#YOUR HUNGRY FLIRT BORDERS INTRUSION | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 3 months ago

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“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

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

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

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

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

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

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

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

Why is he about to fight a cat?

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

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

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

“Ask away.”

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

Okay, that was… weirdly specific.

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

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

“Fucking, you mean.”

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

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

“I can walk on my own.”

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

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

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

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

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

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

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

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

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kid.”

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

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

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

“Do you have an off switch?”

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

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

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

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

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

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

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

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

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

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

“What if—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t.”

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

“I said I don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

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

“How did you pass History in high school?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey, homey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

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

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

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

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

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

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

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

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

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey.

You again.

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

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

Okay.

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

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

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

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

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

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

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

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

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

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

Lord have mercy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

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

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

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

“Drop it, kid.”

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

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

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

God, you love it when he’s mean.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Inside.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

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

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

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

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

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

4K notes · View notes

nam-nam-joon · 6 years ago

Text

attempting

Pairing: jungwoo x reader

Genre: university au, fluff

Wordcount: 4.9k

Warnings: a lot of attempted kisses on jungwoo's behalf, platonic relationships with everyone

Summay:

it was a game, really. him leaning in for a kiss, and you dodging him every time.

but really, he never just asked.

The tightening of his hand on your side was the only warning you got before Jungwoo’s face came a little too close and you strained your neck to get your own away from it. He didn’t follow your movement, instead resumed his former, more relaxed position, for which you were grateful.

“Ew, gross.” You commented, wiping the not-happened smooch off your cheek and detangling your bodies from each other before leaving the light brown haired guy. He pouted in your direction as you shimmied in between Jeno and Mark, currently both very busy in spooning their icecreams. Jeno glared at Jungwoo.

“Dude, chill. This is a group-hang-out, keep your flirting to yourself!”

You huffed and took another mouthful of your own ice cream. “This boy couldn’t flirt with anyone if his life depended on it. He’s just a pain.”

A grin spread on your lips as the teasing made Jungwoo’s ears heat up and he jutted out his bottom lip in fake hurt.

“You wound me! I thought we had chemistry!”

“Your mom has chemistry.” Jaehyun commented from shortly behind and Mark snorted in his McFlurry. Jungwoo’s ears were the colour of cherries now, but he laughed along with Mark.

“What movie are we watching anyways?” Johnny piped up from where he was trailing behind Jaehyun and Doyoung, waiting for Taeyong who rose from where he’d just re-tied his shoelaces. The latter took his own ice cream cup from Johnny and then both sped up to merge with the rest of the group.

“Uh…” Jeno dragged out, squinting his eyes at the still too tiny movie posters plastered over the front of the cinema that had appeared at the border of your vision, despite the glasses on his nose.

“Something funny or action-y please, I can’t take another hit like Infinity War or some shit.” You grumbled.

“IW was… like so long ago.” Jungwoo seemed to have recovered from the earlier rejection and sidled up to you once more. That was, he attempted to, but Jeno poked his elbow into Jungwoo’s ribcage, clearly showing he was not willing to give up his own spot besides you just like that. The brunet rubbed his hand over the sore spot but didn’t lose his train of thought.

“And if I remember correctly you weren’t even that much of an emotional wreck, you didn’t cry right? You were just… angry.”

"Anger is an emotion, Woo-woo.” Jeno commented quietly, looking at Jungwoo. He was met with slightly puzzled eyes and an expression the opposite of understanding.

“Good point though, I could make for something exciting, too!” Jaehyun chimed in, underlining your previous statement.

You wrinkled your nose at Jungwoo but swallowed a remark with the last of your icecream, dropping the cup in a nearby bin afterwards. The gap you’d been in previously closed in your absence. Upon rejoining the group your right side was left defenseless when Jungwoo bumped the side of his hip into yours, pushing you into Jeno’s bigger frame who immediately wrapped a protective arm around you to keep you close. You stuck out your tongue, relishing in the slightly miffed expression on the brunet’s face upon the new evolvement of the situation.

You were spared of Jungwoo’s attention during the movie, seated safely between Taeyong and Mark, who were both quick to shut up everyone who might interrupt their film-watching-experience. Only a single piece of popcorn found its way into the salsa sauce accompanying your nachos, expertly thrown in a high arch over the head of an unassuming Taeyong.

You leaned back to make eye-contact with the marksman behind this kill-shot and complimented him on it, earning a confident grin in return.

Jungwoo’s arm slinging itself over your shoulder was enough to make you suspicious. Nevertheless you smiled up at the fellow student who fell into step with you effortlessly.

“Hey Uwu, what’s up.”

He shuddered.

“Never say that again, please. I’m allergic.”

“What, uwu?”

He cringed again, wrinkling his nose, looking unfairly adorable doing so. Not even bothering to attempt to hide it, you laughed out loud, which prompted an exasperated gasp from your current attachment.

“Don’t do that too often, you’ll get the wrinkles stuck on your face.” You only noticed he didn’t look away from your gaze after you were done smoothing down his forehead with your fingers. The soft smile on his face was radiating with happiness, warming you thoroughly.

Seeing your friends happy was more often than not the source of your own increased levels of endorphins.

Before you could inquire as to why he was being so cheerful today of all days - there was a particularly nasty test coming up around noon - something in his expression changed. It was minimal and you needed a moment too long to decipher it which gave him the advantage of getting way closer to your face than you usually allowed.

“Jungw-oh my god, no!!” You took a generous step sideways, slipping out of Jungwoo’s grasp. He let you, as always, sheepishly grinning while stuffing his now free hand into his pants. His face turned towards the front, like nothing ever happened. Grumbling, you moved back into the spot by his side you had had before.

There was an ease in Jungwoo’s steps, the way he carried his jacket over one arm and had his bag slung over one shoulder.

“What got you so cheery today?” You finally asked, not being able to let the almost outright smugness in the usually so very timid guy, go.

“You.” He answered in the same breath, unabashedly turning his head and looking down on you with a smile that could light up the whole campus. You kept the most neutral, unimpressed expression on your face, only rolling your eyes at the sappy answer on the inside.

It never took long until Jungwoo cracked and admitted to what actually had him in such a great mood. Today, it was because he finally got his car back from his parents after they borrowed it for an extended amount of time while moving places.

“We can finally go stargazing outside the city, like I promised you at the beginning of school!” Jungwoo exclaimed, twirling around to fully face you, holding out his arms in enthusiasm.

“Uh, are we remembering the same thing? I mentioned I liked your NASA shirt and you basically invited yourself into hanging out with Jeno and me, before inviting-out Jeno so it’d just be us two.” You shook your head, one corner of your mouth pulled into a lopsided grin.

Jeno, your self-anointed bigger brother, had not been thrilled by Jungwoo’s sudden intrusion into the previously calm conversation.

Now, the brunet whined and poked your side. “C’mon, I wanna celebrate having my trusty ride back! My DeLorean. My Batmobile. My Tardis-in-disguise. My ride or die. -My baby.”

You look back to him and huffed.

“Fine, you convinced me. Let’s ace the test and go for pizza afterwards.”

Like a switch flipped, the previously euphoric expression slowly faded from his face. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, mildly offended.

“No? No Pizza?”

He completely ignored your last comment, instead continuing to lose all colour in his face.

“Test? We had a test today? Since when??”

Jungwoo was still a puddle on the floor four hours later, after the test had well passed, and it took the combined effort of Taeyong and you to get him out from under the black cloud hanging over his head.

He looked slightly better once he sat down behind the driver’s seat of his cute VW, even though his eyes were still a little distant.

“Hey.” You said softly, leaning forward to catch his gaze. He looked over briefly, fiddling with the steering wheel.

“You’ll be fine. It’s not even that big part of the grade, if you really did completely fuck it up, you can still do some of the extra work during the rest of the year and smooth out whatever dent you made today.”

He sighed and placed his outstretched arms over the wheel.

“I know. I just- I completely forgot about it. How could I just, forget about it? -I don’t deserve pizza.” Another sigh, and you looked ahead again, sat on your hands.

“I’ll pay. C’mon. I’m hungry, and you know, one of those little lava cakes from Domino’s will get you your good mood back. I’m sure of it.”

He turned his head, expression still droopy and lowballing your stomach. Legitimately upset Jungwoo had an unparalleled stronghold on you like nothing else - not that you’d ever admit that to anyone out loud.

“How sure are you?”

“Like… 80.97% sure.”

You held his eye contact until he looked away and mumbled a defeated “Damnit.”

A grin spread on your face as he put the little car in reverse, guiding it out of the maze that is the student parking lot, and out on the road.

His mood did brighten tremendously after you insisted to pay once more and gave him both of the little lava cakes. He protested at first, knowing how much you liked them, until he saw you ordered cookies for yourself and finally shut up. You ended up sharing the cookies and having a cake each; Jungwoo offering to carry the boxes with leftovers once you get ready to leave the restaurant.

Your connected hands gently swung back and forth on your walk to the car, parked a few minutes away. After dropping the boxes in the trunk and closing the door, Jungwoo turned to you, one hand still resting on the roof of his car.

“I’m sorry. I can’t draw- draw? Draw. Drive. I can’t- Stop laughing, this is serious!”

You did your best to rein in the laughter that bubbled up after he’d slipped, pressing the knuckles of your fist against your lips in anticipation for whatever news he had to break to you. Jungwoo took a moment of staring into the distance before his eyes landed on you again. He opened his mouth, the corners twitching already, and you lost it once more.

“Ahem.” You cleared your throat and demonstratively furrowed your eyebrows.

“As- I was saying; I’m sorry. But I can’t drive you home right now.” He came closer, placing both his hands on your sides, tilting his head forward.

“Hmm,” You played along, linking your hands behind his neck and looking over his left shoulder. “I wonder, why is that?”

The brunet made a show of attempting to say something before stopping, rethinking it once more, before, finally, licking over his lips and deepening the stare into your eyes.

“I- God it’s so hard to say it, but… I simply… I ate too much. I can’t move one bit. So I can’t drive. I’m sorry. Looks like we’ll be stuck here, in this beautiful-” His brown eyes swept to the side, over the dumpsters and the shabby walls where the paint peeled off, the traffic sign that was so bleached by the sun it was almost entirely white. The unidentifiable pile of something a few meters away that could be garbage, puke or a dead animal. “-this beautiful place.”

You quietly raised your eyebrows, playing with the tiny tip of his hair at the nape of his neck.

“Well,” And now it was your time to lean forward, closer to him. Maybe it was the sun painting a blush across his cheeks, maybe wasn’t. “Lucky for you, I am a very able and, dare I say- great driver? So I will happily be your Chauffeur for the evening, Mr. Kim.”

Two fingers fished the keys out of his pant’s right front pocket and you slipped faster into the driver’s seat than Jungwoo could defrost his legs after you had reached into his pants.

After another heartbeat he begrudgingly joined you in his car, tensing every time you cranked the stick shift a little too unforgiving, touched your foot down on the gas a little too enthusiastically.

The city grew smaller behind you as you approached the outskirts of town, where you and, a little further out, he, lived. The sun was notably setting earlier each day.

Jungwoo’s hands tensed around each other as you momentarily looked away from the road, with one hand reaching over his lap to the small cupboard hiding behind the panel above his knees. You vaguely remembered a pair of shades in there, your fingers finding them quicker than the owner of the car could ask just what the hell you were looking for. After shaking them open and propping them on your nose you gave his baffled face a victorious grin.

"Ayyy who’s the most badass on the block now, eh?”

He laughed and bit down on his pointer finger as he looked out the passenger side of the car, but you could tell when his eyes came straying back to latch on to you.

The sun was golden, the leaves on the trees lining the street red and orange and yellow in an early greeting of autumn.

You could hear your phone ping with a new message as Jungwoo clicked his own shut and dropped it back between his legs on the seat.

“You know, if you’d tell him to shut the fuck up he’d probably leave you alone with his attempts at kissing you or all that physical affection stuff.” Jeno took his bubble tea back from out of your hands, and you stuffed them into the kangaroo pocket of the oversized hoodie you were sporting.

“Maybe I don’t want to tell him to stop.” You avoided Jeno’s caring, dark eyes, as he sipped on the tea. “Once you tell people to shut up, a part of their soul dies. At least for you.”

He continued to look at you, you could tell, but you were too stubborn to lift your view from the cracked cement tiles that made up the sidewalk.

“Maybe I like having his attention. Maybe I like the idea of the possibility of being normal.” Your voice died down towards the end.

“Hey.” Jeno’s voice was soft, the hand that fell on your shoulder gentle. “You are normal. Okay? I, as your big brother, am telling you right now. You are normal. There is nothing weird or alien about you or your orientation. Okay?”

Jeno tries, he really does, you thought as you watched him with a tilted head. A moment longer in which you tested his unwavering gaze before giving in and nodding, accepting the hug he offered.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- My words were garbage. I’m an idiot. This is why I’m failing my language tests.”

You huffed out a laugh into his chest and playfully smacked his arm.

“You are an idiot, I agree on that. But I’ll give you another chance at voicing your thoughts a little more articulate.”

He let you pluck the drink out of his hand and take another sip, looking at him expectedly.

“Okay, what I meant was; Jungwoo? He’s a lost cause. Absolute crackhead. Totally hopeless. But I really enjoy watching you two interact. It’s cute how he always tries his latest pick-up lines on you. And I must say, you? Shutting him down every time without doing literally anything? An art. You’re an artist. And I respect, and possibly, fear, your resting bitch face - that’s a absolute unit and a force to be reckoned with. And believe me, I’m not saying you’re not capable of defending yourself in- any case. But if you ever grow tired of Jungwoo’s flirting, and want him to stop, but he doesn’t- just tell Taeyong, or Mark, or me, or anyone of us, and we’ll take of it. Okay? I’m taking my job as your bro very seriously.”

He puffed out his chest for show and you chuckled, but his expression didn’t lose its serious undertone.

“Thank you, I am delighted at your praise.” You raised your eyebrows at him, attempting a fake-eloquent english regal person’s expression. “But really, that with Jungwoo is just banter. I don’t know where you guys all read your guide on flirting, but if you think that is flirting, then what Haechan does with our tutor is like, 10th base or something.”

Referring to the eagerness of said fellow student to aide the tutor of the Math course that basically only existed so anyone who needed to study it and understood shit all in previous schools could catch up, you slurped up some of the coconut jellies. Jeno let out a sound of protest at the action and resolutely took his cup back.

“Besides. You agree with me when I say Jung-uwu is all bark and no bite, right?” At that, Jeno laughed.

“Yes, totally. He’d probably melt into a puddle of despair if someone were to actually, you know, flirt-flirt with him.” He paused, to have a moment where the image sunk into both your heads. Without a word said, your eyes found each other again, a similar expression of uneasiness mixed with laughter on your faces.

“Let’s not think about dear KJ at the mercy of a lapdancer, shall we?” The black haired male said, then, a serious expression that shifted into a face splitting grin right after the words left his mouth. You voiced your agreement in a similarly serious manner before laughing about the ridiculousness of the scenario.

“What if he’s actually really smooth though?” You continued, a finger on your lips, but the tension from before had dissolved. Jeno gave you a side-eye before buying into the speculation, and you continued to wager the arguments about any of Jungwoo’s possible, hidden mannerisms.

Nonetheless you observed Jungwoo’s actions a little closer of the next weeks.

He continued his attempts, as always, and it only added to you thinking of it as a big game of his, nothing that had actual intent behind it.

He knew you knew he was trying to land a smooch, and you knew he knew you were going to deflect. It was a dangerous game you were playing, but the thrill - at least on his side - seemed to be worth it.

Winter had come by now, yet the campus was cozy warm inside.

You met up in the library one sun-flooded afternoon, to study for the last test of the season before winter break and the new year would reset the clock on that.

Jungwoo had already secured your favourite table, right by the window overlooking the nearby park and the local lake, dubbed duck pond. The sun was filtering directly through the glass, and in an attempt to lessen the impact of the heat, the brunet had stripped off his clothing, peeled off the numerous layers until all that was remaining was a loose t shirt. His hand, supporting his head, was clamped over the junction of neck and shoulder on his right side, where his shirt had slipped aside and exposed his collar bone; his left hand busy holding up the corner of a page his eyes were scanning over.

“Heyo.” You greeted him, dropping your bag and mix of winter accessories on the unoccupied half of the table. Jungwoo looked up, and by the unfocused gaze you could tell he was still halfway going through the material in his book before he blinked and a smile lit up his face.

“Hello! Please, have a seat. Have a cookie. Make yourself at home.”

You gasped, touching a hand over your heart and batting your eyelashes demurely at the gentleman seated next to you.

“My, what a royal welcome! Ok, what do we really need to work on with you today?”

He bit off half of a biscuit that he had treated himself to, holding it between his teeth while humming and skipping through the pages closer to the window.

“Here’s- a list I made.”

The sun sped across the sky, similar to your pen and highlighter gliding over paper.

As it closed in on five, the sun dipping Jungwoo’s hair in a pretty shade of orange, you furrowed your eyebrows at one of the pages in your own notebook.

“Hey, Woo, can you take a look at this?”

“Mhm?” He had another biscuit in his mouth but placed down his folder, sliding into the chair next to yours to get a better look.

“So, this one. I think I copied it wrong - the equation doesn’t add up, does it? Can you- Do you know where I went wrong?”

“You went wrong in not following my lead.” Was the first thing coming out of his mouth after he had swallowed his cookie and you groaned. He licked his lips and grinned, apparently feeling something akin to satisfaction at your reaction.

Jungwoo suddenly leaned forward, and on impulse rather than conscious decision based on past experiences, you leaned back, avoiding contact once more. He laughed after seeing the perplexed expression on your face at the sudden, uncontrolled reaction.

The talk with Jeno, speculating about whether or not Jungwoo actually had something to back up his endless compliments and daring talks, filtered back into your head.

It was half expected when he froze as you turned the stick around and leaned in, yourself, maybe a little closer than he did.

“You wanna kiss me soo badly, don’t you…” A quick glance around the library proved the area you were sat in currently deserted. Deciding to lay it thick, you bit your lower lip, letting your gaze flicker up from his lips to his eyes. “C’mon, do it.”

You were so close, you felt when your breath touched his face. An agonizingly long moment neither of you moved. Then you leaned back, poorly attempting to hide the grin spreading on your face at the utterly stunned look on his face.

“Don’t tease me.” You whispered, and it visibly shook him. He averted his eyes and ducked his head away until you knocked your shoulder with his.

He looked back, somehow still very much resembling a deer caught in the headlights.

“So? What about this equation?”

“The-? Oh. Yeah. Uh, um. S-so, you…” He trailed off, looking back and forth between his notes and your own, trying to figure out where the mistake had slipped into your writing. You could almost see the beads of sweat roll down his forehead, similar to a cartoon character.

He was still giving you looks when you exited the quiet space of learning later on, once more bundled up against the cold that made the duck pond freeze over a few days ago.

“Aw c’mon,” You pouted, as you caught him looking away once more, his ears still considerably much redder than the rest of his face. “Are you still upset about me making an advance on you, for a change?”

He grumbled something into his scarf before meeting your eyes again.

“You’re supposed to flinch away! I- I didn’t plan for you to ever-” He stopped himself and jutted out his bottom lip. You laughed.

“Okay, I promise, I won’t tease you again. I need you functioning for my test, I can’t close the year with a bad grade.”

He latched onto the change of subject, falling into step with you literally and metaphorically.

“You won’t even know what grade it’ll be until next year.”

“Yeah but- It’s the feeling, you know?” You lifted your hands to emphasize your words under Jungwoo’s laughing eyes. “I’d like to finish on a high note. And you, Mr. You-won’t-know-your-grade-until-next-year, the God of Studies knows you could use a good grade, too.”

Referencing the completely messed up test from months ago had the brunet groaning and dropping his head on your shoulder.

“Whyyyy did you have to remind me of that… that absolute disgrace of a wasted hour of my life.”

“Because I can’t stroke your ego all the time, Woo-woo; Sometimes you need to be brought back down to reality, too.”

He lifted his head to shot you a hurt look.

“I don’t like the words coming out of your mouth right now very much. I’ll pretend you haven’t said anything.”

You both took the subway home because the front window of his trusty little car had been too frosted over this morning to get it scraped clean in the few minutes your friend had had left after oversleeping.

You looped a facemask over your ears before boarding the train, having battled a cough in the last days.

To your unfortunate luck you caught one of the first trains of rush hour, and soon enough your back ended up pressed flat against one of the separation walls, your bag held in front of you, with Jungwoo and his legs to either side of yours and holding on to a bar over your head with one hand. He sighed as another wave of people pressed into the decidedly too tiny compartment and forced him to minimally shuffle forward, further invading your personal space. Not that it mattered.

For a station, he rested his head on your shoulder while you absentmindedly scrolled through twitter. Once more the doors closed and the train jostled into movement.

“Hey.” Jungwoo breathed, and you turned your head. He was right in front of your face, noses a finger-width apart, and now he was the one biting his bottom lip. He wiggled his eyebrows and you looked away, laughing under your mask.

Without warning gravity increased as the train lurched to an unscheduled stop in the middle of the tunnel, the windows showing nothing but darkness. Vaguely you registered Jungwoo was now a lot closer than before, his elbow meeting with the plastic glass next to your head in what must have been a painful thud. For a moment you stared into each other’s eyes.

Then you closed the tiny gap and pressed your fabric covered lips on his for the fracture of a second, breaking away laughing right after. Jungwoo’s face displayed nothing but shock, for the second time today.

His eyes were wide as marbles and his mouth left agape. His ears were burning again but you only caught a glimpse of them before he buried his face in your shoulder, where your scarf spilled over your coat.

The crowd surrounding you thinned out at the next station which gave him room to breathe and seperate himself from you.

He leaned his back against the bar next to the plastic glass that you’re resting against, a hand covering his mouth.

“Space control to planet Jungwoo? Do you copy?” You asked, barely able to contain the chuckle. He shot you a glare, half exasperated and half annoyed.

“I- I told you not to-”

“Hey, I didn’t tease.” You lifted your hands in defense.

“This- No! This is not how this works.” He stared at you for a moment before turning his head the other direction. Heartbeats later he looked back, as if to check you were still there, only to avert his eyes again, flustered.

“Did you ever plan on actually kissing me?” You asked after following him when he found two free seats.

The moment your eyes met didn’t last long.

“I don’t know. I never thought this far.” He huffed out a small sigh before turning his head and finally looking at you for longer. “I didn’t have the impression you ever wanted me to.”

“Well… If you ever need someone to platonically make out with, I guess I wouldn’t mind if you asked me.”

He swallowed and nodded, busying himself in looking down at his knees.

“What about now?” His eyes were a bit slower in leaving his legs than he turned his head towards you. You lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m sick right now. I doubt it’d be worth catching a cold over a kiss.”

“What if I don’t care?” His voice was quiet, the usual playfulness gone from his expression. Both of his hands were pressed flat between his knees.

“I don’t know. Then it would be very irresponsible for allowing myself in getting my friend sick, no?”

He bit down on his lips, sighing.

“Okay, let me phrase that differently. Can I please kiss you?”

“Yes of course, Jungwoo.”

He was very careful in taking the mask off your face, curling one hand around your jaw and then leaning forward.

The kiss was very much like him; Soft, easy, sweet. Lips molding to yours in and ease you'd missed for monthsof not receiving any of this kind if attention. You broke away after a moment, foreheads touching, and smiling.

“And? Feeling the sickness yet?”

“I think I can risk one more.” The words he uttered were in such an unfamiliar low pitch it almost sounded strange.

The second kiss was similar, testing, inching forward. Until he tilted his head more and added pressure, until you felt his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip, until the tip of his tongue flickered over the spot his teeth had been at seconds before.

This time it was him leaning back, his dark eyes only leaving your mouth after a few short breaths. When a grin broke out over his face you knew you were good.

He was downright giddy, smiling at you with such pride in himself it was difficult to keep your own composure.

“You’re cute, you know that?” You shook your head, feeling his hand tightening around yours.

“You’re cuter. All flustered and bothered.” At that your eyes were quick to jump back to his face, offense written all over yours.

“Me? Flustered? Excuse you but have you-”

He dropped his head on your shoulder before you could finish, quelling the exclaim in its sapling state.

“-I can’t believe I fell for that tease. You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Jungwoo only giggled, snuggling closer.

author's note:

inspired by Jungwoo's countless (haha) attempts at kissing the other members, and on this blurb written by @zerojisung - thanks for letting me use it!

if you enjoyed this, consider leaving a comment + making my day ^-^

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