#Jimmy Logan x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cryptfile · 3 months ago

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Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlet smut #logan x reader #logan xmen #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett #jimmy howlett #xmen smut #cryptfile // x-men #minors dni #minors do not interact #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett x vampire!reader #deadpool 3 #xmen days of future past #deadpool and wolverine

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bethsvrse · 4 months ago

Text

★ WHISPER CHALLENGE ★

PAIRING Hugh Jackman x actress!reader

WARNINGS little spicy at the end but other then that it’s just fluff

The lights brighten, the band strikes up a tune, and the studio audience is buzzing with excitement. Jimmy Fallon’s voice cuts through the noise with his signature infectious energy.

“Welcome back, everyone!” Jimmy Fallon’s voice booms over the studio, pulling the crowd’s attention back to the stage. “Tonight, we have a very special guest with us! She’s an incredible actress, a producer, a writer, and she just so happens to be starring in the new film Little Light. Please give it up for Y/N Jackman!”

You step onto the stage, beaming as the audience erupts into cheers and applause. You wave, offering them that warm, genuine smile you’ve perfected over the years. Settling into the guest chair, you take a moment to appreciate the atmosphere—there’s something so alive about being on Jimmy’s show.

Jimmy beams at you, leaning forward in his chair, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. “I have to say, Y/N, it’s great to have you back. You’re always such a fun guest, and now you’re starring in Little Light — which I’ve heard so many incredible things about. It’s a powerful story.”

You nod, crossing one leg over the other as you settle in. “Yes, uh Little Light is really close to my heart. It’s about a mother who experiences a miscarriage and finds an unexpected connection with her neighbor’s granddaughter, who’s staying with her grandmother for the summer.”

Jimmy nods, looking thoughtful. “That sounds like such a moving story, I’m so excited to watch it. And—if I’m not mistaken—you’re starring in the movie alongside your own daughter, River?”

A smile crosses your face, a mix of pride and affection filling your voice. “Yes, that’s right. River plays the granddaughter in the film, and she’s absolutely phenomenal. I mean, I’m biased, obviously, but she blew me away on set. She’s 16 now and really coming into her own as an actress. She’s got such natural talent, and working with her… it’s been such an incredible experience.”

The audience lets out a collective “aww,” and Jimmy grins, his eyes widening in that playful way he has. “Sixteen?! She’s already acting with her mum—how cool is that?”

“Yeah, sixteen going on thirty, I swear,” you joke, shaking your head with a smile. “But, to be honest, it hasn’t been easy. With her rising career, my work, Hugh’s work, we’re constantly on the move. It’s hard to balance everything sometimes. And right now, she’s back at the hotel, actually. She wasn’t feeling too great, so she’s watching this on TV, probably critiquing every word I say.” You chuckle and wave at the camera. “Hey, sweetie! Get well soon, I love you.” You added with a small kiss to the camera.

Jimmy leans forward conspiratorially. “So, does she give you notes after interviews like this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply, grinning. “She’ll text me after every appearance like, ‘Mum, why did you say that?’ or ‘You looked a bit awkward there.’ She’s brutally honest. But I love it.”

Jimmy laughs along with you before shifting in his chair. “You know, something else I heard… and you can tell me if this is true… you haven’t seen Hugh in almost a year?”

“Sadly, that is correct,” you say with a wistful sigh. “With Little Light being an Australian movie, we filmed it there—which, don’t get me wrong, was absolutely amazing to be back home—but it meant that River and I were always across the world. We’d typically be filming in America, so a 10-hour flight was manageable to visit Hugh. But an 18-hour one? Neither of us could do it with filming so it’s been tough. FaceTime has been our best friend at the moment,” you joked with a small laugh, trying to lighten the tension in the room that Jimmy could definitely feel, not so much the audience though.

Jimmy looks genuinely sympathetic. “That’s gotta be so hard, especially after all this time together. But you two… you’ve been through a lot, and you always seem to make it work.”

You nod appreciatively. “We do. We’ve been married for a long time now, and we’ve gotten pretty good at the long-distance thing. But it’s never easy. The reunions, though… those are always something special.”

After some more laughs and talking about the movie, it’s time for the commercial break. You sip some water, chatting briefly with Jimmy off-camera, as the stagehands move around preparing for the next segment.

As the cameras roll back on, Jimmy is already in game mode. “Alright, Y/N! You know we love to play games here, so I figured we’d try something a little fun,” he says, holding up a pair of headphones.

You laugh softly, already anticipating whatever wild challenge is coming. “Oh boy, what have you got in store for me, Jimmy?”

“We’re gonna play the ‘Whisper Challenge!’” he announces, holding up the headphones for the audience to see. “I’m going to wear these headphones and try to guess what you’re saying while I listen to loud music, then it’ll be your turn. Sound good?”

You nod, leaning back in your chair with a playful glint in your eyes. “Sounds great!“

Jimmy slips on his headphones and gives you a thumbs-up. The music starts blasting in his ears, and you mouth the phrase silently, moving your lips in exaggerated fashion.

Jimmy squints at you, clearly baffled. “Uh… Salad dressing?” he guesses.

The audience erupts into laughter as you shake your head, mouthing the phrase again.

“Santa’s resting?” Jimmy tries again, causing another round of laughter.

You give him one more exaggerated mouth of the phrase. “Shopping center?” He said confused, “I’m so bad at this,” he said, much more loudly then he meant form the music coming from his head phones.

You repeated the words once more, putting on as much emphasis as you could and you watched as Jimmy’s face lit up. “Little Light! Little Light!” He said excitedly before taking off his headphones, “it was little light right?” He asked almost worried.

You let out a small laugh with a nod, “yes, yes it was little light.”

“Whew! I was worried I’d never get that one. I wasn’t even close as well, Santa’s resting? Where did I get that,” Jimmy chuckles, slipping off his headphones and shaking his head in amusement. “Alright, your turn!”

He hands you the headphones, and as you place them over your ears, you give him a grin. The loud music blasts into your ears almost immediately, and you can't help but laugh to yourself—this was definitely River’s favorite song. She’d been playing it nonstop in the car, at home… pretty much everywhere.

Jimmy raises his voice slightly to speak over the music, “What’s playing?”

You respond without thinking, still adjusting the headphones so they were no longer on your ears. “What? Oh shit—wait, are we playing yet?! Sorry for swearing! My bad!” you blurt out, the apology spilling out before you even register Jimmy laughing across from you.

“No, no! You’re good!” Jimmy reassures you, still chuckling. “I asked you what song was playing.” He repeated

“It’s murder on the dance floor,” you answered, “River absolutely loves this song.” You added, flashing him a sheepish grin before putting the headphones back on. The game begins, and as Jimmy starts mouthing words, you do your best to concentrate, squinting as if that might help you somehow decipher the movements of his lips.

“your husband is behind you.” He said, emphasing the word.

You tilt your head, not quite catching what he said. “The tour is behind me? What?” You shrug, honestly still a little distracted by the music.

The audience suddenly bursts into loud cheers, and you notice the energy in the room shift. Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance back at Jimmy, who’s now practically glowing with excitement. He repeats himself slowly, exaggerating every word, “YOUR HUSBAND… IS BEHIND YOU.”

Before you can even process what he’s saying, you feel a pair of hands gently land on your shoulders. You jump slightly, your headphones slipping off as you whirl around—only to see Hugh standing right there, grinning down at you.

Your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open in shock. Without thinking, you spin in your chair, shifting to kneel on the cushion so you can throw your arms around him. The audience erupts into applause and cheers as you hug him tightly, not even caring that you’re half-perched on the chair. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, savoring the moment of finally having him close after so long apart.

Hugh chuckles softly, his voice warm and full of affection. “Missed me?”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, still in disbelief. “You have no idea,” you whisper, your smile so big it almost hurts. “Oh my god.”

Jimmy laughs, clapping his hands together as the audience’s cheers grow louder. "Hugh Jackman, everybody!" he calls out, standing up and joining in the applause.

Hugh gives a small wave to the audience before turning his attention back to you. You’re still in shock, hands covering your mouth as you try to comprehend what just happened. The cameras catch every second of your raw, genuine reaction, and it’s clear to everyone that this moment means everything to you.

Jimmy, ever the showman, grins and says, “I think we just had the best Whisper Challenge moment in history right here!”

You laugh, watching as Hugh comes to sit next to you. “I did not expect that. You sneaky bastard,” you joke, playfully swatting his arm.

Hugh chuckles, his arm resting behind you. “I figured I’d surprise you, and when Jimmy reached out to me about it, I thought, ‘Why not?’ It’s been way too long.”

Jimmy leans forward, loving every second of this wholesome interaction. “So, Hugh, how did you manage to keep this a secret from Y/N?”

“Oh, it wasn’t easy,” Hugh admits, smirking. “I had to avoid every FaceTime call for the last few days so I wouldn’t slip up. But it was worth it.”

You shake your head, still smiling, feeling your heart swell with happiness. “I can’t believe you pulled this off.”

Hugh chuckles, taking your hand in his. “It was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

Jimmy sits back down, looking at Hugh with newfound enthusiasm. “Alright, Hugh, now that you’re here, I’ve gotta ask—how excited are you to see Little Light?”

Hugh’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’m thrilled! I’ve seen some early footage, and it’s incredible. I tried to get Y/N to show me more but she won’t budge.”

You laugh, looking over at him lovingly, “just because your my husband doesn’t mean you get special treatment.” You teased

“I showed you unreleased Deadpool and Wolverine footage!” Hugh defended with a smile.

“You wanted to! You said you desperately needed someone to talk to about it because Ryan was annoying you.” You replied

“I did not say that. Stop putting words in my mouth,” he says with a small shake of his head but still having a smile on his face.

“I’m not putting words in your mouth! If anything River is because she told me that’s what you said on the phone!” You said, Hugh letting out a laugh, muttering of course she did under his breath.

“Speaking of River, what do you think about her acting career? I mean, she’s following in her parents’ footsteps in a big way.” Jimmy asked with a smile

Hugh’s face softens with pride as he talks about his daughter. “I’m incredibly proud of her. She’s got so much talent and dedication. Watching her grow and develop her craft has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. She’s worked so hard, and seeing her succeed is just amazing. We have to get all of us in a film together.” He added with a soft laugh.

“I’m sure she’s jumping up and down in the hotel room because she gets to see her dad again.” Jimmy smiles.

“I can actually call her,” Hugh mentions casually as he brings out his phone.

“Oh my god, yes.” Jimmy nodded, leaning in as it rang.

“You can get mad at her for being sick,” you told Jimmy with a smirk.

The phone rings a few more times before River picks up, her voice immediately full of energy. “Oh my god,I can’t believe you’re here!” She explained happily. “I wish I was there. Why the hell did I have to be sick today of all days.” She sighed, “I do have to say that if you don’t come straight to the hotel after the interview I will genuinely never speak to you again.”

Hugh laughs softly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "You heard that, right? No pressure or anything." He looks at you and Jimmy with a grin.

"She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?" Jimmy teases, leaning forward as if he’s sharing a secret.

You nod, chiming in with a smirk, “Completely. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

River’s voice comes through the speaker, playfully annoyed. “Mum, don’t gang up on him! I’m sick, remember?”

“Oh trust me, I know,” you say, feigning seriousness. “I’m the one who had to watch The Office with you for the past two days.”

Hugh chuckles, shaking his head. “You love it, admit it.”

“I do, I do, I got to baby her again so it was great,” you confess with a laugh, before addressing River again. “Alright, sweetie, we’ll come straight to the hotel after this, I promise.”

“You’d better,” River replies, her tone softening. “Love you both. Get through the rest of the interview, then come hang out with your sick daughter.”

“Love you too,” Hugh says before hanging up the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He leans back in his chair, looking content. “She’s always keeping us on our toes.”

Jimmy smiles warmly, looking between the two of you. “I’ve gotta say, you three are the definition of family goals. I love it.”

You glance at Hugh, sharing a knowing look before turning back to Jimmy. “We’re pretty lucky, that’s for sure.”

“Well, I think that’s a perfect note to wrap things up. Y/N, Hugh, thank you both so much for being here. It’s been an absolute pleasure. And Hugh, it’s always great to have you. Don’t forget, everyone—go see Little Light in cinemas August 14th, and mark your calendars for Deadpool and Wolverine on July 26th!” Jimmy says with a large smile.

The interview wraps with a warm round of applause, and as soon as the cameras stop rolling, you and Hugh exchange quick smiles with Jimmy before stepping off the stage. The lights dim, and the lively hum of the audience fades into the background as you make your way toward the backstage area. Hugh’s arm wraps around your waist, drawing you closer as you navigate the narrow hallway.

As soon as you’re inside the dressing room, the tension hits like a wave. Hugh’s hand doesn’t leave your side, fingers brushing your waist like he’s scared you’ll slip away again. The door barely clicks shut before his lips crash into yours—no hesitation, no holding back, just pure need after a year of waiting.

You melt into him immediately, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders, fingers digging in as if you need to make sure he’s solid, that this isn’t just another dream of him that you’ll wake up from alone. The kiss deepens, hot and urgent, months of distance and longing pouring into it. The way he holds you, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go, makes your heart skip.

Your back hits the door with a thud, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss, breathless but teasing as you mumble against his lips, “You know... someone might hear us.”

His lips curve into a grin, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, forehead resting against yours, his eyes dark with hunger. His hands slide down your body, fingers tightening at your hips, pulling you closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. “Let them,” he breathes, voice low, almost a growl. “I don’t give a damn. I’ve waited a whole fucking year for this. For you. Let the whole world hear.”

Your laugh comes out soft, shaky, your heart pounding in your chest like it’s trying to keep pace with his. You let your hands wander down his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “I missed you too,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. Then you pull him back into a kiss—this one slower, more deliberate, but still burning with the intensity that’s been building for far too long.

Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, feels like it’s pulling you deeper into him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself give in. His hands explore, tracing your sides, your back, reacquainting themselves with every inch of you. You respond in kind, your hands sliding beneath his shirt, fingers mapping the familiar lines of his torso, rediscovering every scar, every dip and ridge of muscle.

The kiss breaks only when you’re both gasping for air, but even then, neither of you pulls away. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, and for a moment, the world fades away. It’s just the two of you, the rest of the universe outside that door forgotten.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight as if he can’t believe you’re really here. “I thought about you every day,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper, rough with emotion. “I couldn’t stop. I tried. But nothing... nothing feels right without you.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands cupping his face. “I know,” you whisper back, your voice soft but steady. “Me too.”

He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. It’s not just about need anymore—it’s about the connection, about being with the one person who feels like home. You don’t need to speak; the way his hands hold you, the way his lips move against yours, says it all.

Looks like River might need to hold off a bit longer before she gets to see her dad again.

#bethsvrse #fanfic #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x you #actress!reader #actress #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett #jimmy fallon

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brewsterispunkk · 1 year ago

Text

diamonds and stones, part one

pairing: clyde logan x f!reader (no use of y/n)

WC: 9k(!!)

summary: reader returns home & encounters some ghosts from her past.

warnings: 18+! language, mentions of war, amputation.

a/n: it's here!! i hope y'all enjoy this long ass chapter (this is so long its embarrassing LOL). there's some time skipping/flashbacks here so i hope it's not too hard to follow! as always, any feedback is appreciated :)

series masterlist

ONE

The phone had barely rung two times before you answered, thumb punching the accept call button as soon as you glanced at the caller ID. Pulling the phone up to your ear, you looked ahead at the cornfields and the open road in front of you. Your mom’s crackly voice filled your ears.

“Darlin’,” she sighed on the other end. So, she’d gotten your message.You thought to yourself.

Mentally, you kicked yourself for giving her any notice in the first place. You knew she’d try to talk you out of it, like she had successfully done the previous two times you’d tried moving back home.

“You got out, honey.” she’d say. “You got to do what I never did. You went to college, you got your degree, you moved to the city. Don’t throw that away. There ain’t nothin’ for you here.”

You hated that she referred to your hometown like that, the place that raised you: a place to get out of. Sometimes you missed it like you missed a limb.

And after your Gramma’s first stroke it had worked, no matter how guilty you felt for being states away while she recovered.

It had been a minor stroke, the summer before your junior year of college. Not fatal, or with too many lasting health complications, but it had been enough to scare you. It had been enough to scare you into almost dropping out of college and moving home, but your mother and grandmother had insisted that you go back after she’d begun the road to recovery.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason you decided to go back, a small voice in the back of your head whispered.

Two dark brown eyes danced in your mind's eye; freckles scattered sparsely across tan cheeks, a rumble of a laugh, the crackle of a tape on an old car radio. You dispelled it before you allowed your mind to wander further.

That’s in the past, you insisted, chastising that quiet voice trying to bring up old ghosts.

You wouldn’t let your mind go there again. He left, you reminded yourself, instead resolving to focus on the road in front of you, and the nagging voice of your mother in your ear.

She sighed your name.

“I told you not to come, honey. This is the whole reason we waited so long to tell you–”

“I’m already on the road, mom.” You interrupted her. “I moved out earlier this week, and I’m already on my way home. No use in trying to change my mind on this when it’s already done.”

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you were met with radio silence; Your mother was speechless. There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again. Secretly, inside you’re smug. You’ve managed to outsmart her.

“You’re on the road right now?” She asked in that familiar disapproving short tone.

“As we speak,” you shifted, holding the wheel with one hand and slouching in your seat. Your mother sighed again.

“Stop that,” she said, displeasure evident in her voice.

“Stop what, mama? Driving?”

“Stop sounding so smug,” She scolded in that tone that all mothers have perfected, before addressing you by your full name. “This is gonna upset your Gramma. The last thing she wanted was you putin’ your whole life on hold for this.”

“‘For this?’” You asked in disbelief. “Mama, I can’t believe you waited more than a whole month to tell me the cancer was back in the first place! As if it was none of my business!”

You could practically hear her eye-roll through the phone.

“Now don’t be ridiculous.” She simpered. “We didn’t wanna upset you is all. And we certainly didn’t want you doin’ something so rash, like this.”

You rolled your eyes. This woman was impossible.

“Mom, I’d been considering leaving for a long time. My lease was up, Carla got married. This was just the final nail in the coffin. It was a long time comin’.”

“But you seemed so happy, baby.” she cooed.

“I don’t care! I deserve to know if my grandma is dying or not, and you have no right to keep it from me!”

You were met with silence. It was your turn to sigh.

“I’m sorry,” she conceded softly. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I was just scared of something like this happening. You can’t expect me to believe that this whole thing didn’t cause you to up and move home out of the blue.”

“I know, mama, but it’s the truth.” You paused, before continuing, “I put in my notice weeks ago. I’ve missed home. A lot. The city is…so loud. And there are no mountains near Chicago. The land is so flat, and–”

“I know baby, I know.” You could hear her shuffling around on the other end of the line.

She was no doubt calling from the landline in the kitchen at the old house. Thinking of it, your heart yearned. You missed it so much.

“It’s just that this was your dream, baby. And I just know your Gramma’s gonna blame herself for you giving that up.”

“Mom, I’m not giving anything up,” you emphasized the last part, trying to get it through her head. “I still have my dreams, Chicago just wasn’t it. It took me a while to realize that, but I have. And I have no idea where I wanna go or what I wanna do next, but I do know that I miss home. I was planning on coming back even before I found out.”

“Alright,” she began, but you wouldn’t let her continue. You needed to get this out.

“And, that combined with the fact that Gramma’s cancer is back means there’s nothin’ you can do to stop me.”

“Alright,” she sighed on the other line. “I suppose there’s nothin’ I can do about it now. How did you find out in the first place? You never mentioned in that hysterical voicemail you left–”

“I had reason to be hysterical, don’t you think? Findin’ out from Jimmy Logan and all.”

“Jimmy Logan?” she asked in surprise. “Now what were you doin’ talkin’ to him? Did he finally buck up and get a cell phone?”

“Yes, he did,” you chuckled, “Mellie finally convinced him. Anyway, after she helped him get his contacts in order, the first thing he did was give me a ring, saying how sorry he was to hear about Gramma bein’ sick again.”

“But how? I didn’t even tell Jimmy Logan. The only people we told were the ladies in prayer group.”

You laughed.

“Oh, you know how word gets around. Jimmy heard it from Earl at the hardware store, who heard it from Irene, who heard it from her momma, who, if I’m not mistaken, is in your prayer group.”

“Well,” your mother huffed. “I suppose that is how it goes. I’ll tell you one thing, your Gramma will be happy to see you, no matter the circumstance.”

“I know,” you sighed, glad that the air was at least a little cleared between you. You were still hurt that she’d kept something as important as your Gramma’s illness from you, but you understood where she was coming from. She just wanted what was best for you, wanted you to have everything she didn’t.

“Speaking of them Logans,” your mom said. “Have you told her you’re coming home?”

You laughed into the phone.

“Yes, Mellie knows I’m coming home.” You were surprised that she’d even assumed you hadn’t told the youngest Logan about your returning. She’d kill you if you didn’t.

“Good. I know she’s missed you. Last week while she was doin’ my hair, she told me a girl’s weekend every few months and a phone call just wasn’t cutting it.”

Mellie’s face flashed in your mind, and the feeling of dread at returning home started to dissipate. She had that effect on you; Ever since you met nearly 20 years earlier. You smiled, as your mind drifted back to then.

1995

You’d never imagined coming to a new school would ever be this hard. You’d expected it to be like how you’d seen it happen in TV shows or books or those kids movies you liked so much; Where after a rocky start with school bullies, the new kid fell in with the perfect group of friends and everything was fine. That was what you’d anticipated: The melodrama, the excitement. What you hadn’t expected was the monotony and loneliness.

Entering the third grade in october–two and a half months into the term–was never easy. At least that’s what your grandma had told you, and her being your grandma, you were inclined to believe her.

“It’s not gonna be easy,” she’d told you. “And kids can be real mean, darlin’. Especially when you’re new and they don’t know you. But, you just show them how kind, and special, and smart, and funny you are, and you won't have no problem fittin’ in.”

And you’d expected it to be that easy. Boy were you wrong.

On your first day at Daniel Boone Elementary, you’d expected to be met with a little wariness (what with being the new kid and all), but had hoped, in the end, to make at least one new friend to tell your mom and grandma about when you got off the bus and went home. Instead, you got the usual strange introduction to the class by your new teacher, and that was that. No kids even came up to talk to you. You ate your PB&J sandwich alone at lunch, and spent recess alone on the swings.

The following months went by in a similar manner: no new friends in sight. All the girls in your class were either too preoccupied with your hand-me-down clothes to play with you, or too shy to. And the boys wanted nothing to do with the weird new girl with too-knobby knees and too-big teeth because even if you liked the exact same things as them, you were still a girl, which meant you had cooties.

So, at home you’d drift away and pass your time the only time you knew how: through stories. Whether it be babysitters’ club books or PBS kids documentaries on your grandma’s old box TV, your head was always in the clouds. You’d be cryptic when your grandma or mom would ask about school, and they’d begun to notice. Before the snow came and the world froze over for winter, you’d also begun to explore the property behind your grandma’s house, getting lost in nature as you used to.

By spring, your grandma was at a standstill.

The snow was thawing, and after a winter indoors, she was at her wits end. She could recognize a depressive episode when she saw one, and the fact that she was seeing it in you, her eight-year-old granddaughter, made her heart break all the more.

She had been just about ready to call an intervention with the school’s principal and psychologist when it happened. You met the person who would change your life.

You’d met Mellie Logan once before, roughly a month after your arrival in Boone County, when you were still new enough to be considered the least bit interesting at Daniel Boone Elementary. She was a year older than you and about a head shorter, with the same shade of rich brown hair as the older boy you’d recognized her sit with on the bus; Her brother, Jimmy Logan who was a middle schooler, but not the least bit embarrassed to sit by his little sister on the ride home, tugging playfully on her braids. She was in Ms. Granfell’s class down the hall, with whom your class shared a recess and lunch time, along with some of the 6th graders.

It had been on the bus that you’d had your brief first encounter with Mellie Logan. She and about five other kids got off a few stops before yours, down Elm street, and rather than the fact that she had one older brother, that was about all you knew about the girl, and that was all the thought you’d given to her.

The encounter was a small one: your backpack had been in the aisle as the kids filed in from the school at the end of a school-day in early November and she’d muttered a quiet “pardon me,” as she passed you to her usual seat at the back of the bus where her brother was already seated, and that was that. You barely knew her.

Now, though, as you sat in the school principal’s office, bright fluorescent lights shining over the deep mahogany desk, you felt that all of that was going to change. Mellie sat beside you, eyebrows knit together obstinately as she stared directly ahead of her at the clock on the opposite wall, frowning.

It read: 1:23. You sighed.

That meant that you were missing library time with the rest of your class while being holed up in here, waiting while the principal made calls to each of your parents that they had to come pick you up and discuss the incident.

Your stomach sunk in annoyance as you crossed your arms and slumped down further into the armchair next to Mellie.

Great, now they have even more of a reason to think I’m weird, you thought. That was the last thing you needed. You were already having a hard time fitting in in the first place, with girls like Heather Campbell making faces at you and snickering when it was your turn to answer a question or read aloud to the class. You didn’t need to be known as the weird new girl who’d also gotten into a fight with a sixth grader.

You groaned in realization that that was exactly what you’d be known as from now on. You ran a hand over your face. And just wait until your mom found out, until your Gramma found out. Your life was over.

At that, Mellie looked over at you, her formerly sour expression turned questioning at your sudden outburst.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, moving to sit on her hands. Her legs were swinging back and forth off of the edge of the seat of the chair. She looked more bored than anything else, which was wild to you, considering the insane amount of trouble you both were about to be in the moment your parents walked through that door.

You looked at her like she was insane, her freckled face a picture of nonchalance, and sighed. Your heart was at the pit of your stomach as you watched the small round clock tick by, each second drawing closer to what was bound to be the end of your eight years on this planet.

You hadn’t intended to get involved. You really hadn’t. But when you’d seen the trampled, embarrassed look in his deep brown eyes, you didn’t know what else you could do.

It was, surprisingly, not in your nature to be confrontational at this point in your life. Though you’d later grow to be quite the headstrong person, the years spent walking around on eggshells with Keith had taken a toll on your personality. You liked to avoid conflict with even your family, nevertheless with the mean fourth graders you’d always hear snickering at people during lunchtime. But when you’d heard them picking on the lanky boy with messy dark hair something within you had snapped.

It was breakfast for lunch day, aka: the best day of the week, and when the bell rang signaling the beginning of lunchtime you moved as fast as your legs could carry you to the cafeteria.

You stepped into the line behind a tall, lanky boy who had to be at least a few years older than you. You recognized him from your bus; He lived on the same street as Mellie and her brother, and like you, always sat by himself on the bus. You thought that he was probably the only kid who was as quiet as you. In fact, you weren’t sure you’d ever even heard the stoic boy utter a word in the month and a half you’d spent riding home with him. His face always seemed to stay the same too, you’d noticed.

Not that you’d been watching him, you corrected yourself.

Right now, though, the boy smiled at you as you came up behind him. A tight-lipped, shy one at that, but his dark eyes shone with genuine kindness that you were almost too flustered to know what to do. Such kindness, even small ones like this, had been few and far between in your time in Boone County. It’d been lonely, and this little boy’s smile made it feel a little less so. A part of you wondered if this town had been similarly lonely for him too. You smiled back.

The sound of giggling broke you from your blatant staring at the boy in front of you. Two girls had entered the line behind you. You didn’t know their names, but you recognized them from the time you had spent people-watching during your month or so of eating alone. The taller one was blonde, with long straight hair and thick braces covering her teeth as she smiled right past you and to the boy standing in front of you. Her counterpart was shorter and a bit stouter, with short pin-curls that practically stuck to her hair. Your stomach dropped as you took in the looks on both of their faces. Their smiles were anything but kind as they looked right through and onto the boy who was oblivious to what was coming.

You weren’t though. Just last week, you’d seen the pair of girls push a little girl in your class off of the monkey bars for “taking their spot,” when you knew for a fact that that girl had been there for all of recess already. Before that, you’d seen them ridicule another girl for her new haircut that had come out much shorter than expected until she cried. These were two girls you knew not to cross, and here they were, sights set on the boy in front of you whose name you didn't even know. And you were caught in the middle of it.

“Uhm, excuse me?” The blonde girl asked, reaching across you and tapping the boy on the shoulder. Her face was twisted in barely held-in laughter, while beside her, her friend’s face held an identical.

The boy turned, eyes wide and curious. Kind. Unaware of exactly how nasty these two could be.

“Y-yeah?” He asked, voice cracking when he stuttered. The blonde looked over to her friend and then back at him.

“Your name’s Clyde, right?” She asked, head tilting.

“Uhm, yeah, tha’s right.” He smiled, bashful. Ears twinged red.

Clyde. That was the boy’s name. It fit him, you thought.

Her friend popped in. “Say, ain’t you a Logan?” She asked, face spread in what seemed like a kind smile.

Something you didn’t buy. You thought as you grabbed an orange from the selection of fruit.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, moving down the line. He picked up a strawberry milk carton before moving further down where the french toast sticks were. You continued to eavesdrop, feeling the most awkward you had in a while as the conversation continued with you, quite literally, in the middle of it.

“Well, Clyde Logan,” the blonde continued, reaching for an identical carton of strawberry milk. Her face was smug. “There’s something Quinn and I have been meaning to ask you for a while now.”

“What’s that?” he asked, curious. He looked at her, eyes open and welcoming and you dreaded the next words that were going to come out of her mouth. It wasn’t gonna be good.

“We were just wondering,” she snorted halfway through, hand coming to her mouth. “Sorry, we were just wondering if you’d done something to upset your momma?”

He chuckled awkwardly, obviously confused, and flicked some dark hair behind his ear. “Pardon me?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Oh, nothin’. It’s just you had to have done something to have earned a haircut like that.”

Beside her, her friend had given up on controlling her laughter. Wheezing, her friend–Quinn–interjected.

“Or maybe your hairdresser hates you? What did you do to make someone let you walk out of the house like that?” She giggled.

“Don’t be silly, Quinn. The Logans can’t afford a hairdresser. It had to have been his momma. I mean, really Clyde, you had to have done somethin’ bad.” The blonde chimed in again.

“Although, maybe it’s not the haircut, Heather.” Quinn piped in casually, serving herself french toast. “That’s not fair to his momma. It’s those ears. They stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Mhm,” the blonde, heather, nodded. “I think you’re right. And his nose. It's so big. That’s what makes you so unfortunate looking. Not the hair at all.”

Clyde looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Surprise coloring his features, the smallest frown upon his lips.

“Or , you know what,” Heather considered, piling bacon onto her lunch tray. “It’s probably that curse your sister wouldn’t shut up about last year. What’d she call it?”

“The Logan Family Curse.” Quinn chimed in. Heather laughed.

“That must be it!” She giggled in that snotty, preteen way. “Who knew that the Logan family curse was being cursed with bein’ uglier than a mud fence!”

“Or having ears the size of Dumbo’s.”

Looking over at Clyde, you saw his eyes glassy with unshed tears as he looked down at his lunch tray. Crestfallen. It sent white hot anger surging through your chest, and before you could register it, you were turning to face the two girls beside you in line.

“Just because he has straight teeth and you don’t doesn’t mean you have to be mean.” You glared at her. Her smug face morphed into one of anger as her eyes hardened into a glare.

“Excuse me?” she asked. Beside her, Quinn’s eyebrows rose to her hairline.

“You heard me, brace-face.” You stood your ground, glaring right back at her. She gasped at the insult, not ready for a taste of her own medicine. An identical look of horror crossed her companion’s face. From behind you, you heard a familiar high voice call out.

“Clyde? Where are you–” Mellie looked confused, her eyes following the lanky, dark-haired figure racing out of the cafeteria, leaving his lunch tray deserted in line next to you. Her gaze hardened as she looked over at you and the two girls in line. She stomped over, arms crossed.

“What did you say to him?” She demanded, looking between you three. When no one spoke up, she asked again, louder.

“What did you say to my brother?” She seethed. Heather looked at Quinn, an amused smirk on her face.

“Oh, you mean Dumbo?” She asked.

“Nothing–we just gave him some beauty advice,” Quinn descended into the same annoying laughter as her friend.

What happened next was a blur to you. There was a hand in someone’s hair, another pushing someone's shoulder, and the sound of a hand smacking against someone’s face. You were pushed backwards–by who, you didn’t know–and your half-full lunch tray came down on top of you, covering you in scrambled eggs and syrup. Heather screeched like a banshee, and Quinn started crying. A lunch monitor ran over to break it up, and before you knew it, Heather was being sent to the nurse and you and Mellie to the principal’s office.

Which brings you to now.

You sat, smelling of eggs and syrup, and waiting for your life to end. After a few minutes of silence, you looked to the scrappy, brooding girl next to you.

“Did you have to hit her?” You asked, breaking the silence. Scoffing, she turned to look at you.

“Uhm, yeah I had to hit her.” She spat out incredulously. “She was makin’ fun of my big brother. You don’t let people mess around with your kin.”

“But–” you began before she interrupted you, seemingly not hearing you at all. That was something you’d grow to find out was a habit of hers whenever she talked about something she was passionate about.

“And I’d do it again, too,” she said, stubbornly. “I don’t care what Mrs. Findlay says. If you ask me, Heather Campbell had it comin’ and needed to be knocked down a few pegs. I’m only sad I got caught.”

Her matter-of-fact made you giggle a little bit. After all, you couldn’t disagree with her; You’d seen Heather and Quinn unleash their wrath before. Many times in the short time you’d been in town. They needed to be put in their place. And you were glad you’d had at least a small part in doing it, even if it did put a target on your back and was bound to make your life hell indefinitely.

“I am sorry you got involved, though,” Mellie said. “It ain’t fair you got roped into all a’ my trouble-makin’.”

You chuckled a bit.

“Nah,” you sighed. “Before you walked up, I did say some pretty nasty things to them. I guess I deserved it.”

Mellie, looking surprised at that, snorted.

“You?” she asked, eyes wide in apparent disbelief. “You said somethin’ to Heather Campbell?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” you asked, brows furrowed. “And yes, I’ll have you know, I did say something to her.”

“Nothin’.” Mellie said, “it’s just that in all the time you’ve been here, I ain't heard you speak but about two times.”

“I couldn’t let her talk to him like that when he didn’t do nothin’ to deserve it.” You said. “Besides, I was tired of hearin’ her run her mouth all the time and no one sayin’ anything.”

“Well alrighty then.” She said.

A beat of silence passed, the only sound being the ticking of the clock. Then, “what did you say to her?”

You snorted.

“I called her brace-face.” You admitted sheepishly. Beside you, Mellie howled in laughter and after a moment, you joined her.

“You know,” she said pensively, smiling at you, all trace of a sour mood gone, “I think we’re gonna be good friends.”

You smiled back at her, the first real one in a while.

“Me too.” And you meant it.

Present Day

Your mother’s voice snapped you back to reality.

“And what about him?” she asked carefully, words thick with meaning. “Does he know you’re comin’ back?”

You sighed. “Mama, why would he know I’m coming back? Why would he care that I’m coming back?”

“Darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that–”

“He didn’t bother telling me when he came back. I had to find out from Mellie, a month after the fact.” You continued, that familiar white-hot feeling in your chest resurfacing. “Besides, I’m sure Mellie mentioned it to him. She’d have to if he’s gonna continue this disappearing act of his.”

“That’s not fair, baby, and you know it.” She scolded, ever the mother. It didn’t matter that you were twenty-five, she’d always put you in your place when it came down to it. “He’s been through a lot.”

“I’m sure he has,” you agreed half-heartedly.

“And–”

“--Not that I’d know about it! He hasn’t spoken so much as a word to me in years. Not for lack of trying on my part either, you know that mom.”

“I know, baby, I know,” she said. This was a conversation you’d had before. And no matter how many times you did, she’d always brought up the same points.

And now, Clyde Logan had been home for more than two years, but felt like a ghost. Your family hadn’t heard a thing from him. According to your cousin Zach, Jimmy had wanted to throw a coming-home party for him, but had canceled it last minute. You didn’t know what he was doing now.

You knew better than to ask Mellie about it. She was your best friend, yes, but you wouldn’t put her in that position. You wouldn’t make her choose sides or play middle-man between you and her brother. And she knew better than to bring it up with you, too. She saw her brother’s idiocy, and, more importantly, she saw how hurt you were after all that had happened.

So, Clyde generally wasn’t brought up between the two of you. Not in great detail, anyway. No matter how much you knew she had to reign herself in over it. Your best friend was a fixer at heart, and that instinct didn’t go away when it came to her best friend and her brother.

“Let’s just drop it, mom.” You said. “I am not coming home for Clyde Logan, of all people. I’m just happy to be coming home at all.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” she laughed lightly on the other end. “How far out are you?” she asked.

“I’m about halfway through Indiana right now.”

“Whew,” she whistled. “What a drive.”

You laughed at her sarcasm. “Oh yeah, nothin’ but cornfields for miles. That is somethin’ I won’t be missing, that’s for sure.”

“Good.” she said, “You’d better get a move-on if you wanna be home before dinner, then. I’ll call your cousins and see who can make it.”

Your heart leapt at the thought of it, seeing the family again. You’d missed living in the same county as them all; Not having to drive hours to hug your grandma, to hear your aunt Nikki’s laugh, or to engage in yet another political conversation with your uncle Mike.

“That sounds perfect.”

“Alright then. Your Gramma’s gonna be surprised, that’s for sure. And i’m warnin’ you now: She will not be as easily swayed as I am at your comin’ back.”

“Yeah, I know.” You shook your head. “I’ll start preparing my speech now.”

“You better!” She laughed, “I’m gonna let you go, babe. Call your aunts. Love you.”

“Love you too, momma.” You sighed, as the call ended.

The late May sun shone through the clouds, as you steered off of the freeway to continue south. Toward home.

- -

It was well past seven in the evening before everyone left your grandmother’s house—and, I guess, your house too, for now—for dinner.

It had worked: you’d made it home, finally, and even though your grandmother wasn’t happy with you for returning, she understood why. It’d been too long since you’d been home for more than a week or two. Even longer, if you didn’t count the summers you’d come home during college.

After Clyde had left for his third tour, things weren’t the same. You always hosted holidays after that, or visited your extended family in Charleston. You’d missed your hometown, yes. But the pain you felt at how you and Clyde left things hurt you more. Only now, after six months of therapy and the terrifying possibility that your grandmother was dying, did you feel even remotely comfortable enough to come back.

Now, after a long, loud meal with your extended family, you wondered why you’d left at all. The anxiety you’d felt driving into the county limits earlier that evening had dissipated. Home has a funny way of doing that: letting you ease right back in like you’d never left.

Your cousins were getting bigger—now nearly teenagers—and your aunts inquired about your personal life over dinner. Now, after the coffee had gone cold and your last relative had gone home, you helped your grandmother with the dishes—much to her chagrin.

Your grandmother was a kind woman, a gentle woman, but she was also a proud woman, and more stubborn than even you.

“Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I’m inept, you know,” she slapped your hand away from where it had tried to venture into the soapy water of the sink.

You sighed. So she’s still mad.

“I know, Gramma,” you offered. “Just trying to help.”

She grumbled back, still focusing on scrubbing the plate in front of her.

You gave up, moving instead to dry and put away the dishes she’d washed. As you began, she didn’t so much as spare you a glance, just hummed under her breath.

The kitchen looked untouched from it had been growing up—the linoleum counters, tiled walls, and deep wood of the cabinets perpetually stuck in the 1970s. Some of the glassware your grandmother owned was from the seventies, or even before then, going back to when your mom and uncles were kids. You could tell from old family pictures that the house had changed little since they bought it in 1969. Even after so many years, your Gramma had refused to invest in a dishwasher, insisting on washing dishes by hand instead.

You took a ceramic plate from the drying rack, toweling it off before opening the cabinet to put it away. The cabinet door had the same creak it always did.

“You know,” you tossed over your shoulder at your grandmother. ��I was planning on coming back for a while before I heard about the cancer.”

“That’s what you keep sayin’,” she mumbled. “I can see right through ya, though, darlin’. You think I haven’t noticed you haven’t been home in years?”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the pang of guilt her words sent through you.

“I’m sorry about that, Gramma, I am—“

“Oh, hush,” she waved a suds-covered hand at you, still not turning around. “Long as I get to see you, I don’t care where it is. What I’m trying to say is: you certainly would not have come home had it not been for my diagnosis.”

You deflated a little; in a sense, she was right. You’d been considering returning before, that was true, but part of you deep down knew you wouldn’t have been successful if you hadn’t heard about her sickness.

“What I can’t live with is you giving up your dreams for an old woman like me.”

You scoffed at that, coming up behind her and wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

“Please,” you mumbled into the hug. “You couldn’t have kept me away. I would’ve found out at some point.”

She sighed, hugging you back and leaning into you.

“‘Suppose you’re right,” she acquiesced. “Doesn’t mean I’ve gotta be happy about it though.”

“That’s fair,” you chuckled, letting go and taking another plate from the drying rack. “But you can’t get mad at me. It should be me angry at you for keeping it from me for as long as you did.”

She turned to you then, wiping her wet hands off with a towel. There was a strange look in her eyes as she took you in, eyeing you head to toe. She snapped out of it after a moment and offered you a smile.

“Hm,” she hummed, bringing a weathered hand to cup your cheek. “I couldn’t stay angry at you even if I tried.”

You smiled cheekily at her.

“I know.”

“Hm,” she chuckled, pinching your cheek lightly and patting it. “Now let me finish these up. Mellie’ll be here soon and you haven’t even taken your suitcase up yet.”

You nodded and put the last plate away.

“I’ll turn the radio on for you,” you smiled. “It’s too quiet around here.”

“Alright sugar,” she tossed over her shoulder. “You won’t be sayin’ that come Monday. I’ve got your cousins after school most weekdays. And I thought you were a handful.”

You chuckled.

One thing about your family was true: none of you were boring—especially the little ones. They kept your grandmother on her toes.

“I’m looking forward to that,” you chuckled. That was another thing you regretted about moving so far away: not being there to watch your little cousins grow up.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said. “You might be reconsidering moving back after a few days.”

“Unlikely,” you snorted. “I’m hard to scare off. Well, now anyway.”

Your grandmother sent you a sympathetic smile then, and you knew she’d forgiven you. You twitched a little under her gaze. She almost looked like she pitied you. You understood if she did; she was the one to bear the brunt of your heartache when everything between you and Clyde had blown up. Still, it wasn’t a time you liked to dwell on.

“So, you think you’re finally over that Logan boy?” She asked, crossing her arms and facing you.

You sighed; it was just like your grandmother to not mince words or beat around the bush.

“Jesus, Gramma,” you raked a hand over your face.

“What?” she asked defensively. “Would you rather me tip-toe around you like everyone else? Your mama won’t ask, and you’ve banned Mellie from mentioning that boy.”

“So you thought you’d…” your words trailed off, not understanding exactly why she was bringing this up now.

“I thought I’d mention the elephant in the room. Call it curiosity, sugar,” she smirked at you. “I just figured that since he was the one that kept you away for so long—”

“Gramma, you know he’s not the only reason l left—”

“I know, I know,” she held up a hand to stop you. “But I remember how you were when you left. In the months before. Barely leaving the house, not talking to anyone. Whatever he did, it did a number on you. I don’t want you getting like that again—”

You softened. She was worried about you, of course she was. Your grandmother was nothing if not a mama bear.

“Trust me, Gramma. You do not have to worry Clyde Logan of all people. I’ve been over it for a while, I think. I’ll be okay.”

“Hm,” she scrutinized you through narrowed eyes, before nodding. “Alright. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Thanks, Gramma.”

“You ever gonna tell me all that happened with him?”

“Maybe one day,” you smiled at her sadly.

She nodded at you in understanding.

“Alright, babydoll. You go get ready.”

As you walked up the familiar steps to your childhood bedroom, listening to Patsy Cline drift through the old kitchen radio, you smiled to yourself at the familiarity of it all.

- -

“Trust me,” Camila grabbed your shoulder from the back of Mellie’s ‘85 silverado—her pride and joy and newest fixer upper. “This place is great, and it helps that we don’t have to drive all the way to Madison like we did back in the day.”

You snorted at how your friends were trying to sell you on this new dive bar. Where you’d wanted to go out in Madison like the old days, they’d insisted you stay local tonight.

You shifted in the denim cut-offs that Mellie had insisted you wear. You hadn’t worn them out since your senior year of college. Hell, you hadn’t been out since your senior year of college.

She’d showed up at your door at exactly eight o’clock on the dot, intent on getting you dolled up for a night out. Camila and Gwen, two of your best friends from high school, had shown up soon after. It was like old times—playing your old CDs, the smell of cheap perfume and hair-straighteners flooding your childhood bedroom. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be nervous about going out. Now, two hours later with a new outfit and your hair and makeup done to perfection, you were off to check out the newest haunt in town.

It’d been big news when the place had opened about nine months ago. It wasn’t every day that a new business opened in Logan, so obviously it was the talk of the town. Even you’d heard about it all the way in Chicago. Duck Tape was its name and it had been renovated into a bar from an old bait and tackle shop. And apparently, since its opening, it’d become a staple of your small community. You’d been promised that you’d run into at least five people from high school here, maybe more. It was also in the middle of nowhere.

“We’re basically driving the same distance, Cami.” You laughed. From beside you in the driver’s seat, Mellie smirked.

“Don’t rain on her parade.” She teased. “Cami’s just trying to explain away the real reason why she came here: she’s got it bad for the bouncer.”

Camila gasped and smacked Mellie’s shoulder.

“That isn’t it at all, Mellie Logan and you know it!”

“Mmhm,” Gwen nodded from the other side of her, very obviously not buying any of it. “It has nothing to do with the six-feet, tall, dark, and handsome bouncer. I believe you, Cami.”

You laughed at her sarcasm.

“I don’t know why you don’t put yourself out of your misery and just get his number,” Mellie asks from the front seat, looking at Cami through the rearview mirror.

“And risk rejection? Not a chance.”

You snorted at that, understanding completely. You’d had a few non-serious relationships here and there, but nothing that had stuck during your time in Chicago. And even then, they were alway the ones who had to make the first move.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupted. “Since when do any of these places need bouncers?”

When you were in high school, it was a given that no one underage would even try to get into a bar in Logan. It would have been pointless: everybody knew everybody here, so even if you had the good sense to get a fake ID, you’d be at the sheriff’s station before you had time to order your first drink.

“Since these kids are gettin’ more and more ballsy,” Gwen answered you. “‘Bout a year ago coach Garrison’s kid got busted for drinking underage at Tulman’s. Ever since, they’ve been IDing at the door.”

Tulman’s was the other bar in town, nestled in the heart of downtown.

“I bet coach was pissed.”

“You have no idea,” Cami nodded, picking at her manicured nail. “Gave hell to the guy who owns the place. That’s just another reason why I like Duck Tape better.”

Gwen groaned from beside her. Mellie just laughed.

Mellie sighed beside you, reaching for the gear-shift. “Just ask him out. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”

“Oh please,” Cami laughed, speaking up over the sound of Garth Brooks’ voice coming from the speakers. “Stick to hairdressing, Mel. You’d make a shit motivational speaker.”

A chorus of laughs sounded as Mellie took a sharp turn off of the highway and onto the mountain road where the bar was.

This was so familiar: you and your girlfriends, all dressed up and piling into one car to go out as if you were somewhere glamorous like New York City and not in Boone County, West Virginia. The chatter of the girls around you was comforting, and you relished in it.

This, you thought. This is home.

- -

You dropped your glass when he walked in, brushing past the bouncer with a large hand on his shoulder. Your stomach dropped.

The glass shattered at your feet, sending cranberry juice and vodka splattering over your boots and calves. A few people surrounding you jumped as well, moving away from the shattered glass on the floor. Beside you, Camila started.

“Jesus,” she cried, grabbing your bare shoulder and looking at you. She was trying to get your attention, you knew, but you couldn’t bring your eyes away from the imposing figure of Clyde Logan, who just walked into the bar. “You okay? What—shit.”

She saw him too.

“Mellie,” you heard her whisper, trying to get the attention of your friend who was too-busy flirting with a man in a stetson beside you. Gwen was in the bathroom. “Mellie.”

He was tall—just as tall as he’d always been, but even more imposing. His shoulders stretched broadly across the dark blue button-up he had on. He wore worn blue jeans and work boots and still had that stiff, ramrod-straight posture that he’d come back from basic training with. You blinked.

He was here. He was here.

Even after years, he had an effect on you. You felt stuck to the floor, frozen in place as he made his way to the bar, his left side facing away from you. His dark hair was longer than you’d ever seen it, curling around his ears and down his neck thickly. You couldn’t tell much from the dim-lighting, but you could detect a bit of a stubble along his jaw and above his lip.

Lord have mercy, he was beautiful.

He was gorgeous–even more so than you remembered him. It made your chest ache.

“What?” Mellie turned to Cami, a flirty laugh in her voice.

“Look.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke.

“Fuck.” Mellie spat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. He said he wasn’t working tonight.”

You breathed in a ragged breath, everything feeling all of a sudden too much. The neon lights, the chatter of people from all sides of you invaded your senses. The early summer heat was cloying at your skin in the crowded bar. You felt boxed in on all sides.

“I’m just going to,” you mumbled, finally tearing your eyes away from Clyde, who was talking to the man behind the bar. You didn’t finish the sentence, instead electing to train your gaze on your boots and try to make your way to the bar door.

Behind you, you heard Mellie call your name. You ignored her, breathing deeply as you tried to navigate your way to the door.

Air, you told yourself. I need some air. Then I’ll be fine.

You tried to push yourself past a particularly large group, squeezing between two peoples’ backs. One of them moved backwards, their foot moving to step in front of yours.

Your boot caught on the foot, and you tumbled forward, losing your balance.

You tripped, scrambling, reaching out with your arms to break your fall as you tumbled.

Only, instead of continuing to fall to the ground, you stumbled into something. Or rather, someone.

Your hands landed on a broad chest, and you felt an arm snake its way around your middle, attempting to steady you. You let out a breath, finding your footing.

You brought your gaze up, an apology on your lips.

“Shit,” you mumbled, pulling your hands back from the stranger’s chest frantically. “I’m sorry—”

Brown eyes stared back at you, brows drawn together and full of confusion. Freckles scattered familiarly across his cheekbones and his lips parted as he looked at you.

Clyde.

You took a large step back, away from him, nearly stumbling again. He looked nearly as shocked as you felt, wide eyes taking you in from head to toe. After all, it had been over two years since you’d seen each other.

You did the same—eyes moving down his thick neck, his broad shoulders, down his chest. He was still so much taller than you.

This was all too much.

You could feel the panic setting back in your bones, and you blinked rapidly, moving to shove past him to the door, your legs carrying you before your mind could catch up.

When you did, he snapped out of it, moving to the side to block you and shoulder-checking you in the process. When he did, something firm and stiff—foreign—jabbed into your stomach, causing you to jerk away, even more past him.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you turned to see—

What you saw made the breath leave your chest.

There, strapped to what remained of Clyde’s arm was a prosthetic.

- -

Tears fell thick and hot down your cheeks as you rested your face between your knees on the side of the dingy bar. The rough wood of the paneling on the outside of the bar dug into your back through the thin shirt Mellie had convinced you to wear, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your mind was elsewhere.

Gone. Clyde’s left arm was gone–or at least part of it was.

Hurt flooded your chest at the thought of it; your once-best friend returning home from war, part of him missing, alone, and you weren’t there. He’d had to do it alone.

Another wave of tears came.

How could you not have known?

Everyone knew everything about everyone in Logan. It was the way of things and it always had been. It was how you’d found out about your Gramma’s illness, it was how word had spread like wildfire when Mellie’s boyfriend in tenth grade cheated on her, and it was how the whole town knew Bobbie Jo was pregnant with Sadie before Jimmy did. But this.

It struck you all at once; everyone knew. Of course everyone knew. Camila, Gwen, Mellie. Your mother. They all had known and still didn’t tell you.

You felt like someone had torn your heart from your chest.

The sound of gravel crunching under boots tore your gaze up. You knew who it was before he called your name. You’d know the sound of his step anywhere.

Clyde Logan walked toward you, arms clasped behind his back, dark eyes wary. He always looked like this when he was nervous. Even now, you couldn’t believe he was standing before you after so long. Even now, you couldn’t contain the slow simmer of anger that flared in your gut at the sight of him.

He stood there a minute, eyes on yours, before he cleared his throat.

“How…uh, how long you been back?” He offered softly, eyes never once leaving yours.

The slow simmer in your gut reached a boil. You stood to your feet, lip curling at him. You didn’t care enough to wipe your face of tears.

“Really?” You asked harshly, voice slightly raised. Clyde flinched at your tone. “That’s what you have to say to me Clyde Logan—after three years?”

Clyde bit his lip and looked down. He sighed.

“Junebug—-”

“Do not,” you hissed at him, glaring up at his pained expression. “You do not get to call me that anymore.”

He just stared at you, a pained expression on his face.

It didn't surprise you—Clyde had never had a way with words. Even as kids, even as best friends, it had been hard for him to express himself. He was quiet. Now was no exception.

“Did you get my letters?” You hated that your voice warbled.

Clyde’s eyes fell to his boots and you knew the answer from the guilty expression that crossed his face.

You scoffed, even more anger bubbling inside you at the confirmation.

After the fight—the one that sent you packing, right before his third deployment, you’d written him. Countless times, apologizing, explaining yourself, begging him for a response, anything. And you’d never heard anything back.

“I wrote you for months, Clyde.” You said, voice softer now. “When you were over there, I had to get updates from Mellie. Or from my mom, because you wouldn’t write me back. You wouldn’t answer my calls. I didn’t know if you were hurt, or if you—”

You stopped yourself, sniffing.

You stared at his prosthetic arm, finally able to get a better look at it.

It began just under his elbow, strapped on there to give the illusion of a full-limb. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

“Ugly, ain’t it?” He asked, noting how your stare held there. Your eyes snapped to his.

You scoffed, ignoring him and looking away.

“I didn’t say that,” you muttered, drying your face with your palm.

“I told Mellie not to tell you,” he blurted. “After. Made her swear not to. Don’t be mad at her.”

You sighed.

You weren’t angry at her; you couldn’t be. Shortly after you’d realized he wanted nothing to do with you, you’d made any talk of Clyde strictly off-limits in your friendship. Even if she’d wanted to tell you, it was off limits. That was not the case, however, with your own family.

You’d be having words with your mother and grandmother when you returned home.

“My relationship with Mellie is none of your business,” you glared up at him. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Clyde scoffed now, the soft, reserved look gone from his eyes and replaced by annoyance.

“What?” you asked. “You got something to say? Say it.”

“Fine,” he barked. “Three years and you haven’t changed a bit.”

Oh, so he was pulling that card, you thought, thinking back to your last argument. You laughed humorlessly.

“Oh, I haven’t changed?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “At least I had the balls to come back! At least I’m not a coward like you—”

“Coward?” He asked, voice low.

“You heard me.” You spat, voice warbling again with anger. You hated that you got like this; whenever you were angry, you’d cry. “At least I have the stones to face my mistakes. I don’t run away from them, Clyde.”

With that you walked away, leaving him standing there in the gravel of the Duck Tape parking lot.

He made no move to follow you, thank god.

You decided to call it a night, knowing any chance of letting loose was long gone. Though you weren’t angry with her, you didn’t think you could face Mellie or the girls again tonight. You pulled your cell phone from your bag and sent a quick text to the group chat, telling them you’d decided to head home. You sent a separate one to Mellie, telling her you weren’t mad at her but you needed some time.

You walked back to the front of the bar, leaning on the wood of the front railing, and stared at the phone screen. Your mother and grandmother would be asleep by now, and even if they weren’t, you weren’t sure you wanted to see them anyway. You could always call your cousins—but doing that would open up the door to countless questions and speculations at why you were leaving Duck Tape looking an emotional wreck.

Then, it hit you.

You found the contact easily and hit call; there was one person who you knew you could call whenever, wherever to come get you, no questions asked. You just hoped he was up.

#logan lucky #clyde logan #clyde x reader #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan fluff #clyde logan fanfiction #clyde logan x female reader #clyde logan x you #logan lucky fanfiction #mellie logan #jimmy logan #adcu #adcu fanfiction #adam driver fanfic #adam driver #diamonds and stones

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howlett-n-morgan · 2 months ago

Text

Okay so I'm editing the new logan fic part one but I'm also writing the next part of take me home...

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you #logan howlet x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #logan wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #jimmy howlett

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jimmy-snuggs · 2 years ago

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logan finding out and getting mad - twin sister anon!

the GOLDEN rule - (j.snuggerud ft. l.cooley)

(just fiction of course!)

paring: cooley!sisterxj.snuggerud

type: fic!

requested!

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

no teammates.

the no.1 rule that logan had for his little sister.

little as in two minutes younger than him. the cooley twins have never been apart. y/n followed logan all across the country for hockey, and college didn’t stop it. the twins were gifted in sports, but the one thing that they were the best at (and stuck with) was hockey. they were truly elite at what they did. both being incredible hockey centers for their respective USA teams, and now both playing for the minnesota golden gophers.

y/n never really got to know logan’s NTDP teammates, but it certainly wasn’t for the lack of trying. she would always be hospitable and try her best to talk and mingle — as one good hockey player and sister would do. but all the boys knew her, she was just simply amazing, gorgeous, and was a stellar hockey player. logan warned all of the boys off as he didn’t want one of his teammates perusing her.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

now, months later, y/n and logan are finally in college. logan is the cool brother who lets her do what she wants, with minimal big brother talk. except date a teammate. the golden rule.

now, normally this wouldn’t be a problem, as many of logan’s teammates in the past were egotistical and just wanted to show off y/n as a prize.

but there was a problem.

6’1, blond ish brown hair…. mr. #81, jimmy snuggerud; logan’s best friend, roommate and teammate. he was and is severely off limits, but man, did he have charm. he knew of the rule logan had set for her, and man he wanted to be the one who broke it. y/n thought he was perfect; he was kind, thoughtful, funny and incredibly gorgeous. on top of the fact that he played hockey. she knew that he was on logan’s usa team before, but never had the proper chance to meet or get to know him. jimmy looked at her like she had hung the moon for him. she was just so incredible. she was witty, feisty and smart — had a ton of knowledge that just complemented her charm, and she was truly a beast on the ice. the chemistry was suffocating.

being logan’s best friend, they were around each other constantly. the snarky comments, flirty side glares, ganging up on logan when he messed up… those two were quite a pair. everyone knew there was chemistry, except logan. he was clueless, and that’s how everything worked out perfectly… until it didn’t.

it took jimmy a month to work up the courage to ask her out. they both had a class together and would always pass notes. y/n loved those silly rom com movies (which he remembered) and wrote her a

“I’m not heath ledger but I would find a marching band and sing-ask you out if I could. coffee?”

- J

she was estatic and has been ever since that coffee date. he has treated her like a queen since day one, being there for all of the ups and downs.

three months pass by and the season is in full start. less and less alone time and it has gotten way more complicated to hide their relationship away from logan. the teams already knew about those two (knies is a blabbermouth) and always help them with hiding it from cools…….. until one day.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It was an off day for the teams and for the school. a weird monday holiday which gave y/n & jimmy some alone time. y/n invited him over to her dorm to cuddle and watch movies all day. they were both big movie people and it became a little ritual for them. every other time, one would bring snacks and the other would pick the movie. being y/n’s turn, she picked the movie.

“babe! I picked star wars for movie day.” she said to him as he walked in, pecking him softly on the lips as he set down the snacks.

“In order or out of order?” he asked, knowing her tendencies to always — “empire strikes back first, love! like normal!” he laughed as they got comfortable, cuddling into the dorm bed as the movie started.

comfortable silence took over them as they intently watched the movie. it was now at the part where han is about to get frozen in carbonate. jimmy knew that y/n loved this scene, so entranced by her.. he didn’t even feel their phones light up next to them.

“y/n/n?” he whispered to her, grabbing her attention to her boyfriend instead of leia saying “I love you!”

“yeah?” she whispered back, getting closer to those pretty brown eyes.

“you know I love you right?” jimmy says pulling a piece of hair behind her ear leaning in to kiss her. it was the first time the L word had been involved in a conversation. they both knew it, but no one has said it.

“really?—-“ she says as the door slams right open, revealing a very shocked logan cooley.

“REALLY? HOLY!—“ logan booms as he goes straight to jimmy, pulling him up by the collar. “I had ONE! ONE FUCKING RULE!” slamming him into the wall, y/n jumps up, pulling logan off of jimmy. “you have NO RIGHT! this is my dorm, logan! I don’t care if I broke your stupid rule. don’t treat your best friend like this! YOU ASSHAT! your LINEMATE!! god.” y/n lectures to him as logan turns red.

“I texted both of you! but Y/N! you’re kidding me right now??? WHY! ONE RULE! especially JIMMY!” logan complains frustratedly as he brings his hands to his forehead, flabbergasted at finding his best friend and sister like this.

“because logan, it’s JIMMY! have you been around him?? seen him?? do you blame me?” y/n halfway jokes trying to relieve the tension.

“thanks babe. look, logan, you know I wouldn’t try to hurt you or your sister. I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I just couldn’t help it, I love her, man. she has been one of the best things that has happened to me since coming here.” he said to him, hoping that his best friend wouldn’t beat him up. logan’s eyes softened, looking to his sister who looked at jimmy with such admiration. he was stupid, blind even. they were good together.

“do you love him, sis?” he asked his younger sister softly, no longer frustrated or mad. just genuine.

“yeah I do. he literally is an angel, loog. the amount of stuff this man has done for me is insane. it hasn’t even been four months yet and this man has done so much for me. I don’t deserve him to be honest.” she said, looking over to jimmy turning pink.

“like what?” logan asked, sitting down at her desk instead of in a “I’m about to fight stance” against jimmy. he is in a “tell me more” pose.

“okay well one time he helped me sneak into the rink and practice my shot because coach got mad at me one day for me being off. there was one time that jimmy went to three different grocery stores to find the ice cream I like. he picks up on things that no one else does, loog. he knows how I always go on runs and then gets waffles after, he knows the way I like my coffee, he gets me flowers spontaneously like in the movies, he makes me laugh. he is my jimmy.” she spilled to him, causing jimmy to turn an embarrassingly shade of red instead of pink.

“my best friend, turning into a full simp for my baby sister? god who would have thought?” logan shook his head and stood up from the desk chair. the pair moves out of the way so he can walk to the door. jimmy stops him. “I love her, cools.” logan extends his hand out to shake it.

“I know. see you at the dorm, snuggs. bye sis! no babies please! DON’T WANT TO BE AN UNCLE THIS EARLY!!” he screams as he runs down the hall and out of sight.

“god that went better than I thought. I thought he was going to kill me for breaking his golden rule.” jimmy jokes as they get back to where they were before logan came in.

“that did go better than I thought, but it’s just because he knows you super well. he trusts you.” she tells him as she snuggles into his shoulder.

“I know. I’m glad because I wasn’t going to give you up that easily.” jimmy hums the tune of “never going to give you up” by rick astley.

“I love you even though you just rick rolled me.” she kisses his cheek as the lightsaber fight continues on the screen.

#jimmy snuggs fics #cooley!sisterxj.snuggs #jimmy snuggerud x reader #jimmy snuggerud #logan cooley #matthew knies #gopher hockey #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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matthewkniesys · 1 year ago

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Can you do an anniversary insta post with Logan cooley?

ok course @6thomas since you sent this in also sorry it took so long and if its not exactly what you wanted

yourusername

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yourusername - happy one year to my guy. my rock. my one and only. thank you for always being there for me. looking forward to many, many more years ❤

tagged: @/logancooley18

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brockfaber14 - hey that's MY GUY y/n

↳ yourusername - he's mine in the offseason though

logancooley18 - love you so much

yourbestfriend - well aren't you two cute

↳ yourusername - yes we are i know

logancooley18

Liked by @/ yourusername, matthewknies, yourbestfriend and 70 483 others

logancooley - no body else like you, i love you so much. happy one year to my forever

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matthewknies - ewww i'm throwing up right now

↳ yourusername - shut up matthew no one asked

yourbestfriend - good job logan you posted on the right day unlike someone *cough*my boyfriend*cough*

↳ logancooley - yeah @/brockfaber14 remember when you posted a day early

↳ brockfaber14 - oh i remember. i actually spend everyday trying to forget

jimmysnuggerud - congrats to the both of you

↳ yourusername - remember how you predicted the first day we'd met we'd end up dating

↳ jimmysnuggerud - yeah i'm just cool like that i know everything

↳ logancooley18 - so when are you gonna get a girl then

↳ jimmysnuggerud - well you know we'll see

thanks for reading🫶requests are always open for fics, blurbs, ig edits and just thoughts!!

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#claire tries writing <3 #logan cooley #logan cooley x reader #minnesota gophers #brock faber #matthew knies #jimmy snuggerud #claire's anons #thanks for sending!

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pettypiastri · 2 years ago

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loss

matthew knies x reader

wc: 1.5k

warnings: hurt/comfort, swearing, crying, self deprecation, general sad, one moment where matty sort of punches a wall but reader is never on the receiving end of any aggression

a/n: can i write more than hurt/comfort? yes, but a bitch has a favorite. i have never written explicitly with a gn reader before but re-reading this i dont feel like i make any overt references either way so can be read as gn i think (lmk if i missed anything tho!). i wrote this in i think a single hour right after the 2022 usa wjc qf loss and have decided to post it now for no good reason. just a quick lil ficcy only minorly edited: she is beautiful to me as she is :) p.s. let's normalize typically sexual positions between characters as being the most comforting sometimes..

The team is finally given reprieve to undress from their sweaty uniforms and stand face first in a cold shower. As guys towel off, there are soft rumblings of interest in spending the night at respective significant others' hotel rooms rather than the team designated ones. Landon speaks quietly with his Captain on behalf of the room chatter. To those paying attention, Brock slips away and returns a few minutes later. Shortly after, Coach enters the room. The player’s spines shoot up straight, bracing for the impact of a verbal lashing about their poor performance. Instead, Coach Leaman barely lifts one corner of his lips.

“I’ve heard some of you are hoping to spend some time with girlfriends and families… Just make sure you’re back in your team designated hotel rooms at 10am. The bus is leaving for the airport at 10:30am sharp.”

Bated breaths are released in relief.

~~~

Matthew’s eyebrows have been knitted together for at least an hour. Whether out of genuine frustration or a constant effort not to cry, you’re unsure. You’d have to guess it’s probably both. Your fingers ache to smooth the crease and chastise him lightly for encouraging wrinkles in the space between his strong brows.

You already know what he’ll be trying to convince himself of in his head; they’re failures, poor representations of Team USA, an embarrassment given last year’s first place finish, he didn’t do enough, try hard enough… From your position on the outskirts of postgame media and the shuttling around the players are forced to do, you’ve not made contact with Matthew yet. Haven’t told him how proud you are and how much you love him. How everything in his head is wrong.

Just when your patience is wearing thin and your arms are starting to ache from being denied holding your love, there starts a steady trickle of players out of the dressing and media rooms. Matthew emerges, shoulders hunched forward and eyes shadowed by the hair he’s too dejected to push out of his face. His eyes scan slowly from behind his wet locks until they land on you. On instinct you smile softly and walk toward him. Your arms slip up his broad chest and around his thick neck, encouraging his sore body to fold into your smaller frame as much as possible.

You’re not sure if there’s anything fitting to say in this first raw moment together so you stay quiet. Your fingers thread through Matthew’s damp hair just how you know he likes. A huge breath collapses Matthew’s chest against yours. His face drops into your neck as his next inhale hitches.

“Let’s go… to uh– to yours.” Matthew mutters against your skin, a small sniffle betraying him.

“Okay baby, let’s go.” Your tone is soft as your hand slides equally gently down his arm to lace his fingers with yours.

The walk is quiet. The streets of Edmonton are nearly desert as it’s half midnight on a Wednesday. Matthew’s stride is normally a workout to try and keep up with but today you find yourself gently tugging him along.

“C’mon big guy… almost there.” Your encouragement seems to break Matthew out of a wordless trance, his pace increasing just slightly.

Through the lobby and up the elevator you lead him until you're able to get your door open. As the lock clicks shut behind the both of you, Matthew’s final walls break in the safety of your hotel room. He pulls you against his body almost desperately as he heaves a first sob. You cling to him as tight as you can to let him know you’re there but his hands are still restless; he can’t seem to hold you close enough. Matthew hoists you up, your legs moving to wrap around his waist as he presses you against the hotel wall. Now eye level with you, Matthew fits his head firmly into your neck and his arms constrict around your waist; the pressing of his body against yours meaning his exhausted arms don’t have to hold you up.

The tears are free flowing as he sobs quietly into the ‘Knies’ Minnesota jersey adorning your body. You feel your own eyes heat with emotion seeing your love so distraught.

“It’s okay Matty, I’ve got you. I love you so much. It’s okay to cry, it's just me.” With your reassurance, Matthew balls his fists in the material of your jersey and tries his hardest to bury his face even farther in your skin, seemingly trying to, futilely, escape his own. “I love you Matty… I love you baby.” Is the mantra you settle on as you stroke his hair and his back and his shoulders, never giving him an opportunity to forget that you’re right there.

“We’re– we’re a fucking em– embarassment!” Matthew spits as his shoulders shake beneath your palms. You feel your heart break a little more. “Out in the fucking… the fucking quarters!” His cry of dismay is punctuated by his palm slamming the wall beside your shoulder. You don’t worry for your safety; you know out of everything, Matthew is the most mindful of you, especially in this moment of heartbreak.

“Shh Matty shh… don’t talk like that, come on honey.” He shakes his head against your shoulder.

“What h-happened? We- we were so g-g-good before t-tonight.”

“I know my love,” you console, “I’m so sorry.” His self deprecation declines as his cries of agony take over again. It’s some while before his tears slow too.

As his breathing returns, you gently urge your sweet, broken boy to set you down. Having lost your eye level position, Matthew’s bloodshot eyes stare down at you for the first time since entering your hotel room. His face has swollen from so many tears and his upper lip is stained with snot. He wears an expression that you’ve only seen twice before; Frozen Four loss and when his Dad told him he was disappointed in him. You raise your hand to caress his cheek, sagging under the weight of self loathing and grief.

“C’mere…” With a gentle tug you guide him toward the bed in the center of the room. Matty follows without resistance. “Let’s get this off,” you say, lifting his team hoodie over his head and discarding it somewhere unimportant. You try to slip away for just a moment, but Matthew’s hand catching on your thigh protests the separation of your bodies. You're able to just barely reach for a pair of sweatpants.

“Change for me please, big guy.” He does so wordlessly and you take the second he's occupied for to slip to the bathroom. When you return, Matty is drooping again, elbows on his knees to support his head in his hands. Soft hands guide him to sitting again and before he can refold himself, you move to straddle him. His hands wind around you, face returning to its safe space in your neck.

“Lemme see your face Matty, please.” Reluctantly but compliant as always, Matthew raises just enough for you to cradle his cheek in your hand. You swipe a tissue around his under eyes and most importantly his nose. He sniffles with a pitiful pout. A cool, damp washcloth finds his forehead, urging Matthew’s eyes to flutter closed. It’s a few seconds before you move it to cover his right eye. You stamp a kiss on his forehead. The washcloth travels across every inch of his face, each contact point proceeded with a kiss before you lay it lastly against his sternum hoping the cold will ease his anxiety.

After tender hands are done cherishing, Matthew finally raises his head on his own accord. His beautiful green eyes find yours. The flecks of sadness in them have begun morphing into exhaustion. You lean forward and press your lips to his in a gentle kiss. Slowly you pull away.

“I love you,” he murmurs, staring deeply in your eyes, the intensity of his admiration comparable to his previous anguish.

“I love you,” you echo.

You place the washcloth to the side and stand up to pull back the covers so you can encourage Matthew to lay down. He does but reaches for you immediately. Without hesitation you join him, allowing him to settle atop you. When he finishes shifting into a comfortable position, you embrace him with arms around his back and legs woven with his. You finally find the right words.

“I’m so sorry Matty. I know you wanted to win gold but it’s not your fault. Everyone looked off out there from the start and Czechia fought tooth and nail. You’re an amazing hockey player and the most deserving guy. I’m so sorry but I’m still so so proud of you, always. I love you Matty.”

Matthew sighs and cuddles further into you in acknowledgement.

“Thank you. I love you too.”

You listen to his breathing even out after a while, knowing he finally feels grounded enough to think of sleep.

“You’re everything to me. I want you forever.” It’s muttered languidly, preciously, against your neck as your fingers continue running through his soft brown hair. His vulnerability makes you blush.

“You already have me… forever.”

#matthew knies #matthew knies x reader #matthew knies imagine #minnesota golden gophers #minnesota golden gophers hockey #gophers hockey #hockey imagine #toronto maple leafs #jackson lacombe #brock faber #jimmy snuggerud #logan cooley #so sorry but tagging for visibility <3 #my writing

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moonytoony92 · 1 year ago

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YO IM SO SORRY Y'ALL, MY MOM SAID SHE MIGHT TAKE AWAY MY PHONE SO I DELETED TUMBLR FOR A BIT😭

But I'm back so💅

Some updates on the character list, I'm adding American Horror Story characters!Such as:

Violet, Tate, Lana, Kit, Grace(?), jimmy, Mr March (James), Kai, Winter, Kyle, and most likely more.

I'm also adding X-Men characters, such as:Peter, Kurt, Scott, Logan, Storm, Jean, Rogue, and (probably) more.

I'm taking character requests, but only for the fandoms I write for.

Farewell 🫘

(Kai Anderson🤭)

#american horror story #x men #peter maximof x reader #violet harmon #kit walker #kurt wagner #kurt wagner x reader #kai anderson #kai anderson x reader #tate langdon #jimmy darling #james patrick march #scott summers #logan howlett

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 11 days ago

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Chapter 2: Having No Regrets Is All She Ever Wanted.

Summary: After a decade away, you return to Boone County, stirring up old tensions and unresolved feelings with Jimmy Logan, the man who never truly let you go. As Clyde watches the two of you navigate the weight of your shared past, it becomes clear that your return isn’t just a visit—it’s a collision with emotions neither of you can ignore.

Pairings: Jimmy Logan/Reader Warnings: Angst, Smut, Slow-Burn, Swearing

Jimmy Logan had known his fair share of heartbreak in his life. He’d felt the sting of bad luck and hard breaks, the kind that seemed to follow him like a shadow. He’d been left behind by people he cared about, and there were times he’d done the leaving himself, giving his own share of heartbreak when life demanded it. But the day you left—it wasn’t like the others.

It wasn’t like the slow unraveling of his marriage to Bobby Jo or the quiet resignation of losing his job at Charlotte Motor Speedway. It wasn’t like the sting of losing dreams he’d held onto for too long. No, the day you left was a different kind of pain. It hit him like a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of him in a way he hadn’t expected, though maybe he should have. Jimmy remembered everything about that day with a clarity that refused to fade, no matter how many years had passed. The sky had been impossibly blue, too perfect for a moment that felt anything but. The sun was warm on his back as he stood there at the bus station, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep them from trembling. It was the kind of day that should’ve been filled with hope, but all he could feel was the weight pressing down on his chest, suffocating and unrelenting.

And then there was you, standing a few feet away, your bag slung over your shoulder and that look in your eyes. Equal parts hopeful and uncertain, like you were waiting—waiting for him to say something, to stop you, to give you a reason to stay. Jimmy could see it so clearly, and it nearly broke him. He wanted to speak, wanted to grab your hand, to tell you everything that had been clawing at his heart for years.

He wanted to tell you that he loved you. That he’d been in love with you for as long as he could remember. That every moment spent with you had felt like sunlight breaking through the cracks of his messy, complicated life. That you were the only thing that ever made him feel like he could be more than what that town could offer him.

Jimmy wanted to tell you that if you stayed, he’d make it worth it. That he’d spend every day proving how much he loved you. He wanted to promise you the world, even if his world was just a little house in Boone County and a life that wasn’t perfect but would always have room for you. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t have much, but what he did have—his heart, his loyalty, his love—it was yours, always had been. He wanted to say that he’d make sure you were happy, that you’d never have to doubt how much you meant to him because he’d show you, every single day.

But the words never came. They caught in his throat, heavy and impossible, choking him until all he could do was stand there, silent, while his heart screamed everything he couldn’t say.

Instead, Jimmy told you he was proud of you. Told you that you deserved the world, and if leaving Boone County was what you needed to find it, then you should go. His voice was steady, but it didn’t feel like his own. The words tasted bitter, like ash on his tongue, but he forced himself to say them because he believed it was the right thing to do. He hugged you goodbye, his arms wrapping around you tightly like they didn’t want to let go. And then he kissed your forehead, soft and lingering, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When you stepped onto the bus, Jimmy didn’t move. He stood rooted to the spot, his hands shoved deeper into his pockets to keep himself from reaching out, from pulling you back. The engine roared to life, and the bus began to pull away. He watched as it disappeared down the road, taking you—and a piece of him—with it.

Jimmy had told himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go. He thought it was noble, giving you the freedom to chase your dreams instead of tying you down to a life he didn’t think he could make good enough for you. He convinced himself that he loved you enough to let you go, even though every fiber of his being had begged him to do the opposite. And even now, after all the years and everything that had come and gone, Jimmy knew one thing for certain: the day you left hadn’t just taken you away—it had taken the best parts of him, too. The parts that felt hopeful, complete, and whole. What was left behind had carried on, sure, but it was like living with a quiet, constant ache, a reminder of everything he’d lost when he let you go.

Even the days that should have been his happiest hurt in ways he could never fully explain. His wedding day, for instance. He remembered standing at the altar, Bobby Jo smiling at him with all the love she could give, and he’d smiled back because it was the right thing to do. But beneath the surface, there was an ache, deep and unrelenting. A voice in the back of his mind whispering that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. That he’d always thought it would be you standing there, saying “I do,” with that spark in your eyes that made everything feel like it might turn out okay.

And then there was the day Sadie was born. Jimmy had never felt love like that before, the kind that hits you like a freight train and leaves you breathless. Holding his baby girl for the first time, he felt an overwhelming pride and devotion that he hadn’t known was possible. But even in that moment, as he stared down at her tiny, perfect face, the ache was still there. Because in the deepest corners of his heart, he’d always imagined that moment with you by his side, your hand in his, your smile brighter than the hospital lights.

That was how it was supposed to be. That was how everyone had expected it to be. Growing up, it had always been Jimmy and you. Everyone in Boone County saw it, talked about it, and believed it was inevitable. The Logan boy and the sharp, spirited girl who could put him in his place with a single look—it just made sense. You fit together in a way that felt like it had been decided long before either of you realized it.

But life doesn’t always follow the path people expect. And for Jimmy, that unspoken certainty had shattered the day you boarded that bus. He had told himself to move on, to let you go, but deep down, he’d never really stopped waiting. Even when he married Bobby Jo, even when he built a life around Sadie, there was always that part of him that held onto the idea of you. The idea that somewhere, somehow, you were still the one he was supposed to share his life with.

Every milestone, every victory, every fleeting moment of joy Jimmy Logan had ever felt was haunted by the bittersweet weight of your absence. It wasn’t something he talked about—it wasn’t even something he let himself think about too often—but it was always there, a shadow lurking in the corners of his mind. He’d learned to live with it, the way a man learns to live with an old injury that aches on cold mornings or after too much time spent standing still. He carried it in his chest, in the quiet moments between the noise of his life, when he couldn’t help but wonder what might’ve been if he’d just had the courage to ask you to stay.

It was in the way he glanced out at the horizon when the day got too quiet, half-hoping to see you pulling into Boone County like you’d just been away for a little while, not a decade. It was in the way he lingered on Sadie’s smile, catching flashes of you in the way she scrunched her nose or the stubborn tilt of her chin. It was in the way certain songs made his hands still on the wrench, his chest tightening as he remembered the way you’d hum along without a care in the world.

Jimmy had convinced himself he’d gotten used to the ache, that he’d built a life around it and learned to carry the weight. But the truth was, it never really dulled. Not completely. It was just something he lived with, like a scar he kept hidden, one that only he knew was there.

And now, after all this time, there you were. Sitting next to him like no time had passed, and yet everything about you carried the weight of the years you’d been gone. There were new lines on your face, a different kind of strength in the way you held yourself, but your eyes—those damn eyes—were the same. They held the same fire, the same spark that had always pulled him in, no matter how hard he’d tried to keep his distance.

Jimmy didn’t know what to do with the storm of emotions crashing inside him. Relief, anger, hurt, confusion—they all tangled together, leaving him rooted to the spot. He was furious at you for leaving, furious at himself for letting you go, and yet all he wanted to do was close the space between you, to tell you everything he hadn’t been able to say back then. That he’d missed you. That no matter how much he’d tried to move on, no one had ever come close to filling the void you left behind.

Clyde’s voice echoed in his head, the words from years ago coming back with a clarity that made Jimmy’s stomach tighten. “Some heartbreaks never fully heal, Jimmy,” Clyde had said, his tone heavy with knowing. Jimmy had shrugged it off at the time, brushing away the weight of it like he didn’t believe it could be true. But standing here now, looking at you, he realized Clyde had been right all along.

You weren’t just a memory. You weren’t just a piece of his past, a ghost he’d learned to live with. You were the heartbeat he’d been missing all these years, the part of himself he’d thought he’d learned to live without. But now that you were here, standing just a few feet away, the ache in his chest felt sharper than ever. Because he didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the boy who had let you go and the man standing here now, carrying the weight of everything he’d felt then and everything he was feeling now.

Jimmy swallowed hard, his hands flexing at his sides as he forced himself to meet your eyes. You didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, and that only made it harder. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat, tangled up in the years of silence and the emotions he’d never been able to untangle.

For the first time in a long time, Jimmy Logan didn’t know what to do. And that terrified him. You had always been a force in his life—chaotic, magnetic, and impossible to ignore. Now, after all these years, you were sitting in front of him like nothing had changed, wearing that familiar smirk that used to drive him crazy in every way imaginable. But things had changed. He’d changed. And yet, with you here, it felt like he was right back where he started, that ache in his chest roaring back to life.

“So, you wanna talk about what you’re doing back here, trouble?” Jimmy asked slowly, his voice low and steady, though inside he was anything but. His gaze followed you as you shrugged off your jacket, draping it over the back of your chair before leaning forward to order a drink from Clyde.

You turned, shooting him that grin of yours—the one that used to make him feel like he could take on the world, even when it was crumbling around him. “As I told Clyde,” you said lightly, “I’m just passing through—”

Your words faltered as your eyes lingered on his cheek, a faint line of concern crossing your face. “That’s gonna bruise if you don’t get something on it soon,” you interrupted yourself, nodding toward the faint discoloration from the earlier fight. Your tone was casual, but there was something softer underneath, something Jimmy almost missed.

Clyde handed you your drink, and you smiled at him, but the room felt heavy with unspoken things. Jimmy and Clyde exchanged a look, the kind of silent conversation only brothers could have. They both knew deflection when they saw it, and you were doing it as smoothly as ever. But Clyde also knew something else—Jimmy was hurt. He was angry. And whatever you were trying to avoid, Jimmy wasn’t going to let it slide. Not this time.

“Back to the subject,” Jimmy pressed, leaning his forearms on the bar as he fixed you with a steady look. “You’re just passing through? Casually? Just like that?”

You leaned back in your chair, your smirk growing wider, more calculated. “Believe it or not, that does actually happen,” you said, your tone light but practiced. “I needed a place to crash. The motel here is kind of okay. Thought I’d visit the old stomping ground.”

Clyde sighed, the sound heavy with disbelief. “After over a decade?” His tone was sharp, not cruel, but enough to let you know he wasn’t buying it. Neither was Jimmy. You could see it in their faces, the way they studied you like they were trying to read between the lines.

“Look, honestly. Believe what you want to believe. That’s your prerogative,” you said firmly, taking a long drink before leaning forward again. Your posture was relaxed, your tone casual, but there was something closed-off in your eyes, something that told Jimmy this wasn’t the whole story. “But that’s the truth.”

No, it wasn’t. Jimmy could feel it in his gut. You were lying, or at least not telling the full story, and it was eating at him. His mind churned with questions—what had brought you back? Why now, after so long? And why did you look like you were carrying something too heavy to name? But he didn’t ask. Not yet.

You turned to him, shifting the focus with an ease that felt practiced. “So, how’s things going for you two?” you asked, your tone light, like you hadn’t just set the whole room on edge.

Jimmy felt his jaw tighten, the anger simmering just below the surface. He wanted to let it go, to play along, but he couldn’t. Not after everything. “We’re fine,” he said shortly, his voice sharper than he intended.

Clyde cleared his throat, cutting the tension as he leaned against the bar. “Things are steady,” he said, giving you a measured look. “But I’m more interested in what brought you back here. Doesn’t seem like you’d make a trip like this just for old times’ sake.”

Jimmy didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away, either. His eyes stayed locked on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged, heavy with everything unsaid. He wanted answers, needed them, but he also wanted something else. He wanted to understand why seeing you here again felt like a punch to the gut and a breath of fresh air all at once. You took another sip of your drink, holding Jimmy’s gaze for a moment before shrugging. “Sometimes a person just needs to come home, Clyde,” you said simply, your voice even and calm, the way you’d always been when trying to sidestep something you didn’t want to talk about.

But Jimmy could see the cracks, small and fleeting, but there. It was in the way your fingers tightened briefly around your glass, knuckles whitening for just a second before you relaxed again. It was in the way your smirk faltered, just enough to reveal something underneath—a flicker of uncertainty, maybe even fear—before you smoothed it over with practiced ease.

“Well,” Clyde said, breaking the silence as he topped off your drink, his tone light but laced with meaning, “home’s always had its door open for you. Even if you never knocked.”

You gave him a faint, grateful smile, but Jimmy noticed the way your posture shifted slightly, a barely perceptible movement that spoke of unease. For a moment, you just sat there, staring into your glass like it might hold the answers to questions no one had asked yet.

Then, the sharp buzz of your phone cut through the quiet tension. You pulled it from your pocket with practiced speed, your eyes flicking to the screen for the briefest moment before you swiped to decline the call and shoved it back into your jacket. The whole motion was smooth, practiced—but too quick. Too deliberate.

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time in the conversation, your calm facade faltered completely. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of something in your eyes, a slight tensing of your shoulders before you forced yourself to relax again. But Jimmy saw it, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. He knew you too well to miss it—something was wrong.

“You in trouble?” Jimmy asked, his voice low and steady, though his chest tightened as he waited for your response.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I am trouble,” you replied, your tone light and quick, but the deflection was obvious. You took a large gulp of your drink, your eyes flicking briefly toward Clyde before landing back on Jimmy.

Jimmy didn’t let up, his gaze locked on you like he was trying to read every unspoken word written on your face. But you leaned back in your chair, a wide grin spreading across your face as you waved off the question. “So,” you said brightly, changing the subject with practiced ease. “Over ten years. You two have got to have some stories to catch me up on.”

Clyde let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he grabbed a rag to wipe down the bar. “Oh, we’ve got stories,” he said, his tone wry. “Question is, are you stickin’ around long enough to hear ’em?”

You didn’t answer right away, and Jimmy caught it again—that hesitation, the brief flicker of something deeper behind your grin. He wanted to push, to demand answers, but he stopped himself. You were always quick to close off when someone pressed too hard, and Jimmy knew better than most that if he wanted the truth, he’d have to wait for you to offer it.

Still, the unease lingered in his chest. The way you’d swiped at that call, the tension you tried to hide—it wasn’t like you. Not the you he remembered. You’d always faced trouble head-on, daring it to come at you. Whatever was going on now, whatever had brought you back here, it wasn’t something you were ready to share. Not yet.

Jimmy’s jaw tightened as he took a long sip from his drink, his eyes still locked on you. Whatever you were hiding, whatever had brought you back after all this time, he wasn’t going to let it slide. Not this time.

Clyde, sensing the tension in the air, broke the silence with his usual straightforwardness. “Well,” he started, holding up his prosthetic arm, “did two tours in Iraq. On my way to the damn airport, roadside IED goes off.”

Your mouth fell slightly agape, your eyes widening as the weight of his words hit you. “Clyde, I’m so sorry,” you breathed, genuine concern etched across your face. “Are you okay? Now though?”

Clyde shrugged like it was no big deal, brushing off your concern in the way he always did. “Came back, got fixed, got discharged, bought this place,” he said simply, gesturing around the bar with his good hand. “Figured it was as good a use of my time as any.”

You studied him for a moment, your expression softening before you took another sip of your drink. Then, with a faint smirk, you quipped, “Well, shit. The old owners really did let anyone buy this place, huh?”

Clyde let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Same sharp tongue, I see,” he said, though there was no heat in his words. He leaned back, glancing between you and Jimmy, who hadn’t said much since your deflection earlier.

Jimmy turned to you then, his expression unreadable but his tone steady. “And what did you do after you left?” he asked, his voice carrying a weight that made it clear this wasn’t just casual curiosity.

You met his gaze, your smirk faltering just slightly before it returned, sharper now, like armor. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you shot back, deflecting again as you leaned back in your chair.

Jimmy’s lips pressed into a thin line, his patience slipping with every moment you dodged his questions. “I’m not the one who disappeared for over a decade,” he said, his voice low but sharp, the words hitting like a punch. He wasn’t yelling, but there was a pointed edge to his tone that made it clear he wasn’t about to drop the subject.

Clyde, who had been leaning casually against the bar, straightened slightly, his sharp gaze flicking between the two of you. “Alright, easy there,” he interjected, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His tone was calm but firm, like a referee trying to stop a fight before it started. “No need to go for blood just yet.”

You shot a glance at Clyde, a fleeting acknowledgment of his attempt to defuse the tension, before turning your full attention back to Jimmy. Your defenses went up like clockwork, your posture stiffening, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Fine,” you said curtly, your tone clipped and controlled, but Jimmy caught the faint tremor beneath it. “I went to college. Spent my days either getting so drunk I couldn’t remember what I did the night before or staying up all night trying to beat assignment deadlines. I graduated, got a job. That’s it.”

The words came out too fast, too practiced, like you’d rehearsed them in your head a dozen times before. Jimmy caught it immediately, the way you rushed through the explanation like you were trying to push past it before anyone could dig deeper.

“And they didn’t have a phone where you were?” he shot back, his voice cutting through your deflection like a knife.

You shifted in your seat, turning fully to face him now, your eyes locking on his with a steadiness that was both challenging and defensive. “I’m sensing there’s something you wanna say, Logan,” you replied, your voice calm but with a steel edge that dared him to keep going.

Jimmy stared at you, his blue eyes unreadable but heavy with everything he wasn’t saying. There were a million things he wanted to throw at you—questions, accusations, feelings he’d buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with them again. The anger bubbling beneath the surface wasn’t just about the fact that you’d left. It was how you never called, never even sent a letter to let them know you were okay, that you were still even alive.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I do. Why didn’t you call, not once, to let us know you were okay? We all thought—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as he struggled to rein in the emotions threatening to spill out. “I thought…”

You blinked, clearly taken aback by the rawness in his voice. For a moment, your defenses faltered, and Jimmy saw something flash across your face—guilt, regret, maybe even pain. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the same guarded look you’d been wearing since you walked through the door.

“I had my reasons,” you said evenly, though your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted it to be. “And I didn’t owe anyone an explanation.”

Jimmy let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Right,” he said bitterly, his voice thick with frustration. “Because that’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Doin’ whatever the hell you want and not lookin’ back.”

Clyde cleared his throat, stepping in before the tension could snap completely. “Maybe we all take a breath,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Doesn’t seem like this is the right time to hash it all out.”

Jimmy didn’t answer, his gaze still locked on you as if he was trying to see past whatever walls you’d put up. And you? You didn’t look away, your chin tilting up slightly in a show of defiance that only made the air between you crackle with more intensity.

For a moment, the bar was silent except for the hum of the jukebox in the corner, the weight of everything unspoken hanging heavy in the air. Clyde shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he turned back to wipe down the bar.

Jimmy finally broke the silence, his voice softer now but no less intense. “You didn’t owe us an explanation, huh?” he repeated, his tone full of disbelief. “Guess that’s one way to look at it.”

And with that, Jimmy stood, pushing his chair back with enough force to make it scrape loudly against the floor. Without a word or even a backward glance, he strode toward the door, his jaw set tight, tension radiating from every line of his body. Clyde followed him with his eyes, watching the door swing shut with a force that made the glass rattle slightly.

Clyde let out a long breath, shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Well,” he said, his tone dry but carrying a thread of sympathy, “that went about as well as I expected.”

You turned back to the bar, your expression carefully neutral, though Clyde noticed the subtle tightness around your mouth, the way your fingers gripped the edge of the bar just a little too hard. “Lucky I didn’t come here to reminisce, then, isn’t it,” you replied with a small shrug, your tone light but hollow.

Clyde wasn’t fooled. He’d spent enough time observing people to recognize when someone was barely holding themselves together. You swallowed deeply, your throat bobbing as you clenched your jaw a few times, clearly working to keep whatever storm was brewing inside you from spilling over.

Then your phone buzzed again, vibrating insistently in your jacket pocket. Clyde watched as you closed your eyes briefly, taking in a long, steadying breath like you were preparing yourself for a fight. Without looking, you reached behind you, pulling out the phone and glancing at the screen. Your lips pressed into a thin line before you swiped to decline the call, your movements sharp and purposeful. This time, instead of putting it back, you powered it off entirely, the screen going dark as you placed it face down on the bar.

“Trouble doesn’t usually call twice,” Clyde remarked, his voice low but probing, testing the waters. He leaned against the counter, his sharp eyes never leaving you.

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you swirled the liquid in your glass. “That’s why I said it’s not trouble,” you said, your voice dripping with forced levity. But Clyde could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you avoided meeting his eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Clyde replied, his tone skeptical but not pressing too hard. He’d seen enough people carrying their burdens to recognize someone who wasn’t ready to share them. But he also knew his brother, knew the way Jimmy’s frustration had come out in sharp words because it had nowhere else to go. And now here you were, sitting in the fallout, pretending you weren’t affected when it was clear to anyone paying attention that you were.

“You know, Jimmy’s not mad for the reasons you think,” Clyde said after a moment, his voice measured. “He’s not angry you left. He’s angry you didn’t let him be part of your life.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your fingers tapping lightly against the side of your glass as you stared at the countertop. When you finally spoke, your voice was quieter, more subdued. “Sometimes it’s easier to leave things behind than to take them with you,” you said, almost to yourself.

Clyde watched you closely, his expression softening slightly. “And sometimes,” he replied, “leaving just makes it harder to come back.”

You looked up at him then, your eyes meeting his for the first time since Jimmy had walked out. There was something raw there, something Clyde couldn’t quite put a name to, but it was enough to make him lean back and let the silence settle between you for a moment.

Clyde knew better than to push. He’d seen enough people sitting at this very bar with the weight of their world pressing down on them, and he recognized the signs. Whatever had brought you back to Boone County wasn’t something you were ready to lay out, not yet. Clyde wasn’t one to pry; he knew when to step back and let someone come to terms with whatever storm they were riding through.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t blind to the cracks forming in your carefully constructed armor. You’d always had a sharp tongue and a confident exterior, but now there was a fragility beneath it—something brittle, like you were holding yourself together with sheer willpower. Clyde could see it in the way your hand trembled slightly when you reached for your glass, in the way your shoulders hunched just a bit too tightly, like you were bracing yourself for a blow that hadn’t come yet.

He saw it in your eyes, too. The way they flickered with something raw and unspoken every time Jimmy’s name came up, like you were caught between the past you’d run from and whatever was chasing you now. You were trying to act like you didn’t care, like you were just passing through, but Clyde could see the truth written all over you. You cared—maybe more than you wanted to admit.

You clenched your jaw a few times, your hand tightening around your glass before you set it down with deliberate care. Then you turned to Clyde, your expression unreadable, but your eyes sharp and searching. “I want you to be completely honest with me right now, Clyde. None of your sugar-coating shit,” you said, your voice steady but carrying an edge that told him this question had been gnawing at you long before you walked through the door.

Clyde raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter as he waited for you to continue.

You licked your lips, hesitating for just a moment before biting your bottom one—a nervous tic Clyde hadn’t seen from you before. Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Jimmy. Is he happy? His daughter, his wife, everything? His life right now, is he happy?”

Clyde felt the weight of your question settle over the room like a thick fog, heavy and unavoidable. He could see it cost you something to ask, the way your voice carried a steady calm that wasn’t fooling anyone who looked close enough. He knew better than to rush into an answer, so instead, he studied you, his sharp eyes flicking over every detail like he was trying to piece together the puzzle you hadn’t offered him.

You shifted in your seat, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass with an almost absentminded precision, a nervous energy bleeding into the small gesture. Your posture was relaxed, leaning slightly against the bar, but your foot tapped quietly against the floor, a contradiction to the calm exterior you were working so hard to project. Clyde caught the subtle clench of your jaw, the way you exhaled through your nose, as though steadying yourself for whatever truth he might deliver.

Instead of answering your question outright, Clyde leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he tilted his head. “And how do you know about his daughter and wife?” he asked, his tone more curious than accusatory. As far as he was aware, you hadn’t kept in touch with anyone since you left. For all he knew, you didn’t even know Jimmy had a kid, let alone what his life looked like now.

You gave another shrug, but it was too casual, too deliberate, the movement almost calculated in its ease. “Just because I wasn’t here doesn’t mean I didn’t hear things,” you replied, your tone light, almost dismissive. But Clyde saw the way your hand tightened briefly around your glass before you lifted it to take a slow sip, using the motion to buy yourself a second of reprieve. “It’s a small world,” you added as you set the glass back down with care, your fingers lingering on it for a moment before pulling away. “And an even smaller one when you come from a town like this.”

Clyde hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze never leaving you. He didn’t miss the way your eyes darted toward the door Jimmy had just stormed through, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face before you caught yourself and looked away. You weren’t as unaffected as you wanted him to think, and Clyde was sharp enough to see it.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the bar as he considered his next words. “You been checkin’ in, then? From a distance?” he asked, keeping his tone steady, curious without pressing too hard.

You hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Clyde to catch. You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a quick, almost fidgety motion that betrayed the unease beneath your practiced calm. “You could say that,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter now, more measured. “I didn’t… keep tabs or anything. Just heard things here and there.” “Uh-huh,” Clyde replied, his tone skeptical but not unkind, his sharp eyes never leaving you. He leaned against the bar, rag in hand, his posture casual but his focus anything but. He watched as you straightened slightly, your shoulders squaring in a way that made it clear you were trying to steady yourself. Your hand brushed against your phone where it lay face down on the bar, the motion hesitant, almost like you were considering picking it up before deciding against it.

Clyde could see the internal battle playing out in the subtle shifts of your demeanor—the tightening of your jaw, the way your fingers tapped lightly against the counter before curling into your palm. For all your practiced calm, there was an unspoken urgency in your movements, a quiet vulnerability you couldn’t quite hide.

“Seriously though,” you said, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. You swallowed hard, your gaze fixed somewhere beyond the bar as if you couldn’t bring yourself to look directly at him. “I need to know. Did everything turn out okay for him in the end?”

Clyde set the rag down, crossing his arms as he studied you. He took a moment before responding, his words measured, deliberate. “Depends on what you mean by ‘okay,’” he said finally, his tone softening.

You glanced up at him, your expression guarded but your eyes betraying the emotions you were trying to hold back. “You know what I mean,” you said, a slight edge to your voice that didn’t quite mask the worry underneath. “Did he get the life he deserved? Is he happy?”

Clyde exhaled, leaning forward slightly as he rested his elbows on the counter. “Jimmy’s got a good life,” he said, his voice steady. “He’s got Sadie, that’s his daughter, and she’s somethin’ else. That girl’s smart, funny, got a heart bigger than this whole damn county. And Jimmy? He’s a damn good dad. Does everything he can for her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to him, no doubt about it.”

You nodded slightly, your lips pressing into a thin line as you absorbed his words. But Clyde could see the way your fingers tightened around the edge of the bar, the way your shoulders tensed like you were bracing for something more.

“But,” Clyde continued, his voice dropping slightly, “I wouldn’t say he’s happy. Not in the way you’re askin’. He gets by. Works hard, takes care of his kid. But there’s somethin’ he’s been carryin’ for a long time. Somethin’ heavy. And if you ask me, it started the day you left.”

Your breath hitched just slightly, a subtle movement Clyde wouldn’t have caught if he hadn’t been watching you so closely. You looked away, your gaze drifting toward the door as if you were trying to put distance between yourself and his words.

“He doesn’t talk about it,” Clyde added after a moment. “But it’s there. You can see it in the way he looks at Sadie sometimes, like he’s proud but also wonderin’ if he did enough. Or the way he works himself to the bone, like he’s tryin’ to outrun somethin’ he can’t quite name.”

You let out a quiet breath, your hand lifting to rub the back of your neck as you looked down at the bar. “Sounds like him,” you murmured, your voice almost too soft to hear.

Clyde tilted his head, watching you closely as your fingertip traced an invisible pattern on the counter, your movements slow and deliberate, almost hypnotic. The way you avoided his gaze, the slight furrow in your brow, the tension in your jaw—it all painted a picture Clyde was all too familiar with. You were dancing around something, holding it close to your chest like a card you weren’t ready to play.

“Why’re you askin’, anyway?” Clyde said, his voice even, curious but not pushing too hard. He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the bar, his sharp eyes studying you. “You didn’t come all this way just to get a status update, did you?”

You paused for just a beat, your finger stopping mid-pattern before you withdrew your hand, curling it loosely into a fist on the bar. There was a flicker of something in your expression—hesitation, maybe, or guilt—before you reached for your drink. You didn’t look at him as you picked up the glass, finishing the rest in one large gulp. The sound of the glass hitting the counter as you set it back down was sharper than it needed to be, a punctuation to your next words.

“I was just curious,” you said, your voice breezy, too casual to be genuine. You forced a faint smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You know how I am.”

Clyde raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with your attempt to brush it off. “Yeah,” he said slowly, his tone skeptical as he leaned back and crossed his arms. “I know exactly how you are. And I know when you’re full of shit, too.”

Your forced smile faltered, and you let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of your neck as you avoided his gaze. For a moment, the silence stretched between you, heavy and charged. Clyde waited, giving you the space to speak if you wanted to, but he wasn’t going to fill the silence for you. This was your move.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter now, more subdued. “I just… I needed to know if he’s okay. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Clyde replied, his tone softening slightly, but there was still a thread of skepticism running through it. He leaned against the bar, his sharp eyes fixed on you. “And what happens if he’s not? What’re you plannin’ to do then?”

Your jaw tightened at the question, your teeth briefly clenching before you exhaled through your nose. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your eyes dropped to the counter, your finger resuming its slow, absentminded tracing of an invisible pattern. The silence stretched between you, thick with tension, until you finally spoke.

“Nothing,” you said, your voice quieter now but still carrying a stubborn edge. “It’s not my problem.” You kept your gaze averted, your tone clipped as if you were trying to convince yourself as much as Clyde. “Like I said, I’m just passing through. I’m not hanging around too long.”

Clyde tilted his head slightly, watching you with that same unflinching scrutiny that always seemed to see more than you wanted him to. He didn’t say anything right away, didn’t challenge you outright, but the weight of his silence was heavier than words. He saw the way your fingers stilled for just a moment, how your hand balled into a loose fist before relaxing again. It was a small thing, barely noticeable, but to Clyde, it spoke volumes.

“You sure about that?” he asked finally, his voice low but steady. There was no judgment in his tone, just a quiet persistence that made it clear he wasn’t buying what you were selling.

You scoffed lightly, though it came out more hollow than you intended. “Yeah, I’m sure,” you replied, your fingers now tapping against the counter instead of tracing. “I’m not looking to stir anything up. I’ve got my own life, my own stuff to deal with. This… this isn’t part of it.”

Clyde raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “And yet, here you are,” he said simply, his tone even. “Sittin’ in the Duck Tape, askin’ about Jimmy, actin’ like you don’t care when it’s written all over your face that you do.”

You stiffened at that, your eyes narrowing as you finally looked up at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shot back, your voice sharper now, defensive.

Clyde didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. He just gave you a long, measured look, the kind that had a way of making people squirm. “Maybe not,” he said with a small shrug. “But I know people. And I know you didn’t drive all this way, back to the middle of nowhere, just to pass through.”

You opened your mouth to argue but closed it again, your jaw tightening as you turned your gaze back to the bar. Clyde could see the conflict written all over you, the way your walls were starting to crack under the weight of whatever it was you were carrying.

“I don’t know what you think you’re gonna find here,” Clyde said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “But whatever it is, it’s not gonna go away just because you say it’s not your problem.”

You let out a quiet laugh, though it was bitter, humorless. “It’s easier that way,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” Clyde replied. “But easy ain’t the same as right.”

You didn’t respond to that, your shoulders tensing slightly as you reached for your glass, only to remember it was empty. For a moment, you just sat there, your hand lingering on the glass as if you weren’t quite ready to let it go. Then, with a sharp exhale, you pushed it aside and stood, grabbing your jacket.

“Thanks for the drink, Clyde,” you said, your voice steadier now, though it carried a hint of finality.

“Anytime,” he said simply, watching as you shrugged on your jacket and turned toward the door. “But you might wanna think about what you’re runnin’ from. ’Cause whatever it is, it’s got a funny way of catchin’ up with you.”

You paused at that, your hand on the doorframe, but you didn’t look back. “Goodnight, Clyde,” you said quietly before stepping out into the cool night air.

Clyde sighed as the door swung shut behind you, shaking his head slightly as he grabbed the empty glass and set it behind the bar. Whatever you were running from—and whatever had brought you back—it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head. And knowing Jimmy, he’d be right in the middle of it.

#Logan Lucky #Jimmy Logan x Reader #Clyde Logan #Mellie Logan #Logan Lucky (2017)#Channing Tatum #Adam Driver

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wyniepooh · 4 months ago

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Protect

Logan protects you, in the only way he knows how.

bodyguard!logan x reader. just assume that reader is some high profile public figure lol. mentions of smoking. use of the nickname ‘kid’.

you could no longer feel the expression on your face.

It was only when you passed by a window— an awfully tall glass panel with an elaborate gilded frame— did you notice that the pleasant smile that had donned your face for the entire evening was finally beginning to falter.

a flash and click of a camera went off behind you, and through the reflection of the window, you could see a reporter walking eagerly towards you. you quickly swiveled in the opposite direction, hands grasped onto the front of your long gown as your feet guided your body towards a dark and isolated corridor.

but, you weren’t scared or alarmed in the slightest at the empty and unexplored room you were entering. because you knew that wherever you went, he was right behind.

after endless fidgeting with the hatch on a pair of doors, you could only sigh in relief when it finally opened. you stepped out into the balcony, sighing as you felt the abundance of fresh air fall over you.

your silent lonesome didn’t last. before long— just like you had suspected— a quiet, but familiar pair of footsteps trailed out from behind.

“I’m fine, logan. I just needed some air,” you turned your head slightly to the side. “you don’t need to follow me everywhere.”

he aligned himself beside you, arms clasped together behind his back. “Actually, I do. according to the contract I signed with your father, you require 24-hour supervision-“

“Please, enough,” you cut off, head fully turned to face him as you felt a warm teardrop drip down your cheek. you could see the rapid rise of your own chest, the consistent motion getting faster and more panicked by the second. you gripped the metal railing of the balcony and closed your eyes, hoping the cold sting would distract from the embarrassment.

when you opened your eyes again, logan seemed to be standing closer than before. his previous— and usual— stern expression was long gone, replaced by one of genuine empathy.

His softened brows twitched. you watched as his hand slowly reached up towards your face, arm pausing for just a second before a pointer finger extended gently to your cheek. You looked away as the wetness spread across your flushed face, and when you heard the parting of his lips, you turned your head and swatted his wrist away.

you spun towards the sky, looking at no star in particular, but focused on the scattered beads in the nightfall regardless. All was completely silent and still for a minute, which provided just enough time for you to slow your breathing and dab away at the mascara you were sure had traveled down your face.

You had just made a decision in your head to leave and return to the spectacle when you heard the muted click of a lighter. you smelled the tobacco before you saw it, and when you did, nothing but a scoff could escape you.

“I- I don’t think you’re allowed to do that here.”

he shrugged, and simply took an experienced drag of the cigar in response. He leaned a little closer to you, supporting his weight on the balcony railing as he raised the lit object up to your face. “who’s here to stop me? Or you, for that matter?”

You laughed dryly, crossing your arms as you asked, “are you seriously offering me a cigar? I thought you were supposed to protect me.”

He bounced his arm in suggestion of the cuban again and muttered, “kid, this is me protecting you.”

your smile faded away as you took in his words, and after a long second, your hand came up to reach for the cigar. but before your fingers could hook around the shaft, Logan opened his mouth and moved his arm away.

“ah— slow down. i still have a job to do. It’s my obligation to at least teach you how to smoke it first, so you don’t puke all over the prime minister or something. Plus,” he bent his head in, lips angled towards your ear, “if you’re not holding it and you get caught, you can talk your way out of it.”

he retracted his head, raising his eyebrows as he took one last puff and switched the direction of the cigar to face you. “Don’t be shy, kid. Just put your mouth around it.”

You followed his instruction with skepticism, delicately wrapping your lips around the brown paper of the cigar with your eyes down. With a mouthful of tobacco smoke, you looked up from your downward gaze, and as your eyes connected with his hazel glare, logan’s proud smirk seemed to falter for just a second; the corners of his mouth dropped, and his lips parted for a minute too long before he spoke.

“Just… don’t inhale into your lungs like you would a cheap cigarette,” he whispers, “you’re meant to enjoy it.”

You exhaled, clearing your throat as you watched the smoke dissipate into the dark background of the sky. “enjoy what?”

You notice the hesitancy in his response, his arm pausing half-way to his face as his eyes flicker to the imprint of your lipstick on the stick. finally, he puts his mouth on top of the red stain, takes a puff, and breathes, “the taste.”

The moonlight reflected off of his slicked back hair, and it looked like a star or two were dancing around in his eye. It was only now did you see the prominence of his wrinkles and the grey in his beard that you had never noticed before.

you don’t know why you stayed silent. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t anything to talk about— your very recent breakdown provided obvious proof that you needed to talk. And if there was anyone you could and wanted to talk to, it had to be logan.

You broke the silence first. “So, why’d you take this job anyways?”

he chuckled. “Honestly, I’d like to say some sappy bullshit like ‘i love helping others’ but,” he purses his lips, “I’m afraid you’d find the real reason quite selfish,” he responds.

You laugh. “So, for the money?”

“Something like that.”

You sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know anyone else who’d know exactly what to do when I’m freaking out, even if it’s by giving me a cigar at an event where reporters are swarming everywhere.”

He smiles, a lopsided one that only further emphasizes his wrinkles hidden within his beard. “I’m glad you consider me as a friend.”

You remained quiet. After a windy moment, you stepped closer to where he was leaning against the metal railing. You grabbed his wrist which contained the still-lit cigar, and turned your back towards his chest to take a hit. You look back to him, blowing the smoke into his face.

“a friend, right.”

now it was his turn to be silent, eyes frantically scanning over your face before lowering down to the hand around his wrist. His gaze jumps back to your eyes, a fog of something indistinguishable knitted between his brows.

“you know, I don’t really taste anything special. Just smokey.” you turned, pressing your chest against his as a casual hand toyed with the edge of his shirt collar. There was no space between the two of you, and yet there was no resistance, from either side, to step back and separate. “What’s it supposed to taste like?”

He tilted his head. “a little earthy. nutty,” his unoccupied hand fell upon the small of your back. “sweet.”

you couldn’t tell if he had more to say, but if he did, his words were all swallowed up by your lips on his. The hand on your waist tightly squeezed, pulling you flush onto him until the two of you were on the edge of practically falling over the balcony. both of your hands curled tightly around his gelled hair, tugging harshly as you silently gasped against his mouth.

the desperate roughness of his teeth scraped against your lip, and your respective chests rose up and down in synch with one another before he pulled back, his free hand coming up to caress the side of your hair.

“I’m supposed to protect you, kid,” he panted.

your fingers lingered over his chin, nails scratching at his overgrown stubble. You pleaded, “Logan, please, i’ve never felt so safe.”

you felt a sudden rush of coldness as Logan turns his head away. “I lied, you know. I didn’t exactly take this job just for the money. Your dad pays well, of course, but, that’s not why I stayed.”

He turns back, the star-splattered sparkle still twinkling in his eye as he mumbles, “you’re the selfish reason, sweetheart. you always have been.”

you pulled his forehead to yours, arms crossed around his neck to bring his warmth even closer. His eyes were closed, his eyebrows furrowed with uncertainty.

“Logan,” was all you muttered, and it was all it took before a low growl escaped through his chest and he drew your face in firmly by your chin.

You heard the faint drop of the half-gone cigar on the ground, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You tasted the sweetness on his tongue, just fine.

a/n: logan was canonically a bodyguard and I feel like we writers need to take more advantage of that fact

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httpsserene · 5 months ago

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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫, 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩 | 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏

summary: an unplanned hard launch reveals more than a relationship. it exposes the biggest simp of the century.

content warning: requested by @animeandf1lover. fluff. crack adjacent (in the beginning). profanity. bestfriend!logan sargeant. boyfriend!max verstappen. humor. max yap-stappen. jimmy and sassy verstappen. my personal hc of max using cat emojis unironically. no part two requests, please!

pairing: max verstappen x hijabi fem!poc!reader (fc: shahdbatal)

genre: smau.

from, serene: other titles i thought of; simp, i love my gf, down bad, lord of the simps, or president of the simp club. haven't written for max alone in a while, i missed him !!! pls ignore the typos on the interview clips otherwise i will cry. enjoy, lovely’s xxx

⌕ join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

instagram • jimmyandsassy 🔒 • monte carlo ⚑

liked by yninsta, maxverstappen1, logansargeant, and 123 others

jimmyandsassy love life

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maxverstappen1: how are you going to caption this "love life" when there's not a single photo of me in it 😕

➥ maxverstappen1: you called me the love of your life this morning on ft 😔 ➥ maxverstappen1: omg are you breaking up with me and taking the cats with you 😭😭😭 ➥ yninsta: max the cats chose the caption not me!!! ➥ yninsta: you're still the loml baby, i'm not going anywhere 😚💙 ➥ danielricciardo: u guys are perfectly made for each other :)

maxverstappen1: my babies 😻 why did you put mommy on the last slide? she's too pretty to be there!

➥ jimmyandsassy: m prettier than mommy - sassy ➥ maxverstappen1: hey! you get your looks from your mother be nice 😠 ➥ charlesleclerc: max mate 😟 with every comment you make on this account i hope you know i think less of you with each one 🙏🏻 ➥ alexandrasaintmleux: he's only saying this because i told him it would be cute to make a priv acct with leo that's like this! ➥ yninsta: you should! the kitties love it :) ➥ charlesleclerc: you're all mentally disturbed. electric chair⚡️🪑

logansargeant: i have post notifications on and i have no clue how max gets here faster than me.

➥ logansargeant: jimmy? sassy? do you tell him when you're about to post 🧐 ➥ maxverstappen1: logan the cats can't speak english or use a phone be serious. ➥ logansargeant: THEY DON'T HAVE OPPOSABLE THUMBS EITHER BUT THEY STILL POST AND REPLY TO COMMENTS ➥ jimmyandsassy: don't yell at daddy! 's mean - jimmy ➥ maxverstappen1: yeah logan don't yell at daddy 😌 ➥ logansargeant: can't believe there was a time i thought you were a respectable man smh

roscoelovecoco: cool cats 🐈

➥ jimmyandsassy: big dawg 🐶

landonorris: they're so pretty i just wanna pet them

➥ landonorris: i wished cats liked me,,, ➥ jimmyandsassy: nobody likes you! hope this helps - sassy ➥ landonorris: STOP HIDING BEHIND YOUR CATS AND COME FIGHT ME SIS 🤬🤺

alexalbon: please don't kill me :)

➥ jimmyandsassy: why would we kill you? we like alex - jimmy ➥ oscarpiastri: oh they're so going to claw your eyes out mate 😂 ➥ georgerussell63: it's been nice knowing you alex 🙂 ➥ charlesleclerc: fly high alexander 🕊️🙏🏻 ➥ schecoperez: gone too soon 🙂‍↔️ ➥ jensonbutton: if she kills you, logan will have a car to race this weekend. she's so going to get rid of you 😈 ➥ yninsta: what. logan has his own williams? are u guys okay???

twitter • yn's spam twt

igstory • yninsta uploaded to close friends story!

[caption1; guess i'm bringing jimmy with me][caption2; target confirmed. bravo six going dark.]

logansargeant: please don't make my team principal disappear ⤷yninsta: i will make him suffer inshallah 🙏🏽 ⤷logansargeant: think about jimmy and sassy! they'll miss you 😢 ⤷yninsta: ,,,i will subject him to a painful lecture about his mishandling of the race weekend ⤷yninsta: instead of death 🙃

alexalbon: are we chill? ⤷yninsta: i have no quarrel with you 👍🏽 ⤷alexalbon: oh thank god. i was going crazy in my room hiding from you 😮‍💨

maxverstappen1: come to me when you're done with james 😽 ⤷maxverstappen1: you're surrounded by the wrong shade of blue :( ⤷maxverstappen1: how's logan doing? ⤷yninsta: he's okay considering they gave his car away. ⤷maxverstappen1: bring him with you, i will tell him exactly what i think about wiliams treating him that way

f1 twitter

FIA press conference: pre-race australia • max, charles, logan, zhou, yuki

post-race interview clips • max verstappen

twitter • the internet reacts

instagram • logansargeant • melbourne ⚑

liked by oscarpiastri, yninsta, redbullracing and 546,789 others

logansargeant me and you, and you and me, just us, and your boyfriend max.

tagged: yninsta, maxverstappen1, betterhelp

view comments

maxverstappen1: you have me saved as “yn’s boyfriend - INGORE 🛑❌🙈”

➥ maxverstappen1: that’s not very nice ☹️ ➥ yninsta: logan! change it before you make him sad ➥ logansargeant: fine 🙄 ➥ logansargeant: i’m going to mute him instead.

➥ yninsta: logan and max get along great guys i promise!

➥ yninsta: max asked him if he was okay with asking me out before our first date and logan said “mate you don’t have to ask, i know you’ll treat her right” 😇 ➥ logansargeant: that is NOT public info‼️ delete pls ➥ maxverstappen1: you didn’t have to say any of this schatje 😅 ➥ user1: max asked logan for permission to date her? what in the wattpad fanfic is happening rn ➥ georgerussell63: this is great blackmail- i mean info 😉

oscarpiastri: acting like you hate max but you called me screaming in joy about playing padel with him 💀

➥ logansargeant: oscar please. my reputation is at stake here 😀 ➥ oscarpiastri: hey instagram comments- i misspoke. logan sargeant HATES max verstappen! that’s all, thanks. ➥ user2: dis guy 🤦🏻‍♀️ ➥ user3: osc sarcasm check: ✅

user4: if max verstappen offered to fly me out to hang out with his gf i would not leave his messages on read ijs 🤷🏼

alexalbon: DAMN he even said please 😶

➥ yninsta: not too much now alex 🤫 ➥ alexalbon: 🤐😳 ➥ user5: alex were u silent or sileNCED ➥ user6: i could feel the threat through the screen

jensonbutton: but did you take him up on his offer? that’s what we need to know!

➥ maxverstappen1: he did. left me on read for 6 minutes before he broke 😹 ➥ logansargeant: it was on his private jet, paid for, and i got to see my best friend- ofc i said yes! i’m not stupid.

user7: tagging betterhelp on the sc of max’s desperate ass texts is NASTY work logan 💀💀💀

➥ user8: nothing wrong with sending the homies links to therapy sites ➥ user9: there’s definitely something wrong with how down bad max is for his girl. i know that much 🥴 ➥ user10: are u srs? bc that’s a man who doesn’t play about his woman! i can tell 😵‍💫🫦

instagram • maxverstappen1

liked by yninsta, redbullracing, danielricciardo and 2,126,989 others

maxverstappen1 championships are worth winning because i take the trophies back to her.

tagged: yninsta

view comments

yninsta: championships are worth winning because YOU drove like crazy for them.

➥ maxverstappen1: two things can be true at the same time 💙 ➥ maxverstappen1: i don’t know if they would matter as much if i didn’t have anyone to praise me for it. ➥ yninsta: i’ll convince you that they are more than that one day 💙🔒 (good thing i’m never leaving you x)

yninsta: حب حياتي (the love of my life)

➥ maxverstappen1: no you are mine ☺️🤭

user11: no the fuck he didn’t.

➥ user12: GIRL HE FUCKING DID

user13: nahhhh he got it. he got it all.

➥ user13: championships, monaco living, the finest woman, expensive cats and cars—LIKE LEAVE SOMETHING FOR THE COMMON FOLK MAX ➥ maxverstappen1: my bad 🙂‍↕️ ➥ user14: he don’t even mean ts ➥ user15: oh i’m bout to crash out 🤪🤬👹

charlesleclerc: okay. that’s a good caption 🙂

➥ maxverstappen1: take a deep breath charlie, no need to be angy about it :) ➥ charlesleclerc: i knew you’d ruin it. i’ll be seeing you max 🤫 ➥ user16: yo what tf 🤣 ➥ user17: did charles leclerc just ominously imply his plot for max’s demise?! ➥ user18: bro what 😒 @/user17 ➥ user19: what are you gonna say next? “they’re going to participate in a duel of arms 🤓” ➥ user16: “a battle of fisticuffs, more likely it seems 🤓🤓🤓”

user20: oh my days— she’s beautiful 😦

➥ maxverstappen1: she’s the prettiest woman i’ve ever set my eyes on 😊 ➥ user21: don’t worry max, we believe you! ➥ user22: you truly are blessed to be dating her.

danielricciardo: boys what are you’re wagers? max yaps more/less about his gf to us now that they’re public?

➥ landonorris: more +£500 ➥ lewishamilton: more +£1000 ➥ logansargeant: more +(i’ll match lewis in american) ➥ schecoperez: have faith in max! ➥ schecoperez: +5 grand take it or leave it.

user23: she’s majestic! in that first photo, she’s giving padme from star wars 🤩 beautiful!!!!

➥ yninsta: tysm ☺️ this might be the best compliment i’ve ever received !!!

instagram • ynspamacct

liked by maxverstappen, lilymhe, charlesleclerc and 893,430 others

ynspamacct i won't unprivate my main, but here's the bf max content i know you all want :)

tagged: maxverstappen1

view comments

user24: max said: princess treatment only 👏🏻

➥ maxverstappen1: ***queen treatment 👸🏽 ➥ user25: oh. the simp allegations are true. ➥ maxverstappen1: you doubted how much i love my gf? crazy. ➥ user25: i won't do it again, i promise.

logansargeant: why do you wear heels if you know they’re going to make your feet hurt?

➥ maxverstappen1: bc she’s knows i’m going to hold them for her and carry her home 😌 ➥ ynspamacct: bc i feel tall 🥺 and max doesn’t mind carrying me home !!! ➥ ynspamacct: oops ☺️ we must’ve replied at the same time hahaaa user26: i’m going to slam my head into the nearest wall, viciously. ➥ ynspamacct: don’t do that! life is worth living i promise 😰

user26: first photo made my tummy flip for some reason 🫦🥴🤤

➥ ynspamacct: you should see a doctor! that doesn’t sound healthy :) ➥ user27: u better stop thirsting over her man like that 😳

lilymhe: boundaries 🧘🏻‍♀️💆🏻‍♀️

ynspamacct: exactly 😌

user27: breakfast in bed…what did he want from you 🤔

➥ ynspamacct: …nothing? or, just quality time i guess! he’s sweet like that 🥰 user27: ,,,i didn’t know that was an option. ➥ ynspamacct: being treated like a queen comes with accepting that’s how you deserve to be treated, and that it’s the *only* way you’re going to be treated 😚 ➥ user28: SPEAK ON IT MY GOOD SIS 😫

user29: this relationship is dear to me 😪

user30: m-men aren’t shit? who knew that was possible.

➥ user31: i thought all we had was tom holland 💀 ➥ maxverstappen1: i’m honored to be added to the roster ➥ user32: i cannot take this man seriously now. ➥ user33: why bc he loves his gf and you can’t even seem to find the way to a shower or a therapy session 😀 ➥ user34: WOAH VIOLATION

yninsta: max, maxie-max, maxie !!!

➥ maxverstappen1: i love you most, schatje 💛🔒 ➥ yninsta: aw you beat me to it 😞 ➥ yninsta: i love you foreverrrr #1 💙🔒 ➥ user35: oh i’m gonna cry :)

#f1 x reader #f1 smau #max verstappen x reader #f1 x poc!reader #max verstappen x poc!reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fluff #max verstappen smau #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x yn #f1 x female reader #platonic! logan sargeant x reader #f1 fic #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #serene’s chapters.#serene’s fave.#♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: mv.

1K notes · View notes

coff33andb00ks · 6 months ago

Text

Rule Breaker - Pt 4

max Verstappen x single mom!reader (with logan sargeant)

{masterlist}{prev} {next}

warnings: cursing, minimally proofread, masturbation (m), lando gives wisdom Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 5682 auth.note: logan girlies frighten me but i love y'all :) spotify: i made a playlist

The alarm started ringing and Max sighed, reaching over to turn it off. It wasn't as though he was asleep. Sitting up on the side of the bed he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, groaning when Jimmy gave a sleepy mew and jumped off the bed. "Ja, early morning," he sighed, switching on the lamp and getting to his feet. His cat didn't care, already slipping from the bedroom with his tail high. Sassy glared at him from the foot of the bed and he sighed again, grabbing his phone and turning off the lamp.

He grabbed jeans and a white t-shirt to put on before leaving the room, wondering again why he'd agreed to do this. It was stupid. No one cared what a day in his life was like, he was sure of that, no matter how many comments y/n had shown him on Checo's video asking when they'd get one of him. But it was too late to back out now—

His phone screen lit up and he stood in the bathroom, staring at her message.

-Good morning, I'll be there in ten minutes.

Crisp and professional. Just as it was supposed to be. Just as she had been for a week. When he'd messaged her the day before to bring Kevin over for another Disney movie she'd said yes, and had sat as far from him as physically possible while still being in the same room.

-I'll be ready. I'm up. Ok.

Eight minutes later she was at the door, looking maddeningly well-rested and relaxed and he didn't know why but that only annoyed him even more. He took the camera bag from her, noticing she was wearing baggy pants and an oversized sweatshirt instead of the usual jeans and Red Bull team shirt.

"I'll change before we go to the track," she told him.

He hated that the first few moments he was around her now were a little awkward. "What do you want to get first?" he asked, reaching up to smooth his hair and freezing when she moved to stop him. "What?"

"A day in the life, Max. Let your hair be messy. And you said you have coffee first thing right? So we'll do that – I've got the list you made." She took a sip from the to-go cup in her hand and he smelled coffee. "Kevin said to tell you good morning, have a great practice, and he had fun yesterday."

"I did too," he said. It was the truth. They'd watched a movie, and when that was over y/n had still been working on her laptop so he'd given Kevin a tour of his game room, letting him see and hold his trophies and helmets and even giving him a couple laps in his racing sim. She'd joined them, and for a little while it had been comfortable and easygoing, with her teasing him about his fridge of Red Bull within reach and having so many trophies he was running out of room to put them. He'd been about to suggest dinner, the words on the tip of his tongue, when she'd said it was time for them to get going.

She had the camera out, and so he started his day, answering her questions about trying to keep to a routine. The sun was coming up and she joined him on the balcony, asking about daily habits that stuck with him from childhood. He drank his coffee, watching out the corner of his eye as Sassy, his antisocial cat, jumped up into her lap and settled in for a cuddle.

"She's sweet," y/n said, and though there was a gap of at least six feet between them he could hear the cat's purring.

He made a face. "She hates being held."

Y/n looked at him, then down at Sassy. "Is that true?" she asked softly, running one hand over Sassy's fur.

As though intent on making him a liar, Sassy let out a squeaking purr and stretched, headbutting y/n's chin. Max scoffed, finishing his coffee. "She usually hates being held."

"Maybe you just don't know how to hold her properly," she said, turning her attention fully on the cat.

"I hold her just like I hold Jimmy," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"But you're not Jimmy, are you, darling?" she cooed, rubbing Sassy behind the ears and kissing the top of her head.

Max waited, knowing how much Sassy hated that sort of attention. And, traitor that she was, Sassy leaned into the touch, purring almost ecstatically. "You're making me look bad."

Y/n snorted, lavishing Sassy with affection for a few more moments. She set the cat down and stood, and the cat stayed close to her throughout the rest of the morning, calling and winding between her ankles as she got shots and video of Max doing his morning stretching.

"You do this every morning?" she asked, and Max exhaled with a nod while she got on her hands and knees next to him.

"It keeps me focused," he said after leaning on his knees. "Plus this is just a warmup. I'll do training with Rupert before lunch."

"Strength and cardio, right?"

"Will you be doing that with me too?" he asked, resuming his plank.

"Only if I'll get tequila at the end of the day like I did last week."

He chuckled. "I can do a gin and tonic."

"I've never had one of those," she said, trying the plank again.

"You have to lift your hips up a bit more," he pointed out. "And keep your back straight."

She tried again and he pushed himself back, turning to kneel next to her. His hands were on her hips, guiding them up, one hand moving to rest on her back, before he realized what he was doing. Hearing her shaky breath he paused.

"Sorry—"

"No, you're fine, I want to do it. Or at least be able to say I tried."

He nodded, adjusting her form, somehow able to focus on the exercise and not the sudden fantasies that were flashing in his mind. Swallowing hard, he wondered if they'd start invading his daily life and not just his dreams now. "Keep your head down, otherwise you might strain your neck."

"How long do I hold it?"

"It's your first time?" he asked, finally moving his hands from her.

"Doing a plank or having a guy manhandle me?" she huffed.

"Y/n—"

"Sorry, haven't had all my coffee. Yes, it's my first time."

"Then as long as you can."

"How long do you hold them?"

"Two minutes usually."

"Fucking showoff," she muttered, stretching out her arms and relaxing completely.

"I've been doing them for years," he chuckled. "C'mon, time for breakfast."

He was glad she ate with him, glad he'd picked up a few things from the shop the evening before that he'd remembered she liked. It seemed so normal, chatting with her while he cooked, Jimmy by his feet and Sassy by hers. But it made him homesick, nostalgic for something he'd never had.

"I only cook when I'm home," he said. "During preseason I have my meals prepped for me to get me back on track – turn on the kettle?"

She reached over to switch it on. "If you could have anything for breakfast without worrying about training or meal plans, what would it be?"

"This is where I say a cold Red Bull," he joked. When she rolled her eyes and laughed, he grinned. "Waffles. A stack this high." He held his hand several inches above the plate by the cooktop. "With bacon, the kind you can only get in America. And a large glass of milk."

"Butter and maple syrup?" she asked.

"Lots of butter, and the good maple syrup." Looking at the eggs on toast he was plating, he sighed. "I'll have it during our summer break."

"Two weeks off, right? Do you already have plans?"

"Last year I went to South America. I think this year I'll go home, yeah? Spend some time with my mum." Seeing that she was already fixing their tea, he carried the plates to the table and then fed Jimmy and Sassy. "What about you?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm hoping to get to go home for a few days." She handed him a cup of tea and sat down. "My family usually gets a cottage at the beach for a couple weeks in the summer, and the break starts the second week they're going this year. Kevin misses his Nana, so I've got to get him back for a visit."

"You're close to your mum?" he asked once they'd started eating.

"Pretty close. We had a falling out when I graduated high school. She wanted me to stay near home and go to the local college, but I wanted to go to a school that had a good program. That led to a fight, especially when I was accepted and announced I was going halfway across the country…" She sipped her tea. "Then I graduated and came back home and… It was weird for a little while? But we both apologized and then Kevin came along, and well. She would have forgiven anything, I think, to be able to be in his life."

He nodded, understanding what that was like. Hadn't he done the same with his father? "Can I—" he stopped when her phone buzzed loudly on the table.

Y/n picked it up with a murmured apology, smiling slightly at the screen before answering. "Hey…"

Max's toast turned to cardboard in his mouth when he saw the name on the screen.

"Yeah, I'm at Max's. Day in the life thing. Yeah." She laughed.

He forced the last of his food down his throat and drank his tasteless tea, carrying his dishes to the sink while she talked to Logan.

"No, Ellie's bringing him. Probably around noon?" She paused and he knew she was smiling even though his back was to her. "You're sweet. I'll see you in a little bit? Yep. Okay, I promise. Bye."

"All good?" he asked, forcing himself to sound as casual as possible. Taking her plate when she brought it to the sink, he saw she was still smiling.

"Yeah, it was Logan. He wanted me to bring Kevin to the track. I'll do the dishes since you cooked," she insisted, waving him away.

He stepped aside, opening his mouth to point out the dishwasher but, knowing she would just wash them by hand anyway, he closed it. Leaning against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest. "How was your dinner with him last week?"

She looked at him in surprise. "It was nice."

He nodded. "About—" The timer he'd set on his phone went off and wanted to send his phone through the window. Snatching it up, he silenced it and ran a hand over his face. "I've got to shower, then we can head to the track."

"Sure thing." She tipped her head. "Alright if I change in your room while you shower?"

"Of course." He pushed away from the counter. "No photos of my closet."

She laughed at that, and he felt the awkwardness drift away. "No photos of the closet, promise. But I can get one of the Red Bull pillow on the bed?"

"Absolutely not," he snorted, her laugh following him from the kitchen. He went to the foyer to check his backpack, making sure all his necessities for the day were packed in it. Leaving his phone beside it, he thought about the upcoming practice, mind on the adjustments made in anticipation of the race. He pushed open his bedroom door so he could grab clothes, lurching to a stop at the sight of the nearly nude woman by his bed.

Y/n whirled around, one arm crossing over her bare chest, eyes wide.

"S-sorry," he blurted, quickly looking away even though it was too late for that. "Just need to grab something."

She turned her back to him, and he saw her hand shoot out to snatch her hoodie off the bed, holding it to her. "I thought you were showering."

"I had to get my things ready," he explained, wondering why he felt the need to defend his movements in his own home. "I thought you were washing dishes."

"It was a skillet, two forks, two plates, two mugs, and a spatula. Hardly a big job."

He quickly grabbed clothes, muttering a few more apologies. About to leave, he saw her turning to look over her shoulder and felt his knees weaken. His hip slammed into the corner of the bureau and he winced, cursing, snatching his gaze from her bare skin and leaving the room as quickly as he could, making sure to close the door behind him.

"Fuck me," he groaned, nearly tripping over Sassy, who was of course waiting right outside the door. Stepping around her, he went straight to the bathroom, trying with all his might to focus his mind on practice. The car. The track. Anything but her, because if he let himself think of her he would only think of how badly he'd wanted to—

No. Not allowed. He couldn't kiss her, he damn sure couldn't lay her down in his bed and learn all the secrets of her body. Couldn't find out how her lips tasted, whether she preferred to be held gently or grabbed roughly. Would never learn if she moaned and gasped or whined and squealed. Could never have the taste of her on his tongue or know how wet she could get.

His body craved her like water and he felt nothing but intense desire as he stood under the showerhead, not even trying to deflect his arousal. Giving in, he set the soap down and grasped his cock. He closed his eyes, letting the fantasies run wild. His hand was a sad substitute for what he truly craved. His mind replayed the split second view of her breasts he'd gotten over and over and he was almost ashamed of how quickly he came, gritting his teeth to keep from moaning loudly while his cum splashed on the tile.

Panting, still craving her, he washed himself, trying and failing to push thoughts of her to the back of his mind. Mad at himself for not being in control of his own body, he dried off and dressed, realizing he was taking more concern with his appearance than usual when he smoothed the pomade Charles had given him months ago through his hair. Cursing, he ran a comb through it, scowling at his reflection as he sprayed cologne. "Stupid," he muttered, pulling his shirt on and snatching the bathroom door open.

"No team shirt? I thought you weren't allowed to wear anything else," she teased when he entered the living room.

He looked down at the white tee, unconsciously smoothing it. "I don't live in team clothes," he muttered. He finally looked at her, clenching his jaw to stop his eyes from dipping to her chest.

She'd put on a bra. Pity.

"It looks good. Jeans and a white t-shirt are classic. Very James Dean."

"Who?" Was that some other idiot asshole talking to her? He knew about Logan—

"Actor from the 50's. According to my grandma, all the women wanted him and all the men wanted to be him." She smiled as she zipped up her camera bag. "I watched his movies. If I'd been alive back then I'd have wanted him, too. Ready?"

He nodded, grabbing a jacket. Said goodbye to the cats and watched her get more affection from Sassy in thirty seconds than he had in all the time he'd owned her. Another fantasy formed, and he wondered what it said of him that he was imagining her in his bed. Instead of a sexual slant, the fantasy was her cuddling his cats. Not used to the warmth it filled him with, he let the fantasy play out while they gathered their things, liking the mental image of Kevin and a faceless little girl joining them for morning snuggles.

The elevator ride was interminable, cramped, and he tried to remember what normalcy was while he breathed in perfume and shampoo and pretended she wasn't touching him.

"Are you wearing cologne?"

"A little." The doors open and he breathed clean air with utter relief. Did she like it? Did it bother her? Had he put too much? Should he—

"Smells nice," she murmured as she stepped into the lobby.

Max exhaled harshly, letting his head fall back against the wall, glancing up at the ceiling. "You've got a terrible sense of humor," he muttered to whatever gods might be listening.

"Did you say something?" Y/n asked.

"No," he lied, pushing away from the wall and exiting the elevator. "Just thinking about practice."

She asked him more questions, about the track, if he considered it at least a little his home track since he lived there. Nodded and listened to his answers as they walked to the dock. And it was all almost normal on the boat ride over, her filming clips to post later and getting photos. Then more normal once they stepped onto the trackside dock, surrounded by people now.

Once they reached the paddock she touched his arm to get his attention, not that she really needed to.

"I'll meet you at the garage? I'm gonna run see Kevin for a minute," she said.

"Of course." He reached for her camera bag and backpack. "You can bring him back for a visit—"

"Mama!"

He swung his head around, smiling at the sight of Kevin through the crowd. His expression soured when he saw who was carrying him, but he managed to keep the smile on his face as Logan walked up, greeting him with a nod.

God, he hated this. Hated the way she smiled up at Logan, hated their easy, familiar conversation while he handed Kevin over and told her Ellie had stopped to chat with Oscar. He hated that he hated it and cleared his throat. "See you in a bit, I've got to meet with Christian."

She nodded, and he made sure to speak to Kevin before walking off. Barely two seconds later Lando fell into step next to him.

"Aw, look at 'em. Like a family, yeah?"

Max had nothing but respect and admiration for Lando, but he would have gladly shoved him off the dock if they'd been close enough. "Who?"

"Your social media girl and Logan." Lando grinned, glancing back. "Should've seen her kid like thirty minutes ago. He worships Logan."

"Of course he does, the guy has the mindset of a three-year-old," Max muttered.

Lando exploded with laughter. "The fuck?" He followed Max into the Red Bull motorhome. "Is that jealousy I hear?"

"No."

"Ah c'mon, it's me. Your buddy. Your mate."

"Don't you have things to do?" Max muttered, waving to people milling about as he made his way to his driver's room.

Lando was close on his heels, and the door hadn't fully closed before he started in again. "So you like her?"

He set her bags down and shrugged off his backpack. "Who?"

"Y/n."

"She's my colleague."

"Colleague. You sound like a pretentious dickhead." Lando dropped into a chair and shoved his feet on the corner of the table. "Tell Lando about it, mate. I'm your friend, I won't judge you, just give you advice."

"I don't need your advice," he snorted, kicking Lando's feet down.

"But it's good advice!"

He groaned. "What is it?"

"First you need to tell me the problem." Lando leaned forward, looking far too excited. "You're down bad for her, aren't you?"

Max stared at him, unblinking.

"She gets you all fired up? Got you picturing her doing nasty, freaky things with you? Leaves you bricked and fighting for your life?"

"Jesus," he muttered, looking away.

"Oh, you're desperate," Lando said.

"I am not desperate," he scoffed.

"You're all dressed up. Isn't today when she spends the whole day with you?"

"I'm not dressed up." He wasn't sure what was worse, how he was feeling or hearing Lando describe them in his ridiculous way. "And yes, for the day in the life."

"You did something to your hair, you're wearing your pussy magnet cologne, and you're not wearing Red Bull." Lando ticked off his fingers. "You. Are. Desperate."

"And what if I am?" he asked.

"Mate… Just fuck her and get it over with it."

He laughed. "Life changing advice, mate, I never thought of that."

"See? I'm good—"

"I can't."

Lando's face twisted in confusion. "What do you mean, you can't?" His eyes widened. "Are you – You know you can get medicine for that? No shame in it nowadays. Happens to a lot of guys. Not me, but—"

"What the hell—" Max groaned, throwing a Red Bull at his friend. "I'm not impotent, asshole."

"Oh. Good, because really I'd be worried. You're not that old—" Lando sent the can back. "So why can't you? Because of Logan? They're not official. Just a few dates. He went to see her at her place, but I think they're just friends."

"How do you know all this?" Max asked, checking the time.

"He tells Osc everything and I have a knack for finding out by asking leading questions."

"You mean you're nosy."

Lando waved one hand. "Yes."

"It's not because of him," he finally said after opening a can and taking a swig.

"Then…" Lando threw up his hands and let them fall dramatically. "Why aren't you putting kids in her?"

Max almost choked on his drink. "Mate—"

"She's a fucking milf—"

"Don't say that—" Max held up a hand. "Stop. I can't."

"Again, why?" Lando gasped. "Mate," he whispered. "Did you try and she turned you down?"

"No, she didn't – I – we work together." He rolled his eyes when Lando snorted. "It's in the contracts, mate."

"You're joking."

"Do you want to see a copy?" he finished the drink and crumpled the can.

"No, I mean, you can't be serious? That kind of stuff is only for doing shit in public." Lando shook his head. "It's an easy workaround. Just do it in private."

"What, like I'm ashamed?"

"No, no, c'mon! Stolen looks? Carefully brushing her hand when you're walking together? Sending her a filthy text before an interview? Then as soon as you're back home you bend her over and fuck—"

"Stop."

"It'll be your dirty little secret. You'd have to make sure the kid doesn't notice but as long as you keep it to hotel rooms and when he's asleep that wouldn't be a problem." Lando smiled, expression smug, as though he'd just solved all the world's problems. "As long as you don't say in an interview that you're fucking her, you're good."

"You're insane," Max muttered with a shake of his head. "I can't—"

There was a knock on his door. "Mister Max!"

He was opening it in an instant, grunting when Kevin ran into him. Y/n was behind him, gently chastising him for being so impatient, and Max waved off her concern, catching the boy and lifting him up for a hug. "You having a good day, kleine maat?"

"Yeah! I got my scooter! Can we ride?" Kevin asked hopefully.

"Of course we can." He met y/n's eyes over the boy's head. "Just a little ways down the track?"

She looked ready to say no, but finally nodded. "I've got to get some posts up. Ellie's getting a migraine so she'll probably want to leave soon—"

"Well then we can have fun without her, can't we mate?" he asked Kevin, who giggled. Ruffling his hair, he set him down and looked at her. "Go ahead and do your work, yeah? I'll keep an eye on him."

Her eyes softened and he knew she wanted to insist he didn't have to. That Kevin could go back to the hotel with Ellie. But she smiled. "Thank you."

"Let's go get your scooter, mate," Lando said suddenly.

"Stay with Lando, yeah?" Max told Kevin, looking at his friend. "Don't let go of him."

"He's such a dad," Lando sighed to the boy, taking his hand and leading him from the room. "Does he tell you to eat your vegetables?"

It's not contagious. Just her migraines are bad right now. I think it's the change in environment. She's not used to the English weather.

She's going to a doctor tomorrow?

Yeah but I don't think they'll have a miracle cure.

Just bring him, y/n. The whole team loves him. We can keep an eye on him when you have to work, and he can stay in the motorhome when it's busy.

Christian said the same thing.

Sometimes he's smart.

You're terrible. Okay, I'll bring him.

Good. Tell Ellie I hope she gets some relief. Is she getting rest?

She just went to bed even though it's only 7. She took a pill that doesn't help the pain but helps her sleep.

She'll be okay, y/n. They'll have something to help her.

Thanks, Max. See you in Montreal.

Safe travels, y/n. Give little mate a hug for me?

Every day. :)

Y/n smiled over the messages and then returned to the messages with Christian. After telling him she would have Kevin with her for the Montreal and getting his assurance that it was okay, she locked her phone, sighing. "Well, buddy, looks like you're coming to Canada."

Kevin looked up from the hot wheels he was lining up on the rug. "Really?"

"Yep. But Mama's gonna be working a lot so we'll be at the track all the time." She hoped this wasn't a mistake. There were countless ways he could get hurt. "You'll have to stay where I tell you."

Kevin nodded. "Okay Mama." He rubbed his nose. "Is Mister Logan coming?"

The duality of child, she thought with another sigh. "Yeah, he'll be here soon. Remember to keep it down, though. Ellie's sleeping." She got to her feet and stepped over his cars so she could get the popcorn ready. "Can you get the movie ready?"

"He said Cars is his favorite," her son reminded her.

"He did."

"Mister Max likes it too. But his favorite is Aladdin."

"I thought his favorite was Tiana?"

"His favorite princess." Kevin followed her into the kitchen, pushing his stool to the counter and climbing up. "But he loves Aladdin."

"Why does he love Aladdin?" she asked, taking down the packets of microwave popcorn.

"He says the genie."

"Well, he has a point." She put a packet in the microwave and moved to get a bowl.

"He likes Tiana because she works for what she wants." Kevin spoke slowly, and y/n knew it was because he wanted to make sure he repeated Max verbatim. He even, probably unintentionally, copied Max's slight lisp.

And so it was that when Logan arrived, she and Kevin were in a debate over the work ethic of Disney princesses.

"I'm not saying she held down two jobs, but Cinderella worked," she insisted while she opened the door. "She cooked and cleaned and dealt with everything in the castle – Hey, c'mon in – and you need to remember it was set like two or three hundred years ago, of course she didn't have a job"

"But she only danced," Kevin said as he greeted Logan with a hug. "Tiana turned into a frog, Mama."

"Are we arguing?" Logan asked with a chuckle.

Y/n rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to defend my girl Cindy and he's showing misogyny."

"Am not," Kevin huffed. Tugging on Logan's shirt, he waited for him to lean down before whispering. "What's miss… That mean?"

"I think it means when a man expects a woman to stay home and cook and clean and raise babies," Logan whispered back.

"That's stupid."

"There's my sweet boy again. Go pick up your cars," she told him, laughing when he ran off to do so. Taking Logan's jacket, she draped it over the hook by the door. "Hey."

"Hey," he murmured, smiling.

His kiss wasn't unexpected. He'd kissed her plenty of times since their dinner in Italy. But there was something added in, something she couldn't quite identify but knew she liked. Leaning into him, she hummed softly when his hand lightly cradled her neck, pulling back at the sound of Kevin throwing his cars into the bin.

"Date in Montreal?" Logan asked.

She opened her mouth to say yes, then bit her lip. "I don't know. I have to bring Kevin with me."

"Oh. I thought he was staying here with Ellie?"

"He was, but she's been having really bad migraines since Monaco. She's going to the doctor tomorrow, but I can't just expect her to deal with him and all that."

"We'll still do something fun."

"We will," she promised, leaning to kiss his cheek. "Go on, I'll get the popcorn."

They parted, and she heard him talking to Kevin while she got the popcorn and drinks. When she brought it out he was already on the couch, remote in hand and following Kevin's directions to find the movie, like he hadn't used their TV half a dozen times by now.

"This is his favorite movie that he watches every other day, so he'll be talking along with it," she warned him with a smile once they were settled and he'd hit play. She could already tell that Kevin would be out before the movie was finished, recognizing the way he rubbed his eyes as he snuggled between her and Logan. Picking up her phone so she could check her email, she half paid attention, frowning when a text from Ellie popped up.

Is your boy toy here? I want water.

She rolled her eyes.

He's not my boy toy but yes. I'll bring you some.

"Be right back," she whispered to Logan, pushing herself off the couch and going to the kitchen to fix a cup of water for her friend. Slipping into the bedroom, she closed the door and approached the bed. "Hey," she whispered, setting the cup down.

Ellie groaned, slowly sitting up. "Thanks."

"Pill hasn't kicked in yet?"

"Almost. Logan here?"

Y/n smiled. "Yeah. Watching Cars."

"Romantic." Ellie breathed deeply. "Water?"

Handing it to her, she sat on the edge of the bed. "You're drugged so you'll be honest…"

"Yes, I think you should sleep with him."

She blinked, pressing her hands to her face. "Thanks, El."

"Welcome." Ellie pushed the cup to her. "He's cute and he likes you. And it's been years since you had some good dick. Sleep with him."

She stood and leaned to kiss her friend's head. "Go to sleep, babe."

"Loves you," Ellie mumbled sleepily.

"Love you more." Leaving the cup on the nightstand, she tiptoed from the room.

She didn't want to sleep with Logan, did she? Just because he was cute – which he was, but she preferred the term handsome – and liked her? She did like him. He was good with Kevin, and he was nice. He hadn't been pushy at all since their not-a-date dinner date, but she wasn't blind. She could tell he wanted more than the quick, stolen kisses.

Just as she'd known he would, Kevin was asleep before the movie was halfway through, and she pried him from Logan's shoulder to go tuck him in. When she returned, he'd turned off the movie and put on Netflix, and she reclaimed her spot.

"Is it okay for me to hang around?" he asked, pushing the popcorn bowl onto the coffee table.

"Of course." Smiling, she laughed when he flopped back, one arm draping around her and dragging her close. She barely paid attention to the show he'd turned on, letting herself enjoy the physical closeness. His hand rubbed her arm and she shifted closer, resting her head on his chest.

"Y/n?"

"Hm?" She tipped her head back, surprised – but not really – when he took the opportunity to kiss her. His arm tightened around her, other hand coming up to cup her cheek and she sank into the kiss, whining a little when he pulled back. "Okay?"

"Y-yeah," she breathed, nodding, shifting so she was kneeling, hands gently grabbing the front of his shirt as their lips met again.

"So we can be more than friends?" he asked between kisses.

Y/n exhaled shakily, wondering how he could ask that question when his hand was sliding under her shirt. Or was he expecting her to determine their relationship? "I mean… Yeah? We can just…" It was hard to concentrate with his hand creeping closer to her breast. "Figure it out as we go?"

"I like that," he whispered.

His fingers brushed the outer curve of her breast and her mouth went dry, feeling the flames of yearning in a long time. "I like that, too," she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair. She pulled back just when her lips brushed his again, slightly panicked at the thought of having sex on the sofa. "B-but we don't have to go all the way tonight, do we? I don't—"

I don't want to tarnish the couch my son naps and watches TV on.

"No, no, it's okay. I'm good with just kissing you," he promised.

"We can make out," she suggested, because she needed a little more than kissing. Just the training wheels until she remembered what to do and what she liked.

"Hands above the waist?" he asked while slowly guiding her down.

"Good idea." She had the distinct impression that if his hands went below her waist she'd be begging for more. And she wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

Maybe not ever, and as she started to lose herself in his kiss she wondered if he'd be okay with that, too.

Taglist:

#f1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #my writings > mv > rulebreaker #logan sargeant #logan sargent x reader

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qaxqxd · 5 months ago

Text

JOYRIDE

♡: Logan Howlett x Deadpool!f!reader Genre: Smut (Readers advised, 18+ content ahead.) Warning: Mention of, bondage, oral (receiving and giving), unprotected sex (p in v), some praising and degrading, orgasms denial, overstimulation, fingering, some light teasing from Logan, creampie, cussing, sex with some plot, no mention of y/n, grammar mistakes (english is not my first language) Word count: 2.3k A/n: deadpool reader and wolverine sort of outta character tbh Summary: The car is not the only thing you’re riding. (Takes place during the scene where they fought in the car)

The car drove through the forest as you made little ‘thwups’ noises pretending to be Spider-man. “Stop it.” The metal ding-dong man grumbled. A little saddened by the request, you processed to make one last ‘thwups’ noise before stopping.

You didn’t like the silence in the car, so you decided to try to hold up a convo with Wolvie. “So, if they could fix your world. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get outta here?— Some rubbing alcohol shots? Maybe a wiper fluid chaser?” You snicker.

“What s’did you say?” He cocked his head towards you. Which sent slight shivers down your back, but heated your core. “I said, when you get back, what are you gonna do?” You repeated. “No before that.” He mumbled.

“If… they could fix your world?” You hesitated to say.

The car abruptly stops as Wolvie pulls the brakes. He glared at you, daggers sent your way. If looks could kill you’d probably be dead, even with your rapidly healing abilities.

“What do you mean ‘if’?” He spoke with a deadly tone. “I mean—” He cuts you off. “You lied to me! You don’t have a fucking clue if they can help fix things, do you?” He muttered. “No-? I mean— OH FUCK! FUCK.” You shouted in pain.

His adamantium claws digged into your thigh painfully. “I DIDN’T LIE—!” He cuts you off again. “YOU LIED!” He exclaimed. “NO! I MADE A EDUCATED WISH.” You proclaimed. He frowned at you like it was the dumbest thing you’ve said so far.

You really had no idea if they could, but you really needed him. Your world was dying, because of this hot metal shitbag who decided to play hero and dies in your world. So you needed a replacement. Who knew the replacement would be a total jerk?

Damn, at least he was still hot even when he was yelling at you. Your panties if not already not were soaked.

You both went silent for a bit, before you started speaking again. “Because I need you.” You huffed quickly pulling out a photo of your friends. “This. This is why. Right here.” You pointed at the picture.

“Because If we don’t do anything, they die.” You paused for a second trying to catch your breath, and trying to ignore the painful digging on your left thigh. “I don’t know anything about saving worlds, and why would I care? Because my entire world is right here in this picture.” You rasp.

He just glared at you, fuming. “It's— only nine people, and I have no idea how to save it alone. I know how to fucked people up for money, but you YOU know how to— well at least the other Wolverine did— AGH.” You yelped as he dug in deeper in your thigh.

“Well I guess I’m stuck with the worst one!” You ranted. “Did you say you made an educated fuckin’ wish?” He growled. “They call me the merc with the mouth, they don’t call me truthful jimmy blowjob of Saskatoon.” You stated.

He pulled his claws out of your thigh, leaving a deep crimson puddle behind it. “One more word.” He huffs. “Please, give me one.” Wolvie scolded. You paused for a second.

“Gubernatorial” And quickly flinched at him almost punching you. “Y’know what? You’re a fucking joke. No wonder the Avengers didn’t take you, or the X-Men.” He let out a bitter laugh. “And they’ll take fuckin’ anyone. I mean you are ridiculous, immature, half wit-moron.” He paused for a bit to breathe.

“I have never met a sadder, more attention starved, jabbering little prick. In my entire life, and that says a lot, because I’ve been alive for more over two-hundred fuckin’ years. And I’ll tell ya’, that bald chick was right ‘bout one thing. You will NEVER save the world. YOU couldn’t even save a RELATIONSHIP WITH A GODDAMN STRIPPER.

MOTHERFUCKER I wish I could say you die alone. BUT IT IS GOD’S BEST JOKES THAT YOU CAN’T DIE, AND HAVE THAT ON ALL OF US.” He shouted, hitting his fist on the car roof.

You stayed quiet, processing every little hurtful detail he just threw at you.

“You got nothin’ to say? Mouth?” He scoffed in your face. You both went quiet, only the sound of his breathing was audible. “I’m going to fight you now.” You huffed. He laughed bitterly in your face. “Oh are you?—” Your fist hits his face, and his nose starts dripping.

He hits you multiple times in the face, before you two go on a whole kicking and punching situation with his claws out too. He quickly ties you up to the seat and he claws you. You quickly kick him out of the vehicle, trying to unbuckle yourself.

He got launched outside the windshield, and you climbed to the back. God, the Honda Odyssey was a nice car. Too bad Nicepool wasn’t getting it back in mint condition, but I don’t think he would’ve mind.

Wolvie jumped back in the car pushing his claws pushing into you again, ouch. He pushed you outside the car through the sunroof, and you weren’t going to let that slide. So you jumped back into the car through the window, with the baby knives in your hands.

This time you were on top of him pinning him against the seat. I mean it wasn’t a bad spot to be in. You could feel him underneath your already drenched clothing. “The fight makin’ your eggplant rise, Wolvie?” You teased him, by pressing against his clothe bulge.

“Shut. the. fuck. up.” He sneered back. As he pushed you onto the seat. He grabbed the knives out of your hand and threw them out. He used the seatbelts to tie your hands together, and you both calmed down for a bit.

Man, the position you were in right now was sort of hot. You could feel your core begging him for it. You know he could smell the arousal from you, he always was when he first met you. You were a horny sonofabitch.

He’s been trying to ignore it this whole time, but he's done with that bullshit. “Quick question, is it made out of metal?” You broke the silence. “What?” He grumbled. “Your dick, because if it is—” He pulled the mask off just a bit to see your nose and mouth, and pulled you in for an aggressive kiss.

His tongue discovering your whole mouth. You didn’t hold back either, engaging with his tongue. He had his hand on your hips sliding to unbuckling your pants. Once he did, he saw your damp panties.

It was a pretty pink color with a small bow in the front. He almost thought it was a little cute. Hell, you were so soaked for him. He peels off your underwear to reveal your puffy cunt. He pulled off his gloves with his teeth and inserted two digits into you.

You squeal at the sudden push. He didn’t need lube or anything because of how soaking wet you were. His fingers curl at you clenching onto him. His finger pumped in a rough circular motion. “All wet from me?” he groans, his pants tighten. “Don’t let it get to you, wolf boy.” You grinned, it was getting tougher to breathe as you could feel your first orgasm.

Once Logan felt you getting too close, he withdrew his fingers. You let out a pout. “What the fuck, dickhead?” Your cunt was pulsing for his touch. You tried squeezing your thighs together to make some friction. He let out a bitter chuckle.

You knew how ridiculous you must look right now. He pulled your legs apart as he inserted his fingers again. Repeating the same pumping motion just to pull out again at the brink of your orgasm.

He was teasing you, and he loved every moment of it. He kept your legs apart, making sure you couldn’t create any friction at all. You had to sit there shaking, as you needed a release so bad. Even the slightest bit.

You knew that fuckers was trying to get you to beg for it. You cussed at him everytime he withdrew his fingers when you were close. “Don’t wanna talk now, huh?” He laughed. “Fuck. You.” You sneered at him.

Your hands were still tied to the seatbelt. He flicked your clit, making you jolt from the sensation. His face got close to your puffy folds and he blew cold air onto it, making you arch. You felt a warmth entering your folds.

His tongue explored your folds in and out. You came immediately at the feeling, and heard him chuckling. He didn’t let you ride it out; he just kept on going. Your thighs trembled at him eating you out.

He did not need to be this good at it, it made you feel dizzy from the feeling. He looked at you with desire in his eyes. “God, Wolvie, you are an animal.” You spoke with a tremble. He ripped another orgasm from you this time letting you ride it out.

He wiped his face from your slick and unbuckled his own pants. Your jaw almost dropped by the size of it. It was fucking hugh. “Oh my honey buns!! How do you expect that to fit inside— mphm!” He covered your mouth, “It’ll fit.” He angles himself to your entrance.

He slides into you with ease and a soft moan escapes your lips and that was his trigger. Your legs straddle against his hips. His hips buckle against you. He lets you adjust to him before he starts pounding into your weeping cunt.

This man was going to ruin every man for you. The way he's grinding against you endlessly got you drunk on him enough. Strings of moans and satisfaction left your mouth. He held the fat of your ass, while his other hand was pushing down on your stomach.

“Look at you, struggling to talk, hm?” He grunted, he had that shit eating grin on him. As much as you wanted to say something it was hard real hard. “F—uck, fuck, fuck, Wolvie.” You spat his name out. He felt your clenching and how deliciously you were squeezing his cock.

He rocks his hips into you, as his pace is relentless. The blood rushes into your head as your third orgasm is pulled. His cock covered by your slick. “Aren’t you just a slut? Coming on my cock like that.” He scolded.

His claw came out and you flinched. “Calm down, bub.” He hissed, he cut the seatbelt off of you. Your hands were finally free, you moved them around to wake them up after being in the same position for a long time.

He pushes your head down, “Ah, open.” He grunts, you comply, planning to bite his dick off. Which your plan completely foils, “If you bite it off, I’m not letting you cum.” He added, you made what seemed to be a grumble noise.

But your mouth stuffed with his cock, who knows. He pushes your head deeper into his girth. Your tongue wrapped around his length. It was quite salty, groans and grunts escaped from his mouth as your head bobs.

You could tell he was getting close by the way he pushed your head down further, almost getting you to gag on it. He eventually releases down your throat, having you choke on it a little. It had a salty and bitter taste, but it wasn’t so terrible.

You found his mouth pressed against yours, again. His rough yet somewhat passionate kiss, led you on top of his body. You both let go to catch your breath, and you felt his cock hit your back.

‘Fuck’ you cursed mentality. It was hard, again. He lifted your hips up where your cunt met his cock again, and it perfectly kissed your cervix. You let out a harsh moan, and instinctively started to grind on him.

He held his hand around your hips, basically guiding your hips in a motion. “Right there, princess.” He grunted. Your thigh trembles from the overwhelming sensation. You don’t even know if you could come again.

Even though your body rapidly regenerates, you still get tired. Unlike this mad man, he could go on forever. You push those thoughts away as you try to give him one last orgasm. The circular motion began to pick up speed.

Your hips sway against him and your cunt bouncing on top of his length. Your hands on his chest while your head limps forwards. He could tell you were getting desperate from how sloppy you were moving.

Yeah he might have tried killing you multiple times after your “Educated Wish” situation, but he was still a gentleman. Having a soft spot for women even if it means including you. “Where do you want it, princess?” He huffed which drew you back to reality.

“God, Inside, please.” You whined. You came for the fourth time, and as your walls clench onto his cock. His warm seed fills you, painting your pretty walls. Making a mess on his lap. You instantly fall asleep on top of him.

Your snores, making him realize you were knocked out. He pulled out and a whine escaped your lips, losing the warmth that he provided. He was a gentleman enough to redress you. He decided he’ll figure out what to do with you tomorrow.

He tried pulling you away from his chest, but you held on tight, so he gave up and fell asleep with you on him anyways.

#deadpool and wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x female reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine x you #logan howlett x female reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett x you #james logan howlett x reader #wolverine

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