’s face makes it even more worth it to them, not used to that level of outward happiness.

“I’m in! But you’re buying me a corndog, Schemmenti!” Ava announces over the intercom, making everyone roll their eyes in time with their amused grins.

Barbara looks at the lingering smile on her friend’s face, letting out a low, knowing hum at the expression. Green eyes snap her way with a squint, silently telling her to not say anything. The kindergarten teacher just raises her hands in surrender, shaking her head with a playful look.

Taking her suspicious look back, Melissa brings her attention to her phone. Propping her glasses on her nose, she opens her texts.

Gonna need 6 tickets at the booth.

Your reply comes quickly, as if you already knew what she’d say.

Amore: already there. under “sexiest woman alive and co.”

You’re an idiot.

Amore: and yet you beg for me. a conundrum, truly

Melissa rolls her eyes, swiping her hand over her face as she tries to hide the schoolgirl smile stretching across her face. Answering will only encourage you further, and she will be damned if she’s caught blushing like a tomato over a silly text. Instead, she brings herself back into the conversation for the rest of the school week. Though with every blink, she pictures you.

—☽—

Not wanting to be stuck in the car with everyone for even fifteen minutes, Melissa only picks up Barbara, having everyone else meet her at the stadium. It pains her to not wear the spare jersey from the back of your shared closet, opting for a shirt with the same orange as the team’s color. Barbara settles for her only orange necklace, one she never wears, but will in order to entertain her best friend.

The redhead’s eagerness is infectious, finally happy to see you back on the field for the first time all season. She was bitter when practice started, only able to go to a few of them before the coaches closed the practices to get focused and avoid distraction, which felt targeted towards her even if it wasn’t. At this point, she just wanted to see you in those pants. God, those pants.

“How well do you think you’re going to control yourself?” Barbara asks. Melissa peaks over briefly, giving her friend a questioning gaze. The woman sighs, “presumably, you don’t want the kids in your business. And do you really think they’re not gonna notice your ogling?”

“I’m just hoping they mind the game and not my business,” Melissa grumbles truthfully, having not really thought about how attention could fall on her.

Barbara gives a slow nod, “ah, yes. Because they’re all well known for minding their business.” Melissa huffs at the sarcasm, but sequesters herself to silence.

Pulling up to the stadium, she pulls in next to Janine’s car, seeing Jacob and Janine excitedly waving as Gregory gives a smaller one. Stepping out, everyone talks as they wait for Ava to arrive, knowing her tendency to arrive fashionably late. Once she does, everyone is shocked to see the principal step out wearing a jersey for the team.

Her hands fly up in confusion, eyes landing on Melissa, “you invite us to this and I’m the only one to show out? Are you trying to make me look like a nerd, Schemmenti?”

“Last week you explained the sociopolitical commentary of Star Trek to me. You don't need help looking like a dork.”

This silences Ava long enough for Melissa and Barbara to corral everyone to the entrance. At the ticket stand, she gives her name, crossing her fingers that you were just joking. Six tickets are placed in front of her, immediately grabbing them to lead the group to her usual spot. Second row at the home dugouts, she ushers everyone in, Barbara to her left, Ava to her right. Before she can even speak, the redhead passes Ava a five, “get your own damn corndog.”

As the seats fill in around her, Melissa is practically vibrating. The loudness around her is oddly comforting, hearing everyone’s excitement. Peeking every few seconds, she hopes to catch the teams entering the dugouts. She wants to check her phone to see if she has a message from you, but she knows you’re too in your head to even acknowledge your phone’s existence. Her persistent watching is broken by Jacob leaning over Ava’s empty seat.

“How did you even get these seats? They’re like the best ones!”

Melissa’s brows raise, trying her best not to sputter, “I know a guy.” A glint of nonbelief goes over Jacob’s face, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he retracts back to Janine’s side, sparing one last analyzing gaze at Melissa before going back to the conversation.

“You’re screwed,” Barbara mumbles, fixing her sunglasses.

“I’m screwed,” Melissa parrots, but leans forward in her seat to be as close to the field as she can manage.

—☽—

Ava shimmies into the seat just as the teams pour onto the field, but Melissa’s attention doesn’t divert once. Her eyes scan to find where you are, finding a familiar figure shifting weight from foot to foot. You seem to know eyes are on you, stilling for a second as you look around. A little grin grows on your face as you finally catch the sight of familiar red hair in the crowd, but you keep yourself from drawing attention to her with your usual blown kiss. You instead settle on tapping your toes into the grass three times.

The teams take their places, and you settle yourself on the second base, fiddling with the velcro of your glove as you wait for the game to start. Your opponents, the Blue Foxes, were well known in the league for their cutthroat playing style. For the last three years, they had remained undefeated, and all thanks to their pitcher. Castille was known as a sharpshooter for their pitching accuracy, and your team had been practicing even harder just for this.

Their first batter strikes out, the second only gets to second base, the third is out before they run it to first. You can see your coach to a hard clap from the dugout, clearly pleased that nothing had been scored yet. The second inning plays out similarly, though Castille strikes out two of your batters easily, and is clearly angered when another makes it to third.

As another inning begins, you refuse to rip your eyes away from the ball. Risking a blink is not in the cards. The Fox batter, Morgan, slams hard, the ball flying out into the grass. Your centerfield scrambles for it, throwing it to you before Uwey makes it to your base. Screaming in the stands only propels you, jumping with all your might to get it from the air, planting yourself on the base as Uwey slides in.

“Fucker!” He yells at you, though a grin crawls on his face as you offer your arm to get him up. “I was betting against that, leapfrog.”

“Oops,” you joke, giving him a pat on the shoulder as the umpire declares that he’s out.

Tension between the teams rises quickly during the break, feeling the staredown as you chug water. You make an effort to not look back, but you can feel it regardless of where you divert your attention.

“We feeling oh-and-oh?” Jackson asks you, wiping sweat from her brow before putting her cap back on.

You flex your glove hand, trying to work out tension, “if we’re lucky. I don’t wanna make a fool out of myself today.”

“Your girl here?”

You can’t hide the smile on your face, “yeah. And she brought some people, so it’s our ego now.”

Back on the field in the sixth inning, all the niceties between everyone stop quickly. There’s no help up from the ground, no compliments for good plays. There is only icy eye contact, especially with every fastball that Castille sends to your batters. You practically cackled when Jackson made it to second off one of them, watching her wave crazily to her dad in the crowd.

Peeking behind you, you catch a glimpse of Melissa in the stands, watching her clearly explain what’s going on to Barbara. From your spot, she can’t see you, which is likely the only reason her eyes are not glued to the diamond. There’s a confidence in her place here, knowing it well and knowing your team, she almost has an authority about her.

The coach waves you down, letting you know you’re up to bat next. Next quickly becomes now as Castille strikes out Ismat. The sickly grin on their face makes you nervous, but you force yourself to steel up. Your name echoes through the speakers, announcing your approach to the plate. Gripping the bat, you tap against the plate three times before raising the bat, giving it a slight twirl as you nod.

Melissa’s focus stays on you, watching the bat tap one-two-three. Softly against her thigh, her hand copies the pattern. Leaning forward slightly more, she watches with rapt attention.

The first pitch flies past you at breakneck speeds, strike one. You adjust your grip, eyes not faltering as you eye up Castille, nodding again. This time, you swing, hearing the solid thwack of the ball against the bat. Immediately you take off, keeping your focus on the first base, expecting the shadow of the ball to fly overhead.

Turning as you slide in, you see the ball go towards Jackson. Not the baseman at third, but Jackson. A sickening cry follows, a gloved hand rising to hold the side of her face. Beside her in the dirt is the ball. It takes no time for you to deduce who had done it, only one person could hit someone running that fast. How the ball got to them, you have no idea. All you know is that Castille did it.

The umpire calls a timeout. The moment he does, you’re sprinting across the field to Jackson. You shove everyone out of the way, crouching down to her level.

“Still with us? Got your facilities?” You ask, more concerned sounding than you intended.

She nods weakly, gripping your arm to use it as leverage to get up. The Foxes gather around, checking on her too, all except Castille. Once Jackson is up, you immediately turn, stalking towards the pitchers’ mound.

“The fuck is your problem?!”

The echo of your voice reaches the stands, everyone leaning forward in their seats. Melissa goes to rise immediately, face serious and hands clenched, but Barbara grips her arm to keep her in place. The anger coming off of her seems to clue in the others, who all watch the scene with equal curiosity.

Your teammates quickly run up, one trying to pull you back a bit. All you notice is the bat in his hands, immediately ripping it from his grip with a harsh tug. Still, you keep it pointed down, simply a not-so-subtle threat.

“It was an accident. No need to get pissy,” Castille says, stepping into your space. “Just a little baseball, everyone gets hurt.”

“Everyone’s about to include you, fucknut,” you twirl the bat in your hand, raising it ever so slightly.

With a sly grin, a hand stiffly pushes you back, “shit happens, let it go. Why don’t you go play nurse now that your shortstop is out of commision.”

You mock the laugh they let out at their own comment, bat coming up in a full swing. Just as Castille’s eyes widen, you feel a hand grip the end of the bat, stopping you in your place. Turning back, Morgan only shakes his head, silently asking what the fuck you are doing. Your eyes dart back to the pitcher in front of you, a little terror hidden on their face. It placates you enough to hear the coach calling you over to the dugout, no doubt for a scolding. Dropping your arm, you trudge over, shoulder checking everyone as you go.

Melissa’s unblinking eyes never leave you until you disappear into the dugout. She watches the bat fly from your hand into the hard wood of a stadium with a sharp crash. Green eyes stay on you as you rip the hat from your head, smashing it to the dirt as you walk. Barbara keeps her in place still, feeling the way her friend is practically shaking with anger, as if she feels what you are feeling. Unbeknownst to Melissa, the others are scanning over her, silent questions on their faces that they cannot voice now without facing wrath. Ava peers over to Barbara, eyebrows raising in amusement. The response she receives is a subtle eye roll.

“Holy shi-” Ava starts excitedly, but is silenced by Melissa’s hand flying out to try and cover her mouth.

Tuning in, the redhead tries to make out what the coach yells at you. The man is clear is not trying to hide his displeasure. “Are you nuts?... Could have killed them… Don’t care what hap- stop interrupting me!”

Staring up at your coach, you practically pout in your spot, “they fucking fastballed Aliyah to the face and I’m getting shit?! They’re still on the field!”

“It was an accident,” he tries to reason.

“Sharpshooter missed that hard? Bull-fucking-shit man!” You shout as you stand, crossing your arms with an air of defiance.

Your coach takes a deep breath, staring you down. “Locker rooms. Now,” he says with no room for anything else. If you speak again, you won’t touch a bat or glove for weeks. Rolling your eyes with a huff, you head to the stairs.

From where she is sitting, Melissa cannot see where you are, or rather, where you went. Her frantic eyes scan the field, but from Barb’s grip, she is not even able to try and get a better view. Eyeing the field, she sees the coach round the dugout and approach the fence. He waves at her, motioning her to talk to him.

Melissa immediately shakes herself free from Barbara’s hold and flies down the wobbling stairs. Bracing herself on the fence, she asks, “what the hell, Marty?”

“I put the walking liability in timeout in the locker room,” he said with a fading annoyance. “That shit can’t happen on my field.”

Melissa frowns, “that jackass nailed Aliyah on purpose, come on.”

“We all know that. Now, can you just help me out here?”

Rolling her eyes, Melissa trudges down to the gate, letting herself onto the field to go the quick way.

“Oh, word?” Ava says, looking towards Barbara. Gregory looks at her with confusion. Motioning at the field, then Melissa’s disappearing figure, the gears finally begin to turn.

“Word,” Barbara says with a flat tone, picking up her phone to text Gerald.

—☽—

Laying down on the bench, you stare at the popcorn ceiling in hopes to calm yourself down. The cool wood is a balm to your sweaty back, freezing out the fire in your veins. Anger sloughs off the longer you lay there. Your vision blurs as you fight hot tears, acidic with your anger. You know better than to react like that, especially so publicly. Shame crawls up your spine, knowing Melissa’s friends saw you like that, that Melissa saw you like that.

The door to the locker room opens, the slam of the door being followed by heeled footsteps quickly approaching. Sitting up, you’re met with Melissa’s frown.

“Hi,” you say, offering a weak smile.

A single brow raises, “hi? That’s what you’ve got for me?”

“My bad? Whoops?” You shrug, knowing that there was no saying you hadn’t had the intention of bludgeoning Castille. Your eyes drag away from her face to fully look at her for the first time since you left this morning. The smile on your face stretches, “you look beautiful.”

Melissa gives a silent laugh, and you revel in the way her eyes close and she ducks her head. Even after two years, she still gets all shy when you compliment her. Stepping closer, she plants herself between your legs, “maybe next time, fail in beating up someone off the field.”

“Wouldn’t’ve failed if Charlie didn’t cut in,” you mumble, hands rising to hold the back of Melissa’s thighs. Leaning forward, you bury your face against her stomach. Any and all lingering tension in your body disappears when her hands come to your back, scratching up and down slowly. “Sorry I embarrassed you,” you whisper against her.

Bending over you, she presses a kiss to your head, “how’d you do that?”

“Attempted assault and battery.”

“It’s a Saturday night in Philly, amore. That’s just business,” she jokes, but the meaning isn’t lost on you.

Melissa stays right there until the game ends, the buzzer ringing loudly. Pulling back from her, you nod towards the door, wordlessly telling her to go before the team comes in. Pressing a kiss to your sweat-dried hairline, she walks out, but not before sending a look back to you that makes you shiver.

True to your silent word, as the team pours in with the look of defeat written on their faces, you duck into the furthest shower stall. With grime gone and body dry, you tug one of Melissa’s sweatshirts over your body and slide into the softest sweatpants Amazon can deliver. Returning to your locker, you start shoving everything into your bag, not taking the time to fold or organize anything. Spinning on your heel, you try to leave, but your coach steps in front of you.

“I know,” you say. “Head on my shoulders, use it. Bat as a weapon, don’t use it.”

“You cracked it,” Marty says with exasperation, shoving the bat from earlier into your hands. “What’s this? Number seven now?”

“Five,” you mumble, avoiding his eyes. Tucking the bat under your arm, you shuffle past him. With your head down, you leave, trying to hide your face from the other team as people move in and out of their locker room. Moving through the maze of people, you try to find your girlfriend at your normal meeting spot outside the stadium.

In a circle, the Abbott group debriefs under the streetlight. The yellow light illuminates fiery red hair, drawing you in quicker. Hearing your steps approach, she turns in your direction, and arm outstretched in invitation to tuck yourself into her side. The group, except Barbara and Ava, look stunned at your arrival, scanning over you and the arm around your shoulders. A dual ooooh passes the lips of Janine and Jacob, Gregory only giving a slow nod after thinking about what Ava pointed out earlier.

“Got something for you,” you say quietly to Melissa, feeling a tad exposed knowing they all watched your outburst earlier. A single brow props up in question. From under your other arm, you pull out the cracked bat.

“Don’t swing, slugger!” Ava jokes, putting her hands out in mock self-defense. You can't really hide the embarrassed look that flashes across your face.

“Ignore her,” Melissa says, grabbing the bat from your hands, toying with it in her grasp. Her nail runs along a thin, long split in the wood, looking back at you. “Can never bring me a not fucked up one, can you?”

“I prefer to call it a signature,” you offer. Melissa shakes her head with a silent laugh, arm tightening to pull you into a one-armed hug.

The night ends with a reluctant promise from Melissa to invite everyone over for dinner to properly meet you, and a genuine promise of tickets to any home game from you. Ava sends Melissa a double thumbs up, gesturing towards you as she mouths nice. Walking with Melissa and Barbara to the car, all the energy in your body is practically melting away. Gameday jitters and the anger you felt earlier had kept you awake, but now all you want is your bed with your girlfriend wrapped around you.

In order to be polite, you sit in the back to let Barbara sit in the passenger seat. Before Melissa even turns onto Barbara’s street, you’re dead to the world in the backseat with your cap covering your face. If your snores disturbed their conversations, they never said a word.

—☽—

The soft feeling of pressure going up and down your shin wakes you from your slumber. Sliding the cap off your face, you peek towards Melissa, sitting in the backseat now with your legs in her lap. Blinking quickly, you sit up, wordlessly agreeing to go inside, still silent with lingering sleep.

Melissa grabs your bag for you, letting you trudge up the steps to the front door and fidget with the lock. Once inside, you shove your shoes off and flop onto the couch. Dropping your bag by the door, Melissa settles next to you. Resting her head against the back of the couch to match your position, she looks in your direction.

The second she does, you’re leaning to tuck yourself into her side. With your head on her shoulder, you mumble, “can put it in the kitchen.” At her questioning hum, you elaborate, “the bat- wait we have knives. Laundry room.”

Melissa chuckles at the sureness in your tired voice, pressing her lips to the crown of your head. The feeling makes you shiver, immediately sitting up, so close to her that your noses brush. The newfound closeness makes the corners of her lips curl up, creases around her eyes deeping as you just stare at her in subtle awe. Slow blinking eyes rake over your face, just as carefree in their indulgence as your own gaze.

It becomes impossible to hold back, leaning into her the second her eyes find yours again. Soft lips brush against yours, and you push into her, kissing her with all the love fizzing in your chest. Her hand slides from around your shoulders to cup your neck, keeping you close as you shift to straddle her lap. With the gentlest touch, you cup her face, thumbs sliding over the apples of her cheeks.

Manicured nails dig into your neck slightly, making you whine against Melissa’s lips. Shuffling on your knees, you desperately try to press harder into her, wanting to be as close as close can get. The feeling of her tongue passing over yours is enough to make you shift your grip to her hair, tugging just enough to make a groan crawl from the back of her throat.

Part of you panics, trying to pull back to make sure you weren’t rougher than you intended. Melissa doesn’t let you get far, leaning in quicker than you back away, drawing you back in. Nipping at your lip, she finally lets you go, only to make you pout.

“Don’t start with me,” she jokes quietly, trying not to break the small bubble of comfort. “You go upstairs and change, I’ll warm up some leftovers.”

You sigh, pressing your forehead to hers, “five more minutes?”

A little grin plays at her lips as she presses a kiss to your cheek, letting you drop your forehead to her shoulder and relax your weight against her. A mumble of I love you vibrates against her neck, a soft kiss placed on warm skin.

Five minutes wouldn’t be so bad. And neither is the thirty minutes that it turns into, with you knocked out on top of her with a hand still buried in her red locks.

note: no longer the holidays but i hope yall had a good season!! in between my last fic and now i graduated college, so i would call mine a general success on that front <3

feedback appreciated as always, my sweet babies <3

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #lesbian #lgbtq fanfiction

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footballffbarbiex · 3 days ago

Text

A Polite Request

player: Joe Gomez words: 2140 Request: Joe Gomez - smut - up to 1000 words - Maybe one wheres she plays for LFC's women's team and finds herself sat next to Joe at the club's Christmas dinner. After some heavy flirting she whispers in his ear that she needs him to fuck her right now so they sneak off to somewhere more private with Joe delivering an early Christmas present... her best ever orgasm. thank you

She’d pushed her plate away from her after placing her cutlery together in the middle and reached for her drink. Everyone appears to be in a good mood with both the mens and womens team perfectly mixed across the tables. It wasn’t often that the two of them were able to merge like this but the Christmas meal felt very much needed to bring them together.

Laughter and talk can be heard from every part of the room, the soft music that plays is only audible when the voices are quieter. Different conversations are on each table, from comparing how the game is viewed, the difference in ref decisions across not only the leagues but also between genders, to plans for the festive time and the new year.

She found herself seated between Joe and Curtis and if conversations differed from table to table, then as much was true for each of the men on either side of her too. Curtis was polite and friendly, offering a light conversation which made her belly laugh at times. She found that he was easy to talk to in ways that she hadn’t expected and found herself looking forward to the next change of subject.

Joe on the other hand?

Of course he was polite initially as he always has been each time that they’ve met but as the evening progressed their small talk had turned deeper, their putting the world to rights had turned to flirtation which had ultimately become filthier. The flirtation isn’t anything new but the level of it, the way each new sentence feels to be dirtier than the last is different. The small breaks she gets from Joe as Curtis strikes up another conversation is a welcome breather for both her and her vagina.

But there will be no welcome break now, she realises. Too much has been said in quiet, husky tones, and they’re too far gone to be able to return to normal. His chair has been slid closer to hers, their arms and bodies actually pressed against one another as his lips mould to her ear to whisper disgustingly filthy things into it, ranging from the way he couldn’t stand to be sat here another hour and not know how her pussy tastes to the way that he promised to use all available holes to him and worship her body.

The drink she intended to sip is downed in fast gulps, but it does nothing to sate the thirst she now has. It takes everything she is to control her voice as she turns to look at him, the man beside her with an expression to the rest of the table that butter wouldn’t melt on the tongue that had been used to promise to taste every inch of her.

“Joe?” she asks quietly, watching him as he pretends to be looking around the table, paying attention to their conversations and grinning at the right moments when the punchline is delivered.

“Mmmm?” he hums his response but still doesn’t give her his full attention.

“I’m going to leave this room, pretending to use the bathroom. I’m in room 143. If you’re not upstairs within 20 minutes and have some part of your anatomy within my cunt, and I mean this as politely and friendly as I can, but you’re dead to me.”she flashes him her most charming smile as she finishes speaking and notes the look of surprise on his face at her words.

He watches wordlessly as she gives it a few moments before retrieving the napkin from her lap, plopping it onto the table and makes her excuses and offers her apologies to those who are polite enough to turn to look without giving him a second glance as she strides away from the table and out of the room.

But now she’s here in her room, nerves are setting in and her mouth feels dry, regardless of how much water she drinks to try and quench it. She’d taken her dress off and sat back on the bed in only her heels and underwear before feeling ridiculous and dressing herself again. She headed into the bathroom and quickly freshened up, nothing too much to make it obvious but enough to feel better about herself. She’s talked herself in and out of leaving the room several times and is in the process of doing so again when there’s a rap on the door.

Her heart hammers against her chest with such force she’s not sure if it’s the pounding in her ears or if she can genuinely hear it against her ribcage.

“You wanted this,” she reminds herself, willing herself to step forward but she’s rooted to the spot. Her name is said softly through the door after another tapping to notify her that he’s there and only then does she move forward.

The Joe that stands before her isn’t the one that she left downstairs. That one appeared laid back, chilled - despite the utter filth that dripped from his lips - and this one has everything showing on his face that he had hid previously. His eyes shine darkly, there’s a confidence with him now as he leans against the doorframe. His jacket is swung over his shoulder with two fingers curled in such a way that they prevent it from slipping to the floor.

“Finally going to let me fuck you then?” he asks in a tone that had her rubbing her thighs together and feeling that deep long clench within her.

“I swear to god if you’re all talk Gomez then I’-”

“You’ll what?” he asks mockingly, lips curving upwards. “Yeah, thought so.” he steps into the room and kicks the door closed behind him. His jacket is thrown to the nearest chair and his hand is grabbing at her wrist, tugging her towards him so smoothly it’s as though the two of them are dancing. She bumps into his chest, peering up at the man who has been on her mind the entire evening and when she lifts her chin to look at him properly, his lips are on hers finally.

He kisses her with such a need it leaves her buckling against him. There’s no clash of teeth as he hungrily claims her mouth, with his tongue mixing with hers in such a delicious way that she hums against him, but he ignites something within her that had needed a physical touch to spark.

His name comes out in barely more than a whimper but it’s enough to drag a growl from his throat as he nibbles on her bottom lip. “You have no idea how long I've waited to hear my name sound like that from you.”

“You should have rang me at night. You’d have heard it plenty enough as I’ve masturbated to the thought of you.” She wasn’t lying. She touched herself to the thought of him at least once a week.

“Fuck,” he hisses, moving her towards the bed and makes quick work to remove her dress. Her arousal is clear, she can feel her underwear sticking to her pussy and it’s not hard to guess that it’s already soaking a wet patch through the soft fabric. “Tonight isn’t going to be enough,” he says, yanking his tie from around his neck and opening up the first few buttons of his shirt before unbuttoning his cuffs and pushing the shirt up to his elbows - never once taking his eyes from between her legs.

“I’ve thought about this too much. How many ways I’d make it so that you were moaning my name. How many ways I could make you cum. How you’d sound as you beg me not to stop,” he says, pressing each word into her skin as he kisses his way up from her ankle. She feels the drag of his teeth as he kisses like a man starved, not stopping until his nose is rubbing against that very wet patch that he’s created.

“All for me,” he groans, dipping a hand to his lap and palms at his hard cock through his trousers.

“All for you,” she repeats in barely more than a whisper, unable to do anything other than lay before him in anticipation.

Two fingers find the hem of her underwear and tug it aside. The cold air on her wet pussy makes her tense up and the sharp inhale of breath for him makes her bite her lip. “So fucking beautiful,” he states to himself before leaning forward and uses the very tip of his tongue to swipe down over her clitoral hood, parting her pussy lips and not stopping until it reaches the pooling of wetness at her her core.

His tongue darts into her, nose rubbing against the bundle of nerves in a way that should be illegal. Even as he shifts his weight, adjusting his body slightly to enable him to hook a knee over his shoulder as he laps at her freely. It felt better than anything her fingers or vibrator could have done, her imagination having nothing on the real thing. The sight of Joe’s head buried between her thighs, his eyes closed as he savours every lick and tongue fuck into her only makes her pussy clench harder.

She succumbs to the sensations, allowing her head to drop back and focuses on only what he’s doing to her body and the stirrings of a slow building orgasm. He was good at this, far better than she thought. The innocent smile and boyish charm that he showed in public did not reflect the skill that he possessed for pussy eating and even if his dick game ended up being weak, at least she’d come away with knowledge that he was incredible at head.

He moves his mouth from her entrance, dragging his tongue along her slit and circles her clit. It throbs against his tongue before he sucks it between his lips as he begins to lick and suck so mercilessly, she sees stars. Her thighs are twitching, legs begging to close but Joe uses his elbows to spread them back apart and keep them there. Her toes clench, her muscles tense and she pushes her head further into the mattress as her breathing hitches. She writhes beneath him in a desperation to push her cunt closer to his face and pull herself off his mouth, unable to take the pleasure that surges through her as her orgasm rapidly approaches. Her skin feels hot, her speech is no more as each time she tries to open her mouth, no words form only pathetic mewls and pants which leave her cheeks heating for more than one reason. Her skin feels as though it’s vibrating as the knot in her stomach reaches the end and when it snaps, her climax crashes through her at such a rate that she feels she’s no longer in the room.

She’s vaguely aware of her hand filling with Joe’s short hair, the way she’s panting and - in her own head if not verbally - pleading with him to stop, she can’t take anymore, she’s too sensitive and yet he doesn’t. He hollows his cheeks and continues, the fingers which were holding her panties to the side now slip effortlessly into her and the feeling of being partially filled while having her clit sucked on is too much and another orgasm hits within seconds of lapping up the dregs of the first.

Her sound is the first thing to come back, her vision coming back slowly in bursts of colours and white noise. She’s aware of how heavy she’s breathing, the soft feel of Joe’s lips against her thigh, her stomach, her bare pussy in the most tender of ways. When he finally comes back into view, his lips are glistening, there’s evidence of her wetness against his beard but rather than being repulsed by it, she’s further aroused. He won’t exactly be wearing it as a badge of honour when he returns back downstairs to the table they’ve both deserted but seeing her…claim him for these few moments, it’s an empowering feeling.

Joe seems to have been thinking similar thoughts because his next sentence is, “we can either go back downstairs to where everyone else is or…”

“I asked you to come up here and fuck me. And oh baby,” she props herself up on an elbow as she reaches forward, fingers brushing over the straining bulge in his trousers. A smile comes to her lips when she feels the small wet patch that’s seeped through from his pre-cum. Or at least she thinks it is, even if the idea of him cuming in his pants before he’s even been touched purely because she came is incredibly sexy. “I need this inside me immediately.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere until I say stop.”

#joe gomez one shot #joe gomez smut #joe gomez drabble #joe gomez imagine #joe gomez fanfic #joe gomez fanfiction #football imagine #football one shot #footballer imagine #footballer one shot #football blurb #football fanfiction #footballer fanfiction #football fanfic

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onepointsixkm · 12 hours ago

Text

Part II: Burnout

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix went up in smoke as the end of the world began. You and a group of your friends managed to escape, but not without loss, as the dead began to walk.

featuring: SV5, CL16, OP81, & LS2. (mentions of LN4 + some surprise appearances)

warnings: zombie apocalypse! features character death, gore, and other genre conventions/staples. please do not engage if you are uncomfortable with any of the potential warnings!

notes: i am 100% serious when i say that if you did not take the warning on the first chapter seriously, this is the time to do so. please protect your mental before reading.

word count: 5,295

“Logan, you don’t have to come if you aren’t feeling up to it.”

The American boy shook his head fiercely, nervously shifting the bag on his shoulder. “I have to,” he replied, although his voice wavered with uncertainty. “We can’t just wait for help. Every second we wait… someone else could be…” You watched as a faraway look took over his face, the haunted, guilt-ridden frown coming back.

Oscar grasped his shoulder. “C’mon, mate,” he murmured. “Keep it together.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Logan nodded, offering a weak, shaky smile to each of you. You and Oscar exchanged looks, but didn’t protest Logan’s words. You knew you couldn’t. Logan would push through, no matter how terrified he really was.

“Then no time to waste. Let’s get going.” Seb had taken a crowbar from the maintenance closet, and was holding it in his gloved hands. “Let’s get in, and stick together. And whatever you do, don’t get bit.”

Charles shifted uncomfortably as Sebastian opened the door, Logan and Oscar slipping into the hallway as he did. Both of them were holding golf clubs, Oscar’s raised defensively while Logan’s was a bit lower, more hesitant. “Remind me why we aren’t taking the car?” Charles asked, rolling the baseball bat he’d taken in his hands.

“Cars are loud,” was Seb’s swift and easy answer, as if those three words explained everything.

For a moment, Charles looked like he wanted to protest, but he stopped himself and shook his head, muttering something in French. The security and safety a car would provide as you traveled was something you could understand him wanting, given what you’d seen happen as you left the circuit. But at the same time, you also knew why Seb had made the decisions he’d made. A car was loud, and anything loud was a near guarantee that the undead would find you before you ever even made your way into the paddock at the circuit. It was the potential to sentence one of your group — the number of you already dwindling — to death. And after everything that had happened in the hours prior, after realizing everyone who was either missing or dead, you didn’t want to risk that. You couldn’t risk it.

“We should go on foot,” you quietly agreed with Seb, glancing over at your friend with a frown. Charles looked at you, confused. “It’s less than twenty minutes, Charles. And the risk from the noise… it’s not worth it.” You held onto another of Lando’s golf clubs, kicking the head of the club and letting it bounce against your toes.

For a moment, Charles hesitated. But he nodded, however reluctant he actually was. “Okay. On foot it is.” He glanced at you.

You offered him the best smile you could, given the situation, and reached out to squeeze his arm gently. He did the same for you, although you could still see the hesitance in his smile. You slowly moved past Seb, who was still holding the door open, and into the hallway. Charles followed behind you, with Seb bringing up the rear.

The building was strangely quiet as you made your way back to the ground floor, Oscar and Seb accompanying Logan down in the elevator while you and Charles descended the stairs. Even your normally talkative friend was dead silent, a pensive frown on his face and his brow furrowed as he lost himself in his thoughts.

You knew what everyone else was thinking in their silence. Those thoughts were running through your head, too.

What if there’s no one left?

It wasn’t until you were halfway through the long trek (that only felt long because of the silence) to the circuit that you heard the sound of someone else’s voice as Logan spoke up. He’d fallen behind, lost in his thoughts, and finally, he said, “Hey.” The sudden sound made you jump at first. You all looked at him, Seb, who stood at the front of your group, even peering at him out of the corner of his eyes. “What if… what if we’re the only ones who made it. And we see… people we know. As-as one of those things.”

You looked towards Seb, who was suddenly staring ahead of him like the rising smoke in the distance was the most interesting thing imaginable. Your gaze turned toward Charles, whose frown had only deepened as he stared at the bat in his hands.

“All I know is that if it was me,” Oscar started, slowly interrupting the silence as you all searched for an answer to Logan’s question, “I’d want you to put me out of my misery.”

“Like… you’d want us to, uh… re-kill you, I guess?” You almost wanted to laugh at Logan’s struggle for words, but the context surrounding them wasn’t funny. You knew that you could run into anyone who wasn’t accounted for. How could there possibly be humor in that?

Oscar pursed his lips, shrugging nonchalantly, despite the clear tension in his shoulders. “Well, yeah. Being a zombie means that I could hurt other people, even kill ‘em if I’m not dealt with. And I wouldn’t want my body walking around like that, without me in it. It’d be a kindness, really. To put me down, I mean.” He glanced over at you, offering you a small smile, like he knew where your mind was hurtling towards.

Lando.

“Then that’s what we do,” you said softly as you weakly returned Oscar’s smile. “I’m sure everyone else would feel the same.”

With a short nod, Oscar reached over to Logan and tried to pat his shoulder reassuringly. Instead, Logan grabbed Oscar’s hand and squeezed it, needing some sort of comfort — any sort of comfort — that was offered. Although Oscar looked surprised for a moment, he allowed Logan to hold onto him like a lifeline. Your eyes met his again, and you smiled, this one a little bit stronger.

If nothing else, you needed to be strong for the people who were still alive.

Silence fell between the group again. Logan continued to cling to Oscar’s hand, his brow furrowing further and further. His grip on his golf club had tightened. Oscar had subtly pushed himself in a defensive position, ready to fight anything that came at the distracted Logan. You almost smiled. Even now, they were looking out for each other. At your side, Charles was playing with the bat, kicking it with his toes with each step he took. He was constantly chancing looks out in one specific direction. His home, his mom’s home.

You reached over and grabbed his wrist. When you met his eyes, you could see the flicker of hope dimming from only hours prior. You managed a small smile, but he could barely return it. The little twitch of his lips was all you would get from him. Your hand fell back to your side, words failing you as you searched for a way to comfort him.

Seb finally halted as you reached the parking lot gate, all of you coming to a stop behind him. “We’re here,” he muttered.

There was still smoke rising from the circuit. In fact, you could’ve sworn that there was more than you remembered. More fire, more things going south. More chances that your friends were gone. More chaos and violence, and you were sure that there should’ve been more panic and screams echoing through the city.

But somehow, it was quiet.

“Alright. Stay as silent as possible. No noise. Let’s get in, go looking, and get out with whoever we find. No taking stupid risks, got it?” Seb ground out, looking more serious than you thought you’d ever seen him.

Everyone, even Charles, who was normally someone who couldn’t stay silent, even in serious situations, was deadly silent as your group crept through the remains of what had been the Monaco Circuit. There were small fires all around the circuit and there was debris scattered along the streets. The corpses of those who hadn’t reanimated, many of which were half eaten, were strewn about the asphalt. Blood had begun to soak into the road.

You winced as you had to creep past a group of zombies that were devouring some poor person’s remains, and you bit back a whimper as your traitorous mind imagined one of your friends in their place.

Most of the garages were empty of people — undead or otherwise — and you weren’t sure if it was a mercy or not. All that was left were the Formula 1 cars, and some bodies that had been killed in the chaos. Some of them were people you recognized. There were so many mechanics, team staff, and even a few of the reserve drivers who had been attending that weekend, and your heart sank a little bit further with every body you recognized.

Logan almost vomited when you found what was left of Fredrik Vesti’s body in the Mercedes garage. Through his tears, Oscar insisted on covering his friend, to give him some sort of dignity in death. You hadn’t been close with him, but a deep sorrow still settled in your bones as you silently watched Logan and Oscar mourn. Fred was still someone who you knew by name, and it was a cruel reminder that you were here to try to find your friends, but that not all of them had made it.

Perhaps it was a small mercy that Alex and Lily were gone by the time you reached the place that you’d lost them. There was gore and viscera, but no bodies. You didn’t want to think about whose guts were splayed on the ground as you stepped over them.

A smoking Haas car had planted itself in the pit wall, bloody handprints smeared across its glossy finish, but thankfully, there was no one in the driver’s seat. You bit your lip and forced yourself to tear your gaze from the wreckage. The front of the car had been so damaged that you couldn’t even tell if it was Nico’s or Kevin’s car.

Charles reached down to take your hand, and you finally noticed that you were shaking. He gazed at you worriedly, the unspoken question clear in his eyes. You swallowed your sobs and nodded at him, silently communicating that you were okay.

(You weren’t okay at all, but you had to tell yourself that you were to make it true.)

Finally, you reached the last garage you hadn’t checked. Williams. Behind you, you could hear Logan inhale sharply. You looked back at him, and he shook his head, his eyes beginning to look a little glassy.

The Williams garage was deadly silent as Seb lifted the doors. It was somehow clean of the blood and debris that had been in every other garage. A few of the lights were flickering, with a few completely out. Both Alex and Logan’s cars were right where you’d last seen them, and you took a deep, shuddering breath as Seb gestured for Logan to close the garage shutters behind you, Logan scrambling to do so.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as the garage shutters slammed against the floor. For a moment, you all hold your breath as you wait for any sign of life — or lack thereof — to show itself.

“Is someone there?” a British accent called from deep within the garage.

You and Charles exchanged looks of relief as you both recognized the voice. Both of you practically ran towards the voice. You turned the corner and squeezed into the rows of tyres and front wings, where you saw a figure nearly collapsed on the floor. George Russell’s familiar gaze peered at you from the tyres. You dropped your golf club as you rushed towards him, Charles hot on your heels. George sat up straight, and you could see his shoulders sag in relief from where he sat, leaning against a stack of tyres, a wrench tight in his grip.

He let his head fall back against the cloth-covered rubber. “Good to see some friendly faces, finally,” he quipped, his voice laced with a mixture of pain and relief.

“George, oh my God,” you breathed as you nearly collapsed next to him. His black team kit was covered in blood and his face was smeared with dirt and soot, but he still offered you a smile. You couldn’t help but grab him into a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re alive.”

He let out a mirthless laugh as he winced in your arms. You could feel his arm reach up to pat your back as gently as he could. “Barely. And, quite honestly, only alive because of Hulkenberg.” He leaned back as you released him from your embrace.

Seb lowered his weapon, concern written on his face. “What d’you mean? What happened?” he asked, looking around in search of Nico.

“When I got separated from these guys,” George nodded at you, and you could feel guilt spear your chest, “I tried to go back for Alex and Lily. They… there was nothing left to go back to.” You covered your mouth as you held back a sob. “I had to run, but there was almost nowhere to go. Everything was… chaotic. People screaming and running everywhere, and everywhere I could go is filled with zombies. And then, Hulkenberg came out of nowhere like… like a fucking maniac, driving one of the Haas cars right through the crowd and then right into the wall. He got out of the car and-and his arm was bleeding. I think he was bit, but I never got a good enough look to say for certain. He just pushed me into the garage, handed me this wrench, and told me to stay here until help came. I… he never came back.”

Nico Hulkenberg was most likely dead. Bitten and turned or devoured to find others. You weren’t sure, and you didn’t know if you were ever going to find out.

“And your ankle?” Seb prodded, gesturing towards George’s leg. You followed Seb’s gesture, and gasped. George’s ankle was clearly injured, his foot pointing in an unnatural direction, and you could see it swelling.

George winced at the reminder. “Slipped and fell when Hulkenberg drove past me. Had to dive out of the way to not get hit. Couldn’t just pop it back into place, so it’s just been like this.” He reached down to pat his ankle, a pained hiss leaving his mouth.

“Do you know if anyone else is alive?”

Seb and George stared at each other in silence for a moment. Finally, George sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I have no idea. After Alex went down, we all got separated. I have no clue what happened to anyone else.” His brow furrowed in frustration. “But by the looks of it, not everyone got out with you.” His gaze scanned each of your faces, looking for answers that you weren’t sure he would want to hear.

Despite that, you took a deep breath and supplied, “Lance was bit. He turned, and he bit Carlos when we tried to get out.” George nodded slowly, sorrow twisting his lips into a frown. “Daniel is dead. So is Fred Vesti. A lot of mechanics and engineers are gone. We haven’t found any of the other drivers.” You could see Logan shuffle anxiously behind you. “We lost Max in that chaos, and… and I let go of Lando. I don’t know if they’re alive.”

George continued to nod slowly, a faraway look in his eyes. “Okay,” he finally managed, his voice slow and quiet. “Thank you for telling me.”

“What, that’s it?” Charles asked, shock in his eyes.

“What else am I supposed to say?” George snapped. “You want me to be angry? Sad? I knew that not everyone made it. I made my peace with it after I found what was left of my best friend on the fucking ground, after I saw him and his girlfriend getting eaten by those things. There’s nothing else to say.”

Silence fell between all of you, the losses finally sinking in. Charles looked sheepishly at George, who had let his head fall to stare at his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry. About Alex,” Charles whispered.

George smiled sadly through pursed lips. “Yeah. Sorry about Carlos.” Charles murmured a soft thanks, unable to look at George.

Seb glanced around at the garage. “This place is fortified by those shutters, but there’s not enough food to last more than a day. But, for now, it’s a good place to rest. The sun will be setting soon, which means it’ll be too dangerous for us to head back to the apartment. We’ll stay safe here until morning, and then, we get a car, get back to the apartment, and figure out next steps,” he declared.

“Okay,” you agreed readily, shrugging off your bag and pulling out the medical supplies you’d packed. “George, let me take a look at your ankle.”

George readily shifted, pulling his pant leg up. The pain became more and more visible as he moved. You grimaced at the swelling. It was angry and red, like he’d stressed it too much. You could see Oscar follow Logan as Logan staggered away, towards where his car was. Charles handed George his water bottle, and George gratefully took it, taking a long few sips before handing it back.

“You sprained it pretty bad.” George snorted a laugh — I fucking know, you could hear his unspoken words. “Going anywhere on this is going to be a bitch. Seb, tomorrow, we’re going to have to be so careful. We can’t get crept up on, not with George’s ankle like this.”

Seb nodded in agreement. He leaned down to clasp George’s shoulder. “Rest up,” he advised all of you. “In the morning, we’ll have to go. So, for now, get as much rest as you can.”

As soon as Seb said that, you all began trying to settle down for the night. What little food you had, you rationed and split amongst you, George practically wolfing down the fruit cup you’d offered him as you bandaged his ankle. Charles offered him the blanket he’d brought, to elevate his leg, and Oscar managed to find some extra clothes to cover all of you. You and Charles took up spots near George, while Logan and Oscar huddled together. Seb laid in front of all of you, as if he was protecting you from anything that could potentially get in.

But sleep didn’t come easily to you.

You couldn’t see outside the garage, but you knew that the dead were probably still roaming about the circuit, searching for anyone that was still alive to turn or devour. You stared at the garage shutter, waiting for something — anything — to happen. Your body was still on high alert from the events of the day, and even if you knew the Williams garage was safe, you couldn’t stop your mind from racing.

“Can’t sleep?” you heard a soft whisper. You looked over to George, who was staring at you with a knowing gaze from where he laid. “Me neither,” he admitted, pushing himself to sit up and scoot closer to you.

You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest. “I just keep thinking about everyone else. Max, Lewis, Pierre… Ollie — God, Ollie and Kimi — and all of the others.” You paused. “Lando especially.”

George murmured your name, but you couldn’t look at him. “You said you let go of Lando. What happened?” he prodded, so gently that you nearly started crying.

Any words you could’ve said turned to ash on your tongue. You just meekly shook your head again. Silence fell between you and George, the echoes of the small, ambient sounds of the garage ringing loudly through your head.

“I… I lost him. In all the chaos, I just… I let go of him. And then, he was gone.”

George reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “If he’s only lost, then that’s not so different than before. Typical of Lando, always wandering off somewhere. We just have to find him.” He smiled gently, and you thanked all the stars in the sky for George Russell and how he knew exactly what to say whenever you needed him.

You smiled back, squeezing his hand in return.

When morning came and Seb woke you all up, you and George were still holding onto each other. Before you stood to pack your things back up, he squeezed your hand once more.

“We’ll find him,” he said confidently. Despite everything that was telling you otherwise, you believed him.

Those were the only words you exchanged as you crept through the circuit, back the way you came. For the most part, it was quiet. There were practically no zombies wandering around, and the few that you did see, you were able to easily put down alongside your friends. But as you reached the parking lot, you suddenly found yourselves surrounded.

You weren’t even sure where they came from, just that they hadn’t been in front of you, and then they were. As quickly as if you’d blinked, a bunch of shambling corpses had got the jump on you. You didn’t even know where they’d come from, just that they were all around you.

Once the first zombie reached for you, you’d let out a yelp as you swung your club and knocked it to the ground. It hadn’t quite been dead, instead trying again to grab you with a loud moan, and you slammed your club into its head again. You were sure you’d killed it this time if the dent in its skull and the way it went limp was anything to judge by.

But as you looked around, you saw Oscar and Seb beating back the zombies that were fast approaching, Charles and Logan taking up defensive positions around George, who they were continuing to support as best they could. George was leaning on Logan and had his wrench raised above him, ready to strike whatever came close.

You weren’t sure how long you were stuck there, but a few became a dozen, and then a dozen became dozens.

There was no end to it.

“Fuck!” you swore, swinging your club at the undead in front of you. You didn’t even have time to wince at the sickening crack in the air. “It’s like the entire population of Monaco was here for this fucking race!”

“It was a fully sold out race,” Charles reasoned, bat making contact with the skull of another approaching zombie, “There were probably tens of thousands,” another swing, “of people here.”

On either side of you and Charles were Oscar and Seb, who were viciously trying to defend an injured George, his arm draped over Logan’s shoulders for support. Oscar spat, sweat dripping down his forehead and causing his hair to stick to his skin. “We’re fucked then,” he swore. He moved the grip on the handle of his club, readjusting it.

From behind you, you heard George swear under his breath. “Just leave me,” he finally said. “My ankle… it’s going to slow you down. You need to go.”

Logan shifted George’s weight around, swinging his golf club and pushing back a zombie that was getting too close. “Mate, shut up.” He glared at George. “I’m not leaving you.” He pushed another one back, right into Sebastian’s crowbar.

“We’re all getting out of here,” Seb announced, leaving absolutely no room for argument. “Just… buy me some time. I’ll think of a plan.”

“Better think fast, Seb,” Oscar grunted as he staggered backwards. He swung his golf club again. The head was practically dyed crimson with the amount of blood on it. “The more time you think, the more of these things come at us.”

Seb’s eyes scanned the parking lot, and he grimaced at the lack of options. “Herd’s thinnest on the east. But the working only car I see is one of your stupid sports cars. Can’t fit all of us.”

“We might not have choices. Gotta do something, or we’re all dead.” George bit his lip. “Better a few of us get away than none of us.”

You huffed as another corpse landed at your feet. “It’s all of us or none of us,” you shot back.

“I see one. A van, probably media. It’s a long shot, but it looks big enough to fit all of us.” Seb squinted. “Probably a hundred meters. We get one shot at this, so here’s what we do: we form a circle, protect George. Slow, but sure, and we all get there.”

You nodded, frantically moving to form a circle. Logan and George stood in the center, Logan supporting George as he limped along. It was a slow, painful move through the parking lot, but with each of you watching each other carefully, you were able to make it that hundred meters to the car Seb had seen.

It felt like the herd was finally beginning to thin as Seb forced the door open with his crowbar, clamoring in the driver’s side door. “Buy me time, I can get this going,” he demanded, lowering himself to fiddle with the wires.

Your arms were beginning to tire, and by the looks of it, so were the others’. George, especially, was beginning to falter, his ankle clearly paining him. He slid down the side of the van, his wrench almost falling from his grasp as he reached for his ankle. Logan scrambled to stop him from hitting the ground too hard, kneeling by his side.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you heard the soft purr of the engine as Seb convinced it to roar to life. And not a moment too soon. The horde of the dead had finally thinned just enough for it to no longer be overwhelming.

Seb called, “Get in!” and you quickly turned to help George into the car, Logan helping to lift him to his feet as you opened the back of the van. But as you did, you caught sight of Oscar, who had stopped where he stood, his eyes fixed on something in the distance.

“Oh, Jesus.” Oscar staggered backwards, his golf club faltering in his grip. His eyes were trained on a specific figure in the near distance, right in the center of the oncoming group of undead. “Oh, Christ.”

You followed his gaze, only for your heart to fall right into your stomach.

“Carlos,” you breathed, stepping forward as if in a trance. His gaze was unmoving, unflinching, but it wasn’t him in there. Despite knowing it was him, there was nothing familiar about the corpse shambling towards you, nothing that you recognized of the man that had pushed you away before he’d been bitten. The angry reminder of that moment was still oozing blood, the wound still open on his shoulders.

All you could think about was the look on his face as he pushed you away and the scream in your throat as Lance’s teeth sunk into his flesh. You choked back a sob as you studied your undead friend.

His eyes were glassy, and his mouth opened and closed with only a low, gurgling growl leaving his lips. Gone were the smiles and the soft eyes. All that was left was a husk of Carlos Sainz.

Seb, having slid out of the car once he realized what was happening, reached over to grab you by the hand and pull you behind him. He raised his crowbar as Carlos — at least, what remained of Carlos — let out a low growl as he reached towards you. “Don’t look,” Seb murmured.

You could feel the golf club leaving your hand as it fell to the ground, you falling with it. Your knees hit the pavement, Logan reaching out to steady you. You clung to the arm he wrapped around you, tears that you hadn’t even felt coming already streaming down your face. A whimper left your throat.

A hand reached out and covered your eyes, and you could hear Logan murmur to you, “Don’t look,” echoing Seb’s words. You turned, burying yourself in Logan’s shoulder. Behind him, George reached out, taking your hand in his, and you squeezed back, grateful for the comfort.

Briefly, you turned, seeing Seb stepping forward to meet the approaching body of Carlos. He tightened his grip around his crowbar, and you winced at the blood that dripped down the metal. You could hear him muttering something in German, but you weren’t quite sure what he was saying. You could feel yourself biting your lip, tears still streaming down your face, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fully look away from what you knew was about to happen. It felt like you owed it to Carlos, for saving your life.

Before Seb could meet Carlos, Charles reached out and stopped Seb, halting the crowbar mid-movement. “It should be me,” Charles murmured, his eyes trained sadly on his former teammate.

Seb couldn’t reply. He only lowered his weapon, stepping back to allow Charles to meet Carlos instead. You could see the tension in Charles’s shoulders, could practically see his eyes filling with tears, but he didn’t back down. He only raised his baseball bat as Carlos approached, and softly said, “Sorry it had to end this way.”

With a low growl, Carlos lunged for Charles, who responded immediately, bringing the baseball bat over his head and then back down onto Carlos’s. You winced at the viscous crack that rang through the air, then again as Carlos’s body hit the ground. Charles staggered backwards, dropping the bat, as Carlos went limp against the asphalt, unmoving.

“Fuck,” you heard him manage, his breathing ragged.

You quickly pushed yourself towards Charles, practically collapsing into him and wrapping your arms around him as you sobbed. He rested a bloodied, shaking hand on your arm, heaving as tears streamed silently down his face, his eyes still wide and trained on Carlos’s body. Viscous blood poured from his head wound and onto the pavement, slowly seeping towards you.

“You did the right thing, Charles,” you murmured into his shoulder, tightening your grip on his shirt. He nodded quickly, like he desperately wanted to believe you. “I’m sorry it had to be you. I’m sorry I couldn’t do it.”

He took a shuddering breath before he shook his head. “No. It had to be me,” he choked out, offering you a tentative, sorrowful smile. He squeezed your wrist before pushing himself up and pulling you with him. He picked his bat back up, then turned around, back to the car. His smile fell right off his face, disappearing along with all the color in his skin. “And now, we have to fucking move.”

You followed his gaze, and could suddenly understand why Charles had paled so suddenly.

There had to be hundreds of undead shambling towards you from the opposite side of the parking lot. From your way out.

“Time to go,” you breathed. Logan and Oscar quickly helped George into the car. Seb climbed back into the driver’s seat and Charles sprinted to get in the passenger side. As soon as Logan was in the car, you followed, slamming the door shut behind you.

Once you were all in the van, Seb let his foot drop on the pedal like a brick, the wheels of the minivan screeching as it peeled towards the herd. You flinched at the sounds of hands thumping against the sides of the van and groans of the undead.

But as they grew distant, Seb speeding through the streets of Monaco, you finally relaxed. All of you were safe for now.

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#🖊️: serpents #one point six words! 🖋️#formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel fanfic

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void-tiger · 6 months ago

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Maybe I’m doing pretty well at containing this, actually. Or at least not the WORST about it…

#tiger’s roar #…I have. liked this idiot for approximately 2 years now #and a good chunk of that in absense #which like. all the ‘advice’ is for when things are truly one sides and limerantic fantasies. which. I just can’t relate to #but…yeah. I don’t need to be blamed for feeling something I’d already decided not to act on and let them decide if not Friends Good #’cause other people can’t mind their damn business and Stay Out Of It #why do I keep looking up ‘psychology of wuv’ even when it’s allonormative and fixated on limerance and makes me feel like crap?#’cause the Doubts I feel from my own insecurity on days I struggle to trust the idiot at their word are kinda awful #and like. I’d drop my feelings and truly have an uncomplicated friendship if it did get to be that simple #(we all know it’s not. that’s not how humans work.)#but…yeah. we’re both NOT doing the ‘typical attraction things’ and yet it’s so damn obvious by our Vibes it’s caused trouble #and sure. I THINK we finally have an understanding now. have both worked on trusting the other person at their word #(them with no I’m not going to push for more than anything but finding a midpoint that’s comfortable for both of us as friends.#(me at trusting them that when they say they want to be friends it’s not someone being ‘nice’ yet again #and well…best I can tell they’re looking forward to basically being reunited too #I’m just. worried that I’ll get flack again from others + their projections #and then have my own distortions triggered in response to theirs #when. if I don’t ‘match’ an attraction model even if I could express freely without people screwing with me or the other person #then…I have to accept someone else doesn’t either. and believe them at their word #because the respect and care we have for eachother is just as obvious to others as me relaxing and them lighting up

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luminni · 9 days ago

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I have a feeling Johnny would try and set up Simon with one of his friends

“M’ tellin ya mate yer going tae like ‘er,” Johnny teased, bounding a couple steps in front of Simon, turning back to him and rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets to protect them from the cold. As Price often quipped, the 'scott can't stand still for the life of him.'

“Mhm,” Simon just grumbled in response.

“See mate, That’s the attitude that scares all the girls away.” Johnny commented, hands outstretched and exaggerated.

“Whatever.” Simon huffed, shaking his head. Johnny wasn’t wrong, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything with a girl that wasn’t a quick lay, and even then it had been months, not to mention going out on a proper date. Well, a date was a stretch, you were Johnny’s close friend for a couple years. He had heard of you, but never met you and now Johnny was insisting that he go on a date with you because he was convinced it was going to work well, Simon wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

“She’s real nice though- so put away the tough guy act big man- girls don’t like that.” Simon couldn’t believe he was getting dating advice from his sergeant, so he just doubled down and kept scowling but Johnny kept pressing. “I'm telling you she's a real sweet girl, kinda lass who would try tae make a crying baby laugh on the tube or go and feed some mangy stray dog, perfect for a prickly bastard like yerself.”

“Okay okay, Jesus. ’s not like ’m going to scare ‘er off on purpose.” Simon relented

“You better not, gettin' laid might do ya' some good man, calm yer ass down a wee bit” Johnny chuckled

Simon would have yelled at him for that comment but his friend cut him off, “‘Kay we’re ‘ere,” Johnny chirped, “Gaz and his girl should be inside already and she’ll be ‘ere soon,” Johnny said, pushing his Lt. through the pub door.

Johnny had invited Kyle and his girlfriend for a kind of double date situation because he thought having another girl there would help you feel more comfortable, something Simon couldn’t argue with. Why Johnny’s single ass would be attending was a mystery.

and he's been playing both sides

“Ya like serious guys right?” Johnny had asked you out of the blue, a week or so prior while hanging out at your flat.

“Uh yeah sure? I mean I guess so, more than immature assholes like you.” You had joked back across the small kitchen.

“Well,” He had began, unphased by your teasing, “There’s this guy I work with-”

“Don’t even.” you cut him off

“Wha'?!” he whined

“Don’t try and set me up with one of your military bros,” you warned, “I’m not interested.”

“Jus' 'cause yer last dates 'ave been busts doesnae mean you shouldn't keep tryin’,” He pleaded, catching the sponge you threw at him, “He’s a real good guy, kinda intimidating but you’d like him, promise!”

You glared at him before going back and forth, Johnny was really trying to sell this guy, and he wasn’t wrong, your last three dates had been nothing short of disasters. So, after lots of pleading -and a couple tasteful photos from them at the gym- you agreed. So as you walked closer and closer to the pub, your nerves were buzzing. Just gotta get past his tough exterior is all, Johnny’s words of advice rang through your head. Thankfully he had invited another one of his friends there along with his girlfriend, you would have been hyperventilating if it was just going to be you and some guys. As you reached for the door, you could only hope Johnny was right about this guy.

So, who would be surprised when it actually works out, when Simon actually falls in love with you and your sweet smile at first site. When you find his corny and sometimes morbid jokes genuinely funny, having to cough around your drink to prevent spitting it out.

Johnny's just happy Simon might finally chill out, and he won't have to listen to you complain about failed dates every other week.

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months ago

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“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him.

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces.

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions.

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you? “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos.

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?”

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time.

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds.

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes.

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.”

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?”

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t.

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers.

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation.

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs.

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is.

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off.

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you.

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are.

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to.

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip.

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open.

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length.

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while.

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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navybrat817 · 2 months ago

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Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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loonylupinblack3 · 5 months ago

Text

Go Slow

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: SMUT! p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), riding, (brief) dry humping

Summary: it's your first time and Logan tries to go slow, he really does, but some things just can't be helped

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: i'm not too practiced in smut so sorry if it's shit 😭

Logan knew you were on the shy side of things. During the start of your relationship he’d had to coax words from you, feelings and opinions you held until you felt comfortable enough to share them without being asked. You’d be nervous and fidgety when asking to see him, acting like he was an attractive stranger when he was your boyfriend.

In all honesty though Logan didn’t mind. He enjoyed your shy, almost naive personality, and was more than happy to wait for you to be comfortable with him before suggesting going any further.

Sure, it was difficult for him to wait, but not impossible. If his pants tightened slightly when you walked in the room with ridiculously short shorts and practically sat in his lap with them, you didn’t notice. When you were sleeping in bed together and would unconsciously rub yourself against him, causing him to have to leave the bed for a bit lest he did something he'd regret, you remained blissfully unaware. And if he was putting away your laundry and came across a pair of lacy black panties with bows adorning it, you wouldn’t even notice they went missing.

Logan was more than okay to wait.

You, on the other hand, were not.

It started with small changes in you and your actions, though Logan couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was. You were more flustered around him than usual, jumpier and shier than you’d been before. You were quieter too, staring at him with more intensity than before, as if trying to read his mind. Yet it wasn’t as if you were pulling away from him, because you were much more touchy and clingy than usual, always needing to hold him and often being the initiator of any make out session you two might have- which is as far as you’d gone.

It was during one of these sessions, having started when you both grew bored of the movie playing on the screen, that you started straddling Logan, kissing him with more fevor than you usually did. Surprised, though certainly not disappointed, Logan kissed you back, hands resting on your thighs and occasionally running up and down them when his control slipped.

When he felt you rock against him slightly he knew something was up. You were never this forward with him, and was always the one to stop Logan when he got a bit carried away. Yet there you were, gently rocking against him while you kissed, moving against his jeans almost desperately, rubbing against him until there was a rock hard bulge for you to move against and Logan had to gently push you off him.

Immediately you started apologising, looking at your hands nervously fidgeting with your t-shirt, refusing to so much as glance at Logan.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright Bub,” Logan said gently. “I just don’t want to do anything before talking about it first.”

You risked a glance at him, trying to find any lie in his face. “You’re not angry at me?”

Logan would have laughed if he wasn’t worried about upsetting you further. “‘Course not. I fucking loved that, actually, but we can’t do it, or anything like that, without talking about it first. I gotta make sure you’re okay with it.”

You nodded your head with such eagerness Logan’s cock twitched in his pants. “I’m okay with it.”

He smiled at your needy demeanour and had to hold himself back from gladly going along with it. “What exactly do you want, Sweetheart? I gotta know that.”

You bit your lips shyly, glancing up at him from your lashes in such a way Logan was tempted to be fucked with all of this and just take you. He’d been waiting for months, however, so he could certainly wait a few more minutes, and restrained himself as such.

“I want to feel good,” you mumbled quietly. “Want you to make me feel good.”

Oh fuck.

Logan wasn’t sure he could handle this. Desire was coursing through his veins, his cock was throbbing almost painfully against his pants as he watched you, shy and naive but so wanting for him.

“Alright Bub, we can do that,” he eventually said, because fuck he wanted to make you feel good too. He wanted you moaning and whimpering his name, whining and panting underneath him because of him.

Yet as soon as he had you undressed and under him he could tell it wasn’t what you wanted. You looked petrified, eyes squeezed shut as you waited for Logan to enter you, and that just wouldn’t do.

“I’m not doing this Sweetheart,” he said, moving away.

You opened your eyes, seeming both relieved and disappointed at the same time. “What? Why?”

Logan sighed, wrapping you up in his arms and kissing your neck. Even with both of you naked it was surprisingly not desire filled and simply comforting. “Because you obviously don’t want it.”

You shook your head and turned around to face him, straddling him in a similar position as before. “I do want it. Just… it felt a bit scary like that.”

Logan thought about her words for a moment before inspiration struck him. “Do you want to ride me instead?”

You actually gasped, your eyes widening at the suggestion, yet he could also see the desire radiating off of you- he could smell it too- and feel the slick coming from your cunt at the thought. He smirked, taking that as a yes.

“I’m going to lift you up and slowly place you down on me. You can stop me at any moment, okay?” he asked you, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with this.

You nodded your head, looking apprehensive but also excited, as you glanced down at his hard on, licking your lips slightly. “I don’t know if it will fit.”

Logan nearly groaned then and there. “It will.”

Hesitant but sure, you let Logan’s hands wrap around your waist and lift you up, positioning his cock at your entrance. He gave you a few seconds to back out, and when you didn’t, staring at him confidently, Logan sunk you down on his cock.

Fuck even just his tip inside you felt like heaven, your cunt squeezing against him. You let out a gasp and he hesitated, waiting, and you slowly nodded your head, giving him the go ahead to continue. He did so gently, making you take him inch by inch, stopping every so often for you to get used to the feeling of him until you’d finally taken all of him inside you.

The feeling of your walls squeezing his cock was heavenly. He could barely think, and all he wanted to do was fuck you hard and fast, chase the release he so desperately wanted. Yet he waited for it to feel comfortable for you, waiting for the pain to ease before he did anything.

“Okay… what now?” you asked in a timid voice.

Logan had to muffle the sound threatening to escape him at the sight of you blinking bashfully at him while he was inside you. It was too good to be true.

“Now you move,” Logan said roughly, because he didn’t trust himself to move and not fuck you viciously like he wanted to.

You thought for a moment before giving an experimental rock, gasping at the pleasure accompanying the action. You repeated the rock again, then again, creating a slow but sure movement that was slowly killing Logan.

Every sway of your hips, the way you rode his cock eagerly if not skillfully, was pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it baby,” he rasped. “Just like that, you’re doing so good for me baby.”

You rolled your hips, whining at the praise and closing your eyes but only increasing your motions, one hand moving up to cup your breast. You grounded onto him, gasping when he hit that perfect spot, whispering Logan’s name like a prayer

He swore at the sight, and couldn’t help the jerk his hips made, a small gasp escaping you. It felt so good, the spike of pleasure overwhelming and your readily response too much, and he did it again.

You moaned this time, a dirty, high pitched sound that was ringing in Logan’s ears, urging him on as he took your hips in his hand and lifted you up, only to slam you down on his cock again. Your moan was delicious, and you placed both your hands on his chest, moving forward to make him go deeper.

Logan did groan this time, and used your hips to continue moving you on his dick, his large hands squeezing the soft flesh of your hips. You were a whining mess, eyes glazed and body limp above him.

“Feel so good,” Logan grunted, thrusting into you. “So fucking good for me.”

You whimpered, gasping as your eyes fluttered closed again. Logan grinned.

“You like that baby? You like me telling you what a good girl you’re being, riding my cock so prettily.”

Your moans came more frequent, panting every second, and Logan could tell you were close. He increased his pace, wanting to see you fall apart in front of him, and wasn’t disappointed by the result.

“Come on baby, cum for me.”

With a cry you threw your head back, ecstasy painting your face as you came, your walls tightening. The feeling of them squeezing Logan’s dick, your cunt milking it for all its worth was too much and he felt himself fall after you, his load of cum shooting into your already stuffed hole.

“Fuck baby,” he cursed, helping you ride out both your highs, moving your hips over him.

You were still panting as you slowly came down from your high, boneless as you laid against Logan’s chest.

“You did so good for me darling,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

You let out a sound, nuzzling his neck, and he happily held you against him, pressing kisses to your face and neck till you were ready to move.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine fic #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #x men #x men smut #smut #logan howlett x you #logan x reader smut #logan howlett x reader smit #wolverine x reader smut

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kolsmikaelson · 9 months ago

Text

AND THEN THERE WERE THREE…

NOTES — just saw challengers today and absolutely needed to write smth for these two! only used a gif of art because theres none of the two of them and almost none for patrick </3, i’m a little rusty with smut so bare with me

WARNINGS — 18+ content mdni, slight challengers 2024 spoilers, fem!reader, kinda dom!art, pure smut/little plot, art/patrick interactions, talk of previous art/patrick sexual encounters, spit play, oral (m receiving), tit sucking, dirty talk, mentions of anal, little bit of aftercare, not proofread, lmk if i forgot anything!

REQUEST — Pls write a smut fic with reader and Art fucking in the hotel room (with Patrick watching) and reader asking if Patrick can join them and ofc Art can’t say no because he finds the idea of this super hot. Maybe reader makes Art and Patrick make out like in the movie 👀

WORD COUNT — 1.6k

join my taglist or follow @rodrickhefley to see when i post

None of you were too sure how exactly this had started. You, Art, and Patrick had stumbled back into their hotel room after leaving the beach, each of you finding your own place to sit after Patrick opened up a beer, took a swig, and passed the can to you. You’d taken a seat closer to Art, having naturally gravitated towards him more so than Patrick. And quickly, you and Art were making out, leaving Patrick to watch.

You blamed the beer. And the fact that you found both Art and Patrick incredibly hot. One minute you’re at a party, dedicated to your best friend, Tashi Duncan, and the next you’re sitting on the beach being invited back to the guys’ hotel room, and the next after that, Art is stripping you of your clothes while Patrick takes a seat leaned up against the wall opposite the foot of the bed.

“Can I-” He begins, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, desperation clear in his eyes. At your nod, Art quickly yanks your shirt over your head and immediately pulls your body flush against his. He’s planting soft, wet kisses up and down your neck as his fingers work the back of your bra. His eyes widen the moment it drops to the ground.

Giving you a moment's glance he quickly sucks one nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking and biting. Feeling as though he’s neglected the other one, he pinches and tugs on the opposite nipple, smiling around the one in his mouth at the moans you let out.

“Yeah, baby? You like this? Me with your tits in my mouth and my best friend jerking off while watching us?”

For a moment, you’d forgotten about Patrick. Your eyes shoot open, landing on him instantly. The sight of him, slouched against the wall, his hand already wrapped around his cock, with his eyes fixated on both you and Art. He looked so hot, you weren’t sure how you’d forgotten that he was even there.

“Mhm, ‘s hot.” you admitted, turning Arts face back to you, tugging his bottom lip back into your mouth. The blond pushes you back onto the beds that were pushed together - Patrick’s idea if anyone were to ask - and begins kissing up your stomach only stopping long enough to kiss each of your nipples. He grabs your face, pushing his fingers into your cheeks, making you open your mouth, before letting a large glob of spit fall from his mouth into yours.

“Swallow.” He smiles when you do so without complaint, even going as far as to look as if you wanted him to do it again.

Patrick moans at that, louder than before. Sure he and Art had messed around before, when they were both single and bored and needed a good fuck, that wasn’t new, but hearing that commanding tone in the blonds voice sent a shiver down his spine.

“God, that was hot.” Patrick sighs, laughing when Art gives him the finger.

“Fuck off, Patrick.” Both of them know he doesn’t mean it, if he wasn’t wanted there, you or Art would’ve said something, but you didn’t. whether Art knew it or not, both you and he wanted him to stay, and keep watching.

At some point during that interaction, you weren’t sure when exactly, Art had shed his pants and underwear. He was dragging the tip up and down your slit, up and down, stopping every few seconds to slap your clit with it. When your eyes finally landed on his length, it made your jaw drop. He was big, bigger than you’d seen before, he was long and girthy with veins running along the bottom of it.

He slowly slides into you, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. He’d never seen anyone look so angelic. The closest comparison he could make was how Patrick looked when he’d first given him a blow job. He wouldn’t call the look on Patrick's face angelic perse, but it was hot, really hot. The reminder of that, and the way you’ve begun clenching around him, spurs him into you. His hips snapping into yours, his heavy balls hitting your ass with each thrust. It was unlike anything either of you had felt before.

I want him to join.

You weren’t sure that the words had actually left your mouth until the blond on top of you stopped his thrusts, looking into your eyes for a moment.

“That what you want, baby?” He murmurs, kissing sloppily up and down your neck, shivers running through your entire body at his touch. His fingers falling to your clit, flicking at it. The pleasure was almost enough to make you forget that he’d even asked a question.

Almost.

“Please,” Even in your fucked out state, you couldn’t help but want more.

“Come on, Zweig. You heard her.” Patrick grins, hopping to his feet, although slightly hesitant. He wasn’t sure where to go, or what to do. But his nerves dissolved the moment Art turned around, and gave him that look, one that he knew meant that everything would be okay. It meant that he just needed to get over himself and have a good time, everything would work out. After that he’s on the move towards you, giving Art a harsh slap to the ass as he goes past him, laughing when Art swats back at him.

Patrick all but flies onto the bed, having kicked his underwear off the moment he stood up, and his shirt is long gone, a mix of yours, his, and Arts clothes are scattered around the hotel room, sure to have lost at least one thing. But none of you had it in you to care, too overwhelmed with pleasure. Your mouth opens before he’s even fully on the bed, but he gets the message, quickly positioning his tip in front of your mouth, thrusting a few times before losing control and fucking your throat.

The three of you move in tandem for minutes, or maybe it was hours, Art would thrust into you, rubbing your clit with his fingers, while Patrick would be pulling himself out of your mouth at the same time. It felt as though this was a regular occurrence, as though it were normal. And god did you hope it would become a normal thing. The three of you, together, making each other feel good.

Tapping Patricks thigh lightly, you hum happily when he pulls out of your mouth, giggling at how quickly he begins to check and make sure you’re okay.

“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The words come out of his mouth at lightning speed and it’s difficult for you to understand, but Art had and his thrusts slowed to a stop, hands leaving your body, giving you a questioning look as if repeating everything his friend had just said.

“I’m fine baby,” And then you say something neither of them could quite hear.

“Gotta speak up for us, sweetheart. Can’t do what you want us to do otherwise.” That comes from Patrick, Art nodding along with him.

“Want you two to kiss.” The words fly out of your lips and you’re suddenly shy, pressing your face into Patricks thigh, nipping at it softly.

Both men smirk at you before making eye contact with each other, giving a subtle nod.

“Well c’mon man, you know how I like it.”

The combination of Arts words, his sudden thrusts and Patrick taking it upon himself to flick at your clit, push you over the edge. The power of your orgasm makes your legs shake, your mind empty of anything this isn’t you, Patrick, or Art.

They’re still kissing, it’s all teeth and tongue and spit. It’s messy, and it only stops long enough for Arts mouth to fall open, moans spilling out as he comes inside of you, hot spurts of his come flooding your insides, leaving a white ring around the base of his cock as he fucks you through both of your orgasms.

At this point, Patrick has taken a step back, and is watching again. He’s stroking himself with one hand, squeezing just right and out of nowhere, Art reaches out, cupping the dark haired man's balls, tugging and rubbing on them just the way Patrick likes. The added pleasure sends him crashing over the edge, he barely has the time to move and aim his cum to where you and Art are connected, spilling himself all over your cunt and Arts cock.

Art pulls out and the three of you fall into a pile of heavy breathing, sweat, spit, and cum on the beds pushed into the middle of the room. Once you all catch your breath, Patrick is the first to speak.

“Wow.” It was simple, but it made you all burst out laughing.

“Wow, indeed.” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his pec, turning to do the same to Art.

“That was fucking hot.” Arts words make you all giggle yet again.

“Okay,” Patrick leans you into Art and pushes himself off of the bed, “‘m gonna get you two cleaned up, be right back.” He reassures you, hearing you whine at losing his presence. He comes back with a warm washcloth in hand, and a small cup of water in his other. He hands the water to Art motioning for him to take a drink and then give you some as well, while he bends at the waist, resting his knees on the floor and taking the cloth to your core, cleaning you as gently as he could before moving onto Art. Tossing the cloth to the corner of the room he pulls both you and Art into his embrace, enjoying the quiet for a moment before you break the silence.

“Round two? Whoever makes me cum harder gets to fuck me here first.” You smile slyly, placing your hand on your ass, giggling when Patrick snatches you from Arts hold, muttering something about how he ‘got you first last time and that it’s his turn now.’

#◜ caitee’𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 ✎ ˚✧ ꜝ #challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers x reader #challengers imagine #challengers smut #challengers x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig smut #mike faist x reader #mike faist smut #josh o’connor x reader #josh o’connor smut #dividers by cafekitsune

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ellecdc · 2 months ago

Text

The Bolter

Sirius Black x fem!reader who meet again [5.5k words]

prompt: poly!wolfstar or just Sirius x reader in which they were friends with benefits but it was obvious they loved each other even though they acted like they weren’t. Then, reader finds out shes pregnant and before telling them, they do something stupid. so reader runs away for a few months. When she comes back (only bc she had to for some reason) shes like 6-7 months pregnant

CW: secret pregnancy, angst, FWB to strangers to lovers, second chance fic, post war trauma, both Sirius and reader are meeesssssssssssyyyyy in this! I don't approve of what they've done but I understand it

“So…she’s coming back?” Sirius asked cautiously, focusing more on the condensation pooling on the coaster underneath his pint than the concerned gazes of his two best friends.

“Well, I don’t know if she’s coming back, but she’ll be here for Harry’s birthday.” James mollified, sharing a nervous look with Remus.

“Right.” Sirius murmured around a swallow; throat tight and dry though neither the pint nor the pitcher of water in front of him looked as though they’d be able to help him with the matter.

“Are you going to be alright?” Remus queried, and Sirius offered him the most arrogant scoff he could muster; he missed by a long shot.

“Of course I’m going to be alright.” He huffed. “Why? Can’t two friends see each other after five and a half months of silence?”

“Sirius-” James started, but Sirius carried on.

“She’s the only one who’s been silent, you know?” Though he knew that they did indeed both know. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried reaching out.”

“Pads.” Remus offered consolingly, looking frustratingly like he was going to reach a hand out to Sirius as if he were some over tired toddler on the brink of a meltdown.

“Stop, no I- I’m fine, honest.” He insisted as he took a steadying breath. “I- you… talked to her, then?”

James and Remus shared another look before James allowed the segue.

“Mostly by owl, but she has spoken on the phone with Lily a few times.”

Sirius nodded as he considered this; considered the number of owls Sirius had sent that had gone unanswered - perhaps even unopened if the silence meant anything at all.

“She’s…okay?”

Remus let out a sigh as he shot Sirius a tight smile that looked more like a grimace. “She’s…vague.”

“She doesn’t share a whole lot.” James agreed. “Says she’s fine, things are good. Mostly asks about…all of us, Harry.”

“She’s still staying with that great aunt,” Remus added, “helping her with the property.”

“She seeing anyone?” There was no point in pretending that wasn’t the most pressing matter in Sirius’ mind; of course it was. And as angry and bitter as the idea made Sirius, it would have been his own fault, his own doing. He had no one to blame but himself.

And he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing he was the one who let you slip away - pushed you away - right into the arms of someone else.

“Not that she’s mentioned.” Remus responded honestly; he couldn’t say for sure that you weren’t, but if you were, you clearly hadn’t said anything about it.

“Right.” Sirius offered shortly.

“Pads, I…we would understand if it's too hard for you to see her. If you can’t come-”

“Don’t be daft.” Sirius scoffed deploringly. “I’m not going to miss my godson’s birthday. If anyone should be missing it, it should be her; I’ve been here for the past four and a half months, she’s the one who fucked off for good.”

“Sirius-”

“I don’t understand why you had to invite her!” Sirius shouted then, startling even himself when he realised how breathless he sounded all of a sudden.

James smiled at him sadly; Sirius wished he’d stop doing that. “We wanted all of Harry’s uncles and his aunt to be there, Sirius…it’s important, yeah? We…we almost didn’t get this chance.”

Sirius could feel a wicked migraine coming on; between talking about you, the close calls and the fact that the group of you were all alive following the war by nothing but chance, and the fact that the person Sirius was most angry with was himself, he downed the rest of his pint and flagged the server in favour of having to look at the pitiful gazes being shot at him by Remus and James.

Sirius couldn’t tell if he was eager for Harry’s second birthday or dreading it. But like it or not, Sirius was going to be seeing you again.

It had felt like a good idea at the time.

It felt beyond foolish now, but it had felt like a good idea at the time.

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

“Sirius, we just won. We just won, why do you have to leave now?” You practically begged as you followed Sirius through his flat.

“Because if I don’t get out now, I’m going to be stuck here for eternity.” He all but spat at you as he shoved articles of clothing into his duffle rather haphazardly. You felt like grabbing the bag from him and folding them properly if the act wouldn’t leave you feeling like you were aiding and abetting his abandoning you.

“But what about James? And Remus? What about Harry? You fought this war for them, and they for you - we just got them back!”

“And they’ll be here when I’m ready to come home!” Sirius shouted; turning to look at you with wild, red rimmed eyes.

“What about me?” You asked quietly, hating how small you sounded.

“What about you?” He asked; face falling painfully neutral. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was occluding.

“I…I don’t know.” You started awkwardly, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought…maybe we’d have a chance now. To try?.”

“Y/N.” Sirius sighed as he rubbed harshly at his eyes; entire being oozed exhaustion at having to have this conversation with you. “Have I not been entirely clear about what this was between us?”

“Right.” You agreed quickly, biting roughly on your lip and looking anywhere but at him as he let his hand fall away from his face.

“It’s…it’s not you, doll-” but even your humourless scoff didn’t derail him “I’m not the kind to settle down and be content I- I wouldn’t be enough for you.”

“I’m not asking you for any more than what we have, Sirius-”

“Yes you are.”

“-I just want you to stay.”

“That’s too much for me.” He stated; his voice never raised though he may as well have screamed it at you. “I cannot sit here and play house, I cannot be that guy for you.”

“Cannot or will not?” You asked quietly, regretting the question the second it came out of your mouth and he looked at you with nothing but pity in his eyes.

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry I asked.” You let out with a chuckle as you harshly wiped tears from under your eyes.

“It’s…it’s not forever, yeah? I just…I can’t see myself being happy here…not right now, at least; not for a while.”

“Where will you go?” Your voice grated painfully as it came out, but you tried to keep an air of nonchalance about you. You wouldn’t look at him, but you could see his shoulders shrug helplessly.

“I don’t know…everywhere. Anywhere.”

Anywhere was better than stuck here with you, apparently.

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is.” You offered, and you found that you meant it. As much as it hurt to say, you really, really meant it. Sirius had been fighting and running his entire life, and he finally won. If he wanted to celebrate his victory by taking off to be that rich, vague uncle who popped by with lavish gifts every so often, who were you to deny him?

You loved him.

You were in love with him.

You loved him enough to let him go.

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

He had sent James a postcard a few weeks later. Turns out he started in the South of France; his family had a home there that had been left untouched by the war, and Sirius was going to start by figuring out what to do with the property.

And you? Well, you found out you were pregnant.

You suppose it was a small mercy that Sirius wasn’t here to know; you’re sure it would have hurt more hearing him tell you he was leaving if there were two of you he couldn’t find it in him to love. You would have hated it even more if he felt trapped into staying with you just for this.

But all this meant was that you couldn’t stay, either.

You supposed that was alright, though; the life you wanted to build here was with Sirius. You loved your friends, but you had a little one to think about now, too.

You made up a story about a great aunt needing help tending to her property and wishing to be closer to your relatives now that you could be, now that it was safe. No one questioned it, likely because Remus had done the same following the war; moving back home to help his dad and ailing mother tend the property in whatever ways he could.

You found yourself a little cottage, you wrote to the boys and had the occasional phone call with Lily, and you grew.

It had felt like a good idea at the time.

But now you were almost six months pregnant and returning home for the first time since you moved to celebrate your nephew’s birthday with all of your closest friends, the love of your life whose child you were carrying, and none of them knew.

You wondered if you should even go, but the thought of missing out on sweet Harry’s second birthday that the lot of you almost never got the chance to see made your throat constrict with tears you refused to shed since the war.

You wondered if you should tell everyone before you arrived, but the thought of them all discussing you and your pregnancy without you being there left you feeling small and ashamed.

You wondered if you should tell Sirius, but you looked over at the stack of unopened letters he had sent to you in the past four months - the first thin, perhaps a postcard, the second and third were thicker, the fourth was by far the thickest (like he had drafted an autobiography that he wanted you to proofread for him), the fifth was similar to the second, whilst the sixth (the last) couldn’t be more than one page - and wondered how the hell you’d even start that conversation after all this time.

Hey, remember me? Yeah, the bird who caught feelings during our friends with benefits situation that we both agreed would remain platonic amidst a battle for survival and then begged you to stay with no success? Well, whilst you’ve been off probably shagging every beautiful woman across the British Isles, I’ve been pregnant. Right, with your child. How was France, by the way?

You swallowed around your gag reflex and groaned at your image in the mirror. You put on a pair of gingham pants with the baggiest band-tee you could find, planned on sucking in the best you could if anyone (when everyone) insisted on a hug and hoped to every deity that they all just assumed you’d been eating really well since the end of the war.

You smoothed the fabric over your bump one last time before you left - looking at the proof that, if nothing else, you were protecting more than just yourself, and you let that be enough - before you grabbed Harry’s birthday present and called for Potter Manor, throwing a fistfull of floo powder into your fireplace and travelling by way of the flames.

You could hear Harry squealing in delight in one of the adjacent rooms as you stepped into the floo reception room at Potter Manor; a smile taking over your face uninhibitedly at the sounds of the people you loved more than life itself, happy and celebrating.

How could you have gone so long without this?

“Y/N!” Lily shrieked as she made for you, and you sucked in before returning her hug. “Merlin, you're glowing! Where’s your aunt's place again?”

“Erm. Killarney.” You offered; not entirely untrue - you did have an aunt in Killarney.

“Well,” she let out with a breath, eyes turning a touch glassy as they darted across your face, “it seems that Irish air’s been for you.”

You smiled back at your friend before pulling her back in for another hug. “I’ve missed you, Lils.”

“Don’t let it go so long next time, yeah? We can come to you, too; I’m teaching James how to be a muggle, and Harry’s only had the odd burst of accidental magic yet. We could play the part in front of your aunt.”

“I’d love that, Lily.” You responded earnestly.

“Y/N!” James hollered then before you were being bodily tackled by the former quidditch chaser, a brief flash of anxiety at his hold around your stomach abating only when he relinquished his hold on you. “Where in the sodding hell have you been!?”

“Killarney.” Lily answered for you.

“I love Killarney!”

“Have you ever been to Killarney, Prongs?” Remus asked then, appearing in the door as he leaned against the archway.

“No! But I love it there! I just know it!”

“Hey Moony.” You greeted, quickly accepting his open arms and breathing him in.

“We’ve missed you.” He murmured into your hair, and you couldn’t help the traitorous hitch in your heart that he might’ve meant-

“Uncle Pafoo!” Harry squealed, suddenly standing right underneath you.

“That’s right, Haz!” The voice that haunts your dreams called out. “Auntie is here!”

“Hullo, Harry!” You cheered as you picked him up, sucking in before settling on your hip. “Happy birthday, little dude.”

“Am two!” He announced as he held up four fingers.

“You are two! Way to go!” You laughed. “Is everyone here?” You asked the room, shooting Sirius a tight smile so you couldn’t be accused of hostility when your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason.

He looked tired - a bone deep tired that no amount of sleep could rectify - and the bags under his eyes seemed to be chronic. But he was still so beautiful; his hair had grown slightly longer since the last time you’d seen it, the last time you’d run your fingers through it, the last time you’d brought sheers to it, and he donned more than a few new tattoos if the few you could see were enough to go by.

You had to look away.

“Reg’s going to be by after work; his part-time student called in sick so he needed to be there to close the shop himself. Thankfully, they’re only open in the morning on Sunday’s.” Remus explained kindly.

“Good, it’ll be nice to see him.” You offered, and the room fell slightly awkward.

“Uncle Pafoo, aeroplane?” Harry asked then, and whatever exhaustion seemed to be plaguing Sirius vanished as he beamed at his godson.

“Absolutely, little man!” He agreed, holding his arms out and taking Harry’s weight from you.

“Do you want something to drink, Y/N? Wine? Beer, Cider? Juice? Water?” James rapid fire, causing Lily to groan.

“We just got her back, Potter. Do try to control yourself.”

“Water would be great, Jamie. Thank you.” You laughed, following the group into the open concept kitchen-to-living room.

Save the fact that you and Sirius seemed to be doing acrobatics to avoid each other, you were almost stunned at how easy and natural being back here felt. Regulus returned and the two of you shared friendly jibes, Lily caught you up on all of the drama at the Ministry, James strong armed you into agreeing to join them for their next pub quiz night, and Remus said that your old professors all wished you well.

You loved your cottage - the home you’d built for yourself and your little one - but you found yourself feeling homesick for here, and you hadn’t even left yet.

You were leaning on your elbows against the kitchen island, watching Sirius and Regulus pretend to be knights in shining armour as they fought off a fire breathing dragon (Harry) to save the princess (James) when Remus appeared beside you and mirrored your stance.

“It’s not the same without you, you know?” He murmured then.

“But they seem to be alright.” You responded simply, and Remus allowed the two of you to fall into silence for a few beats.

“How far along are you?”

You stood up straight and turned to stare at him in horror, only to see him smiling kindly at you.

“How do you-”

“Lycanthropy - I could smell it on you.” He said with an embarrassed wrinkle of his nose. “I knew Lily was pregnant before she did.”

You shushed him and looked over your shoulder to ensure no one else could hear you.

“Come.” He said with a sigh, gently taking you by the elbow and ushering you out of the sliding doors to the back yard and closing it behind the two of you.

“Remus-”

“Is it his?” He cut you off; his face held no judgement though perhaps just a touch of concern. For you or his best friend/virtual brother-in-law, you weren’t sure.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to clarify who he was talking about; you both knew.

Remus simply nodded as he looked you over. “Is that why you left?”

“He left first.” You hissed petulantly.

“He left you, but you left all of us.” Remus countered somewhat sternly. “Besides, I didn’t ask about him; is this why you left?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because, Remus!” You shouted, tears flooding your vision as you turned to look at him. “Because he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to force him to come back just because… just because.”

“Don’t you think he should have been able to make that choice for himself?” Remus asked gently.

“He chose! He did choose! He told me he couldn’t play house, he told me he couldn’t be this person for me. I loved him enough to accept that. I loved him enough to let him go.”

“Loved?” Remus asked with a tilt of his head. “Past tense?”

“Remus.” You groaned. “Please.”

“He came back for you, you know.” Remus pointed out. “He left you, you left us, but he came back for you.”

“Stop it.”

“It’s true, Y/N.”

“And so what if it is?” You nearly sobbed. “So what if he did, Remus? What can I do? I can’t go back in time and change my mind, I can’t go back and fix this. He made choices, I made choices, and here we are.”

Remus heaved a sigh and looked at you sadly. “I don't think either of you realise that your choices don’t have to remain permanent; there can be an expiration date on them.”

You were catching your breath from your mini temper tantrum when you heard the glass door slide open, both you and Remus turning to see Sirius standing there almost shy - far shier than you’d ever seen him before.

“Just talk to him? Okay? You..don’t have to tell him now, just…talk to him.” Remus whispered before heading towards the door, clapping Sirius on the back before disappearing back into the house.

“Hey.” Sirius offered cautiously after a few beats of silence, coming to stand beside you as the two of you looked over the railing of the patio to the rest of the manor grounds.

“Hey.” You returned dumbly, clearing your throat before continuing. “You…you look good, Sirius.”

Sirius scoffed, and you could feel your shoulder rising before you saw him smirk at you - if not somewhat sadly - cutting you a playful glare from the corner of his eye. “Did you take up lying there in Ireland?”

You let out a breathy half-laugh. “I’m not lying.”

“Then you need glasses. I look like shite.”

“You look tired.” You amended.

“I’m exhausted.” He agreed, and the two of you lapsed into silence.

“You look good, though.” He continued. “Healthy.”

You hummed in agreement. “Funny what not having to run on rations and broken hours of sleep on military cots does for a person.”

“Why haven’t I heard from you, Y/N?” He blurted then, turning his entire body to face you.

“Sirius, I-”

“Everyone else has. You’ve spoken to Lily on the phone. James and Remus have gotten letters. Even Reg got a postcard for his birthday.”

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage to say.

“I wrote to you.” He continued. “Letters, a lot. Did you get them?”

You nodded your head yes shamefully.

“Did you read them?”

You felt your heart splinter at how hopeful and heartbroken he sounded over it. You felt like scum of the earth when you shook your head no, and he let out a sigh.

“I guess that makes me feel a little bit better, then.” He said as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

You found yourself taking a step away from him when you asked “why does that make you feel better?”

He let out a humourless laugh that forced smoke from his lips. “At least now I know that my begging for a second chance, begging you to come home, professing my love for you isn’t what kept you away.”

“Sirius-”

“I messed up, Y/N.” He declared earnestly. “I…I was fucking scared, terrified. I’d spent so much of my life living with one foot on the threshold of hell that after the war, I didn’t know how to live amongst the undead.”

He took a moment to catch his breath as if he’d run all the way here just to tell you something. “And I ran. I bolted, I…”

“You left.” You finished for him.

“I left.” He agreed. “I… I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“Didn’t know what?” You asked as you choked back tears.

“Didn’t know what I had, or what I wanted. Or that I had everything that I wanted.”

“And you do, now? You know what you want?” You asked, and a look of determination painted his features as he met your gaze head on.

“For my entire life, I had never known what family meant, so I wasn’t even aware that I’d created my own with all of you until I’d risked it all. I was so sure I didn’t want to be like my parents that I never realised I may actually…want to be a parent someday. I was so sure I didn’t want to be my father that I never realised I actually did want to be a partner someday. I was so certain I’d never know what true love felt like that I didn’t even realise I had it right here all along with you.”

“Sirius-”

“I messed up. I left. But what I don’t understand is why you did. Or why you stayed away.” He took a step towards you with his cigarette long forgotten in one of his hands, the ash threatening to burn his fingers before you plucked it and stubbed it out on the stone railing. He barely flinched. “Why’d you go?”

“I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you, Sirius. I- it hurt, I was hurt. And then-”

“I’m sorry.” He offered quickly, but you shook your head.

“I’m not telling you this for you to be sorry, I just-”

“I came back for you.”

“But it wasn’t just about me anymore, Sirius!” You shouted then, and you watched his brows furrow before his face fell in horror.

“You’re seeing someone.” He asked, though he phrased it as more of a statement; like he’d been expecting it.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Sirius.” You sighed.

“Then why’d you leave? Why’d you stay away?”

“Because I’m pregnant.” You blurted, and Sirius fell silent. “I’m almost six months pregnant.”

“Six-” He started, eyes falling to your stomach still hidden behind the baggy article of clothing before you smoothed the fabric over your ever rounding bump. “Six months. Six…”

You let him do the maths in the head as he stared hard at your stomach like he was sitting in divination and it was a crystal ball that might just give him the answers if only he stared at it long enough.

“It’s mine?” He finally concluded.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“It’s mine. You’re pregnant, it’s mine.” He murmured, before his eyes met yours again. “You’re pregnant with my child?”

“Right.” You agreed, and he crumpled to a heap on the floor.

“Sirius Orion Black,” Sirius heard Remus hiss, clearly hovering somewhere over him, “I swear to Godric if you do not wake up and eat some of this godsdamned vanilla cake you bought, your brother is going to skin you alive.”

“It’s true.” James agreed from somewhere on Sirius’ other side. “He actually ran to the store when he found out you bought vanilla because he knew Remus wouldn’t eat any of it. Remus is going to get his chocolate cake, and you’re going to get egged.”

“Shut up.” Sirius hissed as he scrunched his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

“How do you feel, mate?” James asked rather jovially as he clapped him roughy on the shoulder.

“Like hell.”

“Why’s that?” Remus joined in.

“Because I was in the middle of a dream and you sods woke me up going on about cake.” He muttered as he opened his eyes, realising then that he’d been propped up on a number of cushions in one of Lily and James’ spare rooms.

“S’he awake?” Lily whispered, and Sirius craned his neck to see you and Lily poke your heads into the room.

“Oh my gods.” Sirius breathed as he sat up, likely far too fast for someone who fell unconscious mere moments ago. “Oh my gods, you’re actually here?”

“Did you hit your head, mate?” James asked as he prodded at Sirius’ head, causing Sirius to swat his arms away as he shifted towards the edge of the bed.

“You’re here.” He whispered as you slowly made your way into the room.

“I’m here.” You offered cautiously, eyes darting around at your oldest friends like there might be some secret threat lurking in the room.

“You’re pregnant…” He tried then, punching the air right out of Lily and James who both spun to stare at you in shock.

You smoothed the fabric of your shirt over your midsection again to expose a very obvious (now that everyone could actually see it) baby bump.

“Oh my gods!” Lily and James chorused, causing Remus to snort.

“You knew, didn’t you!?” Lily accused Remus who held his hands up in surrender.

“Only when she walked in, and not a second sooner.”

“With my child.” Sirius continued, and you nodded at him.

“Y/N.” Lily winced. “You-”

“You sodding scared me!” You shrilled then, grabbing one of the throw pillows James had dumped onto the ground to make room for Sirius and swinging it at him.

“I scared you!?” Sirius shrieked right back, much to the delight of Harry who started banging on the throw pillow that had landed beside him.

“I thought I killed you!”

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry that finding out the woman I’ve been in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months - who was missing for all intents and purposes, may I remind you - is pregnant with my child happened to be a little shocking.” Sirius sneered sarcastically.

“Well I only went ‘missing’ because the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months took off an-” The abrupt end of your statement nearly gave the room whiplash as you cut yourself off mid sentence and stared at Sirius like you’d never seen him before.

“What…what just happened?” James whispered carefully.

“Years?” You whispered then, and Sirius hated every version of himself that deigned to let you go without knowing just how loved you were.

“Probably when we were still just cosmic dust.” Sirius smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t always realise, I’m sorry I didn’t make sure that you knew.”

“I take it to guess there isn’t an aunt in Killarney?” Lily offered then, smiling kindly at you when you turned your attention towards her.

“No, I- I think there actually is an aunt in Killarney, I just don’t live with her.”

“Where do you live?” Sirius asked eagerly, wondering if you could hear it in his voice or even see on his face just how desperate he was to know everything about you.

“Near Tintagel.” You offered abashedly as Remus slapped his hand on his thigh.

“You minx!” He scolded you. “You lived basically across the channel from me this whole time!”

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is” You offered him then, smiling through your tears as Sirius swallowed around his bile threatening its way up his oesophagus.

“I hope it’s nice.” Sirius blurted suddenly, and Sirius thanked the heavens for Remus John Lupin who seemed to understand that the conversation delved beyond the need of an audience, scooping Harry up and closing the door behind Lily, James, and himself to give you two some privacy.

“It’s nice.” You offered wetly. “It’s quiet.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement. “In Tintagel, near Merlin’s cave?”

You laughed, which saw Sirius smiling. “I’m not right in Tintagel, just outside. My neighbours are mostly sheep.”

“Does it have a picket fence?”

“To keep the sheep out of my garden.” You nodded with a smile.

“Flowers; lots of them.” Sirius deduced, you nodded again though Sirius watched your smile falter.

“You’d probably hate it.”

“Are you there?” He asked quickly.

“Well, usually, yes.” You offered, and Sirius shrugged easily.

“Sounds as though it might be my favourite place in the world, then.”

The next breath that left you shuddered on its way out, and Sirius finally stood and met you in the middle of the room; close enough to touch but not daring to. He hadn’t earned that right yet.

“Take me with you?” He all but begged then, and your face crumpled in misery.

“Sirius, I don’t want you to follow me because you have to, I-”

“I don’t have to though, I know I don’t; I know you’d never make me.” He assured you then, lifting a hand but pausing to wait for you to nod at him before he placed it on your upper arm. “The letters, Y/N, I- I’ve been looking for you for months.”

A sob tore through you as you lowered your head, and Sirius allowed himself to catch it in his free hand.

“I don’t want you to feel bad; I’m not telling you so that you feel bad, love.” The endearment falling off his tongue so easily now that he had you in his arms. “But I need you to know that I want you - any of you, all of you - and have for a very long time.”

“It’s just…you said-” and Sirius knew exactly what he said; he had played that conversation over and over and over in his mind until he found himself sick over it more than once. But we waited for you to tell him anyhow; he’d always wait for you. “You couldn’t settle down and be content, you couldn’t play house; you weren’t that kind of guy.”

“I know, doll. I know.” He whispered. “I…I didn’t think I was capable of it. I didn’t think I deserved everything I wanted and I knew that you deserved better. That you deserve better.”

“But?”

“But I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life trying to prove you otherwise; trying to give you everything you deserve.”

“Sirius…” You sighed, and Sirius could see your walls cracking. “I…I’m-”

“Take me home? Please?” He begged then, words interrupted by a sob of his own. “To Tintagel, to Killarney, to bloody fucking Azkaban or the bottom of the sodding ocean, I don’t care where it is just as long as it’s with you, please. Please.”

Your hands landed on Sirius’ chest and he was sure you could feel his hummingbird heart beating under your fingertips. He only hoped you knew how it beat for you.

“Please bring me home?”

James didn’t know if he could consider this a success or not.

His motivation was not singular; it was a ‘hit two fairies with one gobstone’ sort of scenario, so to speak. Was his son turning two? Indeed he was! Was James throwing a party for said son’s birthday? You’re damned right he was. But was it also a really good excuse to force two of his idiot best friends into the same room again? Absolutely.

Except James seems to have gotten slightly more than he bargained for; Sirius falling unconscious in his childhood backyard, you sobbing into Lily’s shoulder out in the hallway as he and Remus tried to bring him back from the dead, Remus sneering at a slice of birthday cake like it personally offended him and Regulus threatening to defend his boyfriend’s honour, and - apparently - a new niece or nephew coming in the next three-ish months.

But when he looked over to see you and Sirius emerging from the spare room - both of your faces tear stained and puffy from the grief and torment you no doubt put yourselves through - hands intertwined between your bodies and your hand resting protectively over your growing bump, and a spark in Sirius’ eyes James had thought he lost in the war but now realised he only lost when he lost you…

…yeah, James figured he could probably consider this a success.

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