#*picks you up by the scruff of your jacket*

[spitinsideme]

Okay, now I really want to see Ragatha dressed up as LADY DIMITRESCU.

SO RIGHR SO TRUE HERE SHE IS .. RAGATBA AS LADY DIMITRWZCU AND POMNI AS ETHAN WINTERS .. shes picking her up by the scruff of her jacket because shes tiny

[lustkillers]

Would love to see some content for Simon from Dinner in America or Colin Gray, you’re more than welcome to pick the subject matter, preferably female reader

｡ﾟ･ ୨୧ . i owe you a black eye and two kisses.

⊹₊ ⋆ summary. - oh, how he's missed his girl during his time away.

⊹₊ ⋆ pairing - simon / john q x fem!reader

✶ c.w. - nsfw freaky deaky time!! hard?dom simon, sub!reader, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP.), p in v, car sex (in a volkswagen beetle...), public sex, STOMACH BULGE!!! facial, throat fucking-ish, degradation—but also praise, cowgirl position, overstimulation, hair pulling, very cutesy fic... (let me know if i missed anything!)

⊹₊ ⋆ note - back from the dead (laziness) and kicking it!! i hope i did this request justice as i haven’t written in so long… WHOOPS. its been literally ages since i wrote smut so i apologize if i’m rusty as hell doing this… PLEASE FORGIVE ME. anywho… LUSTKILLERS IS SO BACK BABY 🙂‍↕️

requests are open! <3

THE night was cold and you couldn't be more bored out of your mind. the windows of your red volkswagen beetle were down, the distinctive smell of the car gas filling the air around you. your leg bounced, the keys that consisted of plenty of keychain accessories clinking against each other, and your eyes traced over the rusty, tall fence that you probably counted all the diamond-shaped holes between each steel bar. how long have you been here? an hour? hour too early?

at the rate of biting at your own cheek unconsciously, there was probably a dent that was left inside your cheek from how much you've bit down on it. turning your palms over was a nightmare; your hands glistening with sweat from anticipation. you wanted to look the best. you wanted everything to be perfect.

you couldn't even remember how he ended up here; maybe you blocked it out. slightly tragic on your end, watching as your boyfriend was cuffed and put into the back of a cop car, the last thing you experienced together was your fingers loosely holding a cigarette for him. that feeling left you empty... and a bit sexually frustrated, due to the fact that he had promised to fuck you real good after his performance.

a masculine silhouette stood at the goddamned fence that you loathed, your eyes shooting up at the whirring sound of the mechanical fence sliding to the right, leaving the figure to leave. you let go of the cigarettes that laid in the cupholder, your slippery hands moving to unlock your car.

with a frustrated yell, you quickly wiped your hands on the seats on your car, restoring the dryness that easily helped you unlock your god forsaken car. you opened the door, ducking under the slight top ledge that you've hit your head on plenty of times. you were giddy like a child receiving their gifts on their birthday– squealing as you shut the door behind you and stood in front of the driver's side door, bouncing on the tips of your toes, and a smile spread across your face.

simon had that stupid smirk on his face, scruff all over his face, and his hair slightly grown out from the last time you saw him. he also had the same clothes on from the last time, the green jacket and black pants with the boots. it felt like the first time all over again, and god, that outfit made your pussy throb, and your knees were moments away from bucking and landing onto the dirt ground.

"didn't i tell you to get rid of that goddamn car? looks stupid, the ladybug print and all." simon said gruffly, a slight smirk creeping onto the corners of with lips, his siren-like eyes peering down at you.

you looked up at him with a slight pout and doe eyes, "i think it looks cute." you mumbled in defense. his eyes gleamed with a predatory look on you. cute, he thought. but what left his lips was just a mere scoff, his smirk turning into a smile... which was still somehow intimidating if you think about it.

"looks like a kiddie car, that's what it looks like." he taunted, making you playfully roll your eyes.

you huff, "i'm gonna punch you in the face... leave a black eye while i'm at it." your voice taunting, yet not really sincere. he only chuckled in response, "c'mere." he moved towards you, his lips swinging down to kiss yours, kissing away the pout that now disappeared.

his rough, big hands wandered towards your ass, gripping it with no intent of letting go. simon's kisses were one of a man deprived of lust and yearning, and he wasn't planning to let your breathe for air. his hands roamed around your backside, his feet pushing you back towards the silly-looking car, his right hand pulling at the door handle, swinging the door open.

simon's eyes opened from the kiss, his frustration growing from the lack of the backdoors your car had. he let out a groan, his lips unlatching from yours, his jaw clenching as he softly moved you aside, bringing the drivers seat forward so you two could hop in the back. his pants strained against his bulge, and the whine that left your lips made it even worse.

"give me a moment doll, your car is pissing me off." he grumbled, watching his head as he hopped into the small car, with you behind him, closing the door. he was sitting with his legs spread, you in front of him with little to no space at all, on your knees, which were already feeling rough from the material of the bottom the car.

you and simon made no time to push down your pants, his hands unbuckling the shiny belt that clinked once it unfastened from his waist, and your hands helped slide them down, his thick, long cock springing free, and you could've sworn your eye twitched at the sight. with the way he looked down at you and the non-existent space you left between your face and his cock, the feeling between your thighs released itself like a flood; your thighs pressing together in instinct.

"god, if you don't hurry it up, i might take matters into my own hands." he groaned out, swallowing dryly as his hands gripped at your hair; making you squeak out a quick 'sorry,' and your tongue quickly laid flat against the side of his cock; a hiss escaping simon's pretty lips. "fuck," he groaned.

you worked your way around his cock, your head bobbing up and down, trying your best to keep eye-contact with him as you bobbed. spit drooled down the sides of your mouth; the liquid pooling at the base of his cock, slowly sliding down his strained balls; the sounds of his grunts and low groans filling the small car.

he felt your right hand shift towards your sopping pussy; mewls leaving your lips as you rubbed your clit, heightening your senses, but also making you focus less on working his cock. simon noticed it, his grip on your hair turning into a makeshift lever, the control reeling to him as he started to guide your head up and down, his cock spearing at the back of your throat, hitting past the uvula. the feeling made you gag, spluttering more spit around his cock, the sight being messy as ever. he pulled your head from his cock, your right hand leaving your clit in response, and as your lips left his cock, it making you gasp out in air; your eyes watering from the intense throat-fuck that was definitely going to leave you sore, along with your poor legs that were soon to fall victim to his fucking.

"si, give me a moment–" you squealed, making simon laugh as he pulled you up onto his lap, laughter leaving from both your lips. "tryna get me put in jail again, doll? fuckin' in front of the prison i just got out of?" he smirked, his forehead touching yours.

"not my fault, si– oh!" you hum in response, which quickly turned into a gasp– which finally turned into a moan, his cock knowingly filling your tight walls. his hips piston upwards, his cock hitting the deepest part of your cunt. his hands held at your hips, guiding you up and down on his cock, creating a white, creamy ring around the base.

the car windows immediately fogged up, heat and sweat glistening on both your bodies, the occasional cocky laugh simon let out settled into your ears, making you shiver. your hips worked at a sensual speed, grinding and bouncing, alternating between the two, moans spilling from your lips.

his lips shut your moans up for a bit, before pulling away and murmuring, "so pretty bouncing on my cock, like the slut you are." he smiled against your shoulder, placing a kiss against it as he looked at you, babbling and panting. "feel that?" he whispered, pressing down on the bulge his cock made in your stomach, immediately making you start to crumble.

you looked at him, your hips started to falter and grow slower, your legs tired and your thighs shaking as the pressure built up, waiting to burst out. but you tried to keep your pace going, your hands on his chest as you whimpered.

your lips tried to form a sentence, only letting out broken words. "c–cum... i needa– hmph!" you cry out, feeling the vibrations of simon's chuckle. "can i–?" you whimpered, moments away from crying in frustration.

his lips captured yours once again, making you come undone. you came around his cock, clenching as your thighs tried to close at the feeling; high-pitched moans leaving your lips as you were sent into a fruitful bliss. "haah–! t-thank you, si!" you sigh, your hips stuttering, still lazily grinding, praying to god that simon finds his release, or you'd probably lose it.

simon groaned, nearing his release as he fucks up into you, your overstimulated pussy weeping and soaking. "m'gonna cum," he exhaled, and at his words– he came, but he planned to cum on your face, his hands making quick–but safe work, one shot of cum shooting inside your cunt, and when you blink, you're already on your knees, hot spurts of his warm cum hitting your face, your eyes closing. he let out a hoarse breath, "that was fuckin' tits," he laughed, hunched over. his cock started to soften, his hands making quick work and grabbed the cigarette pack and paper towel that sat inside the cup holder. he ripped a piece of paper towel, wiping your face... decently clean, but it was the effort that counted.

your eyes fluttered open to look at him, a smirk on his face as a lit cigarette hung from his lips, his rough hands cupping your face and stroking his thumb across your fucked-out cheeks. "you're one of a kind, y'know that?" he let out a sigh, fixing your clothes back on you, and pulling you up to straddle him again sharing a kiss, which tasted like cigarettes, but you didn't mind. you never had a problem with him and he never had a problem with you. the world revolved around you both and nobody else. his eyes twinkled at the sight of your eyes, and his face softened.

"ditto." you whispered, smiling.

[lubdubology]

Soft Edges

SYNOPSIS: Logan doesn't know how to relax. So you help him.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader (Although minus the quick blip mention about the Void, you could imagine any Logan you'd like)

WC: 2K

WARNINGS: sexually suggestive innuendos; non-explicit descriptions of nakedness; playful banter; kissing; mild swearing; feeeeeelings; honestly, just tooth rotting fluff

A/N: I haven't written anything four hundred and eighty years seven years and I'm honestly kind of nervous about this. I thought my writing muse was long dead and buried. But here it is, seemingly revived. The idea for this story kind of just fell out of my head when I should have been napping while my toddler napped. The story won out. I hope you like it! <3

You wake with a jolt to the sound of Logan’s alarm blaring from his phone. From beside you comes Logan’s low, “Ah, fuck,” before silence reclaims the room. 

It’s early, the first rays of morning light just barely peeking above the horizon. You roll over and peer over your pillow to find Logan pulling on a pair of jeans. 

“I thought you were off today,” you mumble sleepily, laying your head back down and admiring the way his muscles move as he slips a shirt over his shoulders. 

He looks back at you with a soft smile. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, continuing to dress. “Picked up an extra shift at the yard.”

Since returning from the Void, Logan had picked up a smattering of odd jobs to earn money. A couple of months working at a quarry. A per diem for a local contracting company. Currently a lumber yard thirty minutes outside of town. Despite notoriety for helping save the entirety of existence, some employers still had qualms about hiring someone from another universe. Not that he cared. You think he was just happy being useful. 

You reach for him and pull him down for a kiss. You can feel the curve of his smile against your lips and it’s these soft moments about him you love the most. “Do you even know how to relax?” you ask, snuggling back down against the rumpled sheets. 

“I relax,” he replies, standing up to grab his boots at the end of the bed. 

You can’t help the snort that escapes from you. “Name one thing you to do relax,” you counter, watching through half lidded eyes as he sits back down on the bed to lace up his boots. 

Logan pretends to think about it and then smirks. “You.”

He chuckles as you whip his pillow at him, your aim off as it sails harmlessly past his head and onto the floor. You hide your smile as he looks down at you, his eyes warm but still tired. “Relaxing really ain’t my style, sweetheart.” 

“You deserve it though,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Logan looks down at you for a moment, his smirk fading as something softer settles in his expression, but he doesn’t respond to your statement. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, straightening out the collar before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

You watch him leave and as you settle down to steal a couple more hours of sleep, you hatch a plan to show him just how nice relaxing can be. 

+++

You hum to yourself as you cook, the aroma of roasted potatoes and chicken filling the apartment. You’re just about to start on the green beans when you hear the jingle of Logan’s keys in the lock and the door swings open with a heavy creak. 

“In here, babe!” you call from the kitchen. 

“I could smell this all the way downstairs,” he comments, tossing his keys on the counter. “What’s this for?”

Logan wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against his frame, nuzzling his nose where your neck and shoulder meet. With a smile, you reach back and lightly scratch your nails through the scruff along his jaw. He smells like sawdust and smoke as you press a light kiss to his cheek. 

You savor these moments with him. When you’d first met him, he was distant and wary, years of trauma causing him to be guarded. He warmed up slowly, his touches lingering longer and his words spilling more freely. But now, moments like this—where he’s soft and affectionate—have become more frequent. Logan craves touch and you are more than willing to reciprocate. 

“I thought you could use a nice dinner,” you say, your hand still tracing the line of his jaw. “Long day?”

Logan lets out a low grunt in response, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “One of those days where every idiot with a hammer thinks he can DIY,” he mutters, his breath warm against your skin. 

You smile and give his head an affectionate pat. “Well, you’re home now and I’ve got everything handled here. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Sure you don’t need help?”

“You try and help me, and I’ll beat you with this spoon,” you tease. 

Logan laughs and raises his eyebrow. “Promise?”

You smirk, giving him a playful nudge to the ribs with your elbow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Logan.”

Logan’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind of smile that softens all his sharp edges. He gives your waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his fingers lingering just a beat longer. “Alright, alright,” he says holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just go wash up.” 

As Logan retreats to the bathroom, you hear the rustle of him changing out of his work clothes and the thud of his boots as he tosses them to the floor. You finish dinner, resuming your quiet humming as you set the table. You finish plating everything when Logan emerges, work clothes changed for a fresh t-shirt and jeans. 

“Come eat, Lo.”

He joins you at the table and gives you an appreciative look as he sits down. “This smells incredible.”

You sit across from, watching as he takes the first bite, a prickle of anxiety setting along your spine as you wait for his reaction. A low groan of pleasure rumbles in his throat. “Fuck, this is good.”

A grin spreads across your face as he takes several more bites like a man starved. “I experimented with the cast iron skillet,” you comment as you watch him. “Looks like it was a solid impulse purchase.”

The two of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying the meal and sharing small pieces of conversation. Logan helps himself to seconds and as he finishes, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets his gaze on you. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he says, his voice low and warm. 

“I wanted to,” you reply simply. “And, like I told you this morning, you deserve it. Let me help you relax, Logan.”

There’s a pause, his expression softening as your words settle over him. You know he’s not one to ask for much and you can tell his savoring this moment. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” His voice is gruff but there’s a tenderness there that makes your chest ache. 

“A good something?”

He smiles. “The best somethin’.”

You finish dinner, swatting him away when he offers to help clean up and banishing him to the living room. Dishwasher loaded and leftovers put away, you join him on the couch. “Care to indulge me once more?”

He quirks his eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

+++

Logan stares at you dubiously as you lead him to the bathroom and gesture towards the tub. You flash him a grin as a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just a bath, Logan.”

He eyes the tub as if he’s waiting for it to swallow him whole. He crosses his arms across his chest. “I don’t do baths,” he mutters. 

You roll your eyes and place your hand on his chest, gently pushing him further into the bathroom. “Yeah, and you don’t relax either. Just humor me.”

Logan gives you a look—half amused, half reluctant—as he allows you to continue to nudge him closer. He reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck and blows out a sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but only if you join me.”

You laugh softly, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin. “Tough bargain, but I accept.”

You turn from him and run the faucet, letting the tap run until you find the temperature sweet spot. Satisfied, you toss in some bath salts, the scent of eucalyptus quickly filling the room. The tension in Logan’s posture eases as you finish preparing the bath, but he still eyes you like he’s not entirely sure what comes next. 

Once the tub is filled, you shut off the tap and turn back towards him. “Okay, now strip.”

Logan smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so this is what you really wanted.”

“You’re not that hard to get naked, Logan,” you say with a laugh. 

He chuckles, but follows your instruction, pulling his shirt over his head. As you join him in undressing, you can’t help but admire his physique, his muscles flexing and gliding beneath his skin. You shimmy your panties down your hips as he kicks off his pants, leaving you both bare. 

You feel his gaze heavy on your skin as you step into the tub and beckon him to join you. He steps in, sitting down so his back is against your chest and he lets out a low groan as the warm water envelopes him.  Wrapping your legs around his hips, you cradle him and feel the tension ease from his muscles. 

“See?” you say, leaning to press a kiss to his temple. “Isn’t this nice?”

Logan peeks up at you and smirks. “The naked woman helps.”

You grab a washcloth and dip into the water to dampen it before running it over his chest. “You don’t have to admit you like it,” you say, rubbing the cloth in gentle circles along his collarbones. “You’re basically a wet noodle in my arms.”

He makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes as you continue to wash him. A comfortable silence surrounds you, soft drops and splashes of water and the faint background hum of your apartment the only noises interrupting your space. You continue to wash him, gently massaging his shoulders, arms, down to the long fingers that know how to play you so well. A deep groan rumbles through his chest as you rub your fingers across the skin in between his knuckles. 

You eventually let the washcloth sink and wrap your arms Logan’s chest. He molds his arms against yours, lacing your fingers together. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and hold him just a little tighter. “You do, Logan. Despite your past, you’re a good man and you deserve someone to help shoulder your burdens.” Your voice is sincere as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Or least help you relax every once in a while.”

You soak until the water cools just enough to chill your skin. Reluctantly, you untangle yourself from him and nudge him to stand. He’s already got a towel slung low across his hips as you step out and he doesn’t even let you grab your own before pulling you close. 

A yelp dies on your lips as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs pressing into the corners of your jaw as he tilts your mouth up to him. He inhales deeply through his nose, his lips moving expertly over yours, his tongue seeking the warmth of your kiss. 

You lean into him, your fingers trailing along his ribs and pressing into the damp of his skin. Logan kisses you once more, a gentle press to the corner of your mouth before he lets you go. 

“So,” he starts slowly, “Now that you’ve shown me how you relax, can I return the favor?”

A mischievous gleam dances in his eyes and he doesn’t give you time to answer before slinging you over this shoulder. Your giggles echo down the hallway as he carries you and he kicks open the bedroom door before setting you down on the bed. You scoot back and stare up at him with an expectant glance.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says with a grin, “My turn.”

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, stalking, death of nameless character

gn reader

Thinking about Gojo bumping into you on his way to buy sweets and getting mortified when sensing how you pass through his infinity like it isn’t even there – touching him hands-first like it’s only normal.

And the way you look at him, all spluttering apologies – without a single clue – how you quickly walk away like it was no bigger deal than mildly embarrassing.

And he’s left there, stunned and stuck to the ground he stood on, suddenly feeling stripped naked.

He had to follow you – naturally. Can’t let the biggest threat to his life just walk around unsupervised. Obviously, he has to keep tabs on you now – every single day – your constant whereabouts, where you work and study and loiter and live, and who you communicate with.

It’s all platonic at first – nothing romantic. He’s stalking you, but it’s for safety reasons. There’s no telling who’d potentially find out about your dormant technique and use it against him.

But keeping his six eyes on you every hour he could spare all day and night of every week, eventually, he can't stop himself from starting to see you as something more than just a threat…

He's not blind to it either – he feels the change in the pit of his stomach – in his heart – in his balls even.

He blushes when you take your clothes off to go shower – needs to swallow thickly, watching you walk about your apartment dressed only in undies and a comfy T – smiles when seeing you dance around to music he can’t hear from where he’s perched on the rooftop on the neighboring building – tugs on his cock to the sight of you touching yourself, trying to time his climax to yours.

He’s not watching you for the right reasons anymore… he knows that, but he just can’t seem to stop.

You’re so normal, he’s obsessed with you. So addictive in your mundane routines. Messy notes, chewing your pen when scrambling for an exam – making another easy-fix dinner – picking up the same hoodie from the floor before throwing yourself out the door to go work your minimum wage job – coming home late only to collapse on the sofa with a random episode of some dumb sitcom playing on the TV.

He wants to be your boyfriend – imagines himself going to your school and sitting next to you in the lecture hall, studying together at cafes, watching movies in bed, wearing his varsity jacket, squeezing your ass as you ride him in someone else's bedroom at a party that got way out of hand, cumming on your face and apologizing for it when you give him head on his birthday.

He’s teetering on thirty and has killed more than he can count – both curses and humans – and here he is – fantasizing about having a college sweetheart who doesn’t even know his name…

It would be healthy for him to stop – he knows that, knows it’s becoming dangerous – but he thinks it might be too late now – all he does is try and get closer…

He thinks about enrolling in one of your classes, thinks about moving into your apartment complex, and then he thinks about taking you.

He’s watching you have a nightcap with a boy he thinks he recognizes from your class – you’re both drunk and it’s obvious where things are going...

There’s a devil and an angel sitting on his shoulders, whispering in his ear – but he can't tell which one’s which anymore. One is telling him to leave – to allow you some privacy... but the other tells him to barge in – to crash through the window and rip the guy’s head off by the scruff of his chin.

There’d be blood on his hands, but at least he’d finally be able to touch you…

He glues his hands together – tries thinking clearly – but closing his eyes only results in seeing you gasping and moaning while getting fucked by someone else and it makes him feel like he’s about to lose his shit.

He performs the rituals with his fingers without even noticing – making the hand gestures – his breathing thick before he mouths the words beneath his breath. “Infinite Void…”

You don’t know what’s happening – you’re drunk and unsure if you should be dialing nine-one-one or an ambulance. The guy you’re with is having a seizure, frothing at the mouth and spasming on the floor until suddenly falling limp.

Your breathing is sharp. You think he’s dead. You throw up. The shock makes the tears stop for a brief moment before you start hyperventilating, crying harder.

You’re shaking, and it’s hard holding the phone still – let alone dial any number. Before you can, there’s a knock on the door.

You’re not thinking clearly, naked and wrapped in just a thin sheet as you rush to greet the sound. You don’t recognize the man, but for some reason, you’re spilling your guts to him anyway – rambling about the dead guy in your bedroom.

You’re panicked, and it only takes a curt minute before you’re throwing yourself at him – hugging him tightly – your hands ice-cold on his neck, skin-to-skin without any respect to his infinity – latching onto him for dear life as if you know exactly who he is and how much he loves you.

But of course, you don’t...

You’re just in shock – having just witnessed a boy die. Completely clueless as to how the man you were clinging to so desperately was going to take you back into that bedroom where that boy was lying and do to you what he was going to do before he killed him.

[ceilidho]

He’s late for his own trial.

You’ve been standing outside the courthouse for what feels like twenty minutes now, tapping your heel on the ground and checking your watch for the umpteenth time. The two of you are already supposed to be inside the courtroom getting set up and going over the details of his case, but instead of grabbing a coffee at the shop across the street and combing over the case notes, you’ll be pressed to even get a couple hissed whispers out between you two before the judge steps up to the bench. 

You think about calling your client again, but that thought quickly evaporates when the sound of muffled heavy metal rumbles out of the gunmetal sedan that just pulled into the parking lot at around thirty miles an hour. You take a deep breath when he parks, already trying to talk yourself out of the bad mood you’re in.

In the back of your mind, you’re about eighty percent sure that there’s no way you’re leaving today without a guilty conviction. When Johnny steps out of the car, the cheap sunglasses obscuring his eyes do nothing to distract from the way he’s obviously hungover. He’s buttoning up his suit jacket from the middle button as he walks up the stone steps towards you, sliding his sunglasses into the breast pocket. 

“Don’t you look sharp,” you remark dryly when he’s close enough to lock eyes with you. You have to force down a shudder that threatens to ripple down your spine at the cocky grin that spreads over his face. 

You’re obviously being facetious. Johnny’s suit is two sizes too small for him—it looks like the last time he wore it was to his high school graduation and he’s grown at least a foot since then—and his shirt and pants are rumpled like he wore them to bed the night before. The scruff sprouting from his cheeks and chin also supports that notion; he’s still rubbing the sleep out of his eye when he walks up to you.

“‘N’ ye look—I wanna say exquisite, but we should probably keep it professional, huh?” 

He winks down at you and the twinkle in his eye infuriates you as much as it ingratiates you. You didn’t spend nearly ten years working your way through undergrad, law school, and years as a public defender to start preening at the attention of the first cute guy you’ve had to represent in your career. 

“I think we passed ‘professional’ after the seventh pass you made at me.”

“‘N’ it won’t be the last. Anyway, stop wasting time—let’s get this show on the road,” he says, side-stepping around you towards the court doors. “I’m not going to jail because someone wanted to flirt with me before my trial.” 

Your jaw drops. He acts like he isn't in this situation because he was accused of holding up a gas station six months ago. You think he’s about to brush past you until you feel a hand plant itself on the middle of your back and push you forward, making you almost stumble into the courthouse. 

“Anyway, we can pick up this conversation in the bog during the break if yer that hot for it,” he murmurs into your ear before you’re separated and searched upon entering the courthouse. Your cheeks do not—absolutely do not—heat up at his tone of voice. 

You’re right in that the two of you barely have any time to prepare. The prosecution is already set up at their table and even the court reporter and judge’s clerk are already present. You squirm at a side-eye from the other counsel, hurrying Johnny over to your table and spending the next ten minutes with your lips practically pressed against his ear.

All throughout the trial, he leans back in his chair and looks like the picture of a petulant child who’s been dragged along by his parent. If you could sink your head into your palms without immediately losing face in front of the judge, you would; all he had to do—and you’d reminded him this for weeks before the trial—was sit straight and not roll his eyes when the prosecution brought up their witnesses. He can’t even manage that.

Somehow though, miraculously almost—and in your defense, even Johnny looks shocked when the verdict is rendered—he’s not found guilty. You’re still a little shell shocked walking out of the courthouse, the sunlight making you squint and then a cup a hand around your eyes. 

He fits a big hand around your waist when you’re about to part ways with him, pulling you back into his chest. Your head whips up to stare at him, ignoring the clench in your belly when his fingers curl into your flesh and that same smug grin quirks up on his lips.

“Why don’t we go grab a drink to celebrate our win, hen?” he suggests. 

“I don’t grab drinks with clients,” you snap, trying to put some distance between you and him. 

Johnny leans down a bit more, always towering over you, until his face is so close that you almost go cross-eyed. “We dinnae have to go out then. We can just go back to my car. Ah can show you how much ah pure appreciate a’ ye did fer me.”

“I don’t need your thanks, I get paid for this—”

“Baby,” he murmurs, stressing the word out, and the moment suddenly feels cramped and intimate, despite the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a crowded parking lot. “Just let me eat ye out in th' backseat.”

You’re stunned for all of ten seconds before you try to glance inconspicuously around the parking lot. It doesn’t look like anyone’s paying attention. Johnny notices it at the same time as you and his smile goes devilish, teeth showing behind his lips. 

“Aye, ah ken that look. Come on—I ken a spot down th’ road where we can park.”

[flowersforbucky]

Idk if you take requests but I love the way you write older logan so I'd love it if you wrote older logan coming home after a long shift of driving the limousine to find reader wearing his flannel and how he reacts <3

old man!logan x reader - 740 ish words

thanks so much for this! i have such a soft spot for older logan 🤧💕 18+ only mdni

warnings/tags: logan refers to himself as your old man, reader can wear logan's flannel but no specific physical descriptions, not explicit but there's suggestiveness/implied smut

Tonight, you find yourself especially grateful that Caliban stays with Charles in the water tower during the night. You're always grateful for this, of course. You don't know what any of you would do without his help.

But tonight, you're even more thankful than usual.

Having picked up a few extra shifts at the diner you work at this week, you've barely had time to do anything except sleep when you've been off the clock. Therefore, dishes have piled up and you desperately need to catch up on some laundry on your day off tomorrow.

In the meantime, you wear nothing but one of Logan's old flannels that hangs low enough to cover the curve of your ass - barely.

As if that isn't reason enough to be glad for the privacy, you can't seem to stop yourself from smelling the collar of the shirt every so often, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of Irish Spring soap and old tobacco.

You'd received a text from him stating he is on his way home almost half an hour ago, so you decided to stay awake until he gets home. In actuality, you'd seen him before you left for work this morning, but it feels like it has been days since you'd been able to do anything other than bid each other quick goodbyes as one of you comes or the other goes.

You stand in the makeshift kitchen of the abandoned smelting plant that you've come to call home, reheating the food that you brought home with you from work earlier. It's dark except for the old TV that stays on near constantly for the comfort of background noise.

You see the limousine headlights flash through the thin curtains that you'd hung up throughout the factory, and you breathe a sigh of relief that he's home as the microwave begins to ding.

He enters a few moments later, locking the door behind him before noticing you leaning against the edge of the kitchen table, next to the food that you have ready for him.

“What exactly did I do to deserve coming home to this?” His voice is tired but still teasing.

“I brought home some leftovers from the diner earlier,” you shrug, nodding towards the plate beside you. “I figured you didn't eat before you left for work.”

He shrugs out of his work jacket, unsnapping the top buttons of his white button down as he slowly walks over to you. His gaze trails from your bare legs and up to your face.

“You'd be right about that,” he admits with a short, low chuckle. “But I'm talking about you wearing this.”

He stands directly in front of you, his hands lightly tugging on the hem of his flannel that graces your thighs.

“This old thing?” You run the palms of your hands up his chest, feeling the hard bulk of his muscles from beneath the smooth material of his button down shirt. When your hands reach his throat, you clasp them around the back of his neck and pull his face closer to yours. “Need to catch up on laundry real bad, it's the only clean thing I could find.”

He hums in consideration, unable to conceal the smirk that forms on his lips in the glow of the TV light. His hands move to your lower back, pulling you flush against him before bunching the loose fabric in his fists.

“I don't think this is clean,” he murmurs against your mouth, the thick scruff of his beard tickling your jaw and sending goosebumps down your spine. You can smell the familiar hint of whiskey on his breath. “In fact, I slept in it just the other night. I'm thinking you just missed your old man.”

“Two things can be true at the same time,” you retort. You did miss him - you always miss him when work and other priorities have to take precedence over time spent together.

“Oh yeah?” He lifts you up the slightest bit by the backs of your thighs, plopping you down on the kitchen table. He nudges your knees open with his own, spreading your legs enough to wedge his body between your thighs. “How about you lay down on this table and let me show you how much I've been missing you, then?”

You glance down at the forgotten plate of food that you'd made for him - it can be reheated again later, you suppose.

••••••

thank you for reading 💕💕

[amorchai]

𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐌!𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑.

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original post was 863 notes.

pairing(s): tasm!peter parker x reader

words: 902

warnings/tags: high school sweetheart vibes, dares.

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“we’re helping you out,” is what your friends had said, a bored lunch game of truth and dare took a step too far, at the expense of you and your crush. lunch was nearing an end, the bell soon to ring and dignify the start of classes, or as you knew peter had, a free period.

you had spent too much time stalling. ever since they had dared you to kiss him you sat in your seat in the cafeteria, staring at the poor boy whose head was too stuck in his book and drinking the strawberry milk from the small carton to even notice.

you had met him on the first day of middle school and ended up in the same high school, your long-term crush. it felt like a book in itself, getting to go to the same school as the boy you fell for, but beside the small talk and smiles in the hall, you were too shy to do anything.

“he’s getting up, you need to do it now.” you cover your eyes while shaking your head, turning away as he picks his head up to stuff his book back in his bag and politely clear up the table, sending the dinner lady a quick wave.

“i can’t, he’ll think i’m crazy,” you state, whisper-shouting beneath your hands. one of your friends grip your forearm with a shake to pull your hold away, “i’m so sure he likes you too,” you tut in disapproval while sitting back.

you lock eyes with him, he’s swinging his bag over his shoulder and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. peter smiles as he passes, a nice nod sent in your direction which is already enough to make you weak in the knees.

“i can’t kiss him in front of the school,” you say after he passes. your friends groan in disagreement, guiding you off the seat and ushering your bag over your shoulder as they force you out the dinner hall and through the corridors leading to peter’s locker.

by the time you make it there, he’s punching in his numbers to open the door, swinging it to reveal the little movie stumps and band stickers across the inside. with another push, your friends nudge you forward, hiding behind the corner wall to peek over as you finally walk towards him.

you feel speechless, knowing what you’re about to do, and instead of talking, you anxiously tap his shoulder while he moves textbooks from his bag and into the locker. collecting his skateboard from inside, his curious glance turns into a soft smile when he notices you. 

“oh hey, y/n. what’s up?” peter asks, turning his body to face you while slamming his locker shut. instead of replying, with the last smidgen of confidence slowly fizzling, you hold onto the scruff of his jacket while leaning up to kiss him.

as you push into him, the nervous movement of your lips faltering against peter’s, his back is pressed against the locker while his widened eyes quickly close to the feeling. you hear the sound of his skateboard hit the floor beneath you before his hands cup your face, his lips responding against yours.

his skateboard could be rolling away now, but peter doesn’t care as he revels in the feeling of your lips against his. turning into a needy makeout, unable to tear away from each other, if peter didn’t have a hold of your face, you were sure you would be falling to the ground.

you don’t know how long it goes on for, time stopping for a moment from the intensity of a spark between you both through the kiss. but the screeching sound of the bell causes you to pull back, lifting your eyelids to see a flushed peter who keeps his eyes shut for a moment longer.

but once they do, his brown eyes gazing into yours, you feel the embarrassment course through you. people start to flood the halls, your bodies moving so your still questionably close and his arms fall to his side after a squeeze to your jaw.

“you don’t know how many times i’ve actually dreamed of that,” peter admits lowly to you, awaiting the giggle from your lips before chuckling fondly himself. your head falls into his chest in a means to hide your face, his body vibrating in laughter lost in the chatter of students around.

“i’ve never seen you so bold before,” peter continues, into your ear as a means of teasing you further. therefore, you pull away with a guilty expression looking back at hm, “my friends made me do it, because i’ve always had this massive crush on you.”

you fail to notice the prideful glint in peter’s eyes at the mention of being your crush, something he’s willing to discuss later, on a date perhaps. “well, let’s keep giving them what they want, yeah?” peter murmurs quietly, a small ‘hmm?’ emitting from your throat which is broken when peter’s fingers force your chin to face him once again. this time your shocked at the feeling of peter’s lips against yours, a quick kiss settled to your mouth. much smaller due to the crowd of people walking past, but enough for your eyes to follow peter’s frame as he walks away with a wink, leaning down for his skateboard while promising to discuss it later.

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amorchai masterlist . taglist form

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[jobean12-blog]

Promise Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 1,080

Summary: Joel is not happy when he finds out you left to go search for something and didn't tell him...

Author's Note: Just a little angry (but soft always) Joel because he's overly protective and needs you to be ok. Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: some angsty bits here and there but only bc Joel is protective and you're his, softness, spicyness and some fluff

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

Joel shoots to his feet with a string of grumbled expletives, intending to go out and start his second search of the day when he hears the sound of soft footfalls on the stairs.

His heart starts to beat wildly as he waits to see who’s at the door. It opens to reveal you, looking as beautiful as ever, and with that his anger reaches its boiling point.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Your entire body startles with a strangled scream and you drop something to the floor. You back up against the wall and search for some light, finally noticing him seconds later.

“Oh my god Joel! Are you crazy?”

Some of his anger deflates at your panicked tone, but not all.

“I’m not the crazy one! Crazy would be leaving for half the damn day and not tellin’ me where you’re off to!”

With a scoff you reach down to pick up what fell from your hands. “I didn’t know I had to report all my comings and goings to you!”

His chest heaves with his labored breathing and he steps closer.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” he warns.

You stay silent as you stuff the contents of your hand into your jacket pocket, trying to skirt past him and into the small space you call home.

He’s had enough, stopping your progress with a firm hand on your waist.

He spins you around until you’re caged against the counter, his arms resting on either side of you, and leans in close.

“Where. The. Hell. Have. You. Been? I’m not goin’ to ask again darlin’.”

You get right in his face.

“I went looking for something ok! And I found it. And I’m fine.”

His eyes sweep over you, assessing you so closely you feel stripped bare.

He doesn’t move away but heaves a yielding sigh of your name.

Your expression softens with a frown and when his head drops toward his chest you tentatively reach for his jaw, pressing your fingers to the patchy scruff to lift his eyes to yours again.

“Joel?”

“I...,” he starts quietly. “I thought somethin’ happened to you!,” he says, much louder now.

His agonized eyes meet yours and after a moment’s hesitation, he speaks again.

“Believe it or not, I care about you. More than you know. The last few hours have been pure hell, darlin.’ You think it’s funny to scare the shit out of me?”

“No,” you answer quietly. “I don’t think it’s funny and I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Then why were you gone all day angel?” he demands.

“Well…I,” you begin hesitantly, then blow out a breath. “I wanted to find some crayons! I found a coloring book the other day but I have no crayons! It took longer than I expected. I thought I would be back before you even missed me.”

When he just stares at you blankly you continue talking, your voice barely above a whisper when you ask, “do you want to color with me?”

He remains quiet and you add, “I’m sorry.”

He nods and slides his hand into your pocket, carefully pulling out the worn box of crayons.

“All that for some crayons?” he muses softly.

“I love to color,” you say with a small shrug. “Don’t be mad.”

Resolute in his anger he doesn’t reply but keeps you caged in, his eyes dropping to your lips.

With tentative movements you brush the fallen hair from his forehead and trace the line of his jaw before pressing a kiss just under his ear.

“I promise I won’t do it again.”

Another kiss, this time lingering on his neck.

He can feel his defenses slipping and against his better judgement he leans into your touch, the feel of you threatening to completely topple his anger.

Your hands start to trail down his chest toward his stomach but he grasps them, dragging you into his embrace.

“Say it again,” he growls. “Promise me you’ll never leave me like that. Never again.”

“I promise Joel.”

He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing the inside of your wrist then letting the other hand slide down your back, satisfied when your breath hitches in your throat.

“Good,” he murmurs, pressing you against his body, lining you up with every inch of him.

A roll of his hips lets you feel his need and your eyes close, parting on a moan.

“Are you still mad?” you ask. “We could color? It might help you relax.”

His head dips slowly, his warm breath fanning your lips before he closes the distance and cuts off your surprised gasp with his mouth. He grabs the back of your neck and commands the kiss, only deepening it when you bite his bottom lip.

His possessive growl is followed by a question spoken directly against your parted, swollen lips.

“Do you see what you do to me?”

His breath shudders in and out, sounding loud in the quietness surrounding you. He works open the button of your jeans, then slips his big hand down the inside of your panties.

“Next time you need somethin’ you come to me,” he says. “I’ll give you everything you need.”

Your head rolls back and your eyelashes flutter against your cheek, your breathy affirmation driving his fingers right where you want them.

He leans down and brushes his lips to the shell of your ear.

“I protect what’s mine.”

The next morning, by the soft glow of the rising sun, you sit on the makeshift bed, your back to Joel’s chest and your knees pulled up with the coloring book resting on them.

“I forgot how small these things are.”

You study his hand. Long, thick fingers dwarfing the green crayon held between them.

“Nah. Your hands are just really big,” you purr. “And I lo…”

“Yeah, yeah. I know angel. You love ‘em.”

“I love, love, love them!” you exclaim, feeling his light chuckle.

You snuggle closer to his warmth and rest your head back along his chest.

“You have to stay inside the lines,” you playfully chide.

“Well, it’s not that easy from this position!” he shoots back.

“I can move over here…”

He tightens his grip, not allowing you to move an inch out of his arms.

“Don’t. I need to keep you close.”

“Forever?” you ask with a giggle.

He gently grasps your chin and tilts your head back to meet his eyes, his expression fierce.

“Forever angel.”

@hiddles-rose @lizette50 @kmc1989 @lorilane33 @blackwidownat2814 @littleseasiren

[haveyouanytime]

Rick Grimes age gap smut plz?

rick grimes smut | minors + ageless blogs dni! cw: age gap (rick is in his early 40s, reader is 20), cunnilingus, penetrative sex, a bit of plot!

bye i was so nervous writing this i've never written smut before !! it’s so jarring to just say certain words but it’s embarrassing to use wattpad words ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ and i'm so so sorry this took so long anon!!!

౨ৎ daily click to help palestine 🍉

Ever since you had found yourself in the prison after being saved from Woodbury, your eyes have always been finding themselves on Rick Grimes. You always admired him from afar as he was always busy with something-- farming with his son, balancing his daughter on his hip, talking with his friends, etc. 

The community wasn’t as visually appealing and vibrant as before in Woodbury, but the difference was noticeable with how friendly everyone truly was. Before, it was a taste of suburban life with the amount of gossip and cliques, but now it wasn’t foreign for everyone to sit at the picnic benches and eat the dinner Carol served. Tonight you sat with Tyreese and his sister, Sasha, since they had become good friends of yours. With just your luck, a few others came to join, including Rick. 

You let the others lead the conversation, falling into a timid position with her gaze on your bowl and a flutter in your heart. But as you listened to the active conversation, your eyes wandered over to Rick. You admired his dark brown hair that fell into waves down past his ears, his scruff that fell below his cheekbone and framed his jawline, and his eyes that matched the sky on a clear, sunny day. He picks at his plate as he listens from his spot down and across the table, his eyes flickering due to the itching feeling he felt of being watched. 

His baby blue eyes caught your observations, meeting yours and making your breath stop and heart race. Your eyes widen and you pretend that your bowl is of much more interest, but his eyes stay on you for a few more seconds. Not long after, you excused yourself and your half-eaten bowl, deciding to call it a night before anyone noticed your and Rick’s interaction or how your cheeks burned afterward. 

After dinner, you went up to one of the empty watch towers. It was always empty and had become one of your favorite spots for peace and quiet. You always left a few blankets up here for the nights you wanted to sleep looking at the stars, and tonight you a few of them out with the same intentions. You sighed while looking up at the dark sky, trying to wash away any nerves you felt during the dinner, but baby blue eyes always seemed to pop back into your memory. 

Suddenly, there was the sound of the door creaking open and boots clicking against the cold concrete floor. You turned, seeing the man that consumed your thoughts. You swallowed the lump in your throat, giving him a soft smile. “Hi.” 

He gives a small grin back, slowly walking towards you with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Hey. I, uh… I always see you up here. I was wonderin’ if you wouldn’t mind some company.” 

“I don’t mind.” You take a step over, letting him stand beside you. He mimics your position, leaning forward and resting his forearms against the flat surface of the open window. A silence falls over you two, only the sounds of trees brustling in the distance, faint chatter of people still having dinner, and the faint groans of walkers that you push aside internally. 

“If you don’t mind me askin’,” He slowly starts, interrupting the serene silence with his deep Southern drawl, “Why were you starin’ at me durin’ dinner?” 

You tense up, hesitating. You can’t seem to look at him, but a wave of confidence washes over you as you answer with a soft voice, “Well… I guess… because I like you.” 

He seems just as caught off guard as you were before, and you can feel his gaze turn to you and trace along your profile. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as his gaze falls to his forearms that lean against the open window. “I dunno. Ain’t you a bit… young for me?” 

“I don’t think so.” You softly respond, turning to face him and watching his reaction with a gentle gaze. A part of you was hoping he wouldn’t have brought it up-- you weren’t dumb, you knew you were barely 20 while he was in his 40s. “Does it matter?” 

He raised an eyebrow, a scoff passing his lips like an airy laugh, “Well, of course, it matters. You’re not mature enough. What would people say about me with a girl that’s young enough to be with my daughter? How would they know you’re the one who made the first move if they see me walking around with a girl half my age?” “Don’t say that. I’m not a baby. I’m an adult. I’m mature.” Your brows furrow, your hands moving to toy with the hem of your shirt, “And it doesn’t matter what they think. People talk and gossip, but if they’re honest, they’ll ask for the truth.” 

He stares into your eyes, a sigh laced with frustration huffing from his nose. “Look. This ain’t right. It ain’t normal. And I can’t be seen as one of those old men who chase after girls like you.” 

Your lips press together as his words echo in your mind. Rick can’t tear his eyes away from yours, especially as your sadness was evident in the way they twinkled with the moonlight. “You… you really don’t see anything with me?” 

His frown deepens, shaking his head as his gaze turns back to his hands. “No. Not like that. Look, I’m not gonna lie-- sometimes, I think you’re attractive. But… it’s just… I’m so much older than you. How could this ever work out?” 

You think, your eyes flickering back out towards the tree-covered horizon as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. When you do finally speak, you turn your gaze back towards him with your voice soft, barely above a whisper, “If you can’t give in and see anything with me, then just give in one night. That’s all I’m asking for.” 

He hesitates, his eyes slowly wandering back to you and down to your lips. You were persistent, that was for sure. "What if I agree to it? What then? Where would this one night lead to?

“I don’t know.” You softly answer, your brows furrowed slightly. “If you still don’t want anything with me after, I’ll leave you alone. Please, just… give me one chance.” 

He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. The offer was tempting, he could admit that, especially as he searched for gaze for any sign of malice behind your offer. Instead, he got lost in your beauty, reminding himself of every reason he fell for you in the first place. “Alright. You get your one night. That’s it. Deal?” 

You only nod in response, your words caught in your throat as your confidence from before disappears at his agreement. Rick suddenly takes a step closer, pulling you into his arms. Your lips parted in surprise as you softly gasped, your hands pressed against his chest. “If we’re doing this, it has to be special. That’s all I’m saying. It can’t be some ordinary fling. I ain’t your average 40-year-old dad, you know me. I’ll make sure you never forget me.”

His hand travels down to your hip, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt so his fingers lightly brush against your skin. His voice is low, a smirk pulling the corner of his lips as he continues, “How does that sound, sweetheart?  A night to remember?” 

You nod again, your eyes flickering back and forth from his eyes to his lips. You whisper, “Please…” Rick leans in, closing the gap between you two. As your lips finally connected, he couldn’t help but admit to himself how much he enjoyed it. Your soft lips, your gentle touch, the way you leaned into him; he felt something stirring within him, an itching feeling he couldn’t give you up after one night. 

You felt yourself melt into the kiss, his lips against yours being just as you had imagined it so many times before. His hands wander to the curve of your waist, his palms against your skin as the fabric bunches up at his wrists. Just as you feel yourself beginning to get lost in the touch of his lips and hands, his mouth slowly trailed down to your jawline, placing warm kisses down to your neck. His breath is hot against your skin, each kiss sending a shiver down your spine. 

You can’t stop yourself from letting out a soft, airy moan, your brows furrowing as you grip his biceps. His hand moves to your back, the other moving to the back of your thighs. He helps you down so you lie on your back atop the blankets you had left before, a small shiver running down your spine as the blankets were cold against the concrete floor. He brushes his fingers along your arms to feel the goosebumps that formed, moving so he knelt between your legs. 

“Relax, darlin’. Let me take care of you.” He lowly spoke, his blue eyes twinkling with the moonlight that peeked in through the window. He helps you slide your boots off, then your jeans. He groans at the sight of just the thin fabric covering your center, his hands slowly sliding up from your calf to your knee. He kneels before you, slowly spreading your legs apart with his large hands on your kneecaps. 

You whimper as the cold air nips at your exposed skin, his hands warm against your legs. He leans down, placing soft kisses on the inside of both your knees before slowly trailing them down your thighs, his stubble brushing against your soft skin. He kissed your mound through your panties, getting a small taste of your wetness and making you softly moan. Your hand moved to rest in his dark hair as he made out with your pussy, sending vibrations as he groaned into the thin cloth separating his mouth and your folds. 

His hands crept up as he continued, sliding under the hem on either side of your hips to slowly work the white fabric down your legs. He groaned lowly at the sight of your wet pussy, discarding your panties haphazardly as he leaned in to kiss along the crevices of your thighs. You whimpered in response, your legs tightening slightly as he purposefully avoided your aching cunt. It quickly turned into a loud moan and a tug at his roots, however, as he finally leaned in, tracing a line with his tongue up your folds. 

He began to suck on your clit, his nose pressing against your abdomen as he kneaded his fingers into your soft thighs to keep them spread. His blue eyes kept their burning gaze on yours, watching and enjoying every reaction you gave. You had had boyfriends in the past, a few in college who showed you a good time-- but God, they hardly were boys compared to the man between your legs. 

You whined, covering your mouth with your hand as he wrapped his arms around your legs, keeping them spread and preventing any writhing. You were slowly reaching your orgasm, your back arching and your chest rising and falling in staccatos with your shallow breathing as the muscles in your thighs tensed under your grasp. Just as you feel the band snap within your abdomen and your head falls back against the blankets as you moan, lewd slurping noises fill the room as Rick devoured like a man starved. 

You panted, catching your breath as you came down from your high, as you felt Rick begin to kiss up your stomach. He pushed up your shirt, helping you slip it off over your head. You sat up, your hands working on undoing the buttons on his shirt from the bottom up. Your hands brushed against his chest as you did, and as he pushed the beige fabric off his shoulders, you sighed at the sight. He had soft muscles, the fair skin covered in a bit of hair, especially his upper chest. 

But the one thing that pulled your attention away from his body or looking up to admire his face again was the strain you saw in his dark jeans. Your hands moved to undo his belt, the clinking sound adding to the tension and excitement between the two of you. With your bottom lip between your teeth, you undid his button and zipper, helping him push his pants and boxers off, exposing him to you. You take him in your hand and stroke, making him groan as he felt heavy and warm in your hand. Just as you move down to take him into your mouth, his hand moves to cup the side of your face. 

“No, no, can’t wait any longer, darlin’.” He grunts, leading you again so you lie on your back. Now he laid atop you, allowing him to connect your lips again. You moved to unclip your bra, slipping it off and tossing it somewhere in the room. Now, as you wrapped your arms around his neck to kiss him back with just as much fervor, you whimpered as you felt your sensitive buds press against his chest. He couldn’t help but move his hips as you made out, pushing his cock between your folds and against your clit. 

You whined against his lips, tugging lightly on the dark hairs at the nape of his neck, “Please, Rick, stop teasing…” 

He quickly gave in, placing one kiss on your cheek before leaning onto his elbow, using his free hand to adjust himself so he pressed against your entrance. He slowly pushed in, watching your reaction. You whimpered and softly moaned, grabbing onto his back as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. Your soft noises mixed with his panting, echoing in the empty watchtower as he slowly began to move his hips back. 

He groaned as he found a slow rhythm, his hands moving to the back of your knees to hold your legs spread apart. He felt your nails scratch along his biceps, your head thrown back to expose your neck to him. Taking advantage of that, he leaned in, placing warm kisses and small bites along your neck. You both were intoxicated by the feeling of one another, not caring about a single thing other than being together and moving in a slow rhythm. 

As you felt your orgasm begin to approach again, your whimpers turned into moans as you clung to Rick. He grunted at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, one of his hands moving so his thumb rubbed against your clit. You gasped and moaned at the added stimulation, quickly becoming undone around Rick. As you moaned and clawed at his back, your back arching off the blankets as the band in your abdomen snapped again. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” Rick moaned, watching as you came under him. Just the sight alone pushed him closer to his orgasm, making him pick up the pace of his hips slightly as he chased the feeling. The quickening pace mixed with the feeling of your passing orgasm made you whimper, overstimulation making you feel fuzzy around Rick’s cock moving in and out of your passage. 

He grunted as he quickly pulled himself out, finishing on your abdomen. He panted, his blue eyes stuck on the image before him-- you lying in a dazed, angelic state. He grabbed one of the unused blankets, wiping your abdomen before tossing it away. He sighed, moving so he lay down beside you on his back. 

As you both softly panted, staring up at the plain gray ceiling of the watchtower. It was silent again, save for the sound of nature and gravel underfoot in the distance. You turned over, looking into his blue eyes again, whispering, “Stay the night?” He nodded, giving a small smile while not moving as you grabbed a blanket, pulling over you two. He pulled you into his side, letting you tuck your head against his chest. Just as you lay beside him, soft and warm, he knew he couldn’t give you up after one night.

[amethystarachnid]

MUTANT BODYGUARD - part I

⤷ JAMES LOGAN HOWLETT

ᯓ★ Pairing: James Logan Howlett x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff and spicy (I mean, it's Logan...)

ᯓ★ Story type: short story

ᯓ★Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ TW(s): Reader has stalkers and crazy fans, said stalker gets inside reader's apartment and Logan uses his claws on him

ᯓ★ Timeline: doesn't follow a timeline in the x-men movies, just...maybe before days of future past?

ᯓ★ Request: not requested

ᯓ★ From: Marvel Bingo, Bodyguard romance x Age Gap

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ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier lover click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn't my first language and this isn’t proof read

You’ve always hated the idea of needing a bodyguard. It feels ridiculous, like some over-the-top celebrity diva move. But ever since your career skyrocketed, the tabloids won’t leave you alone. A role in a blockbuster film, a few chart-topping singles, and suddenly everyone wants a piece of you. The constant media frenzy, the “fans” who somehow know where you live, the paparazzi camping outside your apartment—it’s become too much. When the threatening letters started showing up, your manager insisted on hiring a bodyguard.

You rolled your eyes, argued, but eventually caved. You love your career, but you’re not an idiot. You know when things get dangerous.

So, here you are, pacing back and forth in your living room, waiting for the “best in the business” to show up. The guy your manager picked. No name, no details, just a reputation for getting the job done. Whatever that means.

You stop mid-step when the door opens. In walks a man who looks like he’s seen and survived more wars than any human being should. His hair is a wild mess, and the dark scruff on his face gives him a rugged, almost dangerous look. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and built like someone who could easily break someone in half with his bare hands. He’s wearing a leather jacket, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal thick forearms that have clearly seen some action.

You blink, not expecting…well, this.

“You’re the bodyguard?” you ask, eyes sweeping over him. You were expecting someone in a suit, maybe with an earpiece and sunglasses. Not…a lumberjack biker.

He glances at you with piercing, slightly narrowed eyes. “Logan. And yeah, I’m your bodyguard, sweetheart.”

You cross your arms, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

He gives a half-smirk, the kind that’s both infuriating and somehow annoyingly attractive. “Noted.”

There’s an awkward pause as he looks you up and down, assessing you in a way that makes you want to shrink under his gaze. “So, what’s the deal? You a princess or somethin’? 'Cause I gotta say, this gig doesn’t exactly scream 'royalty.'”

“I’m an actress, actually,” you respond with a touch of sarcasm. “Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

Logan’s unimpressed. He shrugs, clearly not the type to follow pop culture. “Nope.”

You’re not sure whether to be offended or relieved. On one hand, it’s nice not to be recognized. On the other hand, what rock has this guy been living under? You’re practically everywhere these days.

“You can Google me later,” you say, waving a hand dismissively. “I guess I’ll just assume you’re qualified.”

“More than qualified,” he growls, his voice deep and gravelly, like it’s been dragged across the pavement. “I don’t do babysitting, but your manager was…insistent. Apparently, someone out there’s got a real interest in makin’ sure you don’t stick around long enough for the next season of whatever-you’re-in.”

You narrow your eyes at him, irritated by his attitude. “Well, lucky me, right? Having you around means I’ll definitely survive to make another movie.”

He smirks again, this time with more of an edge. “Keep that attitude up, and I’ll have you wishing they got to you first.”

You snort, because as gruff as he is, you’re not intimidated. “I bet you’re a real hit at parties.”

“I don’t do parties.”

“Shocking,” you deadpan, unable to stop yourself from throwing in a bit of sass.

Logan’s eyebrow twitches, but he seems more amused than annoyed by your attitude. “You’re gonna be a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”

“Only if you deserve it,” you quip, sitting down on your couch and crossing your legs. “So, how does this work? Do you stand in the corner looking all broody while I go about my life? Or are you planning on following me everywhere like a lost puppy?”

He scoffs, taking off his jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. “You wish. I’m not here to play lapdog. I’m here to make sure no one tries to kill you. If that means following you around and making sure you don’t get yourself into more trouble than you’re worth, so be it.”

“Comforting,” you say dryly. “It’s nice to know you think I’m worth saving.”

Logan pauses, eyes locking with yours, and for a second, the air between you shifts. His gaze softens just a fraction, enough that you almost forget the gruff exterior. Almost.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were,” he says, his tone quieter but no less intense.

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Well…thanks, I guess.”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Then he glances around your apartment. “You got security cameras?”

“Uh, yeah. Around the building,” you say, still trying to shake off the weird tension between you two.

“Good. I’ll check the perimeter. You stay put,” he orders, turning to leave.

“Oh, sure, yeah, I’ll just sit here quietly while my life’s in danger,” you call after him, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Don’t worry about me.”

Logan stops at the door and looks over his shoulder with that damn smirk again. “I won’t.”

As he walks out, you can’t help but shake your head. This is going to be a long job.

The first couple of days with Logan are…interesting, to say the least. He’s always there, a constant shadow, but he’s not the hovering type. He gives you space, but you can feel his presence in the room, always alert, always watching. And the banter—well, that hasn’t stopped.

“You think you could maybe try not to look like you hate being here?” you ask one morning as you head out for a meeting with your agent.

Logan’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, that signature scowl on his face. “This is my happy face.”

“Really? Because it looks a lot like your ‘I want to punch someone in the throat’ face.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. “That’s pretty much the same face.”

You sigh dramatically, brushing past him. “Well, you’re really selling the ‘friendly bodyguard’ vibe.”

“Good thing I’m not here to be friendly,” he shoots back, falling into step beside you.

“Right. You’re just here to make sure I don’t die.”

“Exactly.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”

He shrugs, but you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Logan looks at you, his expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, but I’m growing on you.”

“Debatable.”

But as you both walk out into the chaos of cameras, fans, and flashing lights, you realize he might be right.

The next few days pass in a blur of meetings, interviews, and public appearances. With Logan by your side, everything is under control. He’s always there—solid, unflinching, and frustratingly good at his job. You don’t feel a single ounce of fear when he’s around, but you do feel something else, something that keeps tightening between you two like a stretched wire.

It’s impossible not to notice how Logan moves, how his muscles flex under that leather jacket when he’s surveying a crowd, the quiet, simmering power in his stance. And then there are the looks. God, the looks he gives you. It’s subtle, but whenever you catch his eye, there’s this electric charge, a tension that wraps itself around you both, even if no one else in the room can feel it.

You don’t acknowledge it, though. At least, not out loud. It’s ridiculous. He’s older—way older—and this is supposed to be professional. You’re not some starry-eyed girl who’s going to fall for her bodyguard just because he’s dangerous and good-looking.

Right?

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. But the more time you spend with him, the harder it is to ignore. He’s just so there, so…Logan.

The rumors don’t help either.

It starts with a photo—just one. The paparazzi manage to catch Logan opening your car door, his hand on the small of your back as you slip inside. It’s a simple, professional gesture, but in the world of tabloids, it’s something else entirely. Within hours, the internet is flooded with headlines: Mysterious Man Seen With Actress Y/N! New Bodyguard or New Romance?

You laugh it off at first, but the rumors snowball. Suddenly, every gossip site is buzzing with theories. Logan’s too attractive to just be a bodyguard, they say. You’re spending too much time together. There are whispers about the age gap, about the “forbidden attraction.” Some tabloids get more imaginative—Logan: The Bad Boy Who Stole Y/N’s Heart? or Secret Fling with Older Bodyguard? Inside the Dangerous Romance.

“I can’t believe people are actually buying this,” you mutter, scrolling through a particularly ridiculous article.

Logan’s lounging on your couch, reading through a security report. He doesn’t even look up when he responds. “You’re famous. People’ll believe anything.”

“Yeah, but this?” You wave your phone at him, exasperated. “Secret romance? Seriously?”

Finally, he glances up, his expression unreadable. “You worried about it?”

You snort. “No. It’s just insane. People will say anything for clicks.”

Logan’s silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on you a beat longer than necessary. “It’s not that crazy, y’know.”

You freeze, your heart doing a weird little flip. “What’s not?”

He smirks, just a touch of amusement in his eyes. “You. Me. The rumors.”

Your mouth goes dry. “I—what?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “People see what they wanna see, darlin’. You’re young, successful, in the spotlight. They think you’re gonna fall for the first guy that gives you a little danger, a little excitement.”

You narrow your eyes, heat prickling at your skin. “And you think you give me that?”

Logan’s smirk widens, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on you. “Don’t I?”

Your stomach twists in response. There’s no denying it—there’s something between you two, something you’ve been ignoring for days. Weeks, maybe. But hearing him say it, so casually, like it’s a fact you both already know, sends a rush of heat straight through you.

“Logan,” you start, trying to regain some control, “there’s nothing—”

“Yeah? You sure about that?” His voice is low, and suddenly the space between you feels smaller, like the room’s shrinking, the air thickening. He’s not even touching you, but it feels like he is, the weight of his presence pushing against every nerve in your body.

You swallow hard. “We—there’s an age gap.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, there is. Doesn’t seem to stop ‘em from talkin’, does it?”

“No, but—” You stop, frustrated, because what’s your argument here? That you’re not attracted to him? That you don’t spend half your nights thinking about what it would be like if he wasn’t just your bodyguard?

Logan stands, slowly, and you have to tilt your head up to keep eye contact. His sheer size makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. He moves closer, and your breath catches in your throat as he stops just in front of you.

“Thing is, people are gonna talk,” he says, voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Doesn’t matter what we do or don’t do. So, the way I see it, you got two choices. You keep fightin’ what’s happenin’, or…”

He pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips before slowly moving back up to meet your gaze.

“…you see where this goes.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. There’s no more pretending, no more banter to hide behind. The air is thick with everything you’ve been avoiding—the attraction, the tension, the unspoken desire that’s been crackling between you both since the moment you met.

You take a shaky breath, trying to think through the haze of want clouding your mind. “Logan, this is—this is complicated. We can’t just—”

“Why not?” His voice is rough, raw, like he’s barely holding himself back. “You’re not some kid. You know what you want. So do I.”

There’s a dangerous edge to his words, something primal that sends another surge of heat through you. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity that makes it hard to breathe, let alone think straight.

You try to hold on to logic, to the rational part of your brain that’s screaming at you to slow down. But when you meet his eyes, all dark and stormy, your resolve crumbles.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” Logan murmurs, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper. His hand moves, just a fraction, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you, to pull you close. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Because you can’t tell him that. You can’t say the words when your whole body is aching for something you know you shouldn’t want but can’t stop thinking about.

He steps closer, and the air between you crackles with the kind of tension that makes your skin tingle. “Last chance, sweetheart.”

Your pulse races. Every rational thought, every reason you’ve been telling yourself not to cross this line, fades into the background. All you can think about is him—his scent, his presence, the way his body radiates heat like a furnace.

“Logan…” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

That’s all it takes.

In one swift movement, he closes the distance between you, his large hands finding your waist as he pulls you against him. The world tilts, and before you can think, before you can breathe, his lips are on yours—hot, demanding, and absolutely relentless.

You gasp against his mouth, but it’s lost in the kiss, in the way he takes control, his grip firm but careful, as though he’s been holding himself back for weeks and now there’s no stopping it. He tastes like whiskey and danger, and the moment his tongue brushes against yours, your knees threaten to give out.

You don’t even realize your hands are in his hair until you’re pulling him closer, pressing against him as if you can’t get enough. The kiss is rough, intense, filled with every ounce of pent-up tension you’ve both been ignoring.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Still think it’s just rumors?” he growls, voice ragged.

You can’t speak. You just shake your head, fingers still tangled in his hair, your body flush against his.

Logan smirks, his thumb brushing against your hip. “Thought so.”

Just as you start to lose yourself in the heat of Logan’s kiss, a sharp, sudden beep cuts through the haze. It takes a second to register, but when you pull back slightly, you see Logan’s face shift—his entire body going rigid. His phone is vibrating in his jacket pocket.

The change in him is immediate. The heat, the softness, all of it hardens into something sharp and dangerous. He pulls away from you, grabbing his phone with a quick, practiced movement. You don’t get a chance to ask what’s happening because his jaw clenches, eyes narrowing at the screen.

"Shit," he mutters, already moving toward the door.

“What’s going on?” You ask, heart still racing from a mix of adrenaline and confusion.

Logan’s whole demeanor has shifted into something colder, sharper—his focus laser-like. "Someone’s inside the building."

Your stomach drops. "What? How? Shouldn’t the security downstairs—"

"They got past it," he interrupts, throwing on his jacket in one fluid motion. His eyes are darker now, more alert, and it sends a chill down your spine. "Stay here."

Before you can protest, he’s out the door. But the idea of staying still, alone, in a situation like this? No chance. You grab your phone and follow him, keeping a few paces behind as he stalks through the hall, every movement precise, calculated.

He barely glances back at you, his body a wall of tension, like he’s ready to explode into action at any second. "I told you to stay back, Y/N," he growls under his breath, his voice low and urgent.

"And I don’t take orders," you snap back, even though you’re trembling inside. The hallway feels too quiet, too still.

Before Logan can argue, you both hear it—heavy footsteps, coming from the stairwell. Your heart skips a beat. You weren’t prepared for this kind of fear. Sure, the letters had freaked you out, but this? Someone actually in the building, hunting you?

Logan moves so fast you barely see it, pushing you behind him as the door to the stairwell creaks open. The figure that steps out is shadowy at first, but as the light hits him, you see a man—unshaven, wild-eyed, and holding a small knife that glints in the dim light. He’s muttering something under his breath, eyes locked on you.

"There you are," the man breathes, voice unnervingly soft. "I’ve been waiting for this moment."

Before you can react, Logan steps forward, his body a barrier between you and the man. "Back off," he warns, his voice so low it rumbles in his chest.

The stalker’s eyes flick to Logan, sizing him up, but instead of retreating, he grins. "You think you can stop me? I’ve been planning this for months."

You feel your skin crawl, bile rising in your throat. But Logan is a wall of calm fury. Without a word, he lunges at the man, moving so fast you barely register the impact. Logan’s fist connects with the guy’s jaw, sending him stumbling back into the wall with a sickening thud.

It should have ended there. Any normal man would have been down for the count. But the stalker scrambles to his feet, eyes wide with manic determination, swinging the knife wildly.

You gasp as the blade slashes through the air, missing Logan by inches. But he’s not rattled. He ducks, then pivots with a speed and grace that shouldn’t be possible for someone his size. And then, with a growl that sounds more animal than human, Logan throws the stalker against the wall, pinning him there.

The man struggles, trying to bring the knife up again. But then, something happens—something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

Logan’s hand shoots forward, and suddenly there’s a metallic SNIKT. Three long, razor-sharp claws extend from between his knuckles—gleaming silver, impossibly deadly. They punch through the man’s jacket, pinning him by the shoulder to the wall.

The stalker lets out a scream, eyes wide in terror. But your own scream is stuck in your throat. All you can do is stare, your brain struggling to comprehend what you’re seeing.

Logan has claws. Metal claws.

What the hell?

With the stalker writhing in pain, Logan leans in close, his voice a low growl. "You picked the wrong damn target."

The man whimpers, his bravado completely gone as blood trickles from the shallow wound. Logan jerks the claws free, and the man collapses to the ground, groaning in pain but still breathing. Without a second glance at his attacker, Logan turns to you.

“Y/N,” he says, stepping toward you, his voice a low, rough murmur that sounds far away. “It’s not what you think—”

But you stumble back, the knife in your hand trembling, not because of the stalker lying on the floor, but because of him. Because of what you just saw.

“Y-you…what—” You can’t even get the words out, your mind scrambling to make sense of what just happened. “What are you?”

Logan’s face tightens. He’s clearly seen this reaction before. “I’m a mutant,” he says quietly, the calmness in his voice almost unnerving given what just went down. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, but—”

“I—” You take another step back, your heart still racing. “Mutant? Logan, you—what the hell did you just—” Your eyes drop to his hands, where the claws retracted just moments ago. “You have claws?”

Logan doesn’t move, his hands by his sides, still covered in a few drops of the intruder’s blood. His whole body looks tense, as though he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says, his voice low and steady. “But I’m not gonna hurt you. I’d never—”

“You—” You’re shaking your head, not even sure what you’re trying to say. Everything’s too much. You’ve only ever heard horror stories about mutants, about how dangerous they can be, how you should keep your distance. You’ve never known anyone who was one…until now.

And it’s Logan. The guy who’s been protecting you.

The guy who just kissed you.

“I need…I need some space,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper, your mind still reeling.

Logan’s expression shifts, a flicker of something that looks almost like regret crossing his face. But he nods, stepping back slowly. “I get it,” he says, his voice rough. “You’re scared. But I’m still the same guy I was five minutes ago. I’m not the enemy, Y/N.”

You know that. Deep down, in some part of yourself, you know that Logan wouldn’t hurt you. He’s saved your life, protected you, and been nothing but loyal. But right now, your instincts are screaming at you to get away, to process what the hell just happened.

“I just…please, I need to be alone,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Logan’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to say something. But then he nods once, giving you space, just like you asked. “I’ll be close,” he says quietly, before turning and walking away, leaving you alone in the hallway with your racing thoughts.

As he disappears around the corner, you lean back against the wall, your knees threatening to give out. You’re not sure what scares you more, the stalker lying unconscious on the floor, or the realization that Logan isn’t just a man with a bad attitude and a dangerous past.

He’s something else entirely.

And you have no idea what that means for you both.

The next day is a whirlwind of confusion and conflicting emotions. You wake up to the soft light filtering through the curtains, but instead of feeling rested, your heart pounds in your chest, and the events of the previous day come flooding back. Logan’s claws, the way he fought off that intruder, the raw power he displayed—it all feels surreal.

You spend the morning trying to distract yourself, throwing yourself into your usual routine. You have interviews lined up and a photoshoot to get through, but every moment, you can’t shake the image of Logan standing over that intruder, the fierceness in his eyes as he retracted those deadly claws. There’s a knot in your stomach, a strange mix of fear and something else you can’t quite place.

Despite your attempts at normalcy, you’re acutely aware of the absence of Logan. He hasn’t checked in, hasn’t texted, and that silence weighs heavily on you. You told him you needed space, but now, part of you wonders if you made a mistake pushing him away.

As the afternoon stretches on, you finish your last interview and head back to your apartment, an unshakable sense of anticipation coursing through you. The place feels different without Logan’s presence, quieter, more hollow. You take a deep breath, trying to steel yourself for whatever comes next.

The door swings open, and you step inside. The scent of leather and Logan’s cologne still lingers in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. You glance around, half-hoping to see him leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, that trademark smirk on his lips. But the space is empty.

You walk into the living room, the tension from the previous day still hanging in the air. You’re about to pour yourself a glass of water when a knock on the door startles you. You freeze, heartbeat quickening as you glance at the clock. It’s late, too late for anyone else to drop by.

You approach the door cautiously and open it, your breath catching in your throat as you see Logan standing there, his presence filling the doorway. He looks as imposing as ever, dressed in a black t-shirt that hugs his torso, the leather jacket thrown over one shoulder. His hair is tousled, and there’s a shadow of stubble on his jaw that somehow makes him look even more rugged.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and a touch uncertain.

“Hey,” you manage, heart racing. The tension between you two feels palpable, and you can’t ignore the rush of warmth spreading through your body at the sight of him.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his expression serious, but there’s an underlying urgency that makes your stomach flip.

“Of course,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in. He walks past you, the warmth of his body brushing against yours, sending a rush of heat through your veins.

Logan turns to face you, his expression shifting, revealing the storm brewing behind his eyes. “I wanted to talk. About yesterday.”

“Okay,” you say, feeling suddenly shy under his intense gaze. “I mean…you didn’t have to come over.”

“I wanted to,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “I’ve been thinking about you, and I… I didn’t like how we left things.”

The way he looks at you makes your heart race. There’s a vulnerability in his expression, a longing that mirrors the tumult inside you. But there’s something else too—something electric.

“I was scared, Logan,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything just happened so fast. I didn’t know—”

“I know.” He steps closer, closing the distance between you, the heat radiating off him wrapping around you like a thick blanket. “But I’m still me. I’d never hurt you.”

You search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception, but all you see is sincerity mixed with an undeniable hunger.

“I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this.” You gesture between the two of you, feeling the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hanging heavy in the air.

Logan takes another step closer, his voice a rough murmur. “What do you want?”

Your breath hitches. The question hangs in the air, charged and raw, and for the first time, you allow yourself to confront the truth of your feelings. “I want—”

Before you can finish, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that ignites the fire simmering beneath your skin. It’s not the same as before; it’s deeper, more urgent, filled with the need to reclaim what was almost lost.

You melt against him, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss. Logan’s hands roam your sides, fingers skimming over your hips, drawing you nearer as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

When he pulls back, his breath mingles with yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart race. “You want this,” he says, voice low and rough, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “You want me.”

“I do,” you admit, your cheeks flushing as the words spill out. “But it’s complicated, Logan. We shouldn’t—”

“Who cares?” His fingers slide down your arms, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re not just some celebrity to me. You’re not just a job.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice is a whisper, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive.

“I mean you’re you. I don’t care what the tabloids say. I don’t care about the age difference or the rumors. I want you.”

His words send a thrill through you, igniting a spark of something wild and reckless. You’ve never felt this way before, not like this. It’s heady, intoxicating.

“Logan, what if—”

He cuts you off with another kiss, more demanding this time, as if he’s trying to erase every doubt from your mind. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel every muscle in his body, the heat radiating off him in waves.

And then it happens again—the sharp, undeniable rush of want overwhelms you. The world outside fades away, and all that matters is this moment, this connection, this man standing before you.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless. “This is crazy,” you say, your mind racing, but the way Logan looks at you silences your doubts.

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice low and gravelly. “But I’d rather be crazy with you than without you.”

Your heart flips, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You’ve never wanted someone like this before, and the thought sends a thrill of excitement through you.

“Then what do we do?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, heart racing at the thought of what lies ahead.

Logan smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think we start by not overthinking this.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your cheek, igniting a fire in your core. “And maybe just…enjoying each other.”

His lips trail down to your neck, kissing a path that makes your head spin. You lean into him, surrendering to the moment as his warm breath sends shivers down your spine. The world outside is forgotten, and it feels like you’ve stepped into a realm that’s just yours and his.

“Logan…” you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer, desire flooding your senses.

His lips brush against yours again, teasing, playful, igniting the tension that’s been building between you two. “Just trust me,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “I promise I won’t bite…unless you want me to.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, and the air crackles with undeniable tension. Maybe this is crazy, but right now, with Logan’s warmth enveloping you and the world outside forgotten, it feels more than right. It feels like fate.

Days turn into weeks, and you and Logan become a fixture in each other's lives. What began as a chaotic bodyguard relationship slowly evolves into something far more intimate—something neither of you anticipated but both desperately needed.

You find yourself falling into a routine, one that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. Every morning, he’s there, often making breakfast—his way of saying he cares, even if he does burn the toast. Every night, you curl up on the couch with him, sharing popcorn and movies, laughter filling the spaces where tension once resided. But it’s the moments outside those walls that change everything.

You don’t keep your relationship a secret, not intentionally, anyway. You both know the world you live in—the public scrutiny, the flashing cameras, the endless rumors. But Logan doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it emboldens him, a rebellious spark igniting in his eyes whenever you’re out together.

One sunny Saturday afternoon, you find yourselves strolling through a park in downtown Los Angeles, the kind of place where everyone is too busy with their own lives to pay attention to two people in love. But as you walk hand in hand, you can’t help but notice a few heads turning.

“Logan, I think we’re being watched,” you murmur, glancing around at the passersby. The mix of curiosity and surprise is palpable, but you also feel the warmth of Logan’s hand gripping yours, reassuring and steady.

“They can look all they want,” he grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss against your temple, his stubble grazing your skin. The contact sends a thrill through you.

“You’re not worried about the tabloids?” you ask, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Let them say what they want. At least they’ll get my age wrong,” he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Besides, you think I care about some headlines? I’m more concerned about you.”

A warmth blooms in your chest, and you can’t help but lean into him, your heart swelling with affection.

But the cameras don’t stop. That evening, as you both enjoy dinner at a trendy rooftop restaurant, the whispers and glances become more pronounced. The waitress seems to be holding back a grin as she serves you drinks, clearly recognizing Logan and you. You glance around, feeling a little exposed but also exhilarated.

“This could be the new gossip for the tabloids,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully. “‘Famous singer falls for mysterious bodyguard.’”

“Or maybe ‘Local badass finally finds a reason to smile,’” he counters, winking at you. You laugh, the sound bright and airy, and it feels good.

You both savor the evening, leaning into the playful banter and the stolen glances that carry an undeniable spark. But when the two of you leave the restaurant, a group of paparazzi suddenly swarms you, their cameras flashing like fireworks in the night.

“Y/N! Is it true you’re dating Logan Howlett?” one of them shouts, voice cutting through the air like a knife.

“Logan, how long have you two been seeing each other?” another calls, pushing closer, their cameras nearly colliding with your faces.

Logan’s grip tightens around your waist, and you can feel his tension rising. You glance at him, but he simply raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his lips. “Guess they’re interested, huh?”

“Yeah, interested in our personal lives,” you whisper, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“Let them watch,” Logan says, stepping closer to you, almost as if to shield you from the chaos. “Just remember—they don’t know the half of it.”

You share a glance, and there’s a spark of understanding in his eyes. With a deep breath, you face the throng of reporters. “We’re happy together,” you say, your voice steady despite the cameras flashing around you. “That’s all that matters.”

The crowd quiets for a moment, the buzz of excitement hanging in the air. Then Logan leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your lips, and the cameras go wild. The moment feels electric, and as you pull away, you can’t help but grin.

“Wow, you’ve really got it bad, don’t you?” he teases, the playful glint in his eye returning.

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your heart soaring.

The reporters seem to be taken aback by the chemistry between you, the dynamic clearly more than just a simple bodyguard-client relationship. You can hear the murmurs among the crowd as you both walk past, the air buzzing with a mix of curiosity and approval.

“Do you think it’s serious?” one of them asks.

“I heard she’s been seen with him a lot,” another replies, voice laced with intrigue. “What a power couple!”

“Wonder how long they’ll last,” a third one scoffs, but you’re too high on adrenaline to let their words get to you.

As you reach your car, Logan turns to you, his face softening. “You okay?”

You nod, a burst of happiness washing over you. “More than okay.”

“Good,” he replies, smirking. “Because now you’re stuck with me. The tabloids might as well start preparing for a long-term feature.”

“Is that a challenge?” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Absolutely,” he says, pulling you closer as you both settle into the car. “Just remember, if they start digging into our lives, I’m the one with the claws.”

You burst out laughing, and as he revs the engine, the world feels like it’s finally aligning. The chaos of the paparazzi, the gossip, the rumors—they all fade away. Because in this moment, it’s just you and Logan, ready to take on whatever the world throws your way, together.

[bananababblegigglemuffin]

KINKTOBER- Car stuff with wolvie

Note: 1999 words long. Worth it I’m hoping

The rain had started to fall in a steady drizzle, tapping lightly against the windshield of the beat-up truck. Wolverine’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white from the pressure, eyes sharp and focused on the winding road ahead. Next to him, a woman sat in silence, her hair still damp from the downpour they’d both run through to get to the truck. She shifted slightly in the seat, her body tense from the close proximity to him, their shoulders nearly touching.

They’d been on the road for hours, and neither had said much. It wasn’t that they didn’t have things to talk about—it was more about the tension that hung in the air between them, thick and electric, a quiet storm that had been brewing since the moment they’d met.

She had never been able to ignore the way Logan’s presence filled a room—or, in this case, the cramped cab of the truck. He was all raw power, restrained, coiled beneath the surface like a beast waiting to be unleashed. His rugged good looks, the scruff lining his jaw, the way his muscles shifted beneath his worn leather jacket—it all stirred something deep inside her, something primal.

She caught herself glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in the way his hands gripped the wheel, the veins standing out on his forearms, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched as if he were fighting some inner battle. Her pulse quickened. She knew Logan had noticed her staring. He always did.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” His voice was low, gravelly, the kind of voice that sent a shiver down her spine even when he wasn’t trying.

She cleared her throat, trying to play it off. “Just thinking about where we’re headed. Feels like we’ve been driving forever.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a half-smile, though his eyes never left the road. “You sure that’s all that’s on your mind?”

She stiffened, the heat rising to her cheeks. He could always read her so easily, and she hated it—and loved it. She turned to face the window, watching the rain as it slid down the glass, her thoughts racing. The truth was, there was more on her mind. There always was when it came to him.

The truck hit a bump in the road, jostling them both slightly. Logan cursed under his breath, reaching out instinctively to steady her, his hand resting on her thigh. The contact sent a jolt through her, and she gasped softly, her body reacting before her mind had a chance to catch up.

Logan didn’t move his hand right away. Instead, his grip tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of her jeans, an unmistakable spark of something more passing between them. She could feel the heat of his touch searing through her skin, setting her nerves on fire.

He finally pulled his hand back, his voice lower, rougher. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize,” she interrupted, surprising even herself with how quickly the words came out.

Logan’s gaze shifted toward her, his eyes dark and searching. For a moment, the only sound was the rain against the truck and the quiet hum of the engine, the air between them crackling with unspoken desire.

“Pull over,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain.

Logan’s brows furrowed, his confusion evident. “What?”

“Just… pull over.”

He didn’t argue. Logan rarely argued with her, and when he did, it was more of a challenge than a disagreement. He eased the truck onto the side of the road, the tires crunching over gravel as he brought it to a stop. The rain had picked up, now pounding against the roof, creating a cocoon of privacy, isolating them from the rest of the world.

She didn’t wait for him to ask questions. Instead, she turned in her seat to face him fully, her heart racing, her breath coming quicker. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of his jacket before moving to rest on his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm, strong and steady.

“I can’t do this anymore, Logan,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

He frowned, concern flickering across his features. “Do what?”

“Pretend.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. “Pretend that there’s nothing between us.”

Logan’s expression shifted, the rough exterior he always wore like armor cracking just slightly. “I’ve never been good at pretending, darlin’.”

She let out a soft laugh, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Then why are we still pretending?”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Because you deserve better than this. Better than me.”

She shook her head, her hand sliding up to cup his jaw, her thumb brushing over the rough stubble. “I don’t want better. I want you.”

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Logan’s breath hitched, his body going rigid beneath her touch. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, like he might try to push her away again. But then something shifted, something primal and raw, and before she could react, his lips were on hers.

The kiss was intense, fueled by everything they’d been holding back for so long. His hands were in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She melted into him, her body responding instantly to the heat and power of his touch.

The rain continued to pour outside, the truck windows fogging up as their passion consumed them. Logan’s hands slipped beneath her shirt, his fingers grazing her skin, sending shivers of pleasure through her. She gasped against his lips, her body arching into his touch, craving more.

“You sure about this?” Logan murmured against her neck, his voice thick with desire but tinged with hesitation.

She answered by kissing him again, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him go. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she whispered breathlessly.

Logan growled low in his throat, his hands gripping her tighter as he pulled her even closer, their bodies pressed together in the small space of the truck cab. His lips trailed down her neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against her skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She tilted her head back, giving him better access, her body trembling with anticipation.

The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, tangled together in a whirlwind of passion and desire. She could feel the tension in Logan’s body, the way he held back, trying to be gentle, trying not to let the full force of his strength overwhelm her. But she didn’t want him to hold back. She wanted all of him, every raw, unfiltered part of him.

Her hands slid beneath his shirt, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the power beneath his skin. He shuddered under her touch, his breath coming faster, his control slipping. And then, in one swift movement, he had her pinned against the seat, his body pressing against hers, his lips claiming hers with a fierce intensity that left her breathless.

Their clothes became a blur, discarded in the heat of the moment, as the rain continued to fall outside, the sound of it blending with the ragged breaths and soft moans filling the truck. Logan’s hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her, his touch both rough and tender, driving her wild with need.

She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, her body responding to every touch, every kiss, every whispered word. And when Logan finally moved against her, their bodies coming together, it was like the world shifted on its axis. Every sensation was heightened, every touch electrified, and she lost herself in him completely.

They moved together, their bodies perfectly in sync, the intensity of their connection overwhelming. It was as if every moment they’d spent apart, every second of longing and unspoken desire, had built up to this. And now that they were finally together, nothing else mattered.

Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, the rain falling harder outside, the world fading away. All that existed was Logan’s body against hers, the heat of his skin, the sound of his breath in her ear, the way his hands held her like she was the only thing that mattered.

And when they finally came undone, it was like a release of everything they’d been holding back for so long, a wave of pure, unfiltered emotion that left them both trembling in its wake.

Logan collapsed against her, his breath ragged, his body still trembling. He held her close, his arms wrapped around her like he never wanted to let go. She buried her face in his chest, her own breath coming in shallow gasps as she tried to process everything that had just happened.

For a long time, they stayed like that, tangled together in the small space of the truck, the rain still falling outside. Neither of them said a word.

End.

Authors note:

Hey guys I’m thinking of writing a series with wolvie and xmen and mcu and everything

HERE are peak into the series

[holdmytesseract]

Hi love i wanted to request a drabble/blurb with tom hiddleston where he is getting ready with his pregnant wife for an event and she says something like i look like a whale or huge.....

Some reassurance, comfort and implied smut!!!!!!!

Nothing Less Than A Goddess

Tom Hiddleston x pregnant!Reader

Warnings: pregnancy stuff, insecurities, fluff, tiny bit suggestive smut

Word Count: blurb

a/n: Thank you for that sweet request, nonny! I hope you like what I came up with! 🤗

P.S. This gif is how I imagined him to look in that oneshot. 👀

You stood in the bedroom in your underwear, after just having stepped out of the shower. "Love, are you ready soon? Luke will be here in about twenty minutes." You heard your husband call out for you, from which you presumed to be the kitchen or living room.

"Umm, yeah, I, uh, need to get dressed and perhaps put on a little make-up, but beside that..." An answer came immediately. "Shall I help you, darling? Or do you get along alone?"

You wanted to think about Tom's offer for a moment, but your mouth was faster than your brain. "Yes, please!"

"Alright! Just let me take off my suit jacket and shoes again!"

Now you kind of had a guilty conscience.

"Babe, you don't have to get halfway undressed just to help-" But it was, of course, already too late. Tom appeared no minute later in the bedroom, just in a navy blue shirt and tie, matching navy blue suit trousers and - black socks. "Yes, I have to, darling. No excuses. It's my obligation to help you," Tom stated, while making his way over to you and pressing a soft kiss on your cheek; palms came to rest on your six-month baby bump. "After all, I'm this little bean's dad," he announced; wearing one of his dazzling smiles.

Well, that was true. He had a point.

You couldn't help but smile and placed your forearms on his shoulders; fingers buried in his long blond-brown locks. "Okay," you said; nodding. "Thank you." Tom smiled even wider and turned his head to press a soft kiss against the bare skin of your arm; his scruff slightly tickling and scratching you.

"Now, let me help you." You nodded and turned to pick up your matching white dress from the bed. Tom being the gentleman and caring husband he was, helped you even to step inside; making sure that you didn't lose your balance. Then he zipped the zipper of the dress up; warm fingertips brushing your skin. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Once you were fully dressed, you took a look at yourself in the full-length mirror. The dress was new. You had never worn it before. How could you, with the steadily growing baby within your womb? Impossible. That dress would fit you probably not even a month...

"And?" Tom stepped behind you; hands on your hips and pulling you against your chest. "What do you think?"

You bit your lip; giving yourself a once-over. You gently turned from side to side in his embrace; getting a look from each angle. "I-I, uh, I honestly don't know, Tommy... I mean, I like the dress. It's beautiful, but..." "But?"

You sighed; knowing that lying to your husband wouldn't work. "I... I feel like I look like a whale. I-I mean, I am huge..." You swallowed hard; feeling very insecure all of a sudden.

Behind you, Tom blinked in disbelief. "Apologies... What did you just say, darling?" "That, uh, that I look like a... whale..." Your voice was barely above a whisper. The words hadn't even left your lips entirely, when the Brit started to shake his head. "Oh, no, no, Mrs. Hiddleston. I see what you're doing - and it's not good. I won't let you walk down that dark path."

Tom turned you gently in his embrace; pointer finger and thumb cupping your chin. "Look at me, darling." You complied; your eyes meeting his stunning ones. "You are neither huge nor do you look like a whale. Do I need to remind you that you are pregnant and that it's more than normal for your body to change?" "Y-Yes, but-"

"Ah.Ah," Tom interrupted you immediately. "Apologies, darling, but no. No buts. If you are anything, then beyond beautiful. Stunning. The prettiest woman I have ever laid my eyes upon. Nothing less than a goddess." You gasped; feeling your heart skip a few beats. "A-A goddess?"

Tom nodded. "A goddess, yes. Your skin is glowing. You look more radiant than ever. Your curves are..." He took a short break; licking his lips and swallowing hard. "...absolutely delicious. Drop-dead sexy. To me, Y/N, you are even more attractive than you've already been. I can't take my eyes off you. Especially not since your pregnancy really started to show."

You were kind of overwhelmed by his words; not having expected this. "Y-You really think that?" You asked; still a bit uncertain.

Tom smiled; his other hand giving your hip a soft squeeze. "Darling, would I ever lie to you?"

Your eyes widened. "N-No! Of course not!" He kissed your forehead. "See?"

You blushed.

"Now do you believe me, or do I have to show you how much I desire your body, once we get back home tonight?"

You wetted your lips; suddenly feeling bold. Tom's words had finally gotten through. Especially the last ones.

"Hmm, perhaps, you should yes," you answered; hand playing with his tie. Tom chuckled darkly; his hand on your hip sliding down to give your ass a small, playful slap. "Gladly."

Tags: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @multifandom-worlds @jennyggggrrr @huntedmusicgardenn @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @fictive-sl0th @loz-3 @javagirl328 @icytrickster17 @jaidenhawke @eleniblue @lou12346789 @lady-rose-moon @km-ffluv @herdetectivetheorist @lokiforever @crimson25 @simping-for-marvel @cakesandtom @vanilla-daydreaming @kimanne723 @glitchquake @lulubelle814 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @buttercupcookies-blog @november-rayne @mandywholock1980 @lokidbadguy @smolvenger

[shanastoryteller]

Star Trek please!! Happy Halloween

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Admiral Archer is unwilling to take his rescission at face value and demands a more complete explanation. To Spock's relief, and the gathered students' disappointment, he's willing to hear it in his private office.

Captain Pike slips in behind them, which gets him an irritated scowl but the admiral allows it. Spock is only marginally surprised by this. Admiral Archer and Captain Pike are known to be on good terms and James Kirk had entered the academy on Captain Pike's recommendation.

"Explain," Admiral Archer demands.

Spock hesitates.

Starfleet is of course aware of the events that took place on Tarsus IV and so they must be equally aware of James Kirk's role in it. While Admiral Archer certainly has the clearance to know the particulars, it does not mean that he does, and Spock is loathe to reveal these particulars, even to someone who could find them out himself. Additionally, Captain Pike does not have the necessary clearance, and while he does not think that James Kirk would allow his presence if he did not wish him to know, or had not already told him, Spock cannot be certain and there is no way for him to ask.

"Commander," Admiral Archer snaps. "Is this a joke to you?"

"No, sir," he answers. He doesn't find any of this funny at all.

James Kirk steps up next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder. Spock resists the urge to flinch and shoots him a disapproving look. The contact is not skin on skin, but any casual contact is discouraged. James Kirk is very well aware of Vulcan customs.

Then again, his point of contact for Vulcan culture is Sybok. His brother had been significantly more... affectionate after Tarsus IV. Spock wonders if that's something he picked up from his association with James Kirk.

"It's alright," James Kirk says warmly. "Spock, tell Admiral Archer whatever you want him to know."

He doesn't remove his hand. Human's run hot, their physiology not perfectly calibrated to survive in the deep heat of the desert, but even still James Kirk's hand feels unusually warm.

"I was unaware of Cadet Kirk's background with facing impossible odds when I made my accusation," he says. "Having been made aware of it, my perspective has shifted. Cadet Kirk does not allow rules or the constraints of logic prevent him from doing what he believes must be done. This was what he was demonstrating by bypassing and reprogramming my system."

He can feel James Kirk staring at him but he doesn't take his eyes of Admiral Archer.

Admiral Archer frowns. "You didn't know he was on Tarsus IV with your brother?"

That he already knows is a source of relief. The incredulity is less.

"Spock had exams the time I went to Vulcan," James Kirk says. "Sybok loves an excuse to go off-planet, so we usually meet up on Earth. Spock and I have never met before." He turns to him with a grin that Spock is distinctly uncomfortable having aimed in his direction. "I should have known the second I saw you. You look a lot like your mother."

Being compared to one's mother on Vulcan is a high compliment. Or it's supposed to be. Spock's had those same words hurled at him before, but it was with cruelty, as a way to demean him rather than honor the woman who bore him.

James Kirk say the words easily, exactly as they are intended to be spoken.

"You're driving me to drink," Admiral Archer says.

Spock has no idea how to appropriately respond to that.

"What about me? You're driving me to drink," James Kirk says, "which is driving Bones to as of yet unknown heights of nagging. The stress isn't good for him but he keeps threatening me with hypos when I tell him that. Can't I just be concerned for my friend?"

That is not an appropriate response on top of being incomprehensible.

Admiral Archer rubs his forehead. "Chris."

"Sir," Captain Pike returns, grabs the back of James Kirk's jacket, and hauls him out of there like grabbing a wayward kitten by the scruff of its neck.

Spock stands there, unsure, until Admiral Archer glances up and says, "You too, Commander. I'll consider this matter closed."

He nods, "Thank you, Sir," and steps outside to an empty hall. Captain Pike and James Kirk are nowhere to be seen.

Once he returns to his quarters, he video calls his brother.

He doesn't pick up.

Typical.

[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Platonic Yandere John Wick - The Pickpocket

In which you try to pickpocket him.

You don’t know how you ended up in this man’s car, soaking wet from the rain and with a bloody nose. You sit in silence, and so does he. He doesn’t say a word to you while you sit there.

You thought he was drunk, they way he was stumbling down the street. Easy pickings, you had thought . You could take his wallet and he would barely notice.

But as you skillfully reached into his jacket pocket, the barrel of a gun pressed against the side of your head. You froze, your stomach dropping in fear. You were thrown to the ground, face first.

Your face hit the pavement, and a knee was pressed into your back. The man wasn’t drunk, he was injured in some way. You couldn’t tell because he was wearing a black suit, you couldn’t see any blood.

He still hasn’t said a word, gun pressed against the back of your head. You can’t move, his wallet clutched tightly in your hand.

“Who are you?” He asked, no emotion in his voice. He was cold blooded, like he would shoot without a second thought.

He sees that you have his wallet him your hand, and he huffs and rolls his eyes. He’s a bit relieved that you aren’t here for a job, but that you are some random pickpocket.

He takes his knee off of your back and he rolls you over so he can see your now bloody face. The gun is still pointed at your head, as a warning to stay still. You don’t notice that his finger isn’t even on the trigger anymore.

He reaches for his wallet in your hand and you immediately let go, in shock of what has just happened. You are terrified, and your face hurts. You think your nose is bleeding, or maybe it’s the rain?

He puts his wallet back in his pocket and he grabs you by the scruff of your sweater and pulls you to your feet with little effort.

“Please don’t kill me..” You say quietly, you fear that if you scream he will pull the trigger. He still has the gun pressed against you, now lower on your jaw. He doesn’t respond to your plea, looking over your face.

“How old are you?” He asks, still no expression or emotion in his words. The tears start to form in your eyes at this point, and he still doesn’t react.

“To young to be pickpocketing in this part of town.” He answers for you, the gun on your jaw if slightly pulled away, but you know that it is still there.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” He asks, glancing behind him for a moment before he looks back at you. You quickly shake your head, you’ve never seen him before. He scoffs, seemingly disappointed in you for pickpocketing him. Now your all caught up in his work, and you’ve seen him.

“You have no idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into.” He mutters as he starts to drag you back down the street, now gripping onto your upper arm. He pulls you along with him, the gun no longer pointed at your head, but you still don’t dare struggle.

He moves rather fast, as if someone is tracking him. He constantly surveys his surroundings, ready to use his handgun. You still think he’s gonna kill you, he’s taking you somewhere where on one will see him do it. But that’s what you think is going on.

“I’m sorry.. -“ you mumble, but he cuts you off by harshly shushing you. He pushes you against a wall and gunfire rings out.

You flinch and cover your ears as he uses himself as a shield for you. He fires back, and he hits the attacker dead on. The unknown attacker falls down dead, a bullet hole in his forehead. You breath out, eyes wide. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“You’re fine.” He states to you, turning your gaze away from the body at the other end of the street by gripping your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger.

He stars to drag you again, to a part of the city with less people and less cars. He drags you to a sleek black car. A 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 to be more exact, he pulls the keys from his pockets and he unlocks the car.

He puts you into the front passenger seat first and he buckles you in himself. He closes the door and goes around the car to the drivers side , he gets in and buckled himself in. There is a moment of silence, and he puts his handgun in his waistband. He sighs, seemingly exhausted.

Your hands are shaking, you are in shock of the situation. He turns to you, getting a handkerchief out of his breast pocket. He reaches over the centre console and grips your chin again. He gently cleans up your bloody nose, no emotion on his face.

“You’re a mess..” he mumbles, you flinch when his hand pulls you closer so he can get a good look at the damage.

“Nothing broken, you’re fine.” He finally states, he puts the handkerchief in one of your hands in case your nose starts to bleed again. He starts the car and he peels off if the curb.

[stellar-skyy]

♡ - free as a bird. platonic collei & reader !

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: Collei and her fellow test-subject escape, but find themselves cornered. ii. CWS & NOTES: mentions of canon-typical human experimentation, self-sacrifice, mild violence. PLATONIC collei & gn!reader. angst. ?k words. iii. A/N: ordered by @umgatochamadopercyval! i accidentally deleted the ask, but here it is anyway!

Under the scorching heat falling across the forest, between winding trees that surrounded their vision and over countless roots and vines on the ground, two figures trudged slowly: hands linked, and bodies weary. Birdsong chimed from above the treetops, singing a pleasant tune to drown out the aches in their bones. It might have eased one of the traveller’s pain—or at least, it served as a soothing distraction from the bruises still stinging on their arms, and feet raw from walking—but their younger companion was less easily placated.

“H-How—” Collei gasped out, clutching at her chest. “How much longer?”

“We have to get to Mondstadt.” [Name] said stiffly, tugging on her hand to pull her along. She made an unhappy noise, but dutifully stumbled into step beside them. The young girl looked so small standing next to them, with limbs far too thin and bony for a child her age, and almost every inch of skin wrapped in layers of bandages. A petulant scowl crossed her face, one that had hardly left since the moment they had met her. It had been years, but the memory would never escape their mind; when Collei was still a sickly bird locked in a cage with a monster holding the key, back when their wings were freshly clipped, and they had no fight left in them.

Collei had been shoved in the same dingy room, kicking and screaming at the doctor as he brought her in. Every movement was sluggish, and yet filled with more aggression than they had ever seen a young girl behave with before. She clawed her nails down his jacket until her fingers were red and raw, but none of the viciousness fazed the man. He simply picked her up by her scarf, like a mother cat holding her kittens by the scruff, and tossed her harshly onto the empty twin bed.

The girl stumbled to her feet and lunged at the man, right as he closed the door behind him.

“Let me go!” She cried out as she slammed both fists on the door, her voice reaching no one who could help her. Her screams soon mellowed out to wretched sobs, wracking her small frame.

It was apparent that either her eyes had glossed over the second presence in the room, or she determined them unimportant in that moment. No matter the reason, the young girl was far too consumed in her misery to pay any attention to the other person sitting cross-legged on their bed. Her distraught, pitiful howls echoed painfully throughout the room, searing into walls that had heard little more than stifled sobs for years.

They stood up, taking small steps towards the crying child. Their experience in comfort was scarce; ever since they were brought into the lab, ‘comfort’ came in the form of a reprimand or a slap to get them to shut their mouth and stop crying. They were even less capable of giving it to others, after years of isolation from all other souls but the monsters that poked and prodded at them.

Even despite that, they couldn’t help but lay a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder in what they hoped was a soothing gesture.

“Hey…” They started, their voice husky and tender from disuse. They swallowed dryly, clearing their throat with a wince. “Hey… it’s okay.”

“How can you say that!?” the girl hissed, wrenching her shoulder from their hand. Her eyes were wild, puffy and red. “Nothing is okay!”

A chuckle left their lips, and she glared even harder at them. “Yeah… poor choice of words. I’m [Name]. What’s your name?”

“…Collei.” She said stiffly, curling up against the door with her knees pressed against her chest.

“That’s a lovely name, Collei.” They said, forcing a smile. It was a Sumerian name. She mustn’t be far from home. “How old are you?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how old you are?”

“Um. I… I don’t remember. I have a birthday, I have to. But they never let me celebrate it, so I lost track of the years.” Collei paused, lost in thought. Absentmindedly, she began to count on her fingers, murmuring numbers under her breath. “Seven… eight… oh, that was years ago… so—eleven! Or maybe twelve. Around that number.”

They swallowed back the wave of anger that bubbled up at Collei’s casual admittance. It was said with far too uncaring of a tone, like missing so many birthdays one forgot how old they were was a common childhood experience.

“How did you end up here?” The softness they’d taken with their earlier questions barely masked the shaking anger in their voice.

Collei scrunched up her face. “Um. I was in another facility ever since I was little. Lots of experiments. They moved me here to… they wanted… they—”

Her eyes grew watery again, and she burst into tears. They startled at her sudden outburst, crouching awkwardly beside her as she rocked back and forth.

“I just want this to end,” She wailed. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair, it’s not fair!”

The sight looked far too familiar for comfort. It would only take a squint of their eyes and a tilt of their head to see their younger self, screaming about the injustice of it all. They were the same: two caged birds, crying out for their chance to fly again.

The experiments had stolen every last scrap of resolve [Name] once had, leaving them a husk of their former self; missing the willpower to escape their situation, cursed with the longing to do so anyway. Give it a few years, and Collei would be the same, singing mournful songs through the bars of her cage.

They couldn’t let another one suffer their fate, not a young girl already so scarred from this world.

They had given up on their freedom a long time ago, but they would lose it all over again if it meant freeing an innocent like her. And as if the kindling inside them never burned out, a flame flickered to life in their chest, warming up a heart long-frozen over. For the first time in years, they felt something like a purpose spark in their mind; an urge to protect overriding their only desire to survive.

Their lips moved before their mind did, blurting out something they never thought they’d say. “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of here.”  

Collei sniffed loudly, looking up at them. “That’s what they told me last time. But no one ever gets out.”

“But we will,” They clasped her smaller hands in their own, giving them a squeeze. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? I already had a plan for myself before you showed up.”

They were lying through their teeth, but Collei’s eyes widened. “R-Really?”

“Of course.”

“P-Promise! Promise me!” Collei shoved her hand in their face, her pinkie extended.

Gently, they linked her finger with theirs. The spark burned in their chest, warming them from head to toe. “I promise.”

Promises were another rarity in that forsaken place for a reason, but this was one they swore to keep. And they did, months later—around the time Collei had mulled it over for a while and concluded that she had to be thirteen by then. The moment the opportunity presented itself, they fled; escaping into the night with a handful of other test subjects and a dozen Fatui agents on their trail.

From there, the two never looked back.

“Please…” Collei choked out, her pained wheezes pulling them sharply into the present. “It hurts. Can we—can we take a break?”

Their face softened, and so did their words. “It shouldn’t be too much further; we’re already almost at the border of Sumeru. There should be a village not far from here.”

“How far?” She said doubtfully.

“About...” they paused, thinking. “Half-an-hour.”

“Can we get food?” Collei asked, brightening up slightly.

“Of course.” They promised, giving her hand a squeeze.

She beamed at them, through her fractured breathing. “I think I can push on a little bit longer then.”

They smiled down at her, and the two lapsed into silence. The quiet only lasted several moments, as Collei paused to look around herself with a dull confusion.

“The birds have stopped singing,” she mused. Their attention flickered back to the sounds of the forest around them, long enough to notice that the birdsong had in fact gone silent.

“They have, haven't they...?” they said absently, still straining to hear something, anything. “I wonder why.”

“It’s quiet.” She said. Too quiet went unspoken, but it was on both of their lips. The silence felt entirely too thick, pressing on the pair from all sides.

The lab was never silent. It was hushed at times, but if they strained their hearing and pressed an ear to the door of their room, they would be able to hear distant screams or sobs from other test subjects. Quiet only came in the times between, when the doctor had finished with one subject and was moving to the next. They had learned to fear the lapses in noise, knowing any moment his hand might turn the doorhandle.

“[Name]…” Collei pulled her scarf further up on her face, eyes darting between the trees. “I think something is—”

A shadow appeared in the corner of their vision and they instinctively shoved Collei behind them, in time for a knife to lodge in the trunk of a tree, inches away from where her head had been moments prior. She fell to her feet coughing and spluttering, as the shadow took a familiar shape.

A Fatui Agent, stalking through the spaces between the trees. A glint of steel appeared in his hands, and their heart stopped.

“Run!” They yelled, pulling Collei to her feet and forcing her into a sprint. The two stumbled through the uneven undergrowth, running wildly in a desperate attempt to dodge the hurling knives.

Behind them, the sound of boots slamming against the ground grew louder.

“I can't—” Collei’s voice was strangled. “I can’t run!”

“Just a little further!” They gasped.

They were close to the village that they had seen on the map of Sumeru in their pocket, but at the pace they were being pursued, their throats would be slit before they could even glimpse it. If they ran fast enough, they might be able to reach the outskirts and yell for help, but doing so would take something to slow down their pursuer. A distraction, an obstacle… a sacrifice.

In their mind, it finally clicked.

The chance of the both of them living to see the sunset was slim. One of them would live to fly another day, if their cards were played right, but not both. And in the moment between leaping through the grove and making eye contact with their companion beside them, they reached a decision.

They slowed to a halt, letting go of Collei’s hand. She turned to look at them incredulously.

“What are you doing?” She cried.

“Keep going!” They yelled back, pushing her forward. She stumbled, eyes darting wildly around her. The Agent had vanished into a shadow again, but they didn’t cower. They stood resolutely, waiting for him to reappear. “Come out, you coward!”

“[Name], no!”

“Just go! Find Mondstadt, go—” Their plea was ended with a wheeze, as the Agent appeared and shoved them harshly to the ground. Collei screamed, as agonised as the day they met.

“There’s no escape,” the Agent hissed, holding them against the dirt. “You can’t run from debt.”

“You say that—” They coughed, struggling to breathe through the grip on their chest. “—And yet I made it this far. Seems like you’re not very good at this ‘debt-collector’ thing.”

“Insolent brat.” He growled. Their gaze swept past him to Collei, who was still frozen at the tree-line. They jerked their head harshly, signalling for her to leave, and she staggered back a few steps.

“I’m going to enjoy collecting my dues,” The Agent said with a low laugh, oblivious to where their attention was focused.

Collei met their eyes one final time, waves of tears streaming down her face. They curved their lips upward in a desperate grin, manic and fleeting. “Go,” they whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear them. The Fatui Agent held his dagger above his head, glinting a harsh silver in the sunlight.

“Go!” they screamed in a strangled voice. Collei turned her back sharply and took off, soaring through as the agent’s knife made a graceful arc downwards—falling onto them like an executioner’s blade.

They closed their eyes, and dreamed of flying.

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[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter one

Summary: An unsettling encounter outside the bar leaves Cry Baby shaken, and Bucky finds out she's been dating.

Warning: Emotional Distress | Suggestive Comments | Physical Touch | Intimidation | Aggressive Behaviour

Word Count: 1583

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

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A/N: I apologize for any name changes, perspective changes, etc that haven't actually been changed but it's hard to pick them all out. I hope you enjoy it as much as the first time, and as always any feedback is welcome!

Cry Baby: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez | @am-3-thyst

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes | @hzdhtss

Summer began to settle over the city, warmth wrapping around everything from the streets to the bar. The familiar sounds of laughter and motorcycle engines roaring became clearer as you approached closer to the bar. Already late to meet your friends as is, you began to walk a little faster. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the prettiest face in the city,” Brockley Rumlow drawled, his eyes taking over your body, making your skin crawl, as you walked by him and his group of friends in the small parking lot. 

“Brock,” you acknowledged as you tried to move past him. He stepped in front of you, blocking the path. 

“What’s the rush? How about you and I have a little chat?” a smirk tugged at his lips as he began to reach up toward your cheek. 

Glancing around you hoped to spot a familiar face that wasn’t loyal to Brock, but the street was eerily quiet. “I’m meeting my brother, excuse me,” You muttered under your breath. 

He leaned in closer, his hand now reaching out toward your cheek. Gently caressing the skin as he continued to speak, “I’ve been watching you; you know. I’ve always wondered if you taste as sweet as you look.” 

Panic surged through you, and as you took a step back your eyes darted toward anything but his. Unbeknownst to you at the time, Sam Wilson, your brother’s roommate and a close friend, pulled up outside the bar, just in time to witness the interaction. 

Without hesitation, Sam stepped out of his truck with a slam of the door and strode toward the small commotion.

“Is there a problem here, CB?” Sam’s words cut through the air like a knife, drawing the attention of both you and Brock, grabbing the slightly older man by the scruff of his jacket. 

A sign of relief escaped your breath at the sight of Sam, grateful for the timely intervention. Brock, on the other hand, sized up Sam with a grimace across his face before deciding to retreat, bringing his hand up as a show of surrender. 

“I’ll see you around,” Brock spat toward you, his tone dripping with implication before he turned back toward his friends. 

Sam watched his every move, his expression guarded. He turned to you, once he was assured Brock wasn’t an issue. “You okay?” he asked, offering a reassuring smile. 

You nodded, and the weight of the tension lifted. “Thanks, Sammy.” He returned the nod, glancing around the surroundings once more before leading you into the bar. His protective instincts were still alert. 

Inside the bar, the rest of the group noticed you and Sam walking through the door. Everyone exchanged greetings as you slid into the booth, sitting opposite James. The scent of Your vanilla perfume mixed with the smell of smoke and beer; the combination had become comforting to him. As you settled into the booth, James rested his beer bottle down on the table. 

“Took you long enough,” Natasha gestured your bottle toward you before taking a quick sip. “The date went that well, did it?” You couldn’t resist making a joke at Your friend's expense. 

James’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of a date, his jaw clenched as your cheeks rushed with heat. 

“A date, huh?” he remarked, sarcasm laced in his tone. Fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve, you avoided eye contact with any of them, especially your brother, Steve. 

“Um, yeah...” You began with a mumble but before you could dwell anymore on it, Steve redirected the conversation, but the sense of James’s piercing gaze made the unease linger. 

Throughout the night, you found herself stealing glances at Sam, unsure of how to navigate the aftermath of the situation outside. You began replaying Brock’s words in Your mind, causing Your emotions to get the better of her. 

James sensed the sudden quietness, catching one of your sniffles. “What now?” he mumbled, only loud enough for you to hear. 

“Just ran into someone outside,” You sniffed again, glancing back at James with tears filling Your eyes. “It’s fine now,” You shot him an unconvincing smile. 

“Yeah,” he began as he picked up his bottle, “looks like it.” he glanced back over at Youras he took anotYourswig. 

As you stepped outside, you watched as your friends began to retrieve their motorcycles and trucks, getting ready to leave. The six of them began mumbling good night to each other, and you told each of them to drive safely, as James stood watching by his motorcycle. 

He offered you a tentative smile and gestured toward the helmet on his seat. “Need a ride?” 

You nodded, and he passed the helmet to you and gave you a hand climbing onto the back. The ride was exhilarating, wind whipped through the stray strands of you’s hair as You clung to James’s waist. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you softly said as James turned off the engine outside the apartment building.  

“Anytime, Sweetheart,” he paused before he turned to face her, his expression turning into something more serious. “Can we talk for a minute?” he asked, his eyes searching the deep blue of Your own. You passed him the helmet back as a knot formed within Your stomach, but You nodded sheepishly. “I hope your date went well.” 

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling self-conscious. You pulled Your cardigan around your body. “Um, yeah, it was okay,” You mumbled, trying to avoid his gaze. 

He began to chuckle softly, sensing Yournervousness. “Just okay? Wow, sounds thrilling,” he remarked with a sarcastic tone. 

You managed a weak smile, his teasing making you feel more embarrassed. “Um, well, it was our second date,” you admitted shyly, fidgeting with the edge of Your cardigan sleeve. “He asked for a third.” 

James’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but the playful smirk never left his lips. “Oh, did he?” he gasped, an amused tone in his response. “Looks like you made quite an impression then,” he continued, his tone still playful, but intrigued. “Is it Sam?” he questioned. 

Your head shot up to meet his gaze, and confusion spread across your features. “What? No, it– it’s,” You took a moment to pause, Your nerves causing you to hesitate. “It’s a guy from work, John Walk–,” 

James’s playful demeanor vanished within an instant, anger replacing the simmer in his eyes. His jaw tensed, and his eyes narrowed into a hard glare as he processed what you admitted. "John Walker?” James’s voice was low, a dangerous growl, the name leaving a sour taste in his mouth. 

You nodded, “Yeah, um, he’s just a guy from work,” You hesitantly replied, thrown off-guard by James’s sudden change. 

“That son of a–” his voice trailed off, the words barely contained his fury. His anger seemed to intensify, his voice rising in volume as he continued venting his frustration toward her. “I can’t believe you’d even consider going near him!” he bellowed, words echoing through the empty street. 

You flinched at the force of his outburst; each word felt like a physical blow. “Buck–” Your voice quivered with emotion. 

His features contorted in anger as he continued, “You don’t understand. " Rage began to consume him, making it almost impossible for either of them to hear your voice asking him to stop. “He’s dangerous, he—he’s not someone you want to be involved with!” 

Each word began to cut deeper than the last, leaving you feeling vulnerable, and the tears spilled down your. “Please, Bucky,” You shouted back at him, your voice rising in desperation, “stop shouting at me!” 

Your raised voice caught James off guard, and his anger faltered. He finally looked down at her, and at that moment, he saw the tears, the fear, and the hurt.

The realization that he had caused it, hit him like a punch to the gut. 

Sighing heavily, James’s features softened, and the red lights in his eyes dimmed as he reached down, gently wiping Yoursoaked cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, every part of him filled with regret, “I... I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“Sh–shouting at m–me like t–that doesn’t help,” Your voice shook, and was interrupted by hiccups. His gaze truly softened as he took in your words and expression. “You– you know that better than a– anyone.” 

With that, he pulled you into a comforting hug, holding you close as they both took a moment to calm down. 

“Let’s get you inside, Sweetheart,” he mumbled, his voice now barely a whisper as he felt your shaking subside. You nodded, sniffling as you pulled back from him. 

That night, you both walked up to your apartment, and James kept a protective arm around you. Once inside, you realized tonight would be different. Usually, you’d move to the kitchen and begin patching up his wounds. 

“Let me take care of you for a change,” he said, leading you toward the couch. He fetched a warm face cloth and gently wiped away the tear stains against your cheeks. You leaned into his comforting touch, a new sense of safety enveloping you.

***

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