#I’ve joked about this countless times

[sarafangirlart]

Modern retellings: Athena actually turned Medusa into a monster to protect her from men!

Athena in mythology when Perseus killed Medusa:

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[youryanderedaddy]

When Life Gives Lemons

tw: female reader, technically non con because of stealthing, baby trapping, breeding, obsessive behavior, reader being a bit rude

You couldn’t believe the irony of your life. You were about to break up with your immature boyfriend, and he still managed to be grossly late to the date, unconsciously digging his own grave deeper. You had put on your best white shirt and the tightest skirt you owned, and you even went through the trouble of booking the latest hipster coffee shop close to the centre. He had been fifteen minutes late, to be exact, and when you brought it up, he simply shrugged a long sleazy smile, dragging his skeleton - shaped metal rings against the edge of the table.

“All in due time, princess.” He took a sip off his coffee - a single shot of espresso with no creamer, as always. “All in due time.” He repeated, reaching in his pocket for a pack of off - brand cigarettes. He really couldn’t afford any of the fancy ones. Once the cigarette was lit, he slowly brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply, letting his head relax against the chair. His thick neck tightened as he swallowed the deadly smoke, and even the sun seemed to avoid his messy dark locks, instead keeping the man in the shadows.

“What does that even mean?” You threw your hands around helplessly, sinking into your chair. “Don’t you want to know?” Axel teased, taking another puff. Although his expression was one of mild amusement, his sharp blue eyes were carefully following your every movement - wondering what will tip you off the most. “You know, you’re so fuckin’ hot when you’re mad, mami.” He smiled in a playful boyish way that once would have made you melt, but now only served as a reminder of his unserious nature.

“Stop playing around. I need to discuss something imp–”

“Shhh, don’t talk, babygirl. I need to show you something.” Axel interrupted, gripping the big guitar closer to his lap. ”I wrote you a song.” His thin fingers grazed the delicate transparent strings, forcing a catchy, although not fully polished melody out of the old thing. He took a deep breath, wetting his lips so the lyrics would come out softer. 

My girl knows how to set me

on flames she goes through 

the motions of the wind she

is a fireball, a fireball, on fire

“What the fuck, Axy.” You pounded your fists at the table, shaking the glasses and spilling coffee all over the wooden surface. You could feel everyone’s judging stare across your back, all of the other patrons were jeering and whispering about the two of you, and your cheeks were heating up by the moment. “I’ve told you countless times to stop writing those shitty songs. They don’t even rhyme, for fuck sake.” You whined, suddenly overwhelmed by helplessness. He was never going to change, was he? “This is exactly why I want to break up.”

The music stopped entirely. His dark sunglasses ended on the ground. 

“You wanna break up?” The musician repeated slowly, suddenly appearing awfully composed - so composed it made you look crazy. After that question he remained silent for a very long time, taking long drags off his cigarette while studying your face for any sign of your true feelings bleeding out. “Real’ funny, babe, real’ fun joke.” He forced a crooked smile, reaching in to squeeze your hand all the way through the table. “Now tell me, what’s wrong with the song? I stayed real’ late to compose it just for our date today.” He winked, which only made you feel worse.

“I am being serious, Axel. Let go of me.” Your tone turned icy and your ex boyfriend quickly released you, eyes filling with raw fear. “Wait, baby, we can talk about–”

“There is nothing to talk about. You’re such a child!” You blurted out, too frustrated to spare energy on fluttery words and sweet apologies. “I want to do my masters soon. You know I’m applying to Metwyorth - I can’t be seen hanging around with a high school dropout who does Saturday gigs for a living.” You continued, pursing your lips together. You knew you were being harsh, cruel even, but this was the only way to push him away. The musician could be awfully clingy, so you needed to be firm.

“A highschool dropout who made you scream your brains out.” Axel responded bitterly through clenched teeth, eyes growing dark with anger. You shook your head bashfully, avoiding his fiery gaze. “Sure, we had our fun,” You gestured vaguely at nothing in particular, trying to hide the shame blossoming on your sides. “But it’s time to wake up. I mean, be realistic. We live in different worlds.” You began to collect your things quickly, standing up to leave.

“Y/N!” He called out to you, causing you to turn back just for a second - you owed him that much for all the good memories you knew you both would have trouble forgetting. “You’re making a mistake. Please, think it through.” The man took a hold of your hand, caressing your fingers gently. “I know I can’t offer you much right now, but I really love you!” His eyes dilated, honest and clear like an untouched sea on a quiet day. 

“Goodbye, Axel.”

***

You meet him sooner that you’d like.

Two weeks later you’re drunk off your mind, dancing the night away with some of your girlfriends when you catch a pair of familiar eyes fluttering across your body from the other side of the room. It makes you feel hot all over - despite what you said back then, you felt each agonising moment of the break up. Even if the logical part of your brain knows you have no future with such a man, your body needs him, craves him. 

Axel keeps staring at you intensely, burning holes through your neck, your thighs, your lips. His yearning gaze lingers, completely miserable, and yet as lustful as the night he first wrapped his arms around you and claimed you as his. He can still feel your nails scratching his back red and bloody, sending shivers down his spine and setting fire in his loins. This staring game of yours lasts for approximately thirty minutes before he gives in and comes over to your table. He doesn’t say anything - doesn’t look at you or greet your friends, doesn’t even pretend to have any reason to approach you. He simply grabs you, swallows an airy pant, and drags you inside the bathroom.

You’re all over each other in no time. His hands are tangled in your hair and your nails are sinking into his warm flesh once again. You can’t breathe for a second, suffocated by a deep, longing kiss that he only spares you of once your lips start to turn blue. He licks your neck and bites at any spot vulnerable enough to steal a gasp out of you - and you return it by sucking on his collarbone until a purple hickey adorns his skin. You swiftly unzip his loose pants and start taking your dress off, but as you try to spread your legs, he turns you around facing the wall. 

“Fuck, I wanna do you from the back, princess.” Axel mumbles, one strong hand gripping your throat as the other gropes your breasts freely. You nod weakly, too turned on to comprehend any of the words he’s saying. “Ngh, wanna be able to pull your hair n’ shit.” His fist wraps around your ponytail, pulling slightly so you expose your neck to his teeth. You can already feel his throbbing manhood prob at your thighs, slowly moving towards your entrance. “Y-you have a condom on, right?” You manage to whimper through the little electric bursts of pleasure running through your whole body as he plays you like an instrument. He mumbles something like “yeah”, and in this state of mind that’s enough for you.

He starts sinking into your heat slowly, letting you adjust to his hard length inch by inch, then once you’ve settled, practically begging him to just give it to you, he begins thrusting painfully slow - really making you feel it going in and out, in and out in a perfect rhythm. Each time his cock brushes against your most sensitive spot, you’re reduced to a slick, desperate mess, but just as your thighs begin to go numb and you slip down, Axel catches both of your wrists and pins them to the wall, keeping you in place. You’re so wet you can hear the slap of skin on skin every time your gummy walls hug his member, but you’re too far gone to care about the nasty sound.

“F-fuck, baby, you’d be so fucking hot as a mother. Have you ever thought about it?” Your ex whispers against you, picking up the pace. You shake your head - kids have never been your priority, since you’re still so young and your education would always come first. “I thought about it. A lot, ‘n fact, when we were separated.” His heartbeat fastens. “Ugh, you’re still so tight, god…” His free hand dances at your hips, ogling and caressing any curve it can find. “When you dumped me, I was completely lost, ya know? Didn’t sober up for three days. But then I dreamt that I knocked you up accidentally. S-shit, did you just tighten up?”

Your whole body stiffens at his words. Your stomach fills with unexplainable dread - this whole conversation is turning you off, but somehow your body seems to have a mind of its own. 

“Q-quit it with the small talk, asshole.” You groan, pushing back so you’d get more friction between your legs. “Just fuck me, okay? I don’t need to hear your weird fantasies.” You hear yourself saying confidently despite the provocative position you’re currently stuck in - you can’t even see his face, but you know he’s probably laughing at your bossy comment. But instead he keeps blabbering on as if you’re not even there. “You were so beautiful, princess. So big and–” He bites his lower lip. “So fucking needy for me - just like now. You were dripping everywhere. You were so excited for our little baby.” He grunted hoarsely, reaching in to stroke your clit - and despite your best efforts, you let out a soft moan. 

“And we were a family - just you, n-ngh, me and the little guy.” Axel utters through clenched teeth, trying to hold out for as long as possible - savouring you in tiny little bites. “No stupid degrees or anythin’, just us two against the world.” He slows down further, now barely moving inside of you. It’s driving you crazy with anticipation - both his story and the way he’s fucking you. “And it made me think, we could really have all that - if it wasn’t for your stupid pride. All I need to do is knock you up. Just think about it.” The man grips your hips roughly, impaling you on his thickness. 

“Your tits will swell, your thighs will thicken; you’ll be so tired you’ll have to lay down all the time. You won’t even be able to touch yourself because of your belly.” He smiles at you gently, although you can’t see it. At this point you’re already so close to climax you can’t break through the cotton cloud haze that’s taken over your mind to truly focus. This is one of the reasons you had to break up with the musician - he could get you cockdrunk with a simple touch, and that vulnerability felt terrifying.

“And I will take care of you through every-” He kisses your cheek. “single–” He kisses you again. “step of the way.” He inhales deeply, thrusting in one final time before he spills inside you. “I love you, baby. I really can’t let you go.”

[bitchlessdino]

Reckless (m)

Pairing: adult actor!mingyu x pervert afab!reader Genre: smut Word count: 4.8k tags: camboy!mingyu, established friendship, banter, brat!reader, glass toys, invasion of privacy, rough play, anal, double penetration, degradation (pervert, slut), choking, spanking, spitting, oral (giving and receiving), swallowing, hair pulling, deep throating Summary: Mingyu is a camboy and proud of it, as he should. Finally, he's getting the applause he deserves for his work and will be attending one of the biggest adult industry events to date. He just needs you to watch over while his house while he's gone. Easy enough, right? Unbeknownst to him, you happened to be a fan. A big one. One so big that you cant help but take advantage what Mingyu fans have only ever dreamed of. author note: finally the awaited winner, camboy!mingyu! still so crazy he won over multiple reverse harems on the poll. tagging my wife @wongyuseokie because it's her birthday and deserves to wake up with some NASTY mingyu smut. thank you @highvern for beta-reading to better this fic and like both of us are saying, mingyu is a fucking freakkk in this so enjoy my babies.

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @cottoncheol @embrace-themagic @onlymingyus

You have only seen the room in passing personally, but countless times over video. You’re not even shocked by the dozens of expensive toys he’s put in those glass displays, so used to seeing them enter a human orifice one way or the other. The burly man bashfully guides you away from the scandalous room, skillfully diverting your attention to the lush foliage he's entrusted you to tend to, a gentle blush adorning his warm-toned cheeks.

How you keep the fact that you have been secretly watching your friend’s cam shows–including the charity stream of him doing push ups in a singular pair of skintight briefs–was a mystery, even to you. 

It’s not like you meant to get addicted to porn. But Mingyu, unapologetic about his line of work, practically served it up on a silver platter for you. He says he could use all the help he could get, but frankly, he couldn’t have it more easy. 

With that body, that hair, that face, that smile, there’s no doubt in your mind he’d be a fan favorite and you were right. He’s now one of the rising adult content creators in his line of work, heavily acclaimed in the cam category and recently in independent film. That’s what his trip is about, awarding him for his hard work that he never thought he’d accomplish.

It fills you with pride, yet piques your curiosity; fusing platonic and sensual feelings that blur the lines between friendship and desire for Mingyu, actualizing this full fledged crush. But you’d never let him find that out. Not unless it was against your will.

“And that’s pretty much it. Everything else is pretty self-explanatory. I’ll be back on Tuesday.”

“Tuesday, hmm?” Your eyebrows bounce in place suggestively. “Thinking of pursuing personal projects while working?”

He shrugs like a timid schoolboy, cheekbones pigmented and perky like bright ripe cherries. “No promises—Now, repeat back to me everything I’ve told you to do.”

You playfully roll your eyes, offended he had the gall to doubt you. “Water each green buddy once a day; keep crumbs off tables, counters, furniture, etc; put everything back where it should be; and,” you start to grin, “no sex parties, even though this is the perfect place for it.”

“Okay, that last one was obviously a joke but very much serious. Although tempting, under any circumstances, do not fuck anyone in this house while I’m gone.”

“So circumstances would be different if you were home?”

Getting a shade brighter in red, he points a demanding finger at you like a stern mother, “I mean it.”

“Yes, mom,” sarcasm coating your tongue.

“Good.”

Mingyu, armed with a suitcase containing all his essentials, casually waves you off. There's a playful authority in the final point of his finger, a silent reminder to behave before he disappears behind the imposing door.

You promise him you’ll do your due diligence in taking care of his home, and that would be an easy enough task, the real problem stems from the temptation of one specific room. Mingyu’s cam room.

Distinct from the usual rooms such as the bathroom, Mingyu's kitchen, and his primary bedroom, this space stands alone, akin to an office. Mingyu himself has shared its origin story: starting from the sweetest of riddances of a god-awful roommate, followed by many desperate nights to cover the remaining monthly rent, ultimately giving birth to this room that many of his fans like to call ‘Sinner’s Safehaven.’ So rightfully acclaimed.

You’re a fan of yourself, able to outline the bedroom from memory and recollect every toy from every live stream he’s ever posted. Unable to resist the temptation, your feet instinctively embark on a self-guided tour. Your eyes are bewitched by the intricacies of every weapon of pleasure, every scent of his array of miscellaneous liquids, every phallic-shaped object that stands tall and mighty like a national monument.

It’d be a lie to say you weren’t tempted to take advantage of the opportunity, maybe just to get the sick idea out of the way. Your hands manage to find a mind of their own, reaching over to unlock one of the glass displays, wrapping your hand around the object’s girth, and taking it out from its confinement for a closer view.

A stunning crystal toy that reflects off the lights of the room, looking in pristine condition as if fresh from packaging. If Mingyu is good at one thing it’s maintaining his tools, and he does not let anyone forget.

Ever since he showcased it on screen, you've desired to covet one just like it, inducing a late-night web surf to discover the outrageous out-of-reach prices for a product of such exceptional quality and aesthetic appeal. It does not look to be in the cards for you to own one, but borrowing wouldn’t be a problem. He did say everything only needed to be put back in place and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Following the devilish voice whispering in your ear, you slip into something more comfortable, letting the well-conditioned air blow a draft against your bare legs. You hold the toy excitedly before dipping your weight in the bed, the silk sheets and pillowy cushion embracing you at all sides.

The knowledge that the infamous crystal dildo is in your hand makes your heart pound and pussy throb. You can count all the videos of it being featured with one hand, and despite it all, you know it had to be Mingyu's favorite. 

One particular video comes to mind as you hold the tip against your inner thigh, moving it identical to the way Mingyu held it against him, realizing they are coincidentally the same length, same girth, and same tantalizing presence. You practically dreamed of having him and this toy inside of you for months after that show and now half of that dream would be possible.

Your fingers didn’t have to be inside you to know you’re wet, practically soaked through your panties the moment you laid eyes of Mingyu and his sex room. Fuck, if you aren’t so damn ashamed of the truth of your feelings, you’d never let him out of your sight. 

A long note of your moan exhales as you insert the tip between your wet folds, introducing the strangest yet arousing thing to be done to you. It’s certainly big as you expect it to be, maybe even more as you plunge it in deeper. Affirmations exit your lips in short bursts, your other hand up your shirt as they tease your nipples through your bra.

Your legs crutch in reaction to its ridged shape massaging your walls, then the cool hard surface finds that familiar hotspot, unfortunately only halfway down its length. Your cheeks flush imagining Mingyu’s face, imagining the words to come out of those lips if it were his cock.

‘Already? I haven’t even put it all in yet.’

It fuels your determination, deadset in taking all of it—all of him.

‘You can do it, can't you? You can take my cock for me?’

Somewhere, lost in the contagious air of sex and starvation, your mind runs rampant. Your hips buck into the crystal, letting it settle inside you all the way before you thrust it harder. You hiss at its size, expelling a moan once you no longer feel its shaft around your fingers and just take it, take it as if it a canine smile were on the other end.

‘So good…so good at taking all of my cock.’

“I am being good,” you mumble under your breath. “So good...”

Your whimpers go unnoticed by you, only worried of the dildo carrying on its mission. Sensation running down your legs and arms, and your hips hover over the mattress. Your back arches and you spell his name out in the only way the body fully intends you to: in longing breaths, “Mingyu…please…”

‘What? What is it?’

You groan at the image of his smile. “Let me cum please…”

‘Do you deserve it?’

“Yes, Gyu, please…” You thrust faster. “Oh my god—“

‘Yes, that’s it. That pretty pussy should cum all over my hard fucking cock.’

“Yes, yes!” Your arousal seeps all around you, a visible stain beneath your thighs and you don’t care. “God, right there! Right there—“

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Then it becomes no longer your imagination. The voice you’ve created in your mind had an echo, lingering in the depths of your filth rotted head, but the one you just heard had to be the original.

You scramble to hide under the sheets, eyes as big as saucers as the man of your fantasy stands clear in your reality at the foot of his bedroom. “M-Mingyu. The train.”

“I forgot some things. Couldn’t leave without them, so I told the driver to turn back.” He peers over your situation, intrigued by your legs folded on top of one another beneath the covers, the proof trepidation of your forehead, and your lips swollen from instinctive biting. “What do we have here?”

You laugh nervously, unprepared for the shitshow soon to arise. “I see how this looks—“

“Looks like you’ve had a bit of fun.” He huffs with his arms crossed as he approaches, the human made stain plain in sight on his bed sheets which you’ve fail to cover up. “Too much maybe. And all by yourself.”

“Well, you see—“

“And the mess you made.” His hand pushes against the mattress, leaning over to your side and drinking in your view. “All over my bed. All over my Crystal dildo.”

You avoid his gaze, wishing to disappear in a cloud of smoke right about now. “Okay. You can understand how this would bother you.”

“Oh I’m not bothered by it—not in the slightest—but…you could’ve at least waited until I came back.”

Mingyu pulls the sheets off of you and he exposes your guilt, seeing it in its raw, glistening glory. His eyes scan over you, swallowing at that scent revealed, and a fire lights up in his stomach. “Dirty little pervert can’t stop saying my name while using my toy, hmm? Don’t you know better to touch things that don’t belong to you?”

“I…I…I’m sorry,” You squeak.

“Well, I can’t just let this go now, can I?”

You shake your head, breathing through your nose. You’re scared of him hearing how fast your heart has decided to pound, how wet you’ve become well after your orgasm, and how dry your throat is after you heard him call you a pervert. 

Wordlessly, he takes the glass dildo from your fingertips, claiming what’s rightfully his, and plunging between his lips halfway down its shaft. Your eyes capture it in full color, reveling in the moan that slips past his lips. Your chest rises and falls watching him take it deeper almost effortlessly as his slack cladded knees dip into the mattress. 

“Mmh…who knew a pervert’s pussy could taste so sweet,” he mumbles, smiling into the toy. It leaves his mouth with a pop before it aims back at you. “Taste it. Taste how sweet your dirty pussy is all over my cock.”

Your stomach coils, reluctantly obliging to crack open your mouth. Mingyu hums, content with what he sees as he eases the toy towards your mouth. “Don’t be shy. Take my crystal cock, perv.”

Your lips wrap around the head, tasting the salty, faintly sweet, flavor lingering on the glass before it travels past your lips.You look back at him, almost as if waiting for his instruction, and receive a stroke on the back of your head as a response. 

“That’s it. Let it go deep down your throat. Have to make up for ruining my bed, right?”

You nod, unable to speak as you bob down, licking up what you can and collecting every inch of the toy. His eyes become a dark pit that stares back at you, dominance taking over his entire presence. He doesn’t speak, only watches and for what feels like forever, pushing the toy in and out of your mouth.

Your muffle around its girth, tears starting to brim your eyes as it hits the back of your throat, but it doesn’t falter Mingyu in the slightest.

"You're crying. Does it hurt?" Mingyu asks in a domineering tone, to which you nod. "Do you want me to stop?" he inquires, to which you shake your head.

His lips graze your ear, and you sense his charming smile whispering against your skin as he replaces the imaginary devilish voice with his very real and alluring one. “Then deep throat it like you mean it, you fucking slut.”

Your lips parted wider, a shattered moan aches out, only to have the toy stuck down your throat long enough for your tears to sting. Gasping for air, Mingyu finally shows mercy and unplug your airways. Coughing uncontrollably, salvia dribbles down your chin as you retrieve your stolen oxygen. His hand tenderly caresses at the back of your head, threading through the tangles of your hair.

“Good job,” he says in a hushed voice, picking your face up by your chin. “Now. Do you think that was an appropriate punishment?”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, lethally silent as he anticipates your response.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are, who you're with, and what this all meant for you. Mingyu’s cam persona has haunted your inner thoughts, degrading you as if you were scum, tossing your body like a rag doll, marking and bruising your skin only he would find, and you relished in every earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm it’s caused. You’d be a fool to say otherwise.

“N-no. It’s not enough.”

“Is that so,” He questions amused. Slowly, his hand travels from your hair to your face, tracing your jaw in a languid movement and coming across your neck to size it in his large hand. “What will be enough for you exactly?”

The pad of his fingers presses the slightest amount of pressure on the column of your neck, emerging a gasp so soft Mingyu almost doesn't register it. He grins, hot breath fanning your face as he watches your legs squirm. It comes as a surprise to you when he single-handedly pins your body against the bed frame, leveraging you against it before he comes down and faces your pussy drowning its own cum. 

“I should at least have compensation done for the damage you’ve made, don’t you think?”

He grips your neck a fraction tighter before you feel his mouth make contact with your core. Physically vibrating, you feel the sensation of his tongue flicking at your clit, and visibly melt before he explores down. “You’re so fucking wet,” he chuckles condescendingly through your arousal. “If I knew any better I’d think you’re wet because of me, as if the screaming of my name wasn’t proof enough.”

“Mingyu...” you whine through your ceased breath.

“And you sound so pretty when you say my name too,” He groans as inhales your scent that blurs his surroundings, devouring you inside and out. “Fucking tease…taste so damn good.”

Mingyu’s chokehold loosens to cascade down your body, fingers moving like ribbons tracing your shape and memorizing every bump and curve through the thin layer of your shirt. Your voice gives out, clenching your fists as he explores you in swirls, moisture seeping out of your cunt but never ending and leaving you in an endless loop of pleasure.

He holds you up by your legs, your thighs crushing either side of his face as he buries himself in your insatiable pussy while its dripping down his chin and neck. He groans inside you, mustering every impish sound possible as he eats you clean, not minding how you’re at the end of your wits locking his head in place.

“G-gyu, shit,” you sputter. “I’m c-close.”

He simply scoffs, “Good,” plunging his tongue deeper, nose pushing against your swollen clit. Words stay lodged down your throat, trapped from escaping as you writhe in his grip and he swallows the taste of you succumbing to his control. You aren’t aware of the eyes watching every second of you give in, how they beam with pride and greed as he goes for more. The notes of fruit and musk only makes Mingyu’s craving intensify, unwilling to surrender the sweet nectar once he’s gotten his taste. 

With a yelp, he drops your legs and tugs you toward him, rendering you defenseless as he's clamped either of your side. You drink in his body towering over you as he swiftly pulls his shirt over his head and off his body, bestowing you a deific image that you never grow tired of.

“Shall I help you undress?” He offers, kindly for once.

You drop your head in a reluctant nod and your heart swells at the sight of his smile before they capture your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Mingyu’s movement isn’t needy, it’s efficient and effective. Salty peppermint kisses and hands that move gingerly with ease culminate proof of a man that has countless amounts of partners and endless experience. Almost as if he’s ready for any and every given opportunity and you more than believe it.

Seeing as he knows how to handle himself, undoubtedly that meant he’d know how to handle you. That rouses you, anticipation resonating in the pit of your stomach, and like that, you’ve embraced your nudity just as Mingyu has in the safety of his firm arms.

He manages to kick off his pants, freeing him of the restraint of fabric and his hips dip into yours. And again and again. And again and again. Just to show you what you’ve created in your messy experiment. 

If you weren’t already hot under his touch, you swear the room was hotter than any vast desert. Perspiration sprayed against your back, your forehead, your chest, but strangely you’re obsessed with his and the incidentally salty taste of his skin as you kiss. “You feel huge,” you mutter in a flustered breath. 

His cock pulsates through his briefs against your thigh, screaming to join the party and make himself known in ways he hasn’t shown yet. Not yet with you. He smiles against your lips, grasping your hips more firmly. More definitely. “It’s too soon to be saying that.”

“Then…” Your fingers, tantalized by the appearance of his styled hair, didn’t resist the urge to comb through it, pleasantly surprised with the silky, pliable sensation. “I hope I get to soon.”

“Pervert,” he repeats with a grin. His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling it away from his head and landing on the hem of his underwear. Mingyu is good at getting back on track as he immediately pulls his waistband away from torso, springing his cock that stands in your direction in determination. A familiar yet foreign sight that you never expected to be on the other end of. “By the way, don’t forget. You’re making it up to me. Not the other way around.”

Naturally, your hand finds the ridged texture of his shaft. “Yes, of course.” You feel it twitch under his touch, growing as a nail trails up a singular vein. “But I never said I’d make that easy.”

“Really? A sentence where ‘you’ and ‘easy’ just seems to fit.”

You sneer at him, calming down after seeing an amicable jab you’re used to. “You’re one to talk.”

“And I won’t be done talking. On your knees,” He demands.

“Or what?”

Mingyu isn’t new to your taunting but he can't help the steam coming out of his ears this time around. Gathering your weight, he swiftly turns you on your stomach and props you up as his cock settles between the cheeks of your ass. “I’ll do things like that. I’m patient until I’m not. Not when it comes to perverted brats like you.”

You voluntarily moan as you back into him, allowing the cock to slide up and down. “I’d like to see it. Unless you’re all talk.”

A familiar coolness of glass finds itself home in your sopping cunt. You mewl at the sensation, rolling your eyes to the back of your head. The side of your head braces for the bed and letting the toy suction your pussy, buzzing . “Fuck…”

“Spoke to soon, didn’t you?”

“Have—fuck—mercy…” Your words speak like pleads but your body could not be more delightful in taking every inch, adjusting from the backside in record time.

“See? Look at you take all that cock,” he spits in the smack center, rubbing around your rim and pussy thoroughly. “And knowing you and our conversations, I know you can take it well somewhere else. Isn’t that right?”

“Y-you wouldn’t…”

“I can. Unless…that’s not what you want. Unless you want me to leave this room without putting my cock in you and not fuck you like the dirty fucking slut you are.”

“Fuck…you…” The glass vanished through you, reappearing at Mingyu's will, muffling your protests, and swallowing the glass dildo satisfyingly from your cunt. The bedsheets become balls in your hand, wrinkled and worn, just as you planned to be after Mingyu is through with you.

“That’s not an answer.” He teases, thrusting faster.

“Shit…fuck…Yes please fuck, I want it. I want more. Please…”

“Excited are you, pervert?” He inquires, managing to grab the lube from a nearby drawer and squirt it on the ring of your hole. The bite of the cool gel stings in a way that’s familiar, but does not grow any easier as it physically and mentally preparing you.

“You…suck…Kim Mingyu…”

“I’ve already done that already, perv.”

Taking the crystal dildo out of your pussy, he carefully sets it aside, prepping your untouched hole for entry and feeling you clenched around his fingers. “So tight. What? Did you lie and you’re actually an anal virgin.”

“I’m not,” you moan in defense, hearing the erotic squelching burns your ears and makes your already hot skin scorching to the touch. His fingers are tolerable, but still bigger you’re used to and it’s more apparent as he inserts another finger. “I just never had anything that big. Nothing your size.”

“I’m honored.”

You hope that his cock could fuck you the way his fingers does, if not then better, already buzzing at the pace they move inside you, stretching you wider and wider.

“F-fuck off.”

“Not yet. It’s coming.” You feel the head of the dildo perk up your rim as it eases in you, the drip of lube between your cheeks drowning your hole and all the moisture it could ask for. Still, Mingyu is careful to adjust to your preference, opening you up and seeing how the toy slowly destroys you inside and out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your hands slam against the bed, allowing the gradual introduction to take over all your senses. 

“You’re taking the cock so well up your ass, fuck. I haven’t seen anyone do that yet. Remember you talking about it, made curious if you actually could.”

“I don’t lie…about stuff…like that…” you spread your ass, offering the perfectly lewd view for Mingyu, practically dripping all for him.

“Shit, I need to be inside you.”

He rolls a condom on his length, tossing the wrapper where he doesn’t see it and teases your slit moist in your cum. In the midst of it, you feel the tip of his cock rubbing your clit, and your whine ensue as you wait for more, not properly being used to the full advantage. Mingyu laughs to himself, seeing how desperate you look, reveling in the sounds that leave your body as it fuels his cock before he plunges inside you.It's an indescribable sensation, almost sacrilegious in its intensity, yet it leaves you convinced that Heaven must reside wherever Mingyu is.

You thought you knew the meaning of being spit open until it’s Mingyu reintroducing the idea. His cock and toy planted  so deep inside you, fucking both of your holes until you’re rendered into like what he calls you, a perverted little slut. You don't mind in the slightest; in fact, when the thoughts swirling through your mind are nothing but incoherent, you're utterly indifferent to anything else. Your state of matter was to be fucked, double fucked, and fucked to ruin until you’ve come over and over again.

“Stupid slut…stupid…perverted…fucking slut…Look at you…you like getting fucked in the pussy and ass, hmm?”

“Yes god yes,” you confirm, devoid of words otherwise.

He smacks you full against the cheek, groaning into the sex thicken air as he melts into your body like butter. “Yeah? How does it make you feel?”

“Full…”

“You like that?” Another smack to your ass. “Fucking pervert likes being fucked full. Big fucking surprise.”

His thrusts grow rough, already annoyed by the toy in his hands when he’s eager to plant both on your body and fill the full extent of your body. “God you’re hot,” he mumbles, “Why does a pervert like you get to be so hot, hmm?” He rams into you, feeling you jump back against him.

“Makes me want to fucking drain my cock in you, but no, I have—“ he slams again, a burst of ache living your lips, “—Work! God, I fucking needed this. I needed you and every inch before I needed to leave.”

You’d respond if you weren’t so occupied. He drowns your thoughts out every second he’s inside you, to the point nothing else exists.

“Shit, I have work,” Mingyu repeats as if dawning the thought for the first time. He lets go of the toy and manages to direct it with his thrusts, moving him and the toy into you at the same pace. You scream at him, shattered breaths taking over you, and his name is the only consistent, as you spread yourself wider to take it, left with only the base of the toy and the end of Mingyu’s shaft.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you whine incessantly, shaking and bucking into him until you cum all over his cock, undoubtedly flooding and dripping down the side of your legs.

But Mingyu takes his time and it tastes sweet than any candy, fucking your pussy and ass deeper, harder until his mind as gone as yours is. “Shit, shit, shit. Turn around and look at me.”

You do as told, dildo still in the pocket of your ass, as his cock is aimed at your lips, the condom abandoned just like its wrapper. His hands run in your hair, gripping from the root and he pushes you over the head of his cock, groaning as more pretty souvenir images for him to look back on. “Look at you. Good at taking cock there too?”

You nod, mumbling a confirmation before Mingyu penetrates deeper, noticing him lodged in you throat before bucking his hips in your mouth. “Then take it. Take all of my cum. Can’t leave another mess behind.”

Wide eyes of mischief look back at him, holding him by the back of his cock as you bob against him. He grips tighter to the back of his head, pulling and tugging as your hair become the size of his fists and you feel him hit the back of your throat. He now sees the white of your eyes, the flare of your nostrils, the quiver of jaw before it overwhelms him.

“Fuck, take it.” The load builds up to its full intensity, intoxicating him until theirs tears even in his eyes, the kind that supersedes one of joy. 

You hold his hips with both spreadhands, welcoming his release with closed eyes. You mouth gets flooded, blown up so full you’re close to choking, gagging from the contents dispersed in you.

“Take it,” Mingyu says fatigued. “You don’t have to swallow it, but take it.”

But you do swallow it, what you could anyway, and it’s inevitable that you’re a coughing mess when you unlatch from him, dribbling in a concoction of your bodily fluids and cum running along your torso, cunt, and legs.

“Okay,” Mingyu pants, “Now I really need to get to that train.”

You’re catching your breath as he cleans himself off with wet paper towels he had on hands, cleaning off the work of his cock but leaving the rest of him untouched. It’s fine, however, seeing as he glows with an air of lust, making him more charismatic than he normally did, and you’re brimming with pride knowing you’ve caused it. “I’m surprised you have that much energy off camera.”

“It helps, that it’s you.” He timidly admits, raising the temperature in your body. “And who said we’re off camera.” He points to the security camera at the corner of his room, reminding you too late that he’s used to using more than one camera to capture any and all angles. “I even forgot about it for a second.”

“Oh.”

“I can delete it if you want.”

“No it’s okay, but um….Send me a copy.”

[wandascosmic]

so american

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: in which you struggle with the aftermath of your relationship with natasha, but wanda never fails to help you through it all.

or, the one based off so american by olivia rodrigo.

word count: 11,499

tags: fluff, angst, natasha being a bitch in one scene, this was supposed to be completely fluffy but then i added angst and ended up loving it, they're mostly just two idiots in love, reader gets insecure a couple times, wanda's so in love, everyone say thank you to olivia rodrigo for fuelling all my fic ideas

part one: enough for you

“Why do Americans drive on the right side of the road,” Wanda grumbles as she sits behind the wheel, driving the two of you to your favorite road trip destination, your family’s cottage in Nevada. 

You laugh, kissing her cheek. “Baby, Sokovians do too.” 

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it,” Wanda mutters, cursing under her breath when another right-hand turn takes her by surprise. 

“I think that’s what you get for getting your license in the UK, Wanda,” you tease. “Now you’re all grumpy, and angry, and that milkshake we shared a couple of hours ago definitely didn’t help–”

Wanda gives you a look and you give a cheeky smile in return.

“For the record,” she replies, looking at the road once more. “I didn’t have a choice. I was on a recon mission with Steve, and he told me I couldn’t rely on my powers for transportation all the time.” 

“Well, I think your powers are hot, though.” 

Wanda laughs. “Thanks, detka.” 

“Jesus, I’m cold,” you mutter as goosebumps start to form on your skin. 

Wanda immediately turns down the AC in the car, and you reach into the back for the first piece of outerwear you can find. As you pull your hand back to your body, you realize it’s Wanda’s navy blue hoodie, your favorite piece of clothing of hers. Smiling, you pull it over your head, comforted by the scent of her that enraptures your senses. 

Sighing in satisfaction, you lean your head back into your chair, feeling so much more content than you did a year ago. 

Wanda notices you out of the corner of her eye, and softly says, “You look so pretty wearing my clothes.” 

You smile at her, and Wanda takes your hand in return, as she keeps her other on the wheel, intertwining your fingers together. 

“You’re so warm,” you whisper, feeling so so loved. 

Wanda squeezes your hand tighter. 

***

Wanda’s laugh is the most beautiful sound in the world, you realized the first day you met her. 

You had been sitting and talking the entire morning, Wanda’s smile awakening the constant butterflies in your stomach and setting your heart alive. 

“So,” Wanda rests her chin onto her hand and leans onto her elbow. “What profession are you in?” 

You smile, “I’m an oncologist, but I much prefer the research aspect of things. I find it thrilling.” 

Wanda scrunches her nose. “You find spending countless hours in front of your computer and in a lab thrilling?” 

You laugh. “Sure do. What about you? What profession are you in?” 

“I’m an Avenger, but I work part-time as an English professor at a local university,” Wanda replies, and before you can compliment her on her work as a superhero, she asks another question, still curious about your job. “Why oncology, though?” she asks with her shiny eyes ever so inquisitive. 

“My mom died of cancer when I was 8,” you look into your coffee cup, staring at the liquid as you pop the lid off. “You can probably figure out the rest,” you give a small smile. 

Wanda frowns. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, it was a long time ago. I’ve made peace with it, honestly.” 

“That’s really amazing though,” Wanda says, struck by how beautiful you were on the outside and inside. 

You blush. “Thanks.” Feeling overwhelmed by everything Wanda was making you feel you decide to tell a joke. “Hey, what do you call an apology written in dots and dashes?”

Wanda tilts her head curiously. “What?” 

“Re-morse code,” you give a small smile. 

Wanda takes a second to process it, but once she does, a huge grin makes its way on her face and she’s laughing. 

She’s laughing, and you want to keep hearing it for the rest of your life. 

Once she’s done, she looks at you with a shake of her head. “That was awful.” 

You shrug. “Made you laugh, though.” 

“You did,” Wanda nods. “And something tells me you’ll keep making me laugh.” 

You blush, people had never really found you funny. Nat didn’t especially. 

But here Wanda was, with her comforting smile that made you feel like you were on fire, and her soft green eyes that made you feel safe, cared for, and loved already. 

Who made you feel like you were funny for the first time in your life. 

***

“Here we are,” Wanda says, stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut. 

You sigh contently, so incredibly happy compared to the dark place you were at two years ago. Sometimes, you still felt the weight of how unloved you had felt. Of how you never felt good enough, never felt worthy of someone caring for you. And every time you ran back into your thoughts, Wanda was there to pull you out of your head and reassure you that you deserved the world. Telling you that she would do her best to give it to you. 

It all felt surreal. Gently, you hear Wanda open the car door to the passenger side. The simple action made your heart flutter. “Ready, detka?” she says, smiling at you. 

Nodding, you exit the car, planting a kiss on her lips before she shuts the door. 

Putting her sunglasses on, she comments, “You know, you’re pretty American for having a cottage. With the beach, and everything.” 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you ask. 

“Yep, because you’re an adorable American,” she smiles, kissing you quickly. 

It wasn’t fair of her, to make you feel this much. 

***

Wanda’s on a mission in Russia, and you miss her desperately. You found yourself struggling whenever you were alone, still grappling with the feelings of whether you were enough from two years ago. Your rock was all the way on another continent, too far to reassure you of the constant echoes of awful thoughts that rang in your head. 

“Can I go with you?” you had asked as you sat on Wanda’s bed while she packed the night before with you. 

Wanda kisses your lips. “As much as I would love that, detka, I want you to be safe,” she rubs your arm. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” you say quietly. 

Wanda frowns. “I know, baby, I’m gonna miss you too. So much.” 

You nod, and as you sit quietly on her bed, Wanda can tell your head is somewhere else. 

Grabbing your hand softly, Wanda sits in front of you, staring into your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you look away. 

Kissing your forehead gently, Wanda pulls back with encouraging and comforting eyes. “I love you,” she says softly. 

And it’s all you need, because it’s the most delicate, soft, unspoken gesture you’ve ever heard. One that screams that she cares, that she won’t leave you, that she won’t hurt you, and that she truly honestly loves you with all her heart and you can feel it radiating off of her. 

Wanda Maximoff made you feel like you were the most important person in the world to her. 

Little did you know, you truly were, and to confirm it Wanda had a ring in her back pocket which she bought a week after she started dating you with her at all times. 

“I love you too,” you reply, giving her a small smile. “I just want to be anywhere you are,” you confess as you start blushing timidly. 

“Oh? That’s cute,” Wanda teases. 

“Shut up,” you groan, hiding your face in the crook of her neck. 

Wanda laughs, kissing your temple. “I do too, detka.” 

“Really?” you pull your head away to meet her gaze. 

“Of course,” Wanda smiles. “Being with you is my favorite thing in the world. Why wouldn’t I want it all the time?” 

You blush furiously. “You know, if you keep this up–” 

“What?” she asks gently.

I might just marry you. You think, oblivious to the fact that Wanda’s already had the thought countless times. 

You shake your head with a smile. 

***

When Wanda’s on her mission, she buys a small chocolate chip cookie keychain that reminds her of you. They were your favorite food, and every Sunday, Wanda made sure to bake a fresh batch for the week so you never had to run out of one of your favorite things. 

And when she gets back, only seconds after she puts her bags down she feels her arms fill with you and her heart becomes so much bigger than it was before. She kisses you deeply, smiling to herself at the person she loves in her arms.

Whispering against your lips, she pulls the keychain out of her left back pocket, her right one carrying the ring she’s planning on proposing to you with. “I bought this for you,” she tells you, letting it dangle off of her index finger by the silver ring that she later finds out gets attached to the zipper of your favorite backpack. 

And God, Wanda would be a fool not to be eternally charmed by the way your eyes light up with joy once you see it, the happy tears in your eyes making her want to hug you so tightly and never ever let go. “I love it,” you reply, grabbing it softly as if it’s made of the most delicate china. “I love you,” you kiss her lips. 

Wanda shakes her head. “So American,” she teases, referring to your love for chocolate chip cookies.

“Yeah, but I’m your American,” you reply cheekily. 

Wanda nods, kissing you once more. “My beautiful, perfect, so American girlfriend.”  

Wanda feels her heart skip a beat when you blush all over. 

***

You’re crying. You’re crying because you saw Natasha for the first time since the two of you broke up, and her words don’t hurt any less than they did when the two of you were dating. Natasha had just seen you and Wanda, wrapped up in each other’s arms, admiring one another at Tony’s enormous birthday party. 

Once Wanda had left to go let Pietro in, who had run back all the way from Australia where he was taking a break from the superhero life, Natasha had come up to you. Ready to poison your world with her venomous tongue. 

“You know, she’ll get sick of you,” Natasha had snapped you out of your thoughts as you stared at the door where Wanda had just left. 

“What?” you reply as you turn to face her on the leather stool. Her calculating and judging eyes causing you to gulp. Even now, you still felt her hurtful words ring the bells of your insecurities back to life. 

“She’ll get sick of you,” Nat repeats. “I mean, why do you think we broke up? You’re boring, you’re rude, and you’re obsessive. All my friends told me about how you couldn’t shut up about me when we were together. I mean, clingy much?” 

“I didn’t mean–” you try. 

Nat scoffs. “Yeah, whatever.” She takes a sip of her drink.

You feel the need to apologize, for you never meant to make Nat feel suffocated that way, when suddenly a brunette witch is making her way over to you. And she looks like she’s about to rain down hellfire on Natasha. 

“Excuse me.” Wanda’s eyes narrow as she wraps an arm around your shoulder. “I believe she’s my girlfriend, Natasha.” 

“Just warning her.” Natasha shrugs. “And you.” 

You stare at the spot on your lap, deciding on whether or not to blink away the tears in your eyes or cry, because ever since you dated Natasha you had learned how to cry silently so you wouldn’t bother her. 

Wanda raises an eyebrow, and her accent comes out thicker than ever before, “And what would you be warning me about?” 

“Of her,” Natasha shrugs. 

Wanda’s eyes go red before she calms down, and her arm around you tightens in the most gentle way somehow. “I’ll give you five seconds to leave us alone.” 

“You’re gonna regret this, Wanda,” Natasha says. 

“The only person with regret is you, for never treating her the way she deserves to be treated,” Wanda replies sharply. 

Natasha scoffs, turning around. “As if she deserves anything.” 

Suddenly, Natasha’s glass explodes in her hands, ‘causing everyone in the party to look her way. You can tell it was Wanda based on the way you saw a spark of red flash in her hands briefly. 

Natasha turns and narrows her eyes venomously at Wanda, before stalking off to go clean the cut that’s very visible on her hand. 

You’re still staring at the same spot on your lap when Wanda turns to face you, cupping your cheeks in her hands as she looks at you. 

“Are you alright, milaya?” she asks, the heartbroken expression on your face making her heart drop to her stomach. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve this at all. 

“Do you hate me?” you whisper brokenly, the tears finally escaping your eyes as you can no longer keep them at bay. 

“No, baby, no,” Wanda wipes the tears running down your cheeks with her thumbs. “I could never, ever, hate you.” 

“What did I do to make her hate me so much? What’s wrong with me?” you ask with a sob. 

“Nothing,” Wanda feels her own tears build up behind her eyes. “Nothing is wrong with you, baby, you’re the most amazing human being I know.” 

And Wanda’s heart breaks even more, as you cry more and more, silently. 

Somehow, it’s even more heartbreaking than if you were to ever make a sound. 

You cry even more as you replay tonight’s events in your head, still in the navy blue dress Wanda had picked for you for the party, telling you how pretty you looked once she saw you in it. You felt so wrong, like you didn’t deserve any of what Wanda was giving you, like she would get sick of you the same way Natasha did. Because maybe Natasha was right, maybe you didn’t deserve anything. Because if you did deserve anything, then why would Natasha treat you so awfully, why would your mom have left you as a child and why would your brother leave you too, so overridden with the pain of the lack of your mom that he couldn’t bear to watch you, leaving you with your abusive father who reeked of alcohol every night. 

The thoughts sicken you, because your mother never ever meant to have cancer. And it wasn’t your brother’s fault that he couldn’t handle a life without your beautiful, loving mother in it. And it wasn’t your father’s fault either that he had a drinking problem. 

Maybe it was all your fault. 

You hear the knock on your door, and you can tell by the pattern that it’s Wanda. “Detka, can I come in?” she says gently from the other side of the door. 

Quietly, you get up from your bed, turning the doorknob, and opening the door. The motions feel unnatural to you, like you’re some stranger who’s been playing the role of having a loving girlfriend, but your world was shattered earlier and you don’t know who you are anymore. You don’t know if you deserve anything anymore. 

“Oh, baby,” Wanda says heartbroken as she wraps you in a tight hug. 

This was your fault, seeing the sad look in her eyes you realize that you hurt Wanda. 

You hurt the one person in your life whom you never meant to hurt. 

It was all your fault. 

You hug her back, because maybe if you hug her back it would make her feel better and it would be less of your fault. 

Wanda tightens her grip on you, wanting to convey how much she loves you. Wanting to convey how much you didn’t deserve any of this. Wanting to wordlessly tell you that despite all the pain you’ve been through you handle it with so much grace, and you’re the most beautiful person Wanda’s ever met in her life. 

But Wanda can tell that you’re not okay, that your mind is somewhere else–

Then she hears you sob. And it’s the first sound of a cry that Wanda’s ever heard from you. 

And Wanda can feel the tears fall onto her shoulder and she holds you tighter, she holds you tighter and tighter until Natasha’s hurtful words are overrun by Wanda’s overwhelming love she feels for you. 

Wanda can only hope you understand what she’s saying. 

And once you’re done crying at 3 in the morning, she keeps hoping. 

***

Wanda’s worried about you, ever since Nat had spoken to you at the party you had been more quiet. More reserved. Like your mind was somewhere else.

“Baby?” she asks one morning when you’re both alone in the compound and Wanda wants to cook you breakfast. 

“Yeah?” you ask, staring absentmindedly at the sitcom running on the TV. 

You were ecstatic when the first day Wanda met you, you had both found out about your shared love for sitcoms. 

But Wanda watches you know, the complete lack of interest in Malcolm in the Middle worrying her because it was your favorite sitcom of them all and typically you would have a completely enraptured look in your eye. The same one Wanda was lucky enough to receive from you. 

Frowning, Wanda pauses in her cooking, turning the heat off the stove and coming over to meet you on the couch. 

You don’t register when Wanda sits down next to you, still lost in your thoughts as she gently grabs your hand.

“What’s going on?” she asks softly, running her thumb over the back of your hand. 

“Nothing,” you reply, sitting up slightly. 

“Detka, I know you’re not okay. And you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but just know that I care about you, ok?” Wanda kisses your forehead gently. “I’m always here if you need me.” 

You frown, feeling so guilty that you were making Wanda worried about you. You couldn’t pretend to be okay, and now you’ve hurt her even more. How long until she gets sick of you? How long until she gets sick of the feelings you give her?  

“How long–” your voice breaks. “How long until you get sick of me?” 

“What?” Wanda asks, dumbfounded. 

“I keep making you worry, keep making you need to constantly reassure me, and it must be so tiring for you, so,” you shut your eyes tightly. “How long until you don’t want me anymore?” 

Wanda’s heart breaks. “Never,” she breathes out. “I could never stop wanting you, even if I tried.” Wanda squeezes your hand tightly. “And I would never want to try.” 

“But I’m–” you bite your lip to stop a cry from coming out. “I’m so much to deal with, and I’m not even that interesting, and it would be so much easier for you to date someone who’s actually worthy of how amazing you are–” 

Wanda cuts you off with a kiss. Cupping your cheek, she states, “You are so worthy of love, Y/N.” 

You stay silent, staring back at her green eyes and feeling them pull you out of toxic puddle that was your thoughts like they always did. 

“Loving you is the greatest gift the world has ever given me,” Wanda says, rubbing her thumb against your cheek. “And I could never get sick of you. You are the most incredible thing to ever exist, and loving you, for me, is like breathing. It’s the easiest thing in the world, and it’s everywhere.” 

“I just feel like I’m putting you through a lot,” you say quietly. 

“You’re not,” Wanda shakes her head. “You’re actually making everything I go through easier than it’s ever been.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“Sorry for what?” Wanda asks. “This is everything I love about you.” 

You laugh. “You like when I start crying and get insecure?” 

“I like every part of you. And if you need me to calm you down every single day, I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” Wanda replies, and you smile slightly at her. “But I do hate seeing you cry.” She frowns. 

You scoff. “I hate feeling like this,” you mutter. 

“And I hate Natasha for making you feel like this,” Wanda pulls you into her side and you tuck your head into her shoulder, closing your eyes. 

“I don’t think it was just her,” you say softly. “I think it was a buildup of everything, and Nat just amped it up more. I never really worked through how much that relationship affected me before jumping into one with you.” 

Wanda nods. “Do you want me to give you some space for you to figure it out?” 

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around her waist. ���I never want–” you stop yourself, worrying she’ll find you too clingy as Nat’s words ring in your head again. Space from you. 

Wanda doesn’t mean to, but your thoughts echo so loudly in your head that she can’t help but hear them. And she wants to kill Natasha all over again. “What did Natasha say to you at the party?” she asks quietly. 

“Um,” you grapple with your feelings as you relive that night, when Nat made all of your feelings of inadequacy come alive once more. Wanda frowns, rubbing her palm against your side to calm you down. “She said, that–, that you would get sick of me eventually. That I’m boring. And rude. And,” you swallow past the lump in your throat. “Too clingy.” 

“What a bitch,” Wanda mutters. 

“Do you think she’s right?” you ask Wanda, squeezing her waist tighter as your fears that Wanda will get sick of you come alive, and these are your last few moments with the person who lit up your entire world. 

“No, baby, she’s so so wrong,” Wanda replies, her eyes turning red before she looks down at you and frowns as she sees your eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“The clingy one hurts me the most,” you whisper. “All I wanted was to love her and for her to love me back. But maybe I’m too much.” 

You recall all the times you memorized her new coffee order every few months, the countless hours you had spent re-reading her self-help books, memorizing every fact, listening to all of her favorite songs from the information you had gathered about her. And the way you felt so proud to be Natasha’s girlfriend, the greatest assassin in the world and she chose you to be her partner. How could you have not talked about her? 

Maybe it was too much? 

“I think you’re the most amazing person in the world,” Wanda says, as her powers run amok once more and she sees all the lovely gestures you had done for Natasha. “I think Nat was an idiot for not seeing how kind and loving you are. And you are never too much.” 

You look up at Wanda as she looks down at you with a small smile. Kissing your forehead softly, she says, “You’re not boring. And you’re not rude. In fact, you’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met, as well as the kindest. And if someone is lucky enough to be loved by you, they should realize how rare it is to find someone as incredible as you.” 

You shake your head softly in disbelief. “How do you do it?” you ask. 

“Do what?” 

“Make me feel like I’m actually worthy of being loved.” 

Wanda kisses you deeply this time. 

“You are, I’m just the one who helps you see it.” 

Later that night, Wanda hears you on the phone with one of your oncology friends, and she hears you talk about her. How amazing she is, and how lucky you are to have her. And when she sees you flop back onto the bed through the crack of your door, an elated expression on your face, as you speak dreamily about the way Wanda dresses and the books she reads, Wanda thinks that you’re the greatest thing the world has ever created. And she knows it’s true. 

***

“Baby?” you say, turning to face Wanda in the dark in your bed. Wanda has her arm over your side, and she hums groggily as she was about to fall asleep. 

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, before slowly saying, “It’s just, I really, really, love you.” 

Wanda smiles. “You woke me up to say that?” 

“I didn’t know you were basically asleep,” you reply guiltily. “Guess the mission wore you out more than a night-shift wears me out. Sorry.” 

Wanda kisses you. “Don’t be, you’re adorable.” 

“Can I tell you something?” 

“Of course, milaya.” 

“It’s really hard to sleep when you’re next to me,” you confess.

Wanda grins into the dark. “Oh, yeah? Is it because I’m so attractive?” 

You laugh. “Yes,” you reply, and Wanda’s grin turns smug. “But it’s also because it’s so surreal that I’m with you, at all. And it’s even more surreal that you’re in my bed with me, cuddling me, and you’re so warm and soft and it just makes me want to–” 

Wanda cuts you off with a kiss. 

God, she was so in love with you. 

You grin sheepishly, “Sorry.” 

Wanda rolls her eyes. “Stop apologizing, detka.” 

“Okay,” you nod.  

“Feel better?” Wanda asks, and you understand her question. It’s been a month since Nat confronted you at the party, and moments like this were a big step for you in coming to terms with yourself overall. 

“Much,” you reply. “Especially because you’re here.” 

Wanda smiles. “I’m glad.” 

Wanda’s heart swells when she cuddles you once more, and you hold her hand that’s around your middle as tightly as you can. She feels an overwhelming love for you, and she thinks about the ring in her desk drawer back in her room. 

***

Wanda’s laughing at your joke on the couch. Wanda’s the only one who has ever laughed at your jokes, and it makes you feel so much lighter than ever before, while also making you fall deeper and deeper in love with the woman you’re lucky enough to call your girlfriend. 

“You know, you’re the only person who’s ever laughed at my jokes,” you say. 

Wanda smiles. “Well, then everyone else doesn’t have as sophisticated sense of humor as we do.” 

You give her an incredulous look. “The first day I met you, you laughed at a stupid pun I made.” 

“Exactly,” Wanda shrugs. “Sophisticated.” 

You shake your head with a smile, taking a sip of your tea as your heart feels bigger and more full than you ever thought possible.

And Wanda watches you, awestruck at your striking beauty that she struggles to believe is reality. 

***

Wanda’s sick. Wanda’s sick and you’re worried because your girlfriend is in pain and you don’t want her to be. 

When you came in this morning back from your shift in the hospital, excited to see her, your heart had dropped at seeing her pained expression in bed, her voice croaky and her brows furrowed as she battled the feeling of nausea that overcame her. Not to mention her shivers as her high fever caused her even more misery. 

You sat down on the edge of her bed, softly brushing away the strands of hair that stuck to her forehead due to her high temperature, ‘causing Wanda to stir eventually. 

Slowly opening her eyes, her eyes lit up as she greeted you with a soft smile. “Hi,” she whispered. 

Frowning, you put the back of your hand against her forehead. “Baby, you’re warm,” you told her, suddenly very worried. 

“I’m fine,” Wanda replied, trying to sit up but letting out a groan. “I’m not fine,” she joked, as you helped her lay back down.

“Stay here, I’ll go get you some medicine,” you said, kissing her forehead quickly before heading to the cabinets full of medicine in the bathroom.

“Don’t take too long, Dr. L/N,” Wanda said sleepily as she shut her eyes once more, trying her best to fight her exhaustion so she would still be awake when you came back. 

Shaking your head with a smile, you searched through the cabinets to find the proper medication to give her, already planning how you were going to take care of her the rest of the day and for as long as she needed you while she combatted her illness. Despite your worry, you were grateful that you were finally able to take care of your girlfriend, the same way she did to you every single day. 

Wanda’s condition had subsided slightly, particularly her fever which had gone down quite a bit, but she was still feeling most of the effects of the sickness. 

“Wands,” you say softly, putting the bowl of soup on her nightstand as you kneel down on her side to wake her up gently with a kiss on her cheek. 

Wanda wakes from her slumber with a groan, still slightly disoriented causing you to frown.  

“Is your fever back?” you ask, putting the back of your hand on her forehead like you had done previously this morning. It wasn’t as hot as before, calming your worry a bit. 

Wanda shakes her head before resting it on your shoulder, letting out a sigh. “You’re so good,” she says, turning her head to kiss your neck gently.

“Good at what?” you say with a laugh. 

“Just good,” she says contently, relaxing in your presence. 

“I made you some soup,” you tell her, kissing her temple as she hums. 

“I don’t want it,” she says, muffled by your shirt. 

“I’ll stay with you if you have a couple bites,” you offer. 

Wanda removes her head from your shoulder and raises a brow. “You were going to stay with me anyways,” she says matter-of-factly, trying her best to appear intimidating.  

You smile at her cute expression. Wanda could never be intimidating, especially now when her hair was slightly tousled from her pillow and she was wearing an old T-shirt of yours that was full of wrinkles from her time in bed. 

She was about as intimidating as a baby sea otter. 

“Not anymore,” you shrug, ‘causing Wanda to narrow her eyes slightly. 

“Well, you better,” she retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. “Otherwise I’m never getting over this fever.” 

You smile once more. 

“You know, you’re really cute when you’re sick.” 

“You’re insufferable when I’m sick.”  

You laugh, “Please, will you have some soup?” 

“Only if you cuddle with me when I’m better.”

“I’ll cuddle you right now if you eat a couple spoonfuls,” you say. “I’ll even feed you.”

“I don’t want to get you sick,” Wanda says before her eyes narrow at you once more. “Also, I’m not a child.” 

“I got my flu shot last month,” you tell her, reassuring her worries. “And you’re kinda acting like one,” you tease, before kissing her forehead. “But it’s really cute.” 

Finally, Wanda relents. “Fine, I’ll have some soup.” 

“Thank you, love.” 

You grab the soup from the nightstand and hand it to her, and as she eats you rest your head on her shoulder, one of Wanda’s top 3 favorite ways to be next to you.  

She eats about half before she’s full, and you tell her you’re proud of her before heading off to the kitchen to put the bowl away. 

However, as you get up from her bed, Wanda stops you by grabbing your wrist. 

“Where are you going?” she asks, sitting up slightly as she was already laying back down with the blankets tucked under her chin. 

“To put the bowl away,” you respond gently. “Keeping it in your room might make it start to smell like chicken noodle.” 

Wanda scrunches her nose, accepting your answer quickly making you laugh. 

But as you’re about to leave, you see Wanda watching you, staying sitting up and you can tell that it’s because she wants to wait for you to come back. 

Making your way back over, you gently tell her, “Go back to sleep,” you brush a strand of hair away from her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. “You’re nauseated again, I can tell.” 

“Will you be here when I wake up?” she asks. 

“Of course,” you kiss the tip of her nose. 

And when she lies back down, groggily croaking out the words, “so american,” most likely commenting on the chicken noodle soup, you smile, you smile because you know that’s Wanda’s way of saying she loves you. 

But to Wanda, it’s also her way of saying she wants to marry you. 

***

“This isn’t fair,” you pout as Wanda beats you in Mario Kart once again. 

She had been better for about a week, and she was back to herself which you were ecstatic  about. 

“Baby, how is this not fair,” she laughs.

“You’re way better than me! You had all those years where you played against Pietro, who’s unbeatable, and I only learned ‘cause Sam forced me to when no one else was available!” You cross your arms over your chest. 

Wanda smiles at the cute pout on your face before kissing you softly, and your expression eases up a bit. 

“We can play something else if you want,” she offers, pecking your lips once more. 

“Can I just cuddle you?” you ask, suddenly feeling very shy. 

“You don’t even have to ask,” Wanda says, opening her arms for you to lay down on her, as she leans back against the pillow of the couch, your head resting on her chest as you’re comforted by the sound of her heartbeat. 

You wrap your arms around her waist as she grabs the blanket from the other side of the couch, and pulls it over the two of you, making sure you’re completely covered from the neck down before she tightens her arms around you. 

“I love you,” you say softly, closing your eyes as you relax to the feeling of Wanda stroking your hair gently as you lay on her chest. 

“I love you too, detka. So much,” she says, watching as sleep starts to overcome you due to how exhausted you were from being on call for the past two weeks. 

“You know, it’s really not fair,” you mutter sleepily. 

“What, me winning over 10 times in a row on the Wii?” she laughs. 

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not fair of you to make me feel this much.” 

Wanda responds by kissing your forehead gently, and you burrow deeper into her chest as you fall into a deep slumber. 

Wanda smiles, content and so so happy as she watches you, feeling the weight of the ring in her back pocket. 

***

It was your one year anniversary, and Wanda had planned a small weekend getaway for the two of you as you had been exhausted due to a bunch of new projects you were taking on. 

Wanda was so proud of you, but a lot of the time she felt worried because of how heavy of a workload you were taking on. 

You were planning on coming over later tonight, as you had to work extra hours in the hospital. 

So, to make you feel better and to let you know about your vacation Wanda made sure wouldn’t interfere with your schedule, she had spent all day cooking you a wonderful 3-course meal which consisted of all of your favorite foods. As well as a large batch of chocolate chip cookies that would last you a solid month so long as you put them in the freezer. 

She smiled at the thought of you as she rolled out the homemade pasta she was making you, how you had turned her world upside down as she navigated the unfamiliar territory of being the newest and youngest Avenger, just having you made her feel like she was so much better than before, and Wanda fell so so deeply in love with you and she never wanted to stop. 

She wanted to give you the world. 

She thought about how kind you were, how you cared so deeply for everyone, always stopping to help wherever and whenever you could. Wanda felt so special to be the partner of someone so undeniably incredible.

Suddenly, the oven beeps, snapping her out of her thoughts as she pulls out the chicken to go along with your pasta, the appetizer of calamari already prepared as it layed on a wire rack, as well as the chocolate chip cookies which she had prepared earlier in the day to make sure she had time to make enough.  

Once she finished up, she plated the table for the two of you as she had kicked everyone out for her special dinner with you, wanting you all to herself. She smiled as she lit the candles and set up the plates along with the knives and forks, laying the plate of calamari in the middle as she kept her entree and dessert a secret from you. 

Hearing her phone go off, she grins once she sees that you’ve texted that you’ve just arrived. 

Taking her apron off as quickly as possible, she rushes downstairs to open the door for you, exhilarated at the thought of seeing you. 

Swinging the door open, you smile softly at her while she grins, bursting forward to wrap you in a tight hug. 

“Hi,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around her. “Happy anniversary.”  

“Can you take a break from doctoring once in a while?” she mutters into your neck. 

“I wish,” you say, wrapping your arms tighter around her. 

Once she lets go, she grabs your hand to pull you upstairs, excited to surprise you. 

“Wanda, what’s the rush?” you ask as you make your way up the stairs. 

“I missed you too much, come on!” she says, making you laugh. 

Once you finally make it to the top floor, Wanda stops you from walking any further. “Close your eyes,” she says. 

You shoot her a look. 

“Trust me,” she says, pecking your lips quickly. 

Closing your eyes, you say, “What now?” 

“Okay, I’m gonna guide you,” she says excitedly as she stands behind you, starting to lead you to the dining room table. 

“This is not how I expected our anniversary to go.” 

“Just trust me,” Wanda says. 

Nodding, you continue to walk in the direction Wanda guides you before she stops you in place. 

“Okay, ready?” she says and you nod. “Three, two, one, open your eyes!” 

You open your eyes, and they widen in shock as you see the most beautiful candlelit dinner you’ve ever seen in your life. 

Wanda has swapped out the regular dining room table for a round one covered in a shiny white tablecloth, as well as swapped out the regular wooden chairs for more expensive looking ones that match the elegance of the table. The plates and utensils are arranged perfectly, along with the restaurant quality napkins that were beautifully folded so they were standing upright, absolutely nothing was out of place, and the calamari in the middle was cooked to perfection, the smell wafting towards you no doubt making you hungry. 

It looked like Wanda had taken the appearance of a michelin star restaurant and copied it to perfection right here in the Avengers compound.

But what was even more unbelievable was the string of lights she had arranged all throughout the room, from every nook and cranny, the lights brought a hope to the dinner that nearly brought tears to your eyes at how romantic and calm they made the room feel.  

And finally, to top it all off, right in the middle of the array of candles on the table was a large vase of your favorite flowers. 

Flowers you had only ever mentioned to her once when she asked you, and you had told her not to worry about it because you could only ever get them in New Zealand.  

“What do you think?” she asks, coming up behind you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

You quickly turn to wrap her in a tight hug, squeezing so tightly you’re surprised she can even breathe. “I love you,” you breathe out. “So much.”  

Wanda laughs. “Does that mean you like it?” she says teasingly before continuing, “I love you too,” she kisses the crown of your head. 

Burrowing deeper into her, you mumble, “I can’t believe...I can’t believe I’m really here.” 

You remember how awful you felt 2 years ago, how hopeless you felt. How unworthy you felt. Now, standing here in Wanda’s arms, who you’re still convinced is much too good to be true, feeling so so loved, everything feels surreal. 

“I have the same thought about you,” Wanda says, her powers running amok as she accidentally reads your mind again and hears your thoughts about her. “You’re too good. Sometimes I can’t believe you exist.” 

“Stop,” you say as your cheeks turn red against her neck. 

“Happy anniversary,” she says softly. “I have another surprise for you.” 

That makes you look up. “What is it?” 

“Join me for dinner and I’ll tell you,” she says cheekily. 

“Why can’t you tell me now?” You pout. 

“Nice try, but I didn’t spend all day cooking this meal for nothing.” She runs her hands up and down your arms. “Besides, you deserve a nice relaxing dinner after all the work you’ve done the past few weeks.” 

You look up at her with a shimmering look in your eyes and a lovesick smile on your face. 

“What?” she laughs. 

“Just happy,” you reply, kissing her lips. 

“You deserve it,” Wanda says easily. “Now come on!”

She leads you over to the table by the hand, pulling out your chair for you as you sit down, planting a quick kiss on your lips before sitting down across from you. 

You share countless smiles and laughs as you have the best dinner of your life, zoning out a couple times as Wanda talks and you simply admire her for everything she is. 

And as you bite into your chocolate chip cookie after Wanda has revealed the enormous batch she made, she’s telling you what the surprise from earlier was. 

“So, I’ve checked your schedule,” she says excitedly. “And since you’re free this weekend I booked us a vacation in Palm Springs! The weather’s perfect, and you’ll finally get to relax after working so hard, plus, they have amazing grass tennis courts and I know you’ve been wanting to get back into playing since you don’t have much time for it anymore–” 

“Wanda,” you cut off softly, shaking your head. 

You can’t even begin to comprehend that tonight is real at all. 

“What?” she asks, looking at you with a smile.

“Every time I start to think you couldn’t get more perfect you just…” 

“I get the same feeling about you,” she says, making you blush. “But I’m not perfect.” She takes a hold of both of your hands and rubs her thumbs over the backs softly. “However, I do love you, so much, and I want to show it.” 

“Well, you’re perfect for me,” you reply, meeting her gaze and smiling softly as the two of you just stare at each other. But suddenly, it clicks in your head. “How did you know I used to play tennis?” 

Wanda blushes before she starts off shyly, “Um, before we started dating I went to your hospital to see if you were there, but you weren’t so I may have asked your oncology friends a couple things about you.” 

“So you stalked me?” you tease. 

“I couldn’t help it I had a crush on you!” she defends, letting go of your hands and putting her head into her arms. “I still have a crush on you.” 

“How embarrassing,” you comment with a chuckle. 

“It’s not embarrassing,” she defends as she lifts her head from her arms. “Have you seen how pretty you are?” 

You blush, ducking your head down so your hair covers your face slightly. Even after a year of dating Wanda always managed to fluster you to no end. 

“Wow, now who’s embarrassed,” Wanda teases back. 

“Shut up, I hate you,” you say, embarrassed. 

“Wow, that’s not very American of you,” she says with a chuckle. 

“Take that back,” you say, lifting your head and narrowing your eyes at her. 

“If you say yes to the Palm Springs trip.” 

“I thought I already said yes.” 

“Not verbally,” she emphasizes. 

“I’ll go anywhere you go,” you say easily. 

“Cute cop-out, but I need the word yes,” she says, sitting up and kissing your lips quickly before sitting back down. 

“Yes,” you relent with a smile. “I’ll go to Palm Springs with you.” 

“Good,” she smiles before a mischievous twinkle brings itself out in her eyes. “So I’ll get to watch you play tennis all weekend. I can already imagine how hot that’ll be…” 

“Why do you insist on teasing me?” 

“‘Cause you look so cute when you’re flustered.” 

You shake your head, taking a bite of your chocolate chip cookie to distract yourself from the way Wanda was making you feel. 

But instead she decides to mess with you even more, softly saying the words “so american” as she watches you. 

And Wanda telling you she loves you made you the most flustered of all. 

***

You had gotten Wanda a necklace for your anniversary, and she had gotten you a bracelet with both of your initials on them. 

Now, waking up in your hotel in Palm Springs, you smile once you see the bracelet on your wrist. You turn in bed to see if Wanda was there, but you frown once you see the empty spot next to you. 

Where was she? 

You wonder where she could be, because she would never leave to go to breakfast without you, nor would she head out without telling you where she was going after waking you up with a soft kiss. 

You don’t know where she could have gone. 

But soon, your question is answered as she enters the room, a large tray of your favorite breakfast foods in her hands as she greets you with a smile. 

You tilt your head in confusion. 

“Hi,” she says, setting down the tray and kissing you on the lips. “I made you breakfast.” 

Your heart flutters and your stomach fills with butterflies. “How did you manage to do this?” 

“Turns out that locked room isn’t a closet, but a tiny kitchen,” she explains, pointing to the aforementioned room. “I found out after I woke up early this morning by accident.” 

“I missed you,” you say, hugging her side. “Where’d you get the food from?” 

“Magic,” she replies easily.

“Oh, right, I forgot I’m dating a witch,” you chuckle, hugging her tighter. 

“I’m not a witch,” she says defiantly. “I was voted most powerful Avenger at Tony’s ceremony last year.” 

“They’re right,” you say, looking over to the breakfast tray and smiling once you see the gorgeous rose that lays on its side. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not a witch.” 

“I’m a not-witch who’s really in love with you.” 

“And I’m a not-doctor who’s really in love with you.” 

“Well, then we agree to disagree,” she says, putting the tray in front of you, silently telling you to start enjoying your meal. 

“Mhm,” you say, eating a forkful of the omelet she had prepared and moaning at the taste. “Where’d you learn to cook?” 

“My mother taught me, back in Sokovia,” she says quickly, heat flushing to her cheeks after she hears the sound you had made. Shifting from her position on the bed to move behind you, she gently shifts you forward slightly so she can sit behind you and outstretch her legs as she wraps her arms around your middle.  

You lean your head back to rest against her shoulder. “She taught you really well,” you say, closing your eyes. 

“Detka, are you gonna fall asleep while eating breakfast?” she laughs. 

“No, I’m just savoring this moment,” you reply, kissing her shoulder. “And I want to savor this breakfast too.” 

“Yeah? I’m that good?” she says with a chuckle. 

“You are,” you say, opening your eyes to look up at her. “In fact, I might marry you right now if you keep this up.” 

“I’d do it every day just for you,” she replies, kissing your lips. 

And when you smile at her, that beautiful smile that makes Wanda’s heart beat faster than she can comprehend, she seriously considers pulling out the ring from her pocket to propose to you right in your hotel room. 

***

“Baby? Wake up,” Wanda whispers, bright and early in the morning on September 8th. 

You groan, not wanting to get up. 

Wanda laughs. “Come on, it’s your birthday,” she says, kissing you on your forehead. 

“Doesn’t that mean I should get to sleep in,” you grumble, burying yourself deeper into the pillows. “Come cuddle with me,” you say, sleepily patting the spot next to you where Wanda had slept last night. 

“As much as I would love to, if I cuddle you right now you’re only gonna end up sleeping for another hour. And there’s a bunch of things prepared for your special day,” she says softly. 

“Another hour sounds great, thanks,” you mumble as you start to feel yourself drift off. 

“No, no, no, come on!” she laughs, gently pulling the blankets off your body. 

“It’s cold,” you groan as the air of the room starts to wash over your body.

“Because you and I sleep in negative degrees,” Wanda says teasingly before gently sitting down on your bed to hug you tightly. 

After a few minutes, you accept your fate as you sit up with a sigh against the headboard, Wanda letting go of you to grab the glass of water on your nightstand to hand to you. 

“Happy birthday,” she says softly as you take a sip of the water and she watches you with a smile. 

You kiss her gently. “Thanks.” 

“How’d you sleep?” she asks. 

“Really well.” You grin. “I got to cuddle with you all night.” 

“Last night must have helped too–” 

“I will throw this water in your face if you finish that sentence,” you cut her off, starting to blush. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” she says with a smirk. “You’re really hot when you’re angry.” 

“So, theoretically if I yelled at you, you’d just end up wanting to have sex?” 

“First,” she says. “You would never yell at me.” You give her a look, and she just smiles smugly because she knows she’s right. You were way too nice to ever yell at anyone. Even animals. “And second, yes, that’s usually how that works.” 

“You’re a middle school boy,” you say with a shake of your head. 

Wanda just smiles before kissing you deeply. “Can’t help it.” She brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” 

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” you say back. 

Wanda grins. “Ready for your birthday?” she asks, standing up from the bed and holding out her hand for you to take. 

You nod, smiling as you take it and stand up, kissing her quickly before she starts to take you through the day she had planned. 

And when you’re back, cutting into your birthday cake to hand out to the team members (Natasha was on a mission in Africa) which Wanda had baked, you’re back after a sunrise picnic full of your favorite foods, a relaxing walk across the beach, lunch at your favorite diner, a tour of your favorite locations in New York City as well as somehow meeting your favorite tennis player on the Arthur Ashe stadium of the US Open (you have absolutely no clue how Wanda pulled that off), you turn to your incredible girlfriend, who’s already staring at you with an adoring gaze in her eyes. 

Softly, you say, “I’m so in love with you.” 

You never knew your heart could ever feel this full. 

“I’m so in love with you too,” she replies, kissing you in the most gentle way yet somehow still communicating the deepest sense of passion. “Happy 24th, detka.” 

You want to cry, you want to cry the happiest tears of your life because, god, you have no idea how you got so lucky to have this woman in your life. 

But instead, you kiss her on the lips, hoping it says everything you need to. 

And Wanda knows exactly what you’re saying. 

***

“Oh, my god, what if it’s too much!” you ramble to Yelena as you pace back and forth in your apartment back home. 

“You’ve been dating her for 4 years, you idiot,” Yelena replies, rolling her eyes. 

“Exactly! What if this is like a 5-year thing, or 7 years– Or, god, I don’t know!” 

“Y/N,” she says, grabbing your attention. “Listen, this is ridiculous. That girl is so disgustingly in love with you, you could tell her you’ve hated her all this time and she would still think you gave her the sun or something.” 

You frown. “I could never hate Wanda.” 

“God, you two are insufferable,” Yelena sighs. 

But Yelena’s secretly so happy to see that you’ve finally found someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated. 

“Hey!” 

“For God’s sake, just go tell her you don’t like ravioli.” 

“It’s her favorite food! We eat it every Thursday just for her!” 

“It’s actually you who’s her favorite food.”

“What? Yelena, I swear–” 

Later that day, Wanda accepts your revelation with a smile on her face and a kiss on your cheek. 

***

“Wanda,” you say softly as you two walk hand-in-hand through the streets of New York. 

“Yeah?” she says, turning to face you with a small smile. 

“So, I don’t want to assume this,” you pause, fidgeting with your fingers nervously. “But, will you go out to dinner with me?” 

Wanda grins. “We’ve been dating for four years and you don’t want to assume that I’ll go to dinner with you?” 

“Well, you might be busy!” you defend. 

Wanda laughs. “I’m never too busy for you, milaya.” 

“You’re just saying that. What if there’s a criminal who shows up out of the blue and you’re needed for superhero business or something…” 

“Then we’ll reschedule,” Wanda says, shrugging. “And I’ll make sure I always have time for you.” 

You bite your lip anxiously. “What if…what if you don’t come back one day?” your voice trembles. 

“Oh, baby,” Wanda says, hugging you. “I’ll always come back to you.” 

“You can’t know that,” you mumble into her shirt. 

“But I do,” she says, holding you by your shoulders and pulling away slightly. “Because you’re worth every bit fighting for, and I’ll always make sure that I keep fighting until I see your face again.” 

Wanda frowns as she watches the tears roll down your cheeks. 

Wiping them away with her thumb, she says softly, “I love you. I’ll always come back to the person I love most in the world.” 

“I love you too,” you reply, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” she tells you. “I’m always happy to care for you.” 

“I’m really hopelessly in love with you,” you say quietly only for Wanda to hear. 

“The feeling’s mutual, detka.” 

***

Wanda was going to propose to you tonight. 

It was almost Christmas, which she had found out in your first year of dating was your favorite time of year (besides her birthday or your guys’ anniversary) because it made you feel like you belonged somewhere. 

Wanda smiled while she watched you from the couch, biting the nail of your thumb as you thought carefully of which ornament to put next on the Christmas tree. 

She was so in love with you, your work ethic, how much you cared for her, how loved you made her feel. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with you. 

“Wanda?” you ask, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

“Yeah, detka?” she replies, looking over at you. 

You point to the box of blue and silver ornaments by her feet. “Can you pass me the silver one shaped like a Christmas tree?” 

Nodding, she grabs the ornament from the box and makes her way over to you, hugging you from behind as you placed it carefully on the branch only a little bit taller than you. 

“How does it look?” you ask with a smile, turning your head slightly to kiss her on the cheek. 

“Even better than last year,” she replies, squeezing you tighter. 

If someone didn’t stop her soon, she was going to propose to you right then and there. 

In order to stop herself, she clears her throat and steps back from you a bit, letting go, hoping you don’t notice her actions. 

However, you know her too well, and you turn to look at her with a small furrow of your brows. 

Wanda gives an awkward smile. “Um, I’m gonna get started on the cookies,” she says, pointing towards the kitchen. 

“Okay,” you say slowly. 

Wanda nods, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving you to head towards the previously mentioned room. 

Once Wanda’s in the kitchen, she lets out a sigh, wondering how she was going to get through the day without breaking down due to her nerves. Wanda checked her back pocket, making sure the ring was still there, and felt a sense of relief once she felt it’s black box. 

She had it planned perfectly. After tonight’s holiday party with the team (which she had exclusively made sure Natasha could not make it), she was going to take you to the coffee shop where you two had first met, then she was going to take you to Shakespeare’s garden where you two had first admitted you loved each other, and she was going to officially propose to you at the firework show she had begged Tony to help her host. 

Everything had to be perfect. 

“Wanda?” you startled her out of her thoughts as you knocked on the doorway. Furrowing your brows, you ask, “are you alright?”

“What? Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine…” Wanda replies awkwardly, looking down at her feet and shifting awkwardly. 

You laugh slightly, “Baby, you haven’t even started on the cookies.” You walk over to her, seeing nothing but two eggs on the counter in front of her and nothing else. 

Wanda gulps slightly at your close proximity. How stupid that she had been dating you for 6 years yet you still made her feel like a teenager in high school. “I did…” she says weakly. 

“Oh yeah?” you tease. “How delicious if we left out two eggs with milk for Old St. Nick?” You pick up an egg between your fingers to show her. 

“It’ll give him something new to try,” Wanda shrugs. 

Sighing, you put the egg down, and cup your girlfriend’s cheeks in your hands, rubbing your thumbs over them. “What’s going on?” you say gently. 

“Just nervous,” Wanda admits. 

“Nervous for what?” you ask, brushing a tendril of hair away from her face. 

“You make me nervous,” Wanda says, relenting as she rests her forehead on your shoulder. “You’re so perfect,” she mumbles into your shirt.

Your heart feels like it might explode. “I don’t understand,” you say as you shake your head. “How are you the nervous one yet somehow you still make me feel like I’m gonna burst with happiness?” 

Wanda smiles against your shirt. “It’s ‘cause I love you.”

“And I love you,” you reply.  

“You know, we still have about 2 hours until Tony’s party…” she says suggestively, starting to kiss her way up your neck. 

“More than enough time for you to help me finish the tree,” you say lightheartedly. 

Wanda groans. “I hate you.” 

“Too late, you’re stuck with me already.” You grin as you grab her hand and lead her into the living room, the cookies unspokenly abandoned. 

Little did you know, Wanda wanted nothing more than to be stuck with you for the rest of her life. 

And tonight, she was going to make it official. 

***

“Why the fuck is it so cold,” Wanda muttered, rubbing her bare arms to warm herself up, before intertwining your hands once again. “It’s way colder than the temperature you and I sleep in.” 

“Because Pepper’s here,” you say easily. “And Tony turns the place into an ice box just for her.” 

“Can’t he just invite some sort of nano-machine that keeps it cold for her all the time? He’s got the money,” Wanda says bitterly. 

You chuckle. “Come on, grumpy,” you start to pull her onto the dance floor. “This ought to warm you up.” 

Wanda accepts as you wrap your arms around her shoulders and she wraps hers around your waist, the two of you becoming lost in your own little world as you admire one another in your respective dresses. 

“You look so pretty,” she tells you, awestruck at your beauty. 

“So do you,” you say, taking her in before resting your head on her shoulder, swaying as the two of you try to stay as close as you possibly can. 

Wanda closes her eyes as she rests her cheek on the crown of your head, feeling so content with you in her arms. 

“When did you first know?” you whisper next to her ear. 

“When you made that stupid pun,” Wanda says, and she giggles once she hears you groan in embarrassment. 

“That’s the worst one you could’ve said,” you say, lifting your head up from her shoulder to meet her gaze.

“Can’t help it,” she says, kissing you quickly. “It was so adorable.” 

“I still think it’s insane that you actually find me funny,” you shake your head. 

“I’ll laugh at all your jokes,” she replies easily. “It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

“Are all Sokovians this romantic?” 

“Are all Americans this incredible?” 

You both grin stupidly at each other before the two of you can’t take it and kiss each other deeply, pouring every ounce of love you feel for one another.  

“Nope,” Wanda says as she pulls away. “Just my so American girlfriend.” 

You smile, kissing her again, and again, and again. 

And Wanda thinks it wasn’t fair of you either, to make her feel this much. 

***

“Wanda, where are we going?” you laugh as she pulls you through the streets of New York. 

“I need to show you something, come on!” she says, stopping once you realize where she’s brought the two of you. 

The coffee shop where you first met. 

“What are we doing here?” you ask, unable to stop the cheesy grin that makes its way onto your face. 

“It’s a surprise, come on,” she replies, opening the door for you and letting you in. Once she shuts the door behind her, you turn, and your eyes soften once you see the shiny look in her eyes. “I’m taking you on a tour,” she says, guiding you to the back table where you two had first spoken. 

“A tour of what?” you say, smiling as you follow her. 

“A tour of how much I love you.” 

And Wanda only falls deeper and deeper in love once she sees the happy tears in your eyes when she reveals your coffee cup from when the two of you had first met, which she had kept all this time. 

***

“No way,” you say with awe as your next stop comes into your line of sight, the coffee cup held safely in your hand at your side. 

“And I re-made the batch of cookies we shared that day,” Wanda said, pulling a tupperware of cookies from behind her back as you follow her onto the bridge of Shakespeare’s garden. 

“What made you do all this?” you ask, shaking your head in disbelief as you come up to her to wrap your arms around her shoulders. 

“It’s a surprise,” she replies, kissing you. “But for now, I want you to know how much you mean to me.” 

“I do,” you say easily. “Every day.” 

“Good,” Wanda grins. “And I’m gonna keep showing you.” 

***

Wanda might not even propose tonight. 

In fact, she doesn’t know if she’ll even remember as she’s lost in awe at how beautiful you look under the stars, holding the rail that separates you from the body of water in front of you while standing on top of a craggly rock, the booming fireworks causing your eyes to shine in a way that makes Wanda want to capture this moment forever.

But, she’s on a mission. 

And when it came to you, Wanda always put her best foot forward. 

“They’re so beautiful,” you say, completely in awe as you watch the colors explode in the sky. 

“Just like you,” Wanda says softly. 

“You know, I still really want to know why you did all this,” you say, turning to her and smiling once you see her already watching you. “I didn’t miss any special date, did I?” 

“Of course you didn’t, your google calendar is already filled to the brim,” she replies with a teasing roll of her eyes. 

“Well, if I didn’t have everything booked then you would forget all of your check-up appointments with your doctor,” you reply cheekily.

“You’re already a doctor.” 

“Not the right kind of doctor.” 

“You’re actually exactly my kind of doctor,” Wanda flirts, making you blush. 

“I hate you. That was awful,” you say as you turn away. 

And as you watch the fireworks in the sky once again, Wanda decides, now’s the time. 

Taking a deep breath and swallowing her nerves, she gets down on one knee. 

Then, almost robotically, she pulls out the ring, opening the box slowly, as if any sudden movement would cause the whole thing to shatter. 

She just needed you to turn her way. 

To turn your head slightly and see her message for you. 

I want to spend the rest of my life by your side. 

It feels as if time has stopped. 

All she feels is the beating of her heart through her chest, the blood pounding in her ears, and her nerves washing over her over and over again– and all she needs is for you to look.  

It feels like hours before you–

Then, you do. 

And it’s slow, and careful, and gentle, and so you.  

You gasp. 

And Wanda shakily breathes out, “Will you marry me, detka?” 

Both of your hands cover your mouth, and tears build in your eyes. 

And Wanda feels the happiest she has ever felt–

When you croak out a yes. 

Wanda wants to keep this moment forever. She wants to remember how full her heart feels when she slips the ring onto your finger. The feel of your lips on her own when you kiss her hard through both of your tears and your laughs of disbelief. 

It’s the happiest day of her life. 

And it’s the happiest day of yours, too. 

***

“I’m so, so, in love with you,” you say as the two of you walk back to your shared home, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

“I’m so in love with you too, detka,” Wanda replies, kissing your temple as she holds you close. 

“When you were a kid, did you ever think you were going to have an American girlfriend?” you chuckle. 

“I never did,” Wanda admits with a smile. “But I couldn’t be happier that I ended up with a beautiful, so American fiancée.” 

You blush at the new title, hiding your reddening face in your fiancée’s neck. “Tonight doesn’t even feel real,” you mumble after a moment. 

Wanda laughs slightly. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” 

Suddenly, out of curiosity, you ask, “When did you buy that ring?” 

“A week after we started dating,” Wanda says resolutely. 

“What?” Your head snaps up from her neck. 

“I just knew,” Wanda says, kissing the tip of your nose. “I knew you were going to be my wife.” 

“That’s…” you shake your head in disbelief. “Wow.” 

Wanda pulls you closer to her. “It was the easiest thing I’ve ever known. Wanna know why?” 

“Why?” you ask. 

“Because, from the first day I met you, I knew, you were everything to me. And you still are.” 

Your eyes start to water. “I’m everything to you?” 

“You are,” Wanda nods, kissing the crown of your head with so much tenderness it makes you want to cry. 

But, you don’t start to cry because of the kiss. 

And you don’t start to cry out of joy although you really, really want to. 

No. The tears finally escape your eyes as you realize that you finally have everything you’ve ever wanted. 

That you’re finally, finally everything to somebody else. 

“You’re everything to me too.” 

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Breakfast Time

My son’s stuck in a time loop again.

He thinks I don’t know, of course. He’s never told me that this happens to him (or that he can do this, possibly; I’m not sure which it is.) Maybe I’m a bad mother, if I haven’t proven myself worthy of that trust. But there is only so many times that one can watch their son trudge through a day with bored impatience, anticipating everything you say just a little too quickly and showing no surprise to even the most surprising event, and then come downstairs the next day disoriented but rejuvenated and with a new zest for life and a tendency to get blindsided by even the most predictable things, before one makes the obvious connection.

I don’t think he’s lived through this day too many times yet, because he’s not frustrated by my good morning joke but not surprised by the monster attack being announced on the news. He eats his toast makes polite conversation that sounds just a little too rote until his sister comes down, and he puts his toast down in that distinctive way that make her eyes widen in sudden realisation, a reaction I never would have noticed if I wasn’t looking for it. He told her about three time loops ago, I think, although it might’ve been earlier and I just never noticed the signal until then. I make sure to keep the smile on my face as I push a plate of toast towards her.

The thing on the news is some kind of flying beast, and my son’s eyes don’t leave the TV screen. I expect that calm, solid determination that I usually see in his expression on days like this, but instead he watches it only with a wary sort of calculation. I suppress a sigh – it looks like I won’t be remembering today, then.

The pair exchange glances and look to me. “Hey, mum, I figured we should go to school early. We’ve both got these big tests coming up and – ”

“Yes, fine, whatever. Go.” I know what you’re thinking – obviously they’re off to do something dangerous, and obviously they’re far too young for this sort of thing, and obviously I shouldn’t enable this, and I’m a terrible parent for letting them run off to maybe get themselves killed someday. But I put this to you:

How, exactly, do you expect me to stop them?

As my son heads for the door, though, I almost stop him. I consider, not for the first time, just telling him what I know, what I’ve figured out, and asking him to explain everything, to say where he’s going and what he plans to do about that thing and if his sister is involved and if they at least have help, to put my mind at ease. I don’t, though. Because, logically… I must have done that before, right? In at least one of the countless days that never happened. I must have gotten worried or angry or just fed up with this ridiculous charade and told him that he wasn’t as good at hiding as he thought he was. He has to know that I know, right? And yet, he still chooses to let it play out like this.

Or, perhaps, he told me once. That must have happened, right? I must have been there to help, to patch his wounds and dry his tears and listen to him confess his fears or his worries or his regrets about this big responsibility, about whatever he’s doing out there. He must have told me, at some point, at least once, in one of those nonexistent days. And afterwards, he chose not to tell the me that stuck around. Meaning that I must have given him some reason to keep this secret.

What did I do to him? What did I say to him? How bad a confidante must I have been, that he chooses instead to keep me in the dark?

They leave, they ‘go to school early’, and I start on the dishes. As I wash my daughter’s breakfast crumbs away, the plate slips from my fingers and shatters on the tiles at my feet. I sigh, and turn to get a broom.

Then stop. Pick up all the other dirty plates. And shatter them, one by one, on the tiles.

Then I leave the mess behind me, pull a full tub of rocky road ice cream out of the freezer, and resolve to spend the day eating junk and watching youtube videos. After all, it’s not like it’s going to matter tomorrow, right?

[jaylaxies]

NOW OR NEVER

PAIRING: spider-man!sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, choking, fingering, slight bondage, usage of nicknames, breeding.

SYNOPSIS: going around the city with your massive poster which said, ‘Choke me, Spider-Man!’ was something you did for fun, not knowing that your dream might actually come true.

WC: 1.4k words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, loves! this one was requested by my anonnie and i’ve also posted this as a mark fic before! i hope you guys will like it :3 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

“Shh, baby. Don’t want your parents to hear now, do we?”

You truly couldn’t believe that it was happening—that Spider-Man was in your room with his slender fingers wrapped ever so perfect around your throat.

You’ve always wanted this from the day you first saw him, on the day he saved a lift full of people from falling down and crashing to the ground. You were one of those who unfortunately got stuck inside the lift too, which was the traumatic onset of your tiny crush on him.

No one knew who was behind that mask, yet his suit clad figure was a sight to see, his build lean and slightly muscular, not to mention he smelled brilliant (a little something you gathered when he saved you).

To add to it, his ever so attractive voice always grasped everyone’s attention, you thought he was funny too, which is exactly why you ended up making a poster full of glitter saying:

Choke me, Spider-Man!

It was a silly joke, albeit you’d definitely be lying if you say you didn’t get wet dreams about the superhero, because you did. Detailed ones at that.

Maybe carrying the poster with you at all times was a stretch but you did it anyway, granted that your city was full of crimes and spotting Spider-Man was an easy task, which is why you proudly held up the poster in the crowd whenever you saw him, after he fought with the villain that is.

The people around you laughed, but it wasn’t mocking, it was more of an amused laugh, and you could have sworn you noticed spidey look your way, before swinging away, much to your dismay.

This went on a few times. You were practically waving the poster frantically when it was the fourth time, yet he didn’t pay you attention of any sort, leaving you dejected as you dragged yourself back home from Uni, chuckling at your state.

Crush on a superhero?

Pathetic.

He’s loved by countless people all over the world, what makes you think he’d have time to give you even a sliver of his attention when he’s so busy saving the world?

Clicking your tongue, you threw the crumbled poster in the trash can of your bedroom, dimming the lights as you sat down on your bed, ready to change into your nightwear before opting to sleep to take your mind off things.

Just then, a loud sound of knocking on your window caught your attention, which was funny considering you lived up on a pretty high floor in your apartment building. You thought that it must be a bird, still, you decided to open the curtains to check it out.

Shock would be an understatement to explain what you were feeling the second your eyes laid on the person right outside your window.

The reason for your sour mood, or rather, the reason you spent hours trying to ease the pent up frustration in you each night, moaning out with need, was hanging by your window.

“Oh god,” you breathed out, brain short circuiting for a few seconds before you shook your head, opening the windows for him to come in.

Who knew Spider-Man would actually care enough to notice you?

Then you realized just how awkward the situation was, and you didn’t have much to say anymore now that he was standing right in front of you, looking around as if he was inspecting your room.

“Spider man,” you breathed out, and he chuckled.

His attention was on you now, walking closer to you, “so, you’re the one who wanted to be choked by me,” he said smoothly, and you couldn’t help but shamelessly gawk at his figure, mouth watering at the sight.

“Uhm—I mean, holy fuck you’re actually here,” you tried to voice out your thoughts, but they were a mess, which only caused him to chuckle at your shocked state.

“Didn’t you want me here, baby?” He asked and you felt your knees buckling at the deep tone of his voice.

You took another step back, only to lose balance and trip. But good for you, your spidey was quick to shoot his web on your silky night blouse, pulling you close and right into his arms.

He smelled so good.

“Careful. We don’t want you hurting your pretty face,” he whispered, tracing his glove clad finger along your jaw, gripping your chin when he noticed how your body had gone still, “deep breaths, babe.”

“Are you gonna fuck me?” You asked, voice coming out in a low whine, eyes twinkling with hope.

He chuckled, pulling his mask up which had you bubbling with anticipation, you really wanted to see what he looked like. However, he stopped a little too soon for your liking, only exposing his lips, leaning in to mumble against your own.

“I’m gonna fuck the life out of you,” he whispers, a gasp leaving your lips as you pulled him closer into a rushed kiss.

He was quick to take over, kissing you harder as he pushed you down on your bed, you could feel his fang like canines biting down on your bottom lip, “undress, quick,” he ordered, and you fumbled while getting everything off your body.

Your cheeks were warm, your eyes on his figure, which was now devoid of his costume, faint abs and strong muscles on display for you, but your mouth practically salivated at the sight of his cock, thick and hard.

Just when you sat up to touch him, he grabbed your wrist, pushing them up your head and shooting webs to tie them, making sure they didn’t move.

You never knew you’d be into web-play but here you are, getting wet by being constrained by webs.

“Please,” you begged in hopes that he’d touch you, or do something, anything.

“So needy, aren’t you?” He clicks his tongue, his fingers caressing your cunt, collecting your wetness, “so wet already,” he smirked, “wanna be fucked all night, huh?” He asked, continuing working his fingers between your legs, arousal leaking from your cunt.

His other hand was wrapped up around your neck, fingers tightening enough for you to gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt lightheaded with the whole situation, but you couldn’t have asked for anything better.

He was so good with his fingers, thumb pads circling your clit while two digits plunged in and out of you, eliciting moans out of you.

“Shh,” he whispered, his hold around your neck tightening which caused you to open your mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to lean in and spit in your mouth, watching the glob travel down your tongue till you gulped it down, earning a praise out of him, “good girl.”

He pulled back right when your body started shaking with the orgasm building up in your lower abdomen, his hold on your neck loose to let you breathe some more before he took it to the next level.

He ran his lips down your neck, sucking harshly as he lined his cock to your eager folds, your expression blissful and your entrance so wet, it made it easy for him to bottom out, “so fucking pretty,” he groaned out.

His voice strained as he started fucking you into your mattress, his power was evident with how precise and hard his thrusts were. It was a lifetime opportunity for you, and you wished to savour every second of it as you wrapped your legs around his slender waist, pulling him even closer and deeper in your pussy.

He hit your spot over and over again, “cream my cock like a good girl, baby,” he rasped out, his own orgasm approaching.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, with his fingers still gripping your neck, the lack of air was evident but it somehow made you feel as if you were floating with unadulterated bliss around you as you finally reached your state of euphoria, coming undone on his cock, exactly when he filled you up with his cum, mixing it with yours as he emptied himself in you.

You whined when he pulled back, getting dressed after draining you, “you’re leaving?” You asked, frowning.

“Gotta save the world now, pretty,” he whispered, removing his webs from your wrists before pecking your lips and rushing out of the window, leaving you dazed.

Maybe making the poster wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl

permanent taglist open! comment or send an ask to be added!

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[reiding-writing]

hi!! huge congrats on 2k!

I was wondering if I could get a workshop session?

I was thinking early seasons (1 or early 2) spencer who is experiencing extreme jealousy over reader (maybe an ex of hers comes back, or there's someone hitting on her) and he's super confused on why he's feeling like this and goes to someone (likely morgan) is like man. what is wrong with me.

and morgan's like hey. let me touch your hand when I say this. (& is more serious than normal because he knows how powerful of any emotion extreme jealousy can be).

WRONG SUITOR — SPENCER REID!

spencer doesn’t understand why he hates it when you smile at other guys.

spencer reid x reader | fluff | 0.9k | event masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — obliviously jealous spencer is the best spencer

Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling.

It gnawed at him, deep and unfamiliar, every time he glanced over at you.

You were standing near the coffee machine, laughing at something James, a colleague from the field office, had said.

The way you leaned in, smiling, just seemed to prod at something raw in Spencer. His hands fidgeted with the book he wasn’t reading, his mind racing far too fast to keep up.

Jealousy.

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? But why? He wasn’t dating you or anything.

You were just... friends.

Sure, he cared about you, more than he would admit, even to himself, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to him. Not like this.

He watched James’ hand brush your arm, the way you genuinely seemed to enjoy being in his presence and listening to what he had to say, and something inside Spencer tightened.

His breath hitched, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

What was he feeling? Why did it physically hurt? He’d read about jealousy, studied it, even profiled it countless times. But to feel it so intensely terrified him.

It was something that happened to other people, something he’d see from the outside. He wasn’t supposed to feel it himself.

He wasn’t supposed to sit there at his desk like an idiot and think about the fact that you’d never smiled that brightly in his direction or laughed genuinely at one of his dumb science ‘jokes’.

He wasn’t supposed to imagine a sinkhole that swallowed James whole so he’d never have to see you look at him ever again.

He didn’t like it at all.

With his mind spiralling, he pushed away from his desk and made a proverbial beeline for Morgan’s.

He felt a different type of jealousy at how relaxed Morgan seemed—eyes glued to a case file with a pen between his teeth—but his head lifted when Spencer approached, his brows furrowing in concern.

"Hey, pretty boy, what’s up? Why do you look like that?" Morgan tilted his head at the sudden approach, casually leaning back in his chair. Spencer just sighed.

He didn’t know how to start, how to explain his thought process without sounding like an absolute creep or just plain psychotic. He ran a hand through his hair, the discomfort clear in his posture.

"I... I don’t understand what’s wrong with me," Spencer said finally, the frustration spilling into his voice as he glances over in your direction. "Every time I see her with someone else, it’s like—I don’t know—this... this knot in my chest, and I can’t focus. I’ve never felt this before, and I’m not sure why it’s happening now."

Morgan’s eyes followed Spencer’s, expression softening instantly as he caught sight of you. There were sparks of amusement in his eyes, but he knew this wasn’t a time for teasing. He beckoned Spencer a little closer with his hand, letting it rest on his shoulder and giving him a look more serious than Spencer expected.

“Reid…” Morgan sighs like Spencer’s blind, like he’s trying to figure out how to let the news break easily.

“I’m jealous, I know,” Spencer rips off the bandaid for him.

"Hey, man," Morgan presses his lips together sympathetically. "It happens,”

“But why am I jealous-? I don’t—” Spencer cuts himself off frustratedly.

“It's because you care about her, Reid. More than just as a friend.” He paused, watching the realisation flicker across Spencer’s face.

"But—" Spencer stammered, his mind racing. "I don’t—I mean, I’ve never thought about—"

Morgan smiled softly but didn’t let it go. “You have, man. You just didn’t recognize it before now. And that’s okay. But you need to face it, or it’ll eat at you.”

Spencer blinked, his mind whirling, trying to process everything Morgan was saying. Was that it? He had feelings for you? Feelings he had been too blind, or too afraid, to admit?

Morgan squeezed his hand against Spencer’s shoulder with an exasperated sigh. “You gotta figure this out, man. Don’t let it fester. If you care about her, really care, talk to her. Trust me.”

Spencer nodded, but his thoughts were still a mess.

Honestly, he wasn’t expecting Morgan to even take him seriously, let alone offer him genuine advice instead of making fun of him for his apparently glaringly obvious crush on you.

It must be bad.

Spencer glanced over at you again, and this time, instead of just jealousy and frustration, he felt something clearer. Something deeper.

Maybe Morgan was right.

Maybe it was time to stop running from it.

Maybe, it was time to tell you.

[angelicameron]

secret - rafe cameron ᡣ𐭩

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: y/n and rafe have been in a secret situationship for three months now and she’s fed up, wanting nothing more than to openly express her love for him.

warnings: use of y/n, profanity, slight angst, fluff, cringe, not proofread, idk what else

credits: based off this prompt by @dumplingsjinson

“I want to let the world know how much I’m fucking in love with you yet that’s the exact opposite of what you want.”

a/n: ah i’m sorry, this is not proof read and i’m only new to writing, feel free to leave feedback in the comments!

masterlist

i’ve been friends with sarah since i was born, our families are quite close, meaning i also grew up with rafe. for as long as i can remember i’ve had feelings for him, but didn’t think he felt the same, but one day he admitted his feelings for me and we’ve been a secret situationship since. no labels and certainly no publicity. i keep trying to hint to rafe that i want it to be public but he seems to always shut down the idea with a quick, “not yet baby, soon though, yeah?” but that day never seems to come.

one night i’m at the bonfire party and i spot rafe and his friends, walking upto him. i know whatever we have going on is secret, but surely i could still talk to him, right? after all i’ve known him my whole life, we’re family friends. once i’m over there though he only speaks to me a little, mainly ignoring me. after a while i got fed up and stormed off to my friends. as i glanced back over my shoulder, i saw the confusion and slight guilt in his expression at seeing me angry and upset but quickly masked it back with his usual ‘tough’ expression. typical.

that was about a week ago now, i haven’t talked to him since. he’s messaged me and called me countless times but i haven’t responded. it’s 11pm and i’m in my house, getting ready for bed, and he sends more messages, again.

rafe 💗

come on baby please

im so fucking sorry

just talk to me, yeah?

you know i love you

please don’t do this

i’m sick of this. sick of him acting like i’m always gonna be there no matter how much he fucks up. i ignore his messages and get into bed, leaving him on read. usually he would’ve sent a goodnight message by now, he had done so every night since we confessed our feelings, even this past week, when i’ve been ignoring him, but he hasn’t yet. weird. but i choose to ignore it.

i begin to drift off to sleep when suddenly i hear a knock at my door and jump. who the fuck would be here at this time? it’s almost 11:30pm?

rafe 💗

open the door for me please.

i need to see you.

of course it’s rafe. i know him well enough to know he’s not gonna leave til he sees me, he’ll continue knocking til then. so i walk downstairs and unlock the door, staring at him with a blank expression. “what the fuck do you want rafe?” “you.” he respond plainly. his words give me butterflies but i push it down since i’m mad at him. “please just talk to me?” he adds. “fine, come in.” he wanders into my house, a soft, relieved smile on his face, and i close the door behind him. “why have you been ignoring me baby?” the second i hear those words leave his lips i scoff. “why? are you seriously fucking asking me why right now? are you joking?” i notice he’s slighted taken aback by my words but recovers quickly and speaks again. “no i’m not joking, why haven’t you spoken to me for a whole week? i thought we agreed to keep this secret?” he’s still speaking somewhat softly, yet frustrated. “yeah, we agreed to keep a secret for a little bit, then we were gonna be public and official, remember that? it’s been 3 months rafe. i’m done hiding” my tone is laced with exhaustion, clearly fed up with all this sneaking around we’ve been doing. “it was fun for a little, but i’m sick of it.” he sighs and runs his hands across his face. “just a little longer baby please-” my face becomes even more frustrated as he says that. is he fucking serious? that’s all he ever says. “no rafe, no more saying ‘just a little longer’, you always do that and it’s ridiculous. you said that when i asked to be public a week into.. whatever the fuck this is, then a two weeks, three, four, a month, two months, now three months and plenty of times in between. i’m done. you either wanna do this or you don’t. are you ashamed of me or something” i rant, slightly raising my voice. “what? no! of course i’m not embarrassed of you baby. i’m just- scared. you know i don’t exactly have the reputation of somebody who commits and-” “seriously? this is about your fucking reputation? oh my god i’m gonna lose it. if you’re too worried about your player reputation and wanting to keep that image then by all means, go for it, but count me out rafe. you can’t just toy me along forever. i’m looking for something real. i want to let the world know how much I’m fucking in love with you yet that’s the exact opposite of what you want, so i’m done. i’m done with the games.” …silence. “baby.. listen to me please, no interruptions. it’s not the fact that i want to be seen as a player, it’s that i know the reputation i have and if we go public- well i know everyone will try and change your mind about me. convince you i’m not good enough, and fuck, i know that, but i don’t want you to think that. i’m trying to be better for you, i’m trying to get to a point where i’m so good to you, there’s no way you’d believe that, i just- don’t know if i’m there yet.” he blurts out, eyes tearing up, desperately trying to get his point across. my expression softens. “oh rafe.. you don’t have to worry about someone changing my mind. you’re all i’ve wanted ever, nothings going to change that.” i reach up and hold his face in my hands, his arms instinctively coming around my waist. “really?” “really.”

we continue talking that night and he stays over, the next day we go on a real date, and he asks me to be his girlfriend, officially. we’re actually in public now, not hiding anymore, telling people we’re together and i’ve never been happier.

taglist: i don’t have a taglist yet! comment if you wanna be on one though, and specify who for or if you wanna be tagged for everything!

[pbueckerslover]

your camera roll as paige’s girlfriend ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

pairing(s): paige bueckers x female!reader

a/n: heyy guys ik it’s been a minute since i posted a fic and i apologize. school is kicking my ass rn but i’d thought i’d whip up something cute so i hope you guys enjoy this for now!! :’))

001. a pic you snapped of paige while she was getting ready for the epsys. you loved watching her get ready for any event she was going to. you’d sit there and admire her as she got her makeup done, and she didn’t even notice you taking pictures. they always turned out to be your fav pics of her.

002. night in w paige. she made you wear the matching socks because she thought it was so cute. you two played games on her playstation for hours while cuddling and talking about anything and everything.

003. a cute moment kk had captured at the beach. the two of you looking out at the view in front of you, all cuddled up next to each other just enjoying your time together.

004. you had countless pics like this in your camera roll. you always sat in the passenger seat while she would drive. she loved that because she could put her hands all over you while you were sitting there. you always held her hand as it rested on your thigh.

005. paige had surprised you with a picnic for your birthday. she always went out of her way to surprise you with the cutest stuff wether it be for anniversaries, bdays, etc. it was one of her favorite ways of showing her love for you.

006. one year into your relationship, the two of you got subtle matching tattoos. she made a promise that when you guys got older you could get something more meaningful. you knew she would keep that promise.

007. a pic you had sent paige as a joke but she loved it. you both knew it was true, she was such a golden retriever while you were more of a black cat. you both thought it was the perfect way to describe you two.

008. a pic you snapped of paige during practice. you loved when she would pose for the camera especially cause it meant she was paying her full attention to you. again, you had numerous pictures like this from multiple diff occasions. you loved taking pictures of your beautiful girlfriend any chance you could.

009. you somehow convinced paige to do this trend you were seeing all over tiktok. when you brought it up she surprisingly agreed quickly. you giggled the whole time you were wrapping the bow around her bicep while she would admire you. she loved when you would do dumb shit like that with her and it honestly made her love for you grow more.

⇾ be sure to checkout my masterlist if you enjoyed! any type of interaction is appreciated :,)

⇾ i’ve seen a couple ppl do this and i thought it was sooo cute!! i hope you guys liked it! lmk if i should do it with anyone else cause i would love to!! again ty for being patient with me i am working on a couple drafts rn so i hope to have a fic out by this weekend. i love y’all 🤍🤍

[misspygmypie]

Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 7

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 2332 Click here for Part 6

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Max wasn’t just any friend - he was a fellow former racer, gaming buddy and part of Lando’s team at Quadrant. Their history went way back to their childhood karting days and today he was about to meet Lando’s new little family.

Noah’s eyes sparkled with wonder at the sight of the go-karts when they were walking through the track. Lando walked right behind him, holding Y/N’s hand and guiding the little boy gently with the other.

“There he is,” Lando said, spotting Max near the Quadrant camera setup, laughing with some of their other members. Max caught sight of Lando and his grin widened, making his way over with his usual easygoing stride.

“Mate, finally,” Max greeted, pulling Lando into a brotherly embrace, then stepping back to look at Y/N and Noah. “And you must be Y/N and Noah I’ve heard so much about!”

“Nice to finally meet you, Max,” Y/N smiled warmly. “Lando’s told us all about you.”

Max pulled her into a quick hug and then crouched down to Noah’s level, his smile widening. “Hey there buddy, you know, Lando told me you’re really good at video games. Maybe even better than him, right?”

Noah giggled shyly, looking up at Lando for confirmation. Lando chuckled and nodded. “He’s a natural, he can game for hours.”

Max straightened up, turning his attention back to Lando. “Speaking of which, remember the time we were doing that endurance karting race and you insisted on pushing the limits every lap?”

Lando groaned, already knowing where Max was headed. “Oh no, not this story…”

Max smirked, clearly enjoying the chance to embarrass his friend. “So there we were, in this all-night karting race and Lando here was determined to beat my lap times. It was the middle of the night, pitch dark and he somehow managed to miss the pit entry and ended up driving straight into the team’s camping tent!”

Y/N burst out laughing, covering her mouth in surprise, while Noah’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Did you really drive into a tent, Lando?” Noah asked, his voice filled with awe.

Lando sighed dramatically but couldn’t help but laugh along. “Yeah, it wasn’t my finest moment. But in my defense, it was dark and I was just trying to keep up with Max.”

“Always trying to outdo me, even in the most ridiculous ways,” Max laughed, clapping Lando on the back. “And let’s not forget the time you tried to film a stunt for Quadrant, only to slip and end up flat on your back, live in front of thousands of viewers!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Lando, who was now blushing slightly. “Oh, so you’ve always been this smooth, huh?”

Lando groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Max, you’re supposed to make me look good in front of Y/N, not tell her about every time I’ve messed up!”

“Come on, that’s what friends are for! Besides, you’ve got to stay humble, right?” Max just grinned, clearly loving every moment of this. 

As they continued to chat, Max kept the stories coming, sharing tales of their karting days, their countless pranks on each other and the early days of Quadrant. With every story Y/N could see how deep their friendship ran and how much they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

Noah tugged on Max’s sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Can we drive go-karts together sometime, Max?”

“Absolutely, buddy,” Max’s face lit up, “we’ll set up a special day just for you. Maybe I’ll even teach you some tricks, just don’t tell Lando!”

The day went on and after the video for Quadrant was all filmed they all ended up at Max’s place for the rest of the day. With every passing minute it became clearer and clearer that Noah and Max were hitting it off. The moment Max crouched down to Noah’s level the two seemed to form an instant bond. The little boy was fascinated by Max’s stories, his jokes and the way he talked to him like they were equals.

Lando watched them, a smile on his face, but there was a twinge of something else - something like jealousy - bubbling inside of him. He was thrilled that Noah and Max were getting along so well but he couldn’t help but feel a bit left out as his best friend and girlfriend's son formed their own little duo.

Y/N noticed the subtle shift in Lando’s mood and gave him a gentle nudge. “You okay?” she asked softly, a knowing look in her eyes.

Lando shrugged, trying to play it off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t expect them to hit it off this well.”

“You know Noah adores you, right?” Y/N smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “He’s just excited to meet someone new who’s as cool as you.”

Lando chuckled, though he still felt a little pang of envy as he watched Max and Noah. The two were now huddled together, Max showing Noah how to use a racing simulator setup. Noah was completely enthralled, his little hands gripping the steering wheel as Max guided him through the basics.

“Look, Lando! I’m driving,” Noah called out, his voice filled with excitement.

Lando forced a smile and walked over, ruffling Noah’s hair. “You’re doing great, buddy,” he said, trying to shake off the feeling of being the third wheel.

Max glanced up at Lando, catching the hint of jealousy in his friend’s eyes. He smirked and teased, “don’t worry, mate. I’m not trying to steal your thunder. I’m just giving Noah a taste of the Fewtrell magic.”

Lando rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember, I’m still his favorite.”

“We’ll see about that,” Max grinned, giving Noah a playful wink.

While Lando couldn’t deny that he was a little jealous he was also happy. Seeing Noah so happy and comfortable meant the world to him and he knew that Max was only adding to that joy.

Later that evening, as the sun began to set, Lando found himself sitting on a bench, watching as Max and Noah played a game of tag in Max’s backyard. Y/N sat beside him, her hand resting on his.

“You know, it’s okay to be a little jealous,” she said gently, reading his thoughts.

Lando sighed, leaning back. “I know. I guess I’m just not used to sharing my best friend - or my family.”

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand. “But that’s what makes it so special, right? You’re not losing anything, you’re just adding more love, more laughter and more memories.”

“You’re right,” Lando nodded, her words sinking in. “And honestly, seeing Noah this happy… It’s worth it.”

They watched Max chase Noah around and Lando felt the last of his jealousy melt away. In its place was a deep feeling of gratitude - gratitude for the people in his life who made every day brighter and for the moments that reminded him just how lucky he was.

“Lando,” Noah called out, running over to him with Max close behind. “Come play with us!”

Lando grinned, standing up and reaching out to lift Noah into his arms. “Alright, alright. Let’s see if you two can keep up with me!”

Y/N watched the three of them run off with a smile, knowing that they were building something special.

______

It was a sunny Sunday morning at the circuit a few weeks later and after the successful introduction of Y/N and Noah to his best friend Lando wanted to take the next big step: Introduce them to his parents. The moment had been on his mind for weeks and as he led them through the paddock he couldn’t help but feel nervous.

The three of them walked together, Noah in the middle holding each of Y/N and Lando’s hands. He was taking in the buzz of the race weekend and the people rushing around. His tiny hand tightened around his mother’s fingers as they approached the McLaren motorhome where Lando’s parents, Cisca and Adam, were waiting.

“They’re really looking forward to meeting you both,” Lando said, offering a reassuring smile. He had told his parents about Y/N and Noah the day after they had started dating and they had been eager to finally meet the two people who had brought so much joy into his life. Today, five months later, the day was finally here.

As they reached the entrance, Lando spotted his parents just inside, chatting with a few members of the team. Cisca was the first to notice them, her face lighting up as she nudged Adam and made her way over.

“Lando,” she exclaimed, pulling her son into a warm hug. Lando grinned and returned the embrace before turning to Y/N and Noah. “Mum, Dad, this is Y/N and this little guy here is Noah.”

Y/N felt a flutter of nerves as Cisca turned her attention to her but the warmth in the older woman’s eyes immediately put her at ease.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Y/N,” Cisca said, giving her a gentle hug. “Lando has told us so much about you both.”

Adam stepped forward shaking Y/N’s hand before crouching down to the boy. “So you are the famous Noah,” he said with a kind smile. “Are you excited to see the race?”

Noah nodded shyly, his big eyes fixed on the man in front of him. “Yeah,” he said softly before glancing up at Lando. “I want to see Lando win.”

Adam chuckled. “Well, we all do! How about we go find some snacks and get ready to cheer him on?”

Noah’s face brightened at the mention of snacks and he nodded enthusiastically. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her son warming up to Lando’s parents so quickly.

While they made their way through the motorhome Lando stayed close to Y/N, occasionally glancing over to see how she was doing. She seemed more relaxed now and the sight of her laughing at something Cisca had said made him happy.

Cisca and Adam were instantly charmed by Noah’s curiosity and sweetness and Y/N found herself feeling more and more at ease as the morning went on. She could see where Lando got his kindness and sense of humor from.

Later, after they had all settled into their seats in the family area, Noah found himself a bit restless. The excitement of the day and the overwhelming sights and sounds of the racetrack were a lot for a four-year-old to take in. He fidgeted in his seat, his small hands gripping the edge as his eyes followed the blur of cars speeding by on the track.

Cisca noticed and leaned over with a warm smile. “Would you like to sit with me, Noah?” she asked softly, her voice gentle and inviting. Noah hesitated for a moment, glancing up at his mom. Y/N nodded encouragingly and with that silent approval Noah shuffled over to Cisca. 

“There we go, sweetheart,” Cisca said, lifting him onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him securely as he settled against her. The connection between them was immediate, as if he had always been part of the family.

Noah relaxed almost instantly, his earlier nervousness melting away in the comfort of her embrace. He leaned back against her, his tiny body fitting perfectly in her lap, and gazed out at the track with wide eyes. 

Cisca, noticing his gaze was still intent on the cars, pointed to the track. “Do you see Lando? He’s driving really fast! And we’re here to cheer him on, aren't we’?”

Noah nodded vigorously, his small hands gripping the edge of the seat as he leaned forward a little, as if that would help him see Lando’s car better. “Go, Lando, go!” he shouted, his voice ringing out clear and strong above the noise of the cars.

Cisca laughed softly and she gently rocked Noah as they both watched the race. Every time Lando’s car zoomed by Noah would point and cheer, his little voice growing hoarse but full of excitement.

Adam, sitting next to them, couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He exchanged a glance with Y/N, who was watching them obviously relieved. It was clear that seeing Noah so happy and comfortable with Lando’s parents was a huge weight lifted off her shoulders.

The race continued and Cisca and Noah formed a little routine. She would point out different things on the track, explaining them in simple terms that Noah could understand and he would respond with questions. It was as if they had known each other for much longer than just a few hours.

At one point the boy looked up at Cisca, his big, innocent eyes searching hers. “Can we always watch Lando’s races together?” he asked, his voice filled with the kind of sincerity only a child could have.

“Of course we can, Noah,” she replied, kissing the top of his head. “We’re a team now and teams stick together.”

Noah beamed at her answer, turning his attention back to the track with renewed excitement. The race neared its end and Noah remained on Cisca’s lap, nestled comfortably against her. He was still full of energy, his little body practically buzzing and when Lando crossed the finish line the entire family erupted into cheers.

Cisca hugged the boy tightly while Adam reached over to ruffle Noah’s hair affectionately. “Looks like we’ve got a future racer in the family,” he joked, making everyone laugh.

Y/N, watching the exchange, felt a tear slip down her cheek, quickly brushing it away before anyone could notice. She had always hoped that whoever came into her life would accept Noah as their own but to see Lando’s family not only accepting but also embracing her son with open arms was more than she could have ever dreamed of.

_____

A/N: Cisca's surprise visit yesterday was just so fricking cute 😍 so I decided to expand by 2 more chapters, I just love writing this series way too much, so stay tuned for Part 8!

Tag: @barcelonaloverf1life @remmysthings @poppyflower-22 @vickykazuya @hadids-world @ririyulife @deafeningunknowntyrant @lexiecampos @littlegrapejuice @eloriis @yawn-zi @landossainz @taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs @casuallyeating @jaydensluv @destinyg237 @il0vereadingstuff @lnchicagosreads @alana4610 @hc-dutch

[cupidscorpsee]

You Missed the Damn Line

WC - 5,642 / 21 minute read

Warnings - Smut / 18+ content throughout / feminine terms used for reader

A/N: i’m ashamed of myself 0_0

In which you, an actress, are due for a sex scene with Hugh Jackman, but he has a better idea.

You tried your best, you really did, but they were simply not buying it.

“Cut!” the director yelled, letting out a frustrated sigh as he walked up to the two actors on set. “What the fuck was that, L/N?”

You laughed awkwardly despite the director’s clear irritation. “You’re kidding. You’re making this impossible.”

Hugh sits up, careful not to ruin his carefully-messed up hair. He nodded in agreement. “Nothing’s good enough for you, mate.”

“Nothing’s good—” He scoffs, cutting himself off before he could finish mocking Hugh. “It’ll be good enough when you two get your shit together and shoot a good fucking sex scene.”

The director walks back to the camera and the intimacy coordinator beside it—a kind woman with a death glare pointed at the director. She sighed and looked back to the set. “Alright, you two. L/N, how are you doing? You comfortable?”

You sigh and lay back on the bed, staring up at the fake ceiling for this fake house in this fake movie that you were faking your way through. The life of an actress seemed to be a never-ending series of pretending to be someone you’re not. “I’m just peachy.”

The intimacy coordinator hums. “What about you, Hugh?”

“I’ll be fine as soon as that ol’ dag learns to be less of a prick,” Hugh mutters.

It was quite amusing to see Hugh this way, you will admit. He wasn’t usually so grumpy on set. In fact, he tended to be the sunshine in the movie-making cloud of darkness. Your countless camcorder videos of him cracking jokes or simply making a fool of himself behind the scenes proved he was always the life of the party.

“Jesus Christ,” the director groans. “Let’s just shoot the damn scene already.”

The intimacy coordinator rushes up to the two actors, ensuring everything from comfort, consent, modesty garments, and props are sufficiently in place, and then jogs back to the director’s side.

The director stood at the monitor, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reviewed the blocking for the scene. He was known for his meticulous attention to detail, and today was no different. Except, of course, he was a tad bit more intense at the moment. He turned to the crew and began giving instructions that neither you or Hugh could quite make out.

Hugh smiled at you, trying to ease the tension he knew you were feeling. “How ya feeling? Really.”

You cracked a smile, amused by his way of noticing when you were lying to the crew about your true emotions. “Tired and cranky. You?”

He shrugged. “Could use some supper, but other than that, I’m quite alright.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Nothing about this situation is pissing you off? You’re really alright right now?”

He grins. “Yes. Bloody Oath.”

You smile softly. “Honestly, I’m really fucking nervous right now. I’ve never done this kind of scene before.”

“What about your first film? Ripe Age, was it?”

You grin. “Little secret…? That was a body double filming the sex scene for me.”

Hugh raises an eyebrow and lets out a surprised huh sound. He then nodded in understanding, considering your words and putting together why you’d be nervous. He’d been in a few sex scenes before, but each one was different. Each acting partner brought their own energy and concerns. “I see, well… I’m right here with ya and we’ve got a bloody good team. Aside from Director Dickwad, of course.”

You laugh softly, not wanting to attract the director’s attention.

Just then, the intimacy coordinator approaches you two with her signature calm and kind demeanor. “Hey, L/N, Mr. Jackman, the director wants to go over everything one more time before we try again. Just to make sure we’re on the same page.”

The woman pulls up a prop chair from the room and sits at your eye level. You and Hugh listen to her intently, not wanting to miss something and having to re-shoot again. You’d done this scene enough times by now. “Okay, so we’ve discussed boundaries and comfort levels. Let’s revisit the choreography to make sure everything feels right.”

The woman held up the shot list and walked you two through the steps, just as one might for a complex dance sequence. You almost laughed at the notion of this being like a dance. Everything felt so ridiculous.

After a quick summary, the intimacy coordinator asks you two to get back into your positions for the scene. You slip back into your usual spots with ease. The woman guides you with gentle touches, adjusting a hand here, a foot there, ensuring your movements would look as natural as possible on camera while staying within your agreed limits.

You became hyper-aware of the small distance between your bodies—the way Hugh’s hand rested lightly on your waist, the heat of his skin warming yours through the thin, nude-colored underwear you wore.

“Remember,” the intimacy coordinator said after she was satisfied with their positions, her voice even, “this is a slow, intimate moment between two lovers who have missed each other very much.”

Hugh nodded, his focus remaining on you underneath him. “Right. We’ll take it slow.”

Your breath hitched softly at this. It was strangely comforting to know that he could see right through you and how you wanted so badly for everyone to be patient with you. “Yeah. Slow is good.”

The woman clapped, snapping you out of your moment of admiration for Hugh. “Alright, let’s get ready.”

The room was quieter than usual—a closed set. Only a few key crew members stood under the dimmed studio lights. The typical whispering and hum of equipment were replaced by a focused stillness. The room was dressed to look like an apartment bedroom—plush pillows under your head on a wide bed, soft lighting that cast warm shadows, and milky-white curtains that would sway with an unseen breeze after post-production.

You wore an almost translucent strapless bra, your nipples covered with nude-toned patches, and seamless nude underwear. Hugh, with a similar setup, wore modesty garments designed to appear as if he was—like you—fully exposed while still maintaining dignity. The garments, though strange and small, felt like a shield of some sort—a reminder that this wasn’t as invasive as it felt.

“Places,” the director called, and the set fell silent. The intimacy coordinator positioned herself by the monitor, ready to catch every detail. The director rested his chin in his palm, scratching his beard one, twice, before finally calling:

“Action.”

You and Hugh did everything again. The same exact choreographed movements you both had practiced. You focused on doing better than before, trying to make your rehearsed sounds and muttered lines seem real for the screen. Every touch and movement from Hugh was gentle and deliberate, ensuring you two stayed within the boundaries you had set beforehand. The scene was intimate, but the atmosphere between your near-nude bodies remained respectful and professional.

You moved together, your bodies close but never truly touching in the most vulnerable areas. You could feel the heat of Hugh’s breath against your neck as he leaned down, your movements slow and deliberate. Your fingers trailed down his bare back, your touch light, guided by the choreography you had rehearsed. You tried to focus on the script’s emotions—the longing, the fleeting connection…

The sounds of your heavy breathing, the rustle of fabric beneath you, and the soft creak of the bed were the only things you heard—all blending into the story you were trying to tell.

Hugh cupped your face in his right palm, his thumb brushing your skin in a gesture that was more tender than you expected. It was a small, unscripted moment, but it made the scene feel real. Almost too real.

You falter and miss your line—an important mumble of the words, I cease to exist without you near me. Your eyes widen as you realize your idiotic mistake.

“Cut!” the director calls, the annoyance in his voice far from hidden. “You missed the damn line. We’re taking a break. I need a fucking cigarette.”

Hugh gets off you and you sit up, fighting the urge to literally face-palm right then and there. You groan softly, embarrassed by your own blunder.

Hugh is quick to apologize. “I should’ve stuck to the script. I threw you off—”

“No, no, I wasn’t focused enough,” you interrupted, shaking your head. You exhaled a frustrated breath and covered your face in your palms. You wanted to disappear. Your words came out muffled as you spoke again. “Jesus, I wish we could just have actual sex. At least it would be convincing.”

There’s a strange silence that follows and you have to peek through your fingers just to make sure you didn’t somehow fall off the face of the planet and into the void of outer space. Hugh is staring down at the mattress underneath his rested hand, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. You raise an eyebrow. “Hugh…?”

He looks up at you, his expression unreadable, but not unkind. “What if we bail on this whole choreography nonsense? The director hardly knows how to write a bloody script. I wouldn’t be surprised if that dole bludger has never had sex before in his entire life.”

You stare at him blankly before blinking once, then twice. “What are you proposing?”

“Have you ever seen 9 Songs? Or Shortbus?”

You shake your head.

“The actors had unsimulated sex in order to portray their characters more efficiently. Of course, they had to sign contracts and consider possible strict scrutiny from the rating boards, but…”

You nearly laugh but grow red in the face when you notice his lack of humor. He’s serious? “You’re serious?”

He nods. “I… It’s a little mad, but we’re getting nowhere with this scene right now.”

Your throat goes dry. “This isn’t just some ruse to get laid, right? Some fucked up fantasy?”

“It isn’t.”

“You swear?”

“Bloody Oath.”

“I don’t know what that means,” you whisper, your voice somewhat emotionless as you’re too busy in a whirlwind of thoughts to pay much attention to anything else.

He chuckles softly, but there’s a hint of his own nerves peeking through. “Ah, it’s a form of saying ‘of course’ or ‘definitely’. Aussie shite.”

“The media will go crazy for this when they find out,” you say, completely ignoring his explanation. It didn’t even register. It went in through one ear and out the other. “The movie will be controversial. We’ll be controversial.”

He smiles and cracks another joke. “A little controversy never hurt anybody.”

Yes, it fucking did, you think, but you don’t say anything. You simply consider his idea. It’s insane. It’s mental. It’s lock-you-up-in-a-psych-ward crazy.

But it’s tempting.

After all, any press is good press, right?

“We should talk to Aimee,” you say, gesturing at the intimacy coordinator who was sipping now-cold coffee from a mug that read, Teaching is my superpower, what’s yours? It didn’t make any fucking sense and for some reason that pissed you off more than the stupidity of this decision did.

Hugh nods and then huffs slightly. “It was just an idea, though, mate. It’s a bit reckless. We sincerely don’t have to.”

“Hugh.”

Silence. A beat of hesitation. “Yeah, mate?”

“Let’s get our movie done.”

You walk up to the intimacy coordinator, asking to speak to her in private. You enter the director’s empty office, borrowing his space. The woman sips her coffee and then sets it down on the brown desk beside you two, waiting for you to speak.

“Have you seen 9 Songs?”

She stares at you, a dumbfounded expression quickly replaced by one of steady firmness. “Absolutely not. L/N, no. Do you know what that could mean for this film?”

You furrow your eyebrows slightly. “Aimee, we’ve been shooting this same fucking scene for weeks. This is the climax of the movie. It’s a pivotal moment. You can’t have a movie about transformative romantic and sexual intimacy without a convincing sex scene.”

Aimee raises an eyebrow. “You’ve analyzed the script?”

“I’ve read the damn book we’re adapting.”

“We’d have to change the rating from R to NC-17 or X, L/N.” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just… talk to the director. He’ll be the one to give you the green light.”

You nod.

————————————————————————

“Are you a fucking imbecell?”

“It’s actually pronounced ‘imbecile’, sir, and, uh, no. I’m not. I’m serious. This—” You snatch the worn, slightly bent script from the director’s free hand, his other one holding a lit cigarette, “This here is a fucking work of art that you’ve got. Hugh and I are committed to it. We want it as much as you do. As much as the thousands of fans who read the book are. People deserve a loyal adaptation.”

The director looks at you, stunned silent by the sudden balls you’ve grown. “You want the Wolverine to fuck you on camera for everyone to see?”

You shove the script to his chest, holding it there with the palm of your hand. “You’re damn right I do. I’m not letting you fuck up this movie.”

He clears his throat, takes a long drag from his cigarette, and then quotes, “‘Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.’”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Fine,” he says shortly. He drops his half-done cigarette on the concrete floor and stomps on it with his shoe, like a kid murdering a helpless ant just because he can. “But we’ll have to change the rating of the film. Expect less raving reviews and more controversy-fueled attention. You’re not winning a damn Oscar from this, kid. That’s out the window now.”

“So be it.”

“Tell Aimee to get the necessary paperwork to you and Mr. Jackman in thirty minutes. We’re finishing this godforsaken scene today.”

————————————————————————

“Okay, and…” Aimee starts, stacking the signed contracts atop each other before holding them together with a paperclip, “…there we go. All set. I hope you know that this is fucking insane.”

Hugh leans back in his chair. “I’d say it’s time I take a risk in my career. Can’t always rely on my X-Men reputation to carry me afloat.”

You roll your eyes. “Says the veteran actor.”

“If forty plus years of acting makes me veteran, what does that make you?” Hugh asks with a playful look.

“The total opposite.”

“Guys, please. Get a damn room,” Aimee interrupts. “Okay, so, the room will be empty while you two… Yeah. I’ll be right outside the door if you need me. The cameras will be running the whole time as soon as I leave the room. Post-production is gonna have a helluva lot of fun with this shit.”

“They’ll have ‘shower-nozzle masturbation material for weeks’,” the director says suddenly, having been sitting beside Aimee but mindlessly scrolling through his phone the entire time, seemingly uninterested in the legal, paperwork process.

“Do you always quote Heathers?” you ask, more amused than truly interested.

“Whenever possible.”

Aimee scoffs and then stands. “Let’s go get you geniuses ready on set. ‘Come on, it’ll be very.’”

The director smirks at the intimacy coordinator’s quick, witty use of reference.

They head back to the set and the crew fixes up the cameras and lighting before leaving Aimee, Hugh, you, and the director alone in the room. The director inspects the cameras before humming in satisfaction. “Fuck the choreography, then. Just… keep the characters in mind, please. Use your lines. I’m not paying you two to fuck on my set for no reason.”

Hugh smirks. “See ya in a bit, ol’ cobber.”

The director waves him off and leaves the room, Aimee following suit after a brief reminder of consent and safety rules. Soon enough, you and Hugh are left on the set alone, the cameras running and expectant.

Hugh sits on the bed. All the foreplay scenes were already shot and done a few days back, meaning they didn’t have to act anything like that out anymore. The only part they were missing was the sex. Just the undressing, the friction, the orgasms, and that was that.

“Come here,” Hugh whispers, his voice slipping into his impressive, fake American accent. You admired the way he could get into character so easily.

You walk up to him and stand in between his legs as he sits at the edge of the mattress. His hands make contact with your waist almost immediately, the thin robe with the production company’s logo on it riding up as his hands follow the curve and dip of your hips. You bite your bottom lip and watch his face as he feels you up. Somehow, it’s different than before. His fingers burn holes in your skin, making you feel jolts of both confusion and excitement.

If all the foreplay scenes were done with, why was he acting this way?

He grips her hips tighter, a small squeeze following suit before his fingers graze over the tied strings up front. “May I?”

You nod, not saying a word. This was new. So very new. None of this so far would even be in the film. Why would he bother?

He tugs at one of the strings and watches as your robe falls open, revealing the bare skin beneath, no modesty garments in place at all this time around.

He sucks in a breath, letting his gaze stare shamelessly at your exposed breasts. He leans forward and kisses each one softly. It’s a tender, gentle touch that you wouldn’t have expected from a co-star doing his job. “Hugh…”

He hums, his lips still grazing over your chest with no rest.

“Why are you… Do you need to tell me something?” you ask softly.

Hugh takes one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks softly, swirling his tongue around it in a curious motion before pulling back, looking up at you in an expression of dropped reserve. All his honesty was going to come out. You could tell from the look on his face. He didn’t even hesitate, simply looked at you, his eyes flicking from one of your eyes to the other, down to your lips, and then back up again—a smooth, triangular motion. “Perhaps I’m very fond of you and have been purposefully hiding it.”

“Perhaps?”

“I am very fond of you and have been purposefully hiding it,” he says with a tone of finality, as if that explains everything. And in a way, it does. The secret glances you’ve shared over the months of filming together, the careful, tender touches and holds at red carpets and promo interviews, the flirtatious joking and banter… You wrote everything off as friendly, but it was more than that, wasn’t it?

Hugh slides the robe off your shoulders and lets it fall to the floor with a nearly-soundless landing. Completely exposed before him, you can’t help but feel a tad shy. Your eyes rake over Hugh’s shirtless, hairy chest and tight-fitting sweats that barely stop the hem of his boxers from peeking out above his waistline. He pulls you in closer, his fingers trailing up from the back of your leg to your waist to your stomach to your breasts to your neck to your jaw, and then back down the same way they came.

You suck in a breath as two fingers follow the crease of where your upper thigh met groin. You stifle a small, but audible moan at the chills his fingers send through you.

He hums and moves his hands to rest on your hips once again. “Is that all it takes?”

Yes.

You gasp softly when Hugh’s grip on your hips tighten before he sets you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours, essentially caging you in. He pulls his sweats and boxers down in one swift motion, kicking them off like they did something to personally offend him. You feel his erection pressing against your leg and stiffen slightly.

He leans his head down quickly, but stops just above your face, his lips grazing over yours when he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve missed you direly.”

Your heart skips a beat and it takes you a moment to register that he’s speaking lines from the script, back in character.

He kissed you then, hard and deep, his tongue claiming your mouth’s entrance as if it belonged there and couldn’t believe it had been away for so long. He pushes his body closer against yours, pinning you to the soft mattress as he pours all his pent-up desire and need into the kiss. It doesn’t take long for his lips to lose their way and explore other paths you have to offer. His mouth kisses along your jaw and neck, teeth grazing against your skin as he goes.

“Been dreamin’ of this,” he pants, his damn good false-American voice hoarse as he kisses along your collarbone now. “Dreamin’ of havin’ you again. Been drivin’ me mad every night in the trenches, doll.”

You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back, your body arching under his touch. Every kiss felt like an invasion of privacy—but one you could very much live with. You needed to remember your lines. Come on. What was the damn line?

Right.

“You have no idea,” you gasp between kisses, his attack on your swollen lips refusing to relent even as you attempt to speak, “how many nights I’ve thought about this… About you. About us.”

He pushes a finger into your wet cunt without warning, as if rewarding you for remembering your lines so quickly this time. When had his hand even gone down there? He growls against your skin at the feel of your wetness around his finger, his free hand grasping your hip to bring you closer.

“I thought about it all the time,” he mutters, gently moving his finger back and forth in a slow pattern. His voice is ragged as he kisses along your jaw. “Thought about you, how you felt under me, how you sounded when I touched you… I was going insane with it.”

You gasp slightly between pants, but he barely lets you catch your breath before his lips are back on yours. He pulls his finger out abruptly, running it down your side, leaving a wet trail in his wake.

“Couldn’t get you out of my head,” he whispers, his voice still rough. His hand slams down against the space of mattress beside your head, a temporary loss of temper on display. Right. This is his character, you remind yourself. “Damn it, doll, I fuckin’ need you. I need to feel you, to taste you… I need you to be mine again. Fuck the war, fuck the politics… I can’t be without you tonight. Just for tonight.”

You nod softly, the action causing your lips to separate from his. He takes the opportunity to kiss over your closed eyelid and then the top of your head—an unscripted act that leaves your face burning. “I cease to exist without you near me.”

He opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can even begin by wrapping your legs around his hips, an unscripted act to counterattack his. He groans as he feels your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer to you. The feeling of having your thighs on either side of him, the soft flesh squishing against his hip bones, has his head spinning. He smirks against your lips, realizing his mistake but not stopping. What’s one line missed, anyway?

His hand moves down to his cock and you bite down on your bottom lip as you feel him line himself up with your entrance. Things had escalated so quickly that it had your brain reeling. Hugh leans down so his head is right beside your ear. He whispers just loud enough for you to hear, but quiet enough for post-production to be able to remove his out-of-character question with barely any trouble: “Is this okay?”

“I need you, Ces,” you respond, using his character’s name and hoping he’ll understand your line as an affirmative answer.

He captures your lips in a fierce kiss as he pushes into you, slow enough to give you time to both adjust and choose to back out if needed. His body involuntarily shudders at the sensation. He groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your hips firmly.

“Fuck,” he gasps breathlessly, his voice hoarse and rough.

You whimper softly, the feeling of being so filled up in a way you haven’t ever experience before leaving you making a string of pathetic, soft, unscripted noises. He rubs slow circles against your hip bone with his thumb, coaxing your body into a non-tense state.

He starts to move when your body relaxes, his strokes slow and firm, his body seeking more of you. He craves you, needs you, wants to please you utterly. No amount of acting could hide how real that feeling was for him.

He pulls back slightly so he can look at your face. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you struggle to keep up, your breathing uneven and your brain all jumbled. You were trying so desperately to hold onto the parts of this that needed you to be an actress, but the parts that were all too real were threatening to take over.

“Look at me,” Hugh whispers, his voice low and strained with his own pleasure, his hips still rocking back and forth against yours, though slower now so as to give you some room to think. “I want to see you. I want to see how much you’ve missed this, darlin’. How much you’ve been achin’ for me, like I’ve been achin’ for you.”

That last line wasn’t in the script and you noticed that immediately. It was, however, in the book. The thought that the Hugh Jackman had read the novel before starring in the adaptation sent a shiver of affection down your spine. It was more than just lust. You wanted him bad. In more ways than one.

You open your eyes, Hugh’s face slowly blurring back into focus. The look on your face, the way you looked at him with such desperate need as you bit down a soft moan, your nails digging into the flesh of his arm, makes his heart pound. He captures your lips again, his kiss harsh as he swallows the involuntary moan you’re forced to let out.

You know there’s another line you have to deliver—and soon. But you can’t remember it. Your brain is a fuzzy mess as he picks up the pace a bit, pushing you further into the mattress. A particularly hard thrust—the motion like a punishment for your forgetfulness—has you gasp into his mouth and he groans in response.

I want you to forget the war when you’re with me. Let me take that away.

Those were her next lines. All she had to do was say them. Why couldn’t she?

Hugh thrusts into her faster now, as if chasing his own release and forgetting the matter at hand.

That’s why.

“I want—”

He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth all over again. So much for getting all your lines in. He doesn’t want to hear you say anything right now. He just wants to hear the sounds you make so he can commit them to memory in case this never happens again.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss, his eyes dark and intense. “Say my name, dollface. Say it.”

Your head falls back and like a dog to a bone, his mouth connects with your neck in an instant.

“Mmm— Hugh…”

He smirks against your neck before moving his face down and biting softly on your shoulder. “Wrong one… They’ll edit that out, love.”

She catches her mistake, the bite on her shoulder serving as a snap back to reality. Or, more accurately, a snap back to her acting responsibilities as a maker of cinematic illusions. “Ces… Fuck— You feel so good…”

A shudder of desire runs through him as he hears your unscripted compliment. It does everything to him to know that he’s successfully making you feel good. He’s making you feel good. He presses a bruising kiss to your neck.

“Just like that, doll,” he says, his voice a rough whisper. “Tell me how good it feels…”

“S-So good,” she mumbles, her words barely coherent enough to make it into a decent movie. “Mmm— Like that…”

He feels your hands move up to the muscles of his tense, flexed bottom, your fingers digging into the flesh and dragging him closer, letting him fuck you at a deeper level. The pain of your nails in his skin only adds to the pleasure, and he’s nearly driven mad by it. It’s almost more than he can take. “Yeah? Like this?”

You nod and he moves faster, his hips slamming into yours now in a steady, primal rhythm. He’s consumed by it, the feeling, the pleasure, the utter need to have you as his, even if temporarily. He bites at your neck, your shoulder, his body giving itself to yours with every thrust.

“I’m yours, pretty. This… Everything…” he pants, punctuating each word with a deep stroke. “I’m all yours if you’ll have me forever. The war does not own me, you do.”

You’re momentarily stunned by his ability to improvise such in-character lines. The fan in you who loved the book when it was released is impressed and somewhat proud. Even with your mind a cloudy mess, you still manage to have your heart swell with admiration.

He kisses you again, hard and deep, his tongue pushing across your bottom lip before entering your mouth. He’s so eager with it that his teeth knock against yours multiple times as his tongue finds your own. “I’m never letting you go.”

“I’m never allowing you to,” you pant into his mouth.

The need, the want, within him reaches new heights. He grips your hips harder, his thrusts becoming rougher and more primal. It was like his self-control was aggressively and hatefully tossed out the fake window of the set. His hands let go of her hips, leaving behind a stinging sensation that will surely turn to bruises, and move up to the headboard behind her. You think you’re fully at his mercy now, but, really, he’s at your mercy. Completely and irrevocably. And damn if that doesn’t drive the both of you absolutely crazy.

You reach up towards the headboard in order to adjust yourself, but he stops you, wanting you to remain where you were.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” he whispers quickly, finding the right angle so he can drive into you with the headboard as his support. He holds onto the wood so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

You let out a moan, louder than before. His cock twitches inside you in response, a clear sign of his enjoyment of the sound. “You like this, don’t you?” he pants.

Your head falls back, exposing your neck to him. He all but moans at the sight. He releases one hand from the headboard and finds his way to your throat, gripping it just tight enough to make you gasp. He leans down and kisses your lips the softest he ever has—a stark contrast to his actions. “I love you, dollface. I love you, I love you, I love you…”

You look him in the eyes as he says these lines, wondering if fiction ever does blur with reality. If so, when was that point for you two? Have you gotten there yet?

Your eyes shut on their own accord and it nearly sends him over the edge. His grip around your throat tightens as he nears his orgasm and he forces himself to let go so he doesn’t accidentally hurt you.

You cup his face, your thumb brushing across his bottom lip. “Keep going, Hugh… Don’t stop…”

He groans at the sound of his real name in your mouth. The feel of your hands on his face, the words leaving her lips… it all sends a shiver of desire down his spine and his cock twitches involuntarily.

“Oh, God, I’m so close…” you mumble between pants, completely off-script. “Please, don’t stop.”

The sound of your pleading, you saying you’re close, nearly makes him come right then and there. His movements become more frantic and desperate. Erratic, even. His words come out in low whispers, as if they were reserved for her and not the camera. “I’ve got you. I’m gonna give you what you need.”

In a few seconds, you’re completely falling apart below him, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. You had no life jacket and the ocean had no mercy.

“Fuck, that’s it…” he groans as he watches you come and tighten around his cock.

Your wave of ecstasy pushes him to the brink, his own climax hitting him like a ton of heavy-hitting bricks. He groans and shudders against her, his body warm and damp.

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath. You smell of sex and sweat and everything you decide you’re strangely okay with.

“I think… I think you missed a few lines,” Hugh says, still panting slightly.

You smile at the joke, your chest rising and falling quickly, but beginning to slow down. “Maybe we’ll have to re-do it.”

“What a bloody shame.”

You grin and he pushes forward to kiss your lips without warning—the quick, sudden contact all the proof of his need for you that will remain long after the director will someday soon yell the final “Cut!” for this little film.

[uniquexusposts]

hi are you still writing for james beaufort ?

The best friend - James Beaufort

Main characters: James Beaufort x reader Genre: fanfiction, fluff, TV show  Word count: 1.999

Summary: An insight into James and Y/N's relationship. Or is it more?

James rang the bell of the property and waited for someone to open the door. He looked around; this house always reminded him of Downton Abbey for some reason. Because of him, people called it the Downtown Abbey house. The door swung open a minute later, and Y/N’s dad smiled. “Hello, mate,” he welcomed James. “Come in.” He was wearing a kitchen gown. 

“Hello,” James replied, entering the house. “Thank you. Is she upstairs?” 

Y/N’s dad nodded. “She just came back from work,” he said, and they walked through the hall together. When James wanted to walk up the stairs, Y/N’s dad asked: “Will you be staying over for dinner?” 

“If it isn’t a problem?” James showed a small smile. 

“Of course not! I will peel just a few more potatoes.” 

“Thank you,” James replied and nodded. 

He walked up the stairs, and as he reached the first floor, he heard some music. A steady beat of rap music filled the hall, an unexpected soundtrack for this place. James knew instantly it wasn’t coming from Y/N’s room; rap was the one genre she couldn’t stand. This had to mean her older brother was home. James smiled, remembering the countless times he and Y/N had joked about her brother’s eclectic music tastes. He approached Y/N’s room, knocking gently before pushing the door open. He found her lying on her stomach on her bed, looking exhausted. She barely reacted to his presence, only turning her head slightly so she could see him.

“Hey,” she mumbled, a yawn escaping her lips.

“Hey,” James replied softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Long day?”

“The longest,” Y/N sighed, her voice muffled by the pillow. “I don’t think I’ve moved since I got home.” She followed his every movement, taking off his jacket, tie and shoes. He walked over to her bed and sat on the edge. “What a surprise to see you here,” she mentioned.

“I haven’t seen you for a while, so I thought, let’s check up on the best friend,” he said and ran his hand through his hair. 

Y/N padded on the mattress beside her, inviting him to lie beside her. “The best friend saw you last week,” she replied. 

“Which is a while back. The best friend and I used to see each other every day.” James lay beside her, placing his arm behind his head when his head hit the pillow. 

“That’s a few months ago,” she shot back. 

“And?” 

They looked at each other for a few seconds. The corners of Y/N’s lips started to curl up, which also made James smile. 

“How are you?” Y/N then asked, her voice softening since it was a deep question for James. 

James looked away from her, focusing his eyes now on the desk, which was full of stuff. It wasn’t like Y/N to have a messy desk. “I’m fine,” he breathed. 

“Sure?” 

He nodded slowly. 

“And school?” 

“The usual.”

“Good.”

“Ja.” 

After a few minutes of silence, James turned his head to Y/N. He scanned her face; she was zoning out. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. They shared a quiet moment. 

Suddenly, an alarm went off. James looked around the room, trying to determine where the alarm came from. It was an alarm from a phone.

Y/N softly groaned and stopped the alarm. “Time to get up,” she said and pushed herself up. “Otherwise, I will be doing nothing for the rest of the evening.” She turned around and sat on her bed, stretching her arms and shoulders. When she heard a snort next to her, she turned to James. “What?” 

“You never fail to surprise me with your strange habits,” he laughed, sitting up. 

She smiled and shrugged. “I guess I’m strange.”

“Luckily.”

They both got up from the bed. 

“Your life would be so boring without me,” she cheekily replied, making a bun in her hair. 

James squinted his eyes. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” He showed a playful smile. “Perhaps…”

She raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps what?” 

They held their gaze for a few seconds, their playful tension palpable. Smiling, they moved closer without realising it, their connection deepening with each passing moment.

James finally broke the silence, his voice soft and filled with affection. “Perhaps my life would be incredibly dull without you.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with amusement and something deeper. “Good to know you’re aware.” She switched the light off and opened the door to the hallway. 

“How was work, by the way?” James asked, closing the door behind him. Together, they walked down the stairs to the living room. 

“Busy,” she sighed. 

It was hard to admit, but James was jealous of Y/N in almost every way possible. One of them was the freedom she got from her parents. She had the freedom to explore her passion and what she wanted to do in the future. Y/N was currently in her gap year, working as a barista in a cafe in the next town. Her parents were very supportive of her decision. However, she had to work for at least four days. It didn’t matter what kind of job, but she had to work. 

“But it was fine. For some reason, we had a very long rush hour. The time flew by,” she continued, sharing some weird situations with some customers. 

When they arrived at the living room, the doors to the terrace were wide open, and in the distance, Y/N's little brother and sister were playing football in the garden. They also walked to the terrace but decided to sit on the lounge set.

James leaned back, the cushions soft against his back. “Sounds like you had quite a day.” He looked at her, admiring her resilience and positive outlook. He wished he had the same kind of freedom and support to pursue his passions without the weight of expectations bearing down on him. He unbuttoned the buttons of his sleeves and rolled them up his arms.

“Ey,” Y/N mumbled and picked up a lost button from the sofa. She held it up between her thumb and wise finger. “Just because you don’t like it, you don’t have to sprinkle it around,” she smirked and grabbed his arm left, unfolding the sleeve, checking if it belonged to this side. 

“I just wanted to mark my territory.” 

“Like you haven’t done that enough here,” she replied. She rolled the left sleeve up again, unfolding the right side. “Bingo.” She gave James the button. “Let me get the sewing kit.”

“It’s alright. I will let someone fix it at my place. Besides, I have enough white shirts.”

“It’s just a two-minute job. Besides, I know it is a new white shirt, and it’s too good to just throw it away because one button is missing, James.” 

Before he could say anything about it, she had walked away. The left corner of his mouth curled up, and he looked at the button. He could hear her talk to her dad in the distance. He still heard some soft beats from the music upstairs, and he heard the sibling dynamic between the kids playing football.

Y/N sat down beside him again. “Arm,” she said and made a gesture. She opened the small box, probably an old cigar box and got a needle and some wire. 

James placed his arm on her lap. “Don’t poke me,” he reminded her. 

She took a deep breath and lifted her head, straightening her face. “Shit, there goes my plan.” 

“I need to stay away from you.”

She licked her lips and casually shrugged. “I know where to find you,” she said. 

“Oo, now I’m scared.”

Y/N pointed the needle at him and laughed. “As you should.” 

“Aah, no, I don’t want to die. Don’t do it to me,” his voice raised, but his face stayed neutral. 

She sighed and sewed the button back on the sleeve. “Hopeless.”

The music became louder. The loud music was blasting from his speaker when the Y/N’s older brother stood in front of the lounge set. He was moving along with the beat, standing in front of Y/N and James purposely. Y/N gave him a side eye, which gave him a satisfied reaction; he smiled. 

“Turn that music down, mate,” Y/N’s dad said and put some plates with cutlery on the table outside. “Put on a chill playlist and set the table, will you?” 

“Si Señor,” the brother said. He looked at his little sister and James. “The best friends are together again,” he said and walked over to James. “Hey, man.” He wanted to go for a handshake, but it was a weird high-five since Y/N was working on James’ right hand. 

James returned the high-five with a chuckle, the easy banter between them adding to the relaxed atmosphere. “Hey, good to see you,” he greeted Y/N’s brother.

“Likewise,” the brother replied, shooting James a friendly grin before turning to Y/N. “So, what’s the occasion? You two planning a secret rendezvous or something?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a playful glint in them. “Nothing like that. Just fixing James’ button.”

“Ah, the old ‘sewing buttons’ trick,” the brother winked. “Classic move. By the way, Y/N, where is mum?” 

“Work,” Y/N replied. “Well, I think she will be home any second now.” Looking up, she saw her mum walking in the living room. “Speaking of the devil.” She nodded towards her mum. 

“Ah, mother!” The brother said, widening his arms and greeting his mum. 

Y/N bit her lip while focusing. “Oh, this is light pink wire,” she mumbled and looked sorry at him. “Sorry. I can do it over with white wire.”

James widely smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine,” he mentioned. Every time that I wear this shirt, it will remind me of you,” he winked. 

“Sure,” she dodged his words. “Anyway, will you be joining us for dinner?” A smile curved on her lips. 

“Would love to,” he smiled. He didn’t want to say that her dad already invited him, since she looked excited when asking. 

Y/N nodded and continued sewing. 

They fell into a comfortable silence, the music now a soothing background melody as they finished sewing the button back onto James’ sleeve. Once they were done, Y/N leaned back, admiring their handiwork.

“James, sweetheart,” Y/N’s mum cheerfully said. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good evening,” James politely smiled. 

“Looks good as new,” Y/N declared, a satisfied smile on her face as she rolled up his sleeve again.

“Thanks, Y/N,” James replied, giving her a playful nudge.

The entire family gathered around the dining table outside and made sure the table was all set. They all sat down to enjoy the dinner Y/N’s dad had prepared. James felt a sense of gratitude wash over him. Surrounded by the warmth of Y/N’s family. The conversations they held during dinner were filled with laughter and funny expressions. 

Then Y/N’s mum wanted to invite James for tomorrow. “We are going to sail tomorrow. Would you like to join? Maybe you can ask Lydia, too,” she proposed. 

A sparkle came in Y/N’s eyes when she looked at James, hoping he would say yes. “We can pick Lydia up tonight, so you both can stay here for the night. Then we don’t have to rush tomorrow morning,” Y/N proposed while looking at her parents, who seemed to agree. 

“Yes, I would love to. I will be there, but I will ask Lydia,” James widely smiled.

Click here to read part 2

[kedsandtubesocks]

cosmic love

Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

summary: a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

tags & warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, MAJOR GLADIATOR 2 SPOILERS. time travel AU, magic elements, pining & yearning, fluff but with touches of angst, implied age gap (Acacius being older than both reader & Marcus), light use of gendered language, bi!Marcus Acacius & bi!Marcus Pike, brief mention of death & existential questioning, spicy themes, smut (threesome, m!oral, one moment of spitting) M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship, no use of y/n

word count: 7.5k

a/n: I’m sorry I blame the gladiator statue pics we got & yeah now here we are lmao, this fic literally wouldn’t be here without @pedgito & @perotovar - i can’t thank you two enough for all the help i love y’all tremendously, also a sweet special tag for @morallyinept ily too… And lastly - thank you for reading, you’re what makes this so special and magical ♡

The statue that arrived with the newly updated Roman exhibition at your museum has gained attention.

As a guide you enjoy seeing all the new faces here to check out the freshly opened installation. The heightened foot traffic has kept you and your co-workers busy, but it’s been a nice welcome.

Your eyes drift to the statue now.

General Marcus Acacius stands slightly weathered yet still commanding in his bronze glory, towering among the room with all the grace a powerful Roman Army commander would be.

You learned he conquered countless territories and countries in the name of the Ancient Roman Empire. Eventually though, he was caught in a conspiracy to overthrow the ruling emperors and died within the eyes of the coliseum, the whisper of a gladiator’s death.

Now you readily explain this all to tour groups like the one you currently guide.

“Oh, he’s cute.” One of the elementary school girls currently giggles to her friend. The other school children gasp around her, teasing her.

“It’s okay. He is pretty handsome, isn’t he?” You reassure her. The girl seems bashful but relieved at your agreement.

It wasn’t just you. A local internet influencer stopped by and even made a video about the statue being her dream guy.

Even as a statue, the General is eye-catching.

The bronze figure captured his likeness bewitchingly detailing the soft curls of his hair, a lovely sharp nose, mountainous strong broad shoulders, and a pensive stare looking out to a distant horizon. He’s a man of unwavering beauty.

You constantly want to smack yourself for being wistful over a piece of art.

“He’s definitely the most attractive statue I’ve seen.” A familiar smooth sweet voice melts into the room’s quiet softness making your heart jump.

Approaching you with a molten smile and eyes twinkling in the low museum lights, Marcus doesn’t seem real at times.

A regular visitor, you first met him when he accidentally crashed one of your tours. Wholesomely thoughtful, but also being a charming yet slightly know it all, he was quick to join in on commentary of the paintings. With his Disney prince-like smile and earnest eager energy, you couldn’t dare shoo him away.

Now you happily seek his company.

“He’s become like a hot new celebrity here.” Joking, you nudge towards the General’s striking figure.

“I can see why.” Marcus whistles low. “Like look at those shoulders.”

You snicker as a bubbling fondness swells in you.

“He unfortunately died a tragic death.” Marcus comments, cloudy and mournful.

“Yeah, I heard. That means this guy is a bad boy.” You nod.

Marcus snickers at your comment then playfully nudges you with his elbow.

Later, all your co-workers beg you to ask him out to coffee.

“He’s totally got the hots for you!” Your favorite co worker often tells you, but you wave her off.

Marcus is just sweet. He’s kind and considerate, engaging to all the workers here. Besides, you don’t want to assume he possibly likes you and maybe ruin the precious friendship you have with him.

However, your favorite coworker shows up a few days later with a solution for your stale love life.

With a cheeky bright grin, she hands you the cutest pink velvet pouch in the break room.

“It’s called a love wish tea.” She declares.

She grabbed a pack of them at the local occult shop after the lovely witch who owned the place swore it worked.

“It calls in your heart’s desires and hey, it worked for me! That’s why I still have a pack left over!” She proudly recommends.

You roll your eyes but appreciate the gift.

Shoving it into your bag, you don’t give it much thought.

Then the cooler cozier weather settles in, the perfect time for museum dates. Strolling along the floors keeping a watch on everyone it’s hard not to notice the intake of couples. Some are intertwined beside each other staring fondly at a painting together, while others happily take photos of the other being silly.

A taste of loneliness fills you, but gently you sweep it away focusing back on work. Especially since tonight you’ll be locking up.

Already craving some extra caffeine, you glare seeing the break room depleted of any sweet salvation.

The small velvet pink bag in your bag immediately comes to mind. And at this point you think, why not. it will at least keep you awake.

Immediately out of the pouch the tea bag releases a soothing smell, a rich floral blending with delicate touches of a fruit scent, possibly pomegranate. You’re now excited just to taste it, love wish or not.

The tea steeps in your tumbler cup allowing a faint rose color to float into your water. Of course the tea is pretty too.

And the taste? Rich, lovely and warm, like a romantic valentine-like themed drink. It doesn’t reward you with a sensation of being in love, but instead you feel at peace.

After a few sips, you return to the floor.

There, Marcus sits on one of the benches in the Roman exhibition.

Curled over a leather sketchbook, he’s every bit the personification of a scholarly beautiful artist straight out of a romance novel. His face glanced up then back down to his sketch. Diligent concentration paints over his gorgeous face.

Cautious, yet eager, you approach.

He’s sketching a portrait of the General. The sharp edges of the charcoal, the smudges meant to mimic shadows, along with capturing the striking slopes of the General’s features - it’s fantastic.

“You’re amazing!”

Your compliment causes him to jolt slightly spooked, and you rapidly apologize. Once he catches sight of you, Marcus sighs with a dreamy relieved sleepy grin.

“Just sketching, nothing too crazy.”

You take a seat besides him on the bench.

“You captured his likeness so well already.” You’re in awe at the sketch.

Marcus laughs a bit nervously. It’s hard trying not to swoon at the light rose blush coloring his cheeks. He’s stunning.

“I bet General Acacius would be flattered.” You grin then glance back to the statue.

Marcus turns to follow your sight.

“Nah, he strikes me as a big relief fan.” Marcus comments thoughtfully.

The bad art joke isn’t lost on you, and you snicker beside him. Among the giggles you catch Marcus staring at you, the softest boyish grin tugging his lips.

The world melts into a splendid focus all on him.

This isn’t good. You can’t be thinking about possibly leaning in to kiss cute visitors while you’re still on the clock.

“Hey… so I’ve been meaning to ask if maybe we could-”

His phone ringing cuts Marcus off causing you to shoot up from the bench. Jumping on the call, Marcus seems apologetic and almost sad as you wave him bye to him.

Closing time approaches. You and your co-workers do one final look around the rooms. Marcus is nowhere to be found.

The Roman exhibition now sits sleepily still.

The dim glow coats the general’s statue, a glistening chopper. Even with the chips and weathering of time, he stands glorious as you stroll closer.

He really must have been something fierce for the empire to immortalize him in such grand fashion.

“You must’ve been a pretty amazing man.” You mutter mainly to yourself, gently touching the base of the elevated display platform he rests upon.

You wish him a good night and head home. You try not to think of stunning statues or cute museum visitors.

Next morning you’re woken up by a call from work, a frantic one.

“The fucking hot ass statue is missing.” Your co-worker hisses.

You don’t believe it till you see it.

But you’re knocked breathless at the sight.

General Marcus Acacius is missing. The once grand presence he added to the room is absent, vanished, as if plucked from the air itself.

It’s almost unnerving to see the once elevated space now hauntingly vacant.

Chaos brews humming all around. Copes scurry around everywhere, and plenty of people stand outside curious to what’s going on. A controlled whirlwind fills your museum. Various officers keep the scene roped off.

The museum decides to close for the rest of the week to let the police handle as much as they can. You adore the museum truly, but there’s one spot you love the most. Right by the break room leading from various different doors is an outdoor courtyard. It’s become a place of solace.

The bubbling dread has you stepping out here one more time. The sky above looms with a cold front approaching and casts a somber shadow over the space even more.

The shrubs rustle off the side among the thick greenery, and you figure it’s a bird.

“It’s you.” Until a new voice speaks to you. Rich, heavily accented and smooth, it startles you.

You wonder if you’re imagining things.

The man is dressed in Roman attire, elaborate white armor adorned with ornate gold pieces. Glorious graying curls frame his ethereal aged face.

How did a cosplayer manage to sneak in?

He stares so directly at you it frightens you a bit.

“You’re the one who’s voice I heard…” he continues to speak. “It was like I was asleep, drifting away. Then you woke me.”

“Sir, how did you manage to get in here?” You ask, trying to stay as calm as you can.

“I do not know. I simply woke and found myself in this strange place.” He explains with a furrowed brow.

You wonder…is this a strange bit the museum is maybe trying to pull off, and they didn’t tell you.

He steps forward now, and instinctively you walk back cautious. The man must take in your reaction because his face, his handsome face that now looks vaguely familiar, frowns. He holds his hands up defensively.

“I mean no harm. I just need to know what happened to me.”

Someone calls out your name, sounds like your boss. “Come on let’s head out.”

The stranger repeats it and how smooth his voice is, your name rolls off his tongue.

“I am General Marcus Acacius, and I am in need of your assistance.”

That makes your brain scratch.

“Wait, what?” You turn to him confused. “What did you say your name was again?”

He repeats it firmer.

Marcus Acacius.

As in… General Marcus Acacius.

There’s no way.

“Oh, so you’re an actor.” You deadpan.

“I…am confused? I’m no performer. I promise you that.” He almost sounds huffy.

You gotta give him credit. The guy stays in character pretty well.

“You shouldn’t be here, actor or not.” You tell him, heading back inside. Of course this man follows you in.

At the sight of the glass door and the movement of it, he pauses stunned, like he can’t process it. You almost want to laugh.

“You’re pretty good, even though you say you’re not an actor.” You tease.

He frowns hard not enjoying that.

“Either tell me what is going on or I will find a man who will.” He snaps loud and your eyes go wide.

His memorizing face scrunches up in frustration. Dark amber eyes are coated in fierce anger.

“I wake up in a strange place filled with artifacts and see people dressed strange. What is going on?” His voice rises confused, panicking.

Either he’s the most amazing actor ever or…

No.

It can’t be.

Too many thoughts swirl in your head like angry bees trying to make your brain explode.

You need a minute. So you grab the mystery man’s arm, practically dragging him to follow you.

“Excuse you? Where are you taking me?” He demands.

“Somewhere safe.” You half lie.

Unfortunately your boss stops you. His worried eyes catch sight of the man in the armor. You’re quick to explain he’s an actor, upset about the missing statue.

“I am not a-”

You shush the strange man harshly. Your boss, hesitant and worried, surveys him.

“He shouldn’t be here.” Your boss says firm.

“Yup, and I was just showing him the way out.” You happily explain.

Thankfully your boss gets called away, and you make your escape.

“Are you abducting me?” He demands harder.

“Look, I’m the only one here who might be able to help you.” You hiss back.

“I am the commanding General of the Roman armies.” His voice blooms stronger when you reach the lobby. “I will find my way around.”

You swallow hard. A small but chaotic idea quickly jumps into your mind, and you decide to put it into action.

So, you hold the exit door open for him. The man nods to you, then strolls out. You follow him.

The towering skyscrapers, the rush of the cars, the stretching concrete roads, it becomes an overwhelming sight while the man whips his face around eyes wide and in shock. His face falls, aghast and disoriented.

That unrealistic conclusion you thought of - you think it might not be so realistic. Because the man turns to you wearing petrified horror, terrified confusion of a man in an unknown world that no actor could truly capture.

Reality smacks into you like a bag of nails.

This man is truly the great General Marcus Acacius.

The missing statue now full man summoned to life.

Someone yells your name.

Your heart drops. Of course Marcus arrives at the worst time. He jogs up to you dressed in what looks like a gym outfit.

“I heard about the statue.” He says worried then his eyes immediately grow cloudy and confused as he catches sight of the strange Roman dressed man.

“Is he… a friend of yours?” Marcus asks hesitantly.

“It’s complicated.” You blurt, panicked.

General Acacius stands still very stunned trying to take this new modern world in. Stumbling, he returns to your side, clutching your arm like you’re the only one who can steady him.

“I…” Acacius begins then stops mid word, still trying to process a reply. Until he catches sight of Marcus.

“You,” The man surveys Marcus with narrowing eyes. “You seem familiar as well.”

This is getting out of hand.

“Okay time to go.” You rapidly try diffusing the situation, moving General Acacius away from Marcus.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Marcus questions, persistently following behind while you head to the parking lot.

You scramble out a lie that the strange man is an old friend you ran into who just came back from a play.

“I told you, I’m no performer.” Acacius insists still. You also discover he’s built like a wall and trying to wrangle him into the car proves to be Herculean.

Swiftly, Marcus firmly snaps out your name. His tone is different, urgent and enforcing. It turns you into a statue yourself.

Comedically, you’re practically halfway shoving Acacius into the car but now stand frozen. He notices the shift in tension quickly.

“Are you frightened of him?” Acacius mutters concern, surprisingly concerned. “Because I can dispose of this man.”

You shake your head no.

Swallowing hard, you finally look Marcus dead in the eyes.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” You admit.

“Try me.” Marcus rebuffs, serious as steel.

So you sigh, what more do you have to lose now?

“General, can you please tell him who you are.” You then allow Acacius to speak for himself.

The ancient Roman clears his throat and announces his full title and name. The younger and modern Marcus’s face twists confused with a hint of concern.

Suddenly his eyes go wide. He catches on fast, figures it out quicker than you did that’s for sure.

This cute casual museum visitor you have a slight crush on is now your accomplice and partner in crime.

At least…now you don't have to deal with an ancient Roman General being brought back to life from stone alone.

— °˖➴ —

Marcus’s apartment is lush and cozy, filled with so many books and records. The warm walls, sleek modern design, make your place feel like a hole in the wall. Having a roommate, you couldn’t just bring home a very confused man out of time. So thankfully Marcus offered his home.

Now you’ve practically been living here with General Acacius trying to figure out what happened.

Acacius takes things rather well, almost in stride. Fitting for a general that explored new territories and had to face the unknown chaos of war.

The fridge fascinates him the most. You had to stop yourself from laughing seeing him open and close the refrigerator door like a child wondering if the food inside would disappear.

Marcus has a vice for candy, specifically sour ones. Seeing General Acacius try one and the disgusted face of twisted torture is a memory you’ve replayed over multiple times.

But unfortunately no one can figure out what brought the statue to life and him here.

“I’m a man. Not a statue.” The roman general clarifies.

“You are now, but we gotta figure out why.” You sigh exhausted while Marcus readies breakfast for everyone.

He’s been an incredible host. It’s been hard not lingering on how domestic and warm he is within his own space.

Especially when there’s also an archaic man looking just as handsome walking around in a tight white t shirt Marcus lent him.

Surrounded by two unbelievably gorgeous men has been a double edged sword, a blessing and curse.

General Acacius reminds you of a mountain, ever powerful, sturdy and unwavering with the change of seasons. Yet there’s still an open vulnerability to him. You’ve seen it in how grateful he’s been and how eagerly he’s tried absorbing all about this new world.

Whereas Marcus reminds you of a river, beautifully flowing, always adaptable. But he surprises you with how direct and firm he’s been, almost protective in keeping you and Acacius safe.

You also don’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes sometimes flicker to sneak a glance at the older General. You can’t blame him.

Acacius fills out modern clothes sinfully. Watching him navigate everything with a certain poised grace is attractive. While Marcus has become endearing and patient, incredibly welcoming to this new hiccup in his life. You haven't felt this comfortable with someone in so long.

Truly a river and mountain now exist in your life, and you want to stay in their atmosphere more and more.

But you can’t get tangled in the budding emotions growing for these men.

You need to figure out how to help Acacius.

“Once I get back to the office, I’m hoping I can try to find something that could maybe help.” Marcus clarifies while grabbing his work bag.

You’ve learned much about him these past few days. Like he enjoys a good run, used to be a swimmer, has a soft spot for strays, surprisingly loves football -

Also that he’s a well known FBI agent.

You realized you never once asked what he did for work, and you’ve known him for months.

“You have feelings for that man.” Acacius announces once it’s you and him alone in the apartment. You almost spit out your drink.

“We’re friends, that’s all.” You huff.

This Marcus doesn’t seem to believe you, and gives you a very modern dry eyed side glare that makes you roll your eyes.

“I’ve seen the way he watches you, the look of a man in love.” Acacius continues.

“Well I see the way he stares at you too, pal.” You reply back before you can even realize what you said.

Your words do their job stunning the general.

“He is too young for an old man like me.” Acacius rapidly fires back.

“You’re not that old.” You clarify. “If anything you’re distinguished, mature.”

“You are too kind, dear lady.” He chuckles.

You ignore how fast warmth spreads through you a dangerous wildfire just hearing him.

Your phone ringing makes poor Acacius jump. Though, it’s progress from the confused shout he used to yell whenever the phones rang.

Your boss explains that unfortunately the museum will have to stay closed the rest of the month for further investigations, and everyone’s information has been sent in to check for any suspicious activities.

It sounded serious.

Dead serious because after that phone call, you get called by the police department to head in for a few questions.

You have nothing to hide, except you did.

Because in theory you technically did and didn’t steal the statue. You just know the cops wouldn’t take your explanation.

The interrogation room you sit in is coated in a bleak serious air making you fidget worried. This is also the first time you left General Acacius alone at the apartment and that worry picks at you.

Then two officers walk in. One an older distinguished woman who gives you a nod then the other… a rather striking man.

Hawkish nose, clean shaven face, kind eyes, he smiles soft at you.

Marcus.

The agent that walked in is Marcus.

You try not to stare, but it’s hard. Dressed in an official suit and tie, the badge he wears, he sits across for you a striking professional handsome agent.

The woman introduces herself as one of the head local detectives of the case and the man accompanying her is from the FBI, specifically the head of the art crimes division.

Marcus wasn’t just an agent but someone that important.

You can’t deny how extra attractive it makes him.

“Agent Marcus Pike.” Polite and sweet he outstretches his arm to shake your hand like you’ve never met him before.

The questions are very basic.

Where were you the last time you saw the statue? Do you remember any recent guest that stopped by that maybe seemed suspicious?

You answer as truthfully and as best as you can, while also hiding the ancient Roman sized man truth away.

“Funny enough,” Agent Pike comments. “It does seem like this statue just seems to have…I don’t know, grown legs and walked out itself.”

You weakly laugh at his joke. You don’t miss the tug of his lips trying not to grin.

You leave the room as if you stepped out of a strange pocket dimension. Then again these past few days have felt strange and disorienting.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the head of some FBI art division?!” You let Marcus have it when you both return back to his apartment.

“Is that dangerous?” Acacius asks curiously.

“I don’t know.” You sigh.

“No…This is good.” Marcus clarifies. He even picked up apology pastries. General Acacius greedily snags a cheese danish and moans in pure delight once he takes a bite.

It’s hard to ignore how incredibly sexy he sounded.

“It means I can keep looking in my records for any previous instances of situations like this, or if there’s any leads on the case I’ll know.” Marcus patiently explains.

That calms you enough.

Days pass, and Acacius grows restless.

He doesn’t sleep well, snapping at you and Marcus often more. He mourns the loss of a world that’s passed, of a wife he lost. The grief comes in waves. You and Marcus try comforting him, but Acacius reminds you of a caged tiger, restless and fanged. You understand. Being cooped up in a strange home in a strange world must be exhausting.

So Marcus and you agree to have a nice weekend out with him.

General Acacius fidgets in the cozy cream knit sweater that stretches over his broad body, but damn does he look incredible. So does Marcus in his scholarly sleek coat.

This trip also works as another opportunity to do more investigating. The nearby bookstore is the first stop. Acacius gasps seeing the stretch of books.

“Pretty impressive, yeah?” Marcus smirks, and you grin agreeing. He decides to take a look at the art history books here for any information he might have missed.

You unfortunately get side tracked with the many books in front of you and slightly wander away from Acacius when one catches your eyes.

But you quickly find your way back to him.

The elder Marcus stands stunned like a ghost among the classical literature holding a thick encyclopedia.

“I knew of what happened to Rome after you and Pike told me. But seeing the grand colosseum like this… it’s a specter of ruins now.” He mutters while taking in the photo of the ancient landmark.

“I am glad. There should be no need for more death matches.” His voice weighs with the heaviness of centuries past.

You agree, happy he shuts the book and returns it back. You’re about to dive into the Ancient Rome section yourself now until he speaks again.

“What if I am not the same man these books speak of?” The older Marcus questions hollowed.

That stuns you.

“What if the man who died many years ago… is not me?” His voice wavers.

Existential dread looms off him a dark storm growing stronger.

Marcus turns the corner smiling bright. But quickly he immediately notices the shift in atmosphere, and his face falls as he mouths asking what’s wrong.

You let General Acacius speak from the heart.

“What if… I am not me? What if I am not the real Marcus Acacius?”

His face is weighted with fear, raw and open making him appear lost and so small for someone powerful as him.

“I believe it’s you.” You reassure him gentle. “I’m sure Marcus does too. Besides… who says you can’t be the same man?”

There are pieces of yourself that you’ve left with people, even some bits of you have gotten snagged in certain places or tied to certain objects. Who says a piece of Marcus Acacius truly resided in the statue and simply woke up. And if that’s the case, then that means he’s as real as ever.

You explain all of this best as you can to Acacius. Those deep steady eyes of his waver transforming into molten earth. Your hand moves down to squeeze his stronger large warm hand.

He squeezes back tight.

“Besides the man that died is still you too. You’re allowed to be both.” Marcus jumps in with the most tender voice

“That does not sound true.” Acacius mutters.

As modern has he’s slowly become, you think it still might be too hard to explain dimensional or reality theory.

“This philosopher I read about once said something along the lines of, if you think, therefore you are.” Marcus clarifies. “You exist here and now. And sometimes that’s all that matters.”

You realize both you and Marcus slowly have huddled around General Acacius. You on one side and Marcus on the other, barricade to support your General as much as you or Marcus can.

Acacius sighs, watery, taking it all in.

Your heart aches for him. It overwhelms you, causing you to gently rest your head against his shoulder and letting your hand rest on his back.

Marcus also moves closer, placing his hand right besides yours, gingerly touching your hand.

Among the books you and these two rest simply in the stillness of the moment. You feel something hook deep in your chest, a feeling you can’t fully express.

After, Marcus treats everyone to his favorite taco truck. It's infectious seeing Acacius’s spirits brighten again. He again moans delicious when he takes his first bite. You don’t miss the awkward cough Marcus makes.

But the tacos are amazing and the cooler weather covers everything in a comforting dreamy cloud.

“I want to explore this world as much as I can.” Acacius declares with resolution and shining gilded hope.

So you start bringing the Roman general out with you more.

The museum is still being investigated, so you take the chance to enjoy the days, especially now with Marcus Acacius by your side. He enjoys your smaller apartment, becomes a fan of cooking shows fast.

Marcus and you discovered he isn’t big on sushi but has a notorious sweet tooth. Acacius embraces everything now with more gusto, a vibrant curiosity about many things, especially food. It’s endearing.

General Acacius also proves to be a lovely companion when you go grocery shopping.

“So many spices.” He says in awe in the aisle.

More people arrive and you try maneuvering your cart through the traffic. General Acacius catches on quick. Staying close to you, he places a comforting hand at your lower back and the other against yours in the cart. Shifting his body against yours, he’s a protective shield until you’re out of the thicket.

It sends the wildest hum of sparks throughout your body that persistently stays. Acacius stays firmly beside the rest of the trip.

For a man out of time, he’s open for conversation. The check out worker seems to blatantly ignore you while she happily and very openly flirts with him.

You don’t say much, ignoring the possessive emerald eyed sense of jealousy threatening to rise. He bids the flirty cashier a good day along with an elegant head nod. You keep quiet heading back to the car.

“That woman, she gave me a strange note with numbers on it.” General Acacius comments cautious, almost worried about what they could be.

You almost trip on the way out.

“Her number, she gave you her phone number.” You explain simply.

Of course you have to elaborate what that means and how it’s a modern way of signaling someone is attracted to you.

“Truly?” His handsome aged face scrunches up confused.

“What can I say? In any year you’re a catch.” You try not to sound wistful.

“I’m an old man not from this time. I have nothing worth for anyone to desire me.” Now he sounds dejected, somber and serious.

“Okay, besides being absolutely one of the most gorgeous men ever, you’re kind. Incredibly loyal and brave. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Earnesty floats off you.

His face drops, your words finally settling within him. The soft streams of grays in his luscious curled hair and rustic beard, the beautiful scars he wears that tell of his victories…

The statue truly was not able to capture the magnetic pull of this man.

Acacius’s eyes flicker across your face. You swear something shimmers in his deep earth eyes. His gaze flickers down for a split moment, as if he’s glancing at your lips.

Then your phone rings with a text, and you sigh.

This precious bubble you’ve been in, this newly woven existence with these two gorgeous men, is one you want to stay in forever. It’s warm, easy, and feels too nice to leave.

But work eventually crashes in.

The museum finally reopens but with the Roman exhibit closed still. The missing art has brought in more foot traffic to the museum. But what surprises you is seeing Marcus at work now while he works. You and him share sweet secret smiles to each other.

Even with work getting busy for you and him, you’ve been texting with Marcus frequently. It’s even been amusing being on the phone with him and Acacius cries out surprised hearing your voice.

Your mind drifts to them again as you daze off a bit at work.

“So, did you ever drink that tea I gave you?” Your favorite coworker asks, interrupting your daydream.

The confusion must be evident on your face.

“Ya know… the sweet love wish tea?” She grins like a pleased cat that’s about to catch a canary.

An abrupt realization barrels right into you, a fierce horned bull almost knocking you out at the knees. You can’t believe a possible magical tea maybe brought a statue to life. But with that statue now a very real ancient Roman man you’ve been harboring - anything is possible now.

“Can you tell me where the shop is that you got it?” You rapidly ask her.

Your next day off you head down there immediately, not even taking either of your Marcus boys.

The sweetest shop owner greets you warm and welcoming. You compliment her lovely silvery lavender hair.

“Oh it’s to hide the grays.” She winks, and you grin.

But the nervousness rises because you don’t even know how to approach the question you have.

“Something seems to be bothering you.” Of course she notices but speaks with a gentle tone.

Your heavy sigh must say it all. Very sweetly she pulls out a stool by the register and settles in waiting to hear your story.

Even with her welcoming smile, the hesitation pulls at you. But you manage to gently explain what happened without revealing the dizzying truth.

“So I drank the love wish tea. And something… someone I never imagined would come into my life did. So now I don’t know if there’s a way I could probably send him back to what, to where, he was.” You tell her.

The shop owner hums in deep thought, crossing her hands over her chest nodding.

“Is it a ghost? Did you call in a spirit? Are you in love with a ghost?” She asks flat out without hesitation, and you almost laugh.

She’s half right in a way.

“I’m thinking…possibly the one thing that came to mind that I would do first is to do an unbinding spell. Whatever is keeping this man here, the separation of that would be what sends him back.” She says jumping off her chair, waving at you to follow her through the shop.

You quickly scurry behind her.

Grabbing a pack of two candles, the ritual she describes is simple enough. Tying a string around the two candles, lighting them until they burn, which in the process would burn the thread, theoretically severing the tie of Acacius to this world.

“And you said it was the love wish tea you drank, yes?”

You nod, and she nods back in understanding.

“What that tea is meant to do is call in your heart’s desires, simply allow the universe to bring whatever magic it seems fit to your life…But it also isn’t doing it forcefully.” She explains.

The tea is known to work because it calls in someone who desires the same thing you do, almost like a little nudge in the matchmaking department, a magic magnet.

“It works because someone else is also receptive. But of course, there is no need to stay with whoever is brought to you.”

Her words sink into a deep corner of your heart. You wonder if that meant Marcus Acacius longed for a better future, and it’s why the tea worked on him.

Thanking her graciously, you take the candles and a few cute stickers she has by the counter.

“I hope everything works out for you, gorgeous.” Her warm smile becomes a comforting hug.

You hope so too.

But the way your stomach twists, a part of you realizes… what if you don’t want Marcus Acacius to leave?

It’s selfish - but you want this trio of you, him and Marcus Pike, to last as long as it possibly can.

Driving to Marcus’s apartment, guilt and selfishness fight each other tooth and nail. You don’t know if this unbinding spell would work, but it would be a start.

With the spare key Marcus gave you, you let yourself in.

There on the couch you catch the quickest glimpse of both men heavily making out with the elder Marcus greedily holding onto Agent Pike’s sharp jaw. You wonder if maybe you’re seeing things, but the image knocks you breathless.

The younger and modern Marcus, who halfway was on the elder General’s lap immediately, bolts away as if electrocuted.

On the table, you spot two glasses of wine.

They both stare at you, caught red handed. Immediately though, you scramble out apologies.

“I should have called and-”

Marcus says your name. “It’s.. it’s okay.”

You feel so foolish right now. You didn’t even think that they had a thing, and that you were possibly the third wheel.

“I can leave. I totally understand.” You really do.

“No.” Acacius orders, saying your name, firmly shaking his head as he rises. His eyes rusted steel swords that pin you to where you stand.

“This started because of you.” He adds.

Wait.

Because of you?

“Wait, are you guys drunk?” You even voice your confusion.

Both Marcus men shake their heads no.

“We were just talking about you, about us.” The younger Marcus explains.

“And it took us some time but we both desire each other. And we both desire you.” General Acacius simply interjects, and Marcus coughs stunned.

You wonder if you’re the one who’s been brought to life in another time.

“Honey, please don’t feel pressured if you don’t feel the same.” Marcus, wonderful Marcus Pike, ever understanding and eternally good.

“I’ve liked you for so long. Even tried to ask you out a couple of times, just got a bit of cold feet. It just unfortunately took an ancient Roman to get me to finally say something.” He laughs weakly, boyishly nervous.

He’s liked you all this time.

You don’t say anything, don’t think there’s any words you can say just yet. Simply the emotions overtake you.

You head first to the younger Marcus and kiss him with a fierce tug at his shirt. He happily pulls you into him and sighs into your lips.

A soft but large hand runs up your back, and the sensation makes your body bloom.

“You both are so beautiful.” The older Marcus mutters dripping with adoration.

With a squeeze to Marcus’s shoulder and one final soft kiss, you pull away then melt into the general’s waiting arms. His mustache tickles you as his lips kiss yours, but it’s divine.

Their hands all over you touch every inch they can. You’ve never felt this desired, never been the epicenter of affection and passion like this before. You just as eagerly try grabbing at either man with as much clawed possession as you can.

They’re both yours now after all.

Tumbling into the bedroom it’s like something out of a dream, blissful and deliciously decadent, but so real with how heated your body feels.

Both men start kissing your exposed skin, with one licking at your neck from behind and the other readily nipping at your exposed chest. Your mind melts in bliss.

“Marcus,” you sigh.

You’re rewarded with two beautiful groans, different in tones it becomes a symphony you want to hear forever.

In the blurry of haze, the sticky syrupy desire, you and the younger Marcus follow each other peppering multiple kisses on Acacius’s chest as he falls onto the bed.

You and the modern Marcus work together, conquering the beautiful golden exposed landscape of Marcus Acacius’s chest. You tenderly press your lips against the various scars then happily move to kiss the younger Marcus.

The delicious sighs from General Acacius fill the room, a hypnotic soundtrack.

Soon your lips start traveling further down across his body. Your fellow lover follows your trail, kissing and kicking every inch of Acacius. You and Marcus reach his cock twitching in the loose sweatpants Acacius has grown fond of.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans as he drags the older man’s cock out.

Fuck is right. Thick, girthy and dripping already, you already ache to have him inside in any way.

“Both of you are little fiends.” The elder Marcus croaks breathless. Confidence surges in you as you lick across his length, relishing in the taste of his skin.

Marcus’s tongue also licks with you along your other lover’s cock, even moving across your tongue. The louder groans coming from General Acacius only spur you and Marcus on.

Greedily your eyes flicker up towards the towering force of a warrior. The beautiful older man’s eyes blown black, desired drenched galaxies looking down at you and Marcus like prizes he wants to conquer himself.

It makes you dizzy, completely possessed, and you kiss your way down to one of his thick large heavy balls. You tentatively lick. Acacius initially hisses until his voice melts into the loudest primal groan when you start sucking.

Your sweet Marcus immediately follows your lead, dragging his mouth down as well. You and him simply devour Acacius, licking back and forth across your lover’s balls and each other’s mouths.

Marcus quickly starts stroking your lover’s thick cock. It’s heaven being among these two, allowing yourself to get lost in the golden ecstasy.

When Acacius reaches his release you greedily lick up his cum that spilled against his skin, and he groans. Once you sit up, you reach for Marcus’s cum covered hand and begin to lick and suck his fingers clean. It’s then your sweet Marcus that suddenly grabs your mouth with the same hand, pulling your face towards his.

“Don’t swallow baby, I wanna taste.” He mutters with blazed out eyes.

Hearing that you almost come on the spot.

You sit up and slowly allow your spit and the milky cum into Marcus’s waiting mouth.

“Gods above.” The elder Marcus moans carnal.

The rest of the night consumes you in a wanton haze.

Sweaty, exhausted, but floating on a cloud, you sink into the bed with two men barricading you in their arms.

“I’m surprised you were…open to this.” You say to Acacius who chuckles a bit.

“I have loved others before, some included men. One was even a fellow General who died tragically among the same coliseum walls as I once did.” He explains gently.

You kiss his chest softly in understanding.

As you and these two lie curled into one another on Marcus’s lush bed, it’s like a new door has opened.

You and Marcus eagerly ask your General about his days in ancient Rome and his travels across the old world, about the true story of how he got his scar. Ever the steady man, Acacius answers all questions he can.

In the middle of this warm incredible double Marcus sandwich makes you giddy. But Acacius’s deep comforting lull of a voice, Marcus’s soft hands stroking your skin, create a cocoon drawing you to sleep faster than you realize.

A soft kiss comes to the top of your head.

“Rest. We will be here when you wake.”

Nodding through a yawn, you happily kiss them both goodnight. But just before you fall into the depths of sleep, you catch the two talking.

“What… will happen if I do not return to stone?” Acacius speaks first, so low and cautious you wonder if you’re dreaming already.

“I… I guess the statue will remain incomplete, stolen.” Marcus answers truthful but gentle.

A moment passes.

“What if I do not wish to return to stone?” Acacius clarifies.

You hear Marcus inhale sharp.

“I’ve longed for peaceful days away from the brutality of the frontline. And now… it’s here.”

A thick hope shines through the older Marcus’s voice, slipping past your ribs to piece your heart.

Movement shifts the bed, arms reach across for each other and seem to cage around you more.

“You’ll always have the final say. You get to make that choice. Neither of us would ever want to force you or take that away from you.” Marcus’s molten words are coated in pure understanding.

“I wish to stay here… with you and her.” Confidence, solidified resolution, radiate from the General’s voice.

The bed shifts again, and you hear them exchange the softest kiss.

“We’ll have to make sure to tell her in the morning.” The modern Marcus sighs dreamily. His hands again start rubbing your arm soothing, as if he can sense you’re fighting sleep.

“Of course. We must never forget our lady.” The older Marcus agrees.

His words along with a soft kiss to your forehead become the final push that allows sleep to settle.

— °˖➴ —

“So you’re telling me mister head of the art crimes department will be okay with a statue staying stolen and missing forever?” You smirk amused while Marcus drives down the familiar roads.

“Hey it’s no Vemeer’s Concert, but I’ll live with it.” Marcus playfully smirks and shrugs.

The investigation on General Acacius’s missing statue had run cold. There was no indication of a break in or forced exit. From the surveillance tapes, the video recordings simply shimmer, distorted for one moment, and then the statue is gone. As if it vanished into thin air.

Or is simply currently sitting in the back seat of the car taking in the world and power of a motor vehicle.

“You hear that, General? Our boy said you’re not valuable.” You tease.

“I don’t mind and I can agree.” Acacius replies bored, making you laugh. The green sweater he wears compliments him and brings out the streams of grays in his hair. You and Marcus have loved seeing him embrace modern clothing more than ever.

“That’s not what I meant.” Marcus rolls his eyes.

You snicker even more.

The occult shop arrives, and the candles feel lighter than ever in your bag, especially knowing you’re here to return them.

“Seems like you didn’t need these after all.” Your favorite lavender haired shop owner says with a coy smirk. Her eyes stay locked on your men exploring the aisles.

“A two for one deal? I'm definitely advertising that for the tea.” She adds eagerly, and you hide a laugh behind your hand.

If only you could tell her the full truth.

You return to your boys, enjoying the way Acacius seems to be a bit petrified among all of the occult objects.

“Are you sure this witchcraft is safe?” He asks worried, snd Marcus smooths by rubbing his back.

You grin.

Love, affection, might be the strangest but most beautiful magic after all.

[sparkleofpizza]

The Alchemy

Lando Norris x fem!reader

The beginning.

THE 2019 SEASON

Melbourne, Australia, 2019

I was nervous, I knew you shouldn't be, but I was.

The sun was shining bright down at the Melbourne Circuit, you could hear the delighted conversations from fans just outside of the motorhome. Everyone was excited for the upcoming season of Formula 1, with new drivers and grid line up changes. And I was one of the new faces at the paddock, although not a driver.

I’ve been no stranger to this whole life at the paddock and following Formula 1. I grew up with it as I’d follow my father around since the moment i learned how to walk.

Jenson Button, former Formula 1 driver and world champion. I carried my last name with pride, I love my dad more than anything in the world, but the moment I showed genuine interest in the motorsport world people started to talk.

So now, I can't help but wonder, what is everyone going to say the minute you walk into the paddock as not a guest, but as a McLaren intern.

Sure, I will be the first to admit that having the Button last name did help I get this internship, but I conclude the training to be here on your effort, with my intelligence, my studies and everything I prepared myself for.

I knew working at the PR department didn't come easy in the motorsport world, I not only had to deal with PR, reporters, FIA, and the drivers, but you had to understand the dynamic of the sport, of the car, and everything else in case I needed to step up to give a statement on behalf of a driver or the team.

I spent countless days, in 2018, going over the FIA regulations, learning about the cars, all while taking classes in UNI and juggling the McLaren PR training.

Someone called out my name in a soothing manner. I lifted your head, meeting Sophie's smile. Behind her there were two men, one standing tall and proud and the other a bit more awkwardly. I knew very well who they were as I will be working close to them.

"Hi, Sophie." I smile at her "Would you like to join me for coffee?"

She nods, taking a sit across from me and gesturing the two men to do the same.

"I wanted to introduce you three properly since you'll be working close together." She says "These are our 2019 drivers, Carlos Sainz and Lando Norris. This is Y/n, she is our new PR intern."

I smile at both of them.

“It’s nice to finally meet you both.”

Carlos smiles “Likewise, I hope we get along well, the three newbies of McLaren.”

I laugh at his little joke and Lando follows suit with his own laughter that is a bit too contagious.

He seems a bit shy, maybe it’s because it’s his first season in Formula 1 and he feels like he has a lot to prove. In a sense I relate to him. We’re both here to show we’re good and deserve to be here.

And without even speaking for more than 5 minutes with him, I can already feel that we’re going to be friends soon enough.

Xangai, China, 2019

I have my back turned to the door of McLaren hospitality as I fumble with the coffee machine. It’s very early in the morning on Friday, a few hours away from the start of free practice. I am feeling exhausted from the long flight from England to China and the different time zones.

“It seems like the coffee machine is winning the fight.” A voice cut through the silence of the hospitality.

I turn around to find Lando standing beside me with a smile on his face, showing his dimples and amusement.

“I can’t get it to make coffee, I think it’s broken.” I complain with a huff

“Did you turn it on?” He asks me amused

“What?”

“Did you turn on the machine?”

“Of course I…” He reaches his arm across from me, pushing a button and the coffee machine beeps before finally brewing my coffee. I feel my cheeks go warm in embarrassment “Sorry, I’m uh still half asleep.”

He giggles, that infectious laugh of his that I always find myself smiling and giggling along whenever I hear it. If there is one thing I have already learned from Lando, it's that it’s nearly impossible to be serious around him. He carries this natural good natured aura, and he’s funny and likes to make jokes and see the good side of things. And whenever I’m around him I find myself a giggling mess.

We grab our cups of coffee and take a seat at one of the comfortable arm chairs at the corner of the room.

“You look tired.” Lando points out, sipping his coffee.

“I’m jet lagged, and I had a paper to turn in for uni so I stayed up until late and I only got a few hours of sleep on the plane because I had to review the questions for yesterday’s press conference.” I tell him, basically chugging down my coffee “Do you think I’d get fired if I drank Red Bull?”

He shakes his head.

“You should get some sleep during FP1.” He tells me

I sigh “Yeah, but it’s not really worth the drive back to the hotel, I will probably only manage a twenty minute nap before I have to come back here.”

“You can nap in my driver's room.” He offers, a friendly smile on his face

“Oh, no, I can’t accept it.” I shake my head “Thank you, thought.”

Lando smiles, leaning over the armrest of his seat to get closer to me.

“I insist. You need sleep to be on top of your game. Come on.” He stands up offering his hand. I eye it for a moment before accepting it. He pulls me up to my feet.

He guides me through the corridors of the hospitality until we reach his driver’s room. He opens the door and I’m a bit surprised at how neat it looks. I half expected it to be a mess of clothes.

“Here, you can sleep on the couch, it isn’t much but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thank you.” I smile, sitting on the couch and taking off my shoes.

I get into a comfortable position, curling up on the couch and instantly closing my eyes. I feel something soft covering me and I open my eyes a bit confused.

“I don’t have a blanket.” Lando says, his cheeks turning red. “So I uh… covered you with my jacket.”

I feel my chest grow warm at his sweet gesture. I smile at him.

“Thank you, Lando.”

He smiles back at me, and at that moment, I think is when I started to have a crush on him.

Barcelona, Spain, 2019

I should have expected Spain to be a bit insane considering the fact that I work with a Spanish driver. The minute I stepped out of the car with Carlos following behind me, the fans started to scream and throw themselves at us.

I’m not unfamiliar with the whole passionate fans wanting pictures and autographs, but since I used be a toddler or a child, they at least head the decency to not push and pull at my dad because I was clinging to him.

But now I am an adult, and they don’t care about those things anymore and I had never been mobbed by fans before without having my dad or my uncles by my side.

The fans screamed at Carlos who was doing his best to attend each and every single one of them. And things only got worse when Lando arrived and they suddenly wanted pictures of the best new funny duo of the grid.

They pulled at me, shoving pictures on my face to get them to sign since I worked with them, and they yelled questions about what it was like to work with the both young drivers.

I tried to step away, get away from them fans, but I was stuck in between the mass of people and to make matters worse they managed to separate me from Carlos and Lando who were looking at me concerned over the chaos.

“What the fuck?! What the fuck is going on?” A harsh loud voice cut through the yell of fans “Stop pulling at her! Get your hands off of her!”

Suddenly a tall blonde man dressed in red was pushing the fans away from me, shielding me with his body as he yelled.

I cling to the back of Sebastian's Ferrari shirt, telling like a little girl again, but completely relieved that he was there with me with his familiar force of comfort he always knew how to bring me.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, gluing me to his side and I knew if I wasn’t 20 years old anymore he would have picked me up and carried me like a toddler out of this mess. He glared at everyone who tried to get in our way and stirred me inside the paddock.

“Prinzessi.” Sebastian called me the same nickname from when he first met me as a newborn “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

I shake my head “No, I’m… I’m fine.” I say, but my voice is shaky and he can tell that I’m holding back tears.

He places his hands on my shoulders, peering down at me with intense concerned eyes as he scans my body to look for any injury.

“What the hell is wrong with you both?” Sebastian yells the minute Lando and Carlos finally catch up to us “They were eating her alive!”

They look sheepish and terrified of being scolded by the German who looks lived with anger.

“She’s your PR assistant, but you’re supposed to keep your fans in check to keep her safe!” Sebastian continues with the harsh tone “She could have gotten hurt! They were touching her and shoving her! That was so reckless from the both of you!”

They nod, stiffly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vettel.” Lando says, eyes wide “I promise this will never happen again. I’ll- I’ll make sure she is safe at all times from now own. I- I swear!”

Sebastian doesn’t correct him on the Mr. Vettel name calling, he nods still with a glare.

“Come on, prinzessin.” He says in a much more soft tone, his arm resting against my shoulder in a protective parental manner “Let’s get you to Ferrari, uh? I will get you one of those chocolate pastries you love so much.”

With one final glare Sebastian takes me away from them. The McLaren drivers share a confused look as they watch me walk away.

Monte Carlo, Monaco, 2019

The Monaco Grand Prix is always a big event. Lots of celebrities and former drivers gather in the city to watch the historical race, and that’s how I find myself sitting at the McLaren hospitality chatting away with uncle Nico while my dad gets us drinks.

“Are you sure you don’t want to watch the race from Mercedes, uncle Nico?” I ask him, making my best innocent look that always got me away with things when I was younger and probably until this day when it comes to the drivers who watch me grow up.

“No, of course not.” Nico Rosberg shakes his head, a found and almost proud smile on his face “This is the first race I am watching this season in person and you’re officially a Formula 1 employee, I’m staying all weekend here with you at McLaren.”

I want to argue with him that I’m not technically a F1 employee as I’m just an intern, but he gives me a pointed look and I only nod.

“So, what is this that I hear about you and a rookie driver?”

I widen my eyes as I look at him.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Nico laughs at me “Seb has told me that you’ve become inseparable from the rookie McLaren driver, Norris.”

I huff, I should have known uncle Sebastian would open his mouth and gossip about me to his retired friends.

As if being summoned, Lando walked into the McLaren hospitality, wearing his cap backwards and smiling big as always. Carlos is beside him as usual and they both make their way over once they spot me.

“Hola, pequenita.” Carlos greets me, ruffling my hair affectionately before spotting Nico sitting across for me and getting a bit embarrassed.

Lando stands beside me ready to make a joke when he notices Carlos’ expression and widening his eyes when he sees Nico as well.

“Hello, Nico.” Carlos greets him

“Carlos, always good to see you.” He smiles before turning to Lando “And you must be one of the 2019 rookies, Lando?”

Lando nods quickly “Yeah, yeah. That’s me, nice to meet you Mr. Rosberg.”

Nico’s smile widens as Lando addresses him as Mr. Rosberg, feeling pleased with himself. I shot him a warning glare.

“Please, join us.” He says, motioning for the boys to the empty seats.

Lando sits beside me as Carlos sits across from me, leaving one empty space at the head of the table.

Nico makes light conversation, asking mostly questions about Formula 1, but I could see the glint in his eyes every time he asked Lando something, who seemed incredibly shy at receiving attention from a World Champion.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get the drinks, I ran into some old friends.” My dad says walking to the table with a glass of my favorite refreshing drink to have in Monaco “There you go, sweetheart.”

I smile, accepting the drink “Thank you, dad.”

Lando and Carlos both choke on their saliva at the same time when they hear me call Jensen Button my dad.

“Ah, just the men I wanted to meet!” He exclaims “Carlos, Lando, you both have been doing such good jobs here at McLaren. My daughter talks a lot about you.”

I watch as they become flustered over the news. My dad smiles, taking a sit at the head of the table.

“I heard you both let her get swamped by a mob of fans?” He asks with a smile, but I can see the hard look in his eyes.

“Dad!” I scold him “Uncle Seb already gave them a hard time!”

My father chuckles, soon being followed by Nico. Carlos and Lando’s eyes are wide and they look terrified.

“I know, I know.” My dad lifts his hands in surrender “I’m just messing with them. But I still have eyes and ears on the paddock so…”

“Dad!” I scold him once more.

He laughs again and finally switch subjects, talking about the new grid line up of this year and asking questions to Lando and Carlos who seem to become a bit more comfortable at the presence of Jenson Button and Nico Rosberg.

Hockenheim, Germany, 2019

Lando was in a bad mood, I could tell it from far away. He was moving frantically around the garage and he had a scowl on his face.

The past five races have been of ups and downs from him, he had two DNF, one race out of top ten because he got p11 and two races where he scored points. But he was pissed off still from his p11 on his home race in England.

It also didn’t help that the reporter he got placed with decided to improvise some questions that wasn’t pre approved and it made Lando uncomfortable with the way he was pressing on the matter of him doing a bad job at his home race.

And then, to make matters worse, he DNFed again today.

“Lando.” I say his name in a soft tone

He whips his head quickly towards me, a deep frown on his face.

“It wasn’t your fault.” I say, I place a hand on his forearm, squeezing it in reassurance “It’s raining terribly today, everyone is spinning.”

He huffs annoyed.

“I should be good at racing in the rain.” He complains.

“How many times have you raced in this circuit?” I ask him, calmly.

“Well- this was the first time, but…”

I cut him off “And how many times have you raced in the rain in a Formula 1 car?”

Lando blinks at me as he answers “This was also the first time.”

I nod, my thumb rubbing sof circles on his forearm.

“And how do you expect to be good at something you’re doing for the first time?”

He looks away from me, and I can tell he is staring to consider my words.

“Valtteri has been doing this for a long time and he also crashed.” I tell him.

That get him to look at me again, his frown turning into something a bit more hopeful.

“Bottas didn’t finish the race?”

I shake my head “No, he didn’t. Even the experienced ones are having a hard time out there. This is only your first race in the rain, Lando.”

He sighs, and slowly he nods his head. He shifts his arm, making my hand slide down and towards his. His hand is much bigger than mine and it’s warm despite the cold weather from the rain. He squeezes my hand.

“Thank you. I just-…”

I smile at him, squeezing his hand back.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

And for the first time since he DNFed, I saw Lando’s dimples as he smiled at me.

Marina Bay, Singapore, 2019

Singapore has always been a hard circuit. The warmth and humidity did no good for the drivers to be racing for long periods of time. Still, it’s one of my favorite circuits because I find it beautiful to watch the race at night.

I’m watching from the McLaren garage, this time considering the hot weather conditions, they allowed the PR team to wear lighter clothes, so I’m in a simple dress, standing close to the AC and sipping water every few minutes.

I wince when I watch Carlos spin and crash into the barrier. The garage grows quiet for a minute.

“He’s ok!” His race engineer announces and we all finally breath normally again

A few moments later Carlos enters the garage with an annoyed look on his face. He places his helmet on one of the shelves and go to speak to his team.

I keep my eyes trained on the screen to watch Lando’s progress while I look for the schedule of reporters who want a world with Carlos after his DNF.

I accept the request of two journalists and move over to where Carlos is.

“Hey… you ready for some interviews?” I ask, eyeing him

He clenched his jaw before nodding and following me out of the garage and onto the media pan.

I give out instructions to him on the way there and step back when he positions himself to give the interviews. I watch intensely, jotting out necessary information on my iPad and ready to intervene at any given moment, but despite the bad situation, the interviews go smoothly and soon enough we’re back at the garage.

Carlos excuses himself to go shower and change clothes, clearly not in the mood for conversation.

In a blur of moments I watch as uncle Seb wins the Singapore Grand Prix, a proud smile on my face. Lando finishes in p7 which is great since he’s on the pointing zone.

“Congratulations, Lando. You did a really good job today!” I tell him

His smile grows bigger “Thank you, thank you!”

Even though he’s happy, I can notice the tiredness ok his face. He’s completely drenched in swest and I can see the slightly tremor of his hands, probably about to begin an hypoglycemic episode without even realizing.

“Hey, why don’t you take a sit?” I say, gently grabbing both his arms and walking him to a chair. I move quickly as I push my water bottle into his hands and search for a snack “Here.”

Lando looks at me a bit confused, but obliged.

“Oh.. wow.” He chuckles “How did you even know how to do this? I didn’t even realize I was feeling weak.”

I smile, my hand twitches at my side as I feel the want to run my fingers over his curls.

“I’ve been on the watching side of this sport since I learned how to walk. I learned a thing or two.”

He nods, still munching on the chocolate protein bar I gave him.

“Yeah… I uh sometimes forget you’re the Jenson Button’s daughter.”

“I’m glad you do.”

Lando tilts his head to the side, confused, but doesn’t say anything and I’m grateful for that.

Austin, United States, 2019

The season is coming to an end, thankfully. All the traveling, working and university studying at the same time has been taking a toll on me. It is too much, and I could see it every time I woke up and looked at myself in the mirror. The circles staring back at me.

My body was sore, my throat scratchy and my head hurt. I knew the flu was making it’s way to dominate my body.

Still, I put on makeup to cover up my sickness face and went to the paddock for media day.

“Buenos dias!” Carlos greeted me once I entered the van and sat across from him and beside Lando who was bouncing with energy on the seat

“Good morning.” I say, cringing a little at the way my voice sounded

Lando frowned, pushing his face close to mine to examine me.

“What’s wrong?” He asked in a low voice, his brows furrowing

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Still, he kept analyzing me. From the corner of my eyes I could see Carlos lips turn upwards in a smile he hid behind his phone as he scrolled through it.

Lando said my name slowly, softly.

“You look sick.”

I pout slightly as I say “Geez, thank you for saying I look terrible.”

He huffs, clearly not finding my attempt to brush it off as funny as I did. He lifted his hand up before placing it on my forehead.

“You’re hot.”

“Oh, so now I’m…”

“Stop trying to deflect it.” Lando cuts me off before I can make another joke. “You’re sick. Why didn’t you say anything? You should be in bed resting.”

I shake my head, getting away from his hand.

“I’m not sick. I’m great. I’m just jet lagged and a bit tired, nothing some coffee won’t fix.”

Lando frowns and it takes me by surprise to see the irritated look on his face directed at me. Sure, I’ve seen him mad before when the race doesn’t go the way expected or when the media gets too much, but never aimed at me.

“I’ve seen you jet lagged and tired before and this is not it.”

I say his name in a sigh and he says my name in a warning. We stared at each other for what feels like forever, before Carlos giggles at us and says we arrived at the paddock.

The minute I get out of the van I start to quickly walk inside the paddock, scanning my pass, knowing the guys will stop to talk to the fans and I will be free of Lando’s questioning. I start to make my way to the McLaren hospitality when I feel a large hand land on my shoulder.

I flinch in surprise, whipping my head around and finding Lando beside me, still frowning.

“Lando.” I try to sound stern as I say his name, but it gets mixed up with a cough I try to hold in.

That only makes his frown deepen. He starts to drag me somewhere.

“You’re going to the medic center now.” He says, stern.

I complain and try to stand still, but he is taller, bigger and much stronger than me so he basically drags me.

I can see some people turning around to look at us, but I keep telling him to let go.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Sebastian shows up in front of us, hands on his waist and I know that behind his sunglasses he is glaring at Lando. “What is going on here?”

“She’s sick and she’s being stubborn about it.” Lando says, still holding onto my shoulder “So I’m taking her to the medic center.”

Sebastian frowns, placing his sunglasses on top of his head as he takes a step closer to me.

“I’m not sick.” I say “Lando is being dramatic. Tell him to leave me alone.”

“She is sick! She even has a fever!”

Sebastian looks between the two of us, but he knows me long enough to know I am lying. He places a hand on my forehead.

“Norris ir right, you do have a fever, prinzessin.”

“No I don’t.” I say stubbornly.

He arches an eyebrow, as if challenging me.

“Do you want me to carry you to the medic center like you’re still a tiny baby?” He asks and I shake my head quickly, knowing very well he isn’t bluffing “Then let Norris take you and follow everything the medics say.”

“But Sebby!” I whine.

“Prinzessin.” He gives me an unimpressed look “Go to the medic center with Norris, now. And I’m not asking, I am telling you to go.”

I huff with a pout, knowing I won’t win this argument so I let Lando take me to the medic center while Sebastian watches from the distant as the McLaren rookie fusses over me.

Abu Dhabi, Saudi Arabia, 2019

The paddock was busier than ever, so many people with so many big smiles and shouts of happiness.

It’s the last race of the season and it leaves a bittersweet feeling on my chest. On one hand I am extremely happy that the season is finally over and I will be able to go back to a somewhat normal routine, going to college everyday, normal sleep schedules, as normal as an university student sleep schedule can go, and staying at home for a bit.

But at the same time, I am upset about being away from Formula 1 for the time being. I got used to seeing Lando and Carlos everyday, they are already a big important part of my life. I like the thrill of being in a different place every other week, of learning new things and watching the races.

I’m sitting at the VIP lounge section at the rooftop, overlooking the paddock bustling with activities. I’m sipping an Italian soda while I soak in the last moments of the 2019 season.

I don’t say anything as Lando slips quietly on the seat beside me. He has dark sunglasses perched on the top of his nose and he’s wearing a black McLaren shirt. His thigh brushes my slightly to gather my attention.

I shift in my seat to look at him and he already has that dimple smile on his face.

“It’s been a long year, huh?” He says quietly

I nod, smiling softly at him.

“It has been… feels like it was yesterday that I meet you and Carlos on my first day at the paddock.”

He hums, reaching out for my glass of Italian soda and taking a sip without even asking for it. I don’t mind, it’s normal between us by now.

“How was your first year as a Formula 1 employee?” He asks

“Better than I expected to be honest.” I tell him, playing with the hem of my dress “I didn’t get bad words from people for being Jenson Button’s daughter.”

Lando nods, understanding what I’m hinting at.

“You’ve been doing a good job, I think you’ve proved yourself here.”

“No, I haven’t yet.” I tell him. “But what about you? How was your first year as a Formula 1 driver?”

His smile widens “It was insane. Sometimes still feels like I’m dreaming. I know the results I’ve been getting aren’t ideal yet, but being here… it’s great.” I can tell he’s happy by the way his eyes lit up “I got so luck to have a good teammate.”

I nod, he sure indeed found a friend in Carlos.

“And even luckier to have the most beautiful and incredible PR intern.”

My cheeks grow hot the minute my brain register and processes his words. I lift my eyes to look at him, his cheeks are also tinted pink and he was a sweet smile on his face.

We stare at each other for a moment, only gazing in each others eyes. I reach for his hand and he squeezes mine in his big one.

“Will you be here with me next year?” Lando asks in a soft tone.

“Yes.” I breath out “I’ll be here with you next year.”

[peachdues]

GASOLINE ON FIRE

COMPASS ONE-SHOT • bad boy!Sanemi x Reader

A/N: a one-shot from my bad boy!Sanemi gang AU fic, Compass featuring Sanemi and Reader’s first kiss. It technically happened off-page in the first Chapter, so I thought I’d share it with you all now because I’m such a sap for these two.

CW: 1.7k • MDNI • mentions of explicit sexual content • mentions of masturbation • Sanemi’s been thinking about Reader in fun ways • first kiss • fluff/light angst

READ COMPASS HERE

You’re both seated on your floor, pizza box sitting in front of you, half-empty, alongside a couple of empty, discarded beer bottles.

“I’ve never had sex,” you blurt, prompting Sanemi to choke on his gulp of beer.

“What?”

You pause in bringing your own bottle to your lips to glare at him. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

“I’m not,” Sanemi wipes his lips. “Who gives a shit about that — I mean, where did that come from?”

You take a long, pointed sip of your beer before setting it back down, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I don’t know,” you shrug. “Isn’t it weird that I haven’t? We’re both twenty-one — but I’ve never even had a serious relationship, much less had sex.”

That surprises him. He’d thought about your days in school more than he’d be willing to admit ever since he chose your bookstore to hide in all those months ago. He’s devoted countless hours to wracking his brain, trying to recall every minute detail about you, in a concerted effort to figure out why the fuck he didn’t approach you sooner.

But he’d found that he couldn’t quite recall, and maybe that’s because he never had an excuse.

Still, you seem like you should have had at least the opportunity for love. After all, Sanemi can’t imagine someone worthier of it.

You’re staring at him, now, expectant, and Sanemi distracts himself by reaching for his own beer bottle to inspect it. “’S not weird,” he says after a moment. “You’re young. You’ve barely been out in the world.”

“But you‘ve done it,” you push, taking another swig of your drink.

Sanemi nods with a chuckle, setting his now-empty bottle down. “Yeah, yeah I have.”

You refuse to meet his eyes as you mumble, “And you like doing it.”

“Is that what the rumors say?” He asks drily, concealing his faint grimace by reaching for another beer.

“I don’t care about the rumors. I’m trying to make a point, here,” you scowl, finally lifting your gaze back to him. “I want to do it. I don’t want to be a virgin anymore.”

He glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Noted.”

“I want you to fix it.”

His hand halts midair before it can reach the last unopened bottle, and he turns to stare dumbly at you.

You must be joking — or you’re drunk. In either event, there’s no fucking way you’re serious.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it — extensively, for that matter. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it just as badly as you seem to — arguably, even more so, given that he can’t stop thinking about it.

He wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that he thinks of you that way often — so much so that he hasn’t been able to get laid in at least two months, because he couldn’t stop picturing you when he was with his designated fling of the evening.

Hell, he’d only been able to get off that last time because he stopped fighting the images in his head. Ones that involved that flirty sundress you loved wearing pulled down to expose your breasts, bouncing as you rode him, or the blush on your cheeks he imagined would form when he settled between your thighs, mouth lowering to steal a taste of what he could only assume was paradise.

Since then, the only thing Sanemi has been fucking is his own hand. And damn, if those little images of you didn’t keep sneaking into his subconscious. And though he always managed to cum fast and hard whenever those fantasies bled into his mind, Sanemi also was left to feel nothing but shame afterward as he wiped his hand and abdomen clean, guilt hanging heavily over his head for thinking of you in such a way.

For daring to think you might want him at all.

But now, here you were, looking at him with all the hopeful expectancy in the world. As though he has anything worth offering you.

Sure, Sanemi knew you were likely asking him to do it for practicality’s sake. You were a virgin and you wanted not to be anymore. And he was there, your only friend, and he was someone known for being rather unrestrained when it came to matters of the bedroom (or, anywhere that offered semi-privacy, for that matter).

He was a convenience; nothing more.

Did that stop him from considering it? Of course not. He was yours to use as much as you wanted, as far as he was concerned. But he’d assumed his usefulness stopped at being an ear to listen to; a companion — not because of anything you did, but because Sanemi had never felt like he held much value outside of what he could do for others.

And really, being used for this purpose — by you, no less — wasn’t too bad of an idea, all things considered.

But he can’t; he won’t. Part of him wants you to save that piece of yourself for someone who deserves it; deserves you. And that sure as shit isn’t him.

Part of him is also acutely aware that you’re tipsy and thus, the boundaries of your consent are blurry, and Sanemi would rather eat and shit glass than dilute them further.

But another part of him hesitates because he knows that if he does give in — gives you what you both want — that he’ll only further distort what remains of the lines he’s drawn in the sand. Lines, he sternly reminds himself, that are not just his means of protecting you, but rules that he is bound to obey as an extension of the Corps.

Don’t get attached.

And yet, he can’t help but wonder; can’t stop his traitorous heart from swelling, or his mind from running with the faint possibility of what life might be like if he just said yes.

What would it be like to be close to you? To hold you, kiss you, whisper sweet nothings in your ear he’d never told anyone else, but had secretly always longed to share? Would you moan or sigh his name? And if he was graced with the chance to see you fall apart — how would you look? Would you cry out, or would your mouth fall open in a silent o, your pleasure so intense that it stole the very breath from your lungs?

Never mind wanting and being wanted in return — what would it be like to have?

You rest your chin on your arms, eyes fixed on him, waiting, and Sanemi feels himself nearly break right there.

It’s nearly impossible to turn you down in a way that won’t hurt your feelings, but he has to. He has no choice.

He never has.

“Sorry, Princess. Don’t think that’s the best idea.” He reaches over to flick your nose before adding, “Plus, you’re a bit too tipsy.”

He hopes that his disappointment isn’t too evident on his face as he watches you; hopes that you cannot see the way his heart cracks under his own self restraint.

Thankfully, you drop your head onto your arms with a groan, concealing your face in your alcohol-tinged shame.

To his dismay, your obvious letdown punches at that soft part of his heart he’s reserved for you. His mouth goes dry. The idea blooms in his head and he’s acting before he can stop himself.

Just a taste. He swears. Just a taste. A little indulgence, so you know his reticence has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that he isn’t worth it.

“Hey.”

You roll your head to the side to peer shyly at him, a pretty blush still staining your cheeks.

“Come here.”

You lift your head from your arms then, cocking it in a question that Sanemi decides to answer by crooking his fingers under your chin and leaning in.

The kiss he shares with you is soft; measured. Your lips feel like silk against his, and it strikes him that never before has he kissed anyone with so much tenderness. The few kisses he exchanged with his flavors of the night were always sharp, bruising clashes of lips and teeth, each party more focused on sating their own needs rather than tending to that of the other.

Then again, Sanemi never felt this way toward those serving as his temporary distractions. He never thought of them as something precious; something to be adored, the way he does you.

You don’t move your arms from where they’re folded atop your knees, and for that, Sanemi is grateful. He knows that were you to move your hands to cup his face or even tangle in his hair, he would lose whatever thread of self control he possessed when it came to you.

So, Sanemi continues to kiss you slowly; indulgently. He never lets himself deepen it, never lets his tongue flick out along the seam of your lips in an effort to part them. He simply moves his lips with yours for a moment longer before he finally pulls away, though his fingers linger under your chin.

Only centimeters separate your mouth from his, and Sanemi can feel the sweet warmth of your breath as he whispers, “We should pick out a movie.”

You nod after a moment, still too stooped in the haze of his closeness to you. Reluctantly, Sanemi shifts away, his hand dropping from your chin. You don’t see how he flexes it over and over when you turn away to fidget with your remote, Sanemi unable to shake off the memory of your skin under his fingertips.

He watches the movie without really seeing it; his mind is far too preoccupied with replaying your kiss, over and over on a constant, never-ending loop.

He’d hoped that the small kiss would smother some of the fire that has been steadily consuming him over the last few months. A temporary respite to the near constant pang of longing he felt in his chest every time he looked at you.

What a stupid fucking idea that had been.

Because, as Sanemi sits beside you, limbs rigid under the incessant buzz thrumming in his veins, urging him to reach over and lay you back against the rug and make you his, he realizes your kiss was only a gallon of gasoline dumped directly over his fire.

And, judging by the way you keep your eyes fixed resolutely on the screen before you despite the persistent heat in your cheeks, Sanemi thinks you might be just as hungry for him as he is for you.

Oh, he’s fucked.

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