#and he still pulls the rug from under me all the time

[californium98]

What We Need

Captor x reader

Warnings: noncon, spanking, oral (f receiving) , whipping, abûse, emotional abûse, kidnapping, captivity, angst

Word count: 1.9K

“I think both of us know what you need.”

He swallowed thickly, his breath against your forehead as he spoke. He had you pinned, your wrists twisted together so tightly in his grasp that you were afraid you might bruise.

You looked past him, the rain storm going on outside raged. Both of you were soaked to the bone. You were to blame. This would be escape attempt number four in the past month.

“I didn’t mean to…”

You trailed off. His breath grew rugged, his suppressed anger building inside him. He hated when you did this. He hated when you feigned your innocence. He hated when you cowered under him, begging him to be merciful as if you didn’t regularly try to kill or maim him.

He could only really blame himself. Each time, he’d take you over his lap and give you five swats just to get it over with. After which, he’d swaddle you with affection, assuring you that you didn’t know any better. He figured this constant infantilization would put you in your place.

You didn’t let the reductive language make you pliant. Instead, in the midst of his growing impatience, you used it to make sure he didn’t actually hurt you. It would work every single time.

“Is it going to be a spanking?”

You looked at him, large eyes brimming with fake tears.

His mounting anger briefly seemed to dissipate.

He ceased his rugged breathing with one final shaky exhale before roughly knotting a hand in your hair.

“You’re a good girl that hasn’t had good discipline. That’s all. Let me show you just how much I love you.”

His tone was low, caring, and laced with guilt.

“You made me do this.”

With a hand still twisted around a lock of your hair and the other gripping onto your shoulder, he led into your shared bedroom. You tried backing up in the other direction but his hard body stayed behind you and his steps persisted. His heavy boots created loud footfalls that resounded in the hall like some sort of death march.

“Please—I don’t understand… I’m sorry.”

By the time you reached the bedroom, you were screaming and crying, repeating your pleas like a mantra to an unforgiving god. He didn’t even look at you, his face completely stoic.

His fingers unfurled from your hair and you immediately turned around, embracing him.

“I know, baby. This hurts me too.”

He spoke into your hair, gingerly planting a kiss on your forehead before gently prying your hands away from his body.

You clawed at him, desperate to be close to your captor.

You hugged him again, attaching yourself to him like Velcro.

“Are you finally regretting your actions now? Are you ready to be good?”

That same infantilizing tone returned, but this time you welcomed it. You nodded into his chest.

“Good, so that means you’re going to take your punishment like good girls do.”

He pulled you off of him, physically holding you away from his body. Insultingly enough, he only needed to use one of his hands. With the other, he undid his belt, the sound of the buckle being undone rang in your ears. Your heart rate skyrocketed.

“Ten with the buckle and twenty with the leather. How many does that make, hun?” He crooned.

This was new. Taunting. Regardless of his flippant tone, you knew he expected an answer. A switch flipped in you. The tension left your body and your form slackened. Your shoulders still shook and tears still streamed down your face, but your body gave up. The fight left you and you resigned to your fate.

“Thirty.” You said, defeated.

He hummed his response and hooked a hand under your arm, dragging you over the edge of the bed.

He folded the belt, positioning it so that the buckle was at the bight of the loop. You waited for the impact, but it didn’t come. Instead, he bent over you draping his large form over your body.

“I know you can be good, but you chose this.”

He gritted. The hurt in his voice was crushingly genuine.

“I’m going to hurt you very badly, baby. You need to know that how badly this hurts you is how badly I love you. You continue to misunderstand me on purpose. I treat you so…”

His voice faltered.

“I treat you so gently, even when you’re bad. I hold back, but my love for you is forceful and extremely painful for me to endure especially when you continue to reject me like this. So, you need to feel it. You need to feel how bad this is for me. You need to—”

He cut him self off, shoving you further into the mattress. You barely had time to react before his belt came down on your backside, the buckle bruising your thigh. Pain irradiated through you. Instinctively you shot up off the mattress only to immediately be pushed down again.

“You just need to give in…”

He continued, his tone sickeningly soft.

The belt came down on you again. You wailed, hands flying to your backside in an attempt to shield yourself from any more of this hurt.

“Move your hands.” He chided. “Move your hands or I tie them to the bedposts.”

Your hands came away from your sore bottom and gripped the bedsheets for some semblance of comfort.

Another hit with the belt buckle and you were falling apart, letting go of the slightest bit of dignity you had left. You were begging, making promises that you weren’t sure you could fulfill, promising your submission and obedience to him if he just stopped. He didn’t raise his voice at all, but his words could still be heard above your cries. The register of his tone settling in the very depths of your soul. Even in the midst of inflicting so much pain, his words were gentle.

“You’ll learn.” He repeated. “You’ll learn to be a good girl for me.”

He was half speaking to you, half assuring himself that on the other side of all of this will be his perfect, loving, submissive captive.

Between the remaining seven strikes with the buckle, your legs shook and you’d twist around, hoping to relieve your body’s mounting discomfort.

“I know it hurts,” he’d say before he put you back into position. “The hard part is almost over.”

When the ten strikes with the buckle were over, he stood you up. Your body couldn’t help but shake. You were helpless and pathetic looking, the way he liked you, except this time you weren’t faking it. He saw that. In his eyes, he longed to scoop you up, give you a bath and hold you for the rest of the night, hoping that in the morning, you’d be a changed woman. His work wasn’t over, though.

“I said thirty and I’m a man of my word, sweetheart.”

He sighed, not meeting your pleading eyes. You ceaselessly whined at him. He indulged you a little bit by letting you cling onto him for a while. The moment was short lived. Once again, the warmth of his body left you and your arm was roughly bent behind your back until you yielded.

The leather was no better than the buckle. Your ass was numb at this point, but the initial crack of the belt against your bruises and welts left a persistent burning, stinging sensation. Your body physically could not be any more in pain.

There was a point when twisting away created more discomfort than being still and taking it, so that’s exactly what you did. He was speaking to you between strikes but you couldn’t hear him. You weren’t sure if it was because your brain couldn’t comprehend anything or if it was because he was mumbling pointless words to comfort you.

“It hurts me this much when you don’t love me.”

Crack!

“It hurts me this much when you reject me.”

Crack!

“It hurts me this much when you tell me you hate me.”

Crack!

He dropped the belt with a sigh, sounding emotionally spent.

You didn’t move, sobbing into the sheets for a while. He lifted you up, cradling you. The tears in your eyes blinded you and even if you could look him in the eye, it might be too much for you to see him look down at you with that pitiful frown.

He set you down and turned away, so you thought he might leave you alone for at least a moment. You willed your broken body to start dressing yourself. He turned around suddenly, taking your underwear out of your hands and lifting you back up onto the bed.

You tried to form your mouth around the word “no” but you found that you couldn’t. Whether it was because of the fear in your chest or the lump in your throat, you don’t know. All you knew is that you just couldn’t bring yourself to reject his advance, which is probably for the best. Something about the rigid way he held his body over you told you that a word like that might send him off the deep end.

He laid you down gingerly. He fell to his knees with a thud before putting your legs over his shoulders. The way he moved you put friction on your bruises and fresh broken skin. You groaned in pain.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I know, baby. I’ll make it go away.”

He whispered, his lips close to your inner thigh. He started with small kisses on your thighs, then he migrated to where he really wanted to be.

He dipped his tongue into your folds, slipping it against your clit before pushing it inside you. His tongue explored your entrance for a moment, teasing you. You lifted your legs a bit more to give him better access, but he held your thighs in place.

“No, baby. When you lift your legs like that I can see all the evidence of your disobedience. The marks you made me give you make me sick. It’s shameful and I don’t want to see it.”

He was still stern, but his breath shuttered as he spoke. It ignited something in you for the briefest moment, but when you looked down at him, even on his knees, he looked dangerous. His eyes bore into you, holding your eye contact while he began tonguing you once again.

You obeyed, not even flinching when he dug his nails into your thighs. He toyed with your clit, pushing his mouth flush against you.

You arched your back, feeling the end approaching. You bit your lip hard, trying to stop yourself.

“I thought we were past this. You holding on to your pride and dignity is just going to make me bend you over again.”

This was enough to both set you straight and send you over the edge. Euphoria flooded through you and so did shame. Your orgasm rippled through your body, causing your legs to shake even more than they already were.

There was a pounding in your head. Experiencing that much pleasure and pain all within the hour was too much for you to take. Your afterglow was short lived and the pain once again returned. Tears streamed down your face. You just wanted a nap. It’s that quiet, pliant, confused, dazed state that he wants. He didn’t realize how much he needed you like this until he had it.

He’s now your only source of comfort, discipline, direction, entertainment, and affection. Anything a person could be, he became.

“Aw, you’re so spent, baby. I think it’s bedtime for you…you can make things up to me in the morning.”

[nayaesworld]

Rugged Whiskey

Part 3

__

Warnings: murder, hematolagnia, smut, knife play

Terry Richmond X OC!Khia

__

Khia squealed and ran around her kitchen from Terry as the champagne spilled from the bottle. A few days of planning and mapping out their plan had them jumping with excitement. The two were enjoying a small celebratory meal before they went together to search for their victim. The sun would set on Joel Castille for the final time tonight, and Khia was excited about it. He was a drunk who couldn’t understand the word no and had become a thorn in her side as she tried to do her job. She was used to drunk belligerent men, yes, but when she had to repeat herself as often as she did to Joel, she would be happy to clean the streets of low level scum.

“You really wanna watch me do it…it won’t be a pretty sight mama.”

“Yes Terry I told you that already, I wanna watch everything…and what do you mean it won’t be a pretty sight? People literally create whole documentaries based on murder…it’s art.”

“Sure all that blood won’t bother you, miss pretty in pink?” Terry raised a thick brow at her and nodded at her baby pink satin sleep set.

“Well I won’t have on pink, I’ll have on black sooo..” she said matter-of- factly.

“Yes you will, I got you a little surprise…since you wanna be front and center so bad.” Terry stepped away toward her living room and pulled a small pink gift bag from behind a couch pillow. He handed it to her and watched her as she threw him a playful suspicious glare. She quickly threw out the tissue paper and gasped loudly.

“Oh my god this is soo damn cutesy…I wanna put it on right now!” He watched her gush over the pink ski mask as she fitted it on over her sleek pressed hair.

“You look so sexy… I wouldn’t even fight back if you came in my house at night looking like this, gimme a kiss..lil crazy ass.” His plump lips suckled and smacked against hers, tonight would be a well needed bonding experience for them; he was so ready and willing to prove himself to her in any way she needed.

“Soo your guy Joel Castille..you fucked him?” Terry squinted his eyes and studied her face carefully,

“What..eww no but he wanted too, that’s how I got his address.He’s not even my type.”

“And what is your type exactly?” Terry watched her place a finger under her chin in faux thought and lightly swatted her butt.

“Hmm let’s see…6’3 men with green eyes and big muscles that do what I say, you know anyone that fits the description?”

“Mhm and so do you , now let’s go…we got a schedule to stick to.”

Midnight was the focal point of the night for them and Terry stood off to the side mesmerized as Khia slipped the black catsuit over her shapely body. It clung to her skin in ways that had him internally holding himself back from fucking her up and down her room. She was pure ecstasy in human form and being drunk off her was a constant for him. Black leather boots turned her into a sexy ass catwoman and Selina Kyle couldn’t hold a light to her.

Terry made a show of picking out the weapon of choice tonight. And ultimately settled on an 8 inch serrated knife. It was quick and to the point with easy cleanup. A few zip ties,a gag, and a tarp completed their list so they headed for his truck. Joel lived a little ways from Khia’s home in the quiet country. His closest neighbor seemed to be a half mile up the road so their plans of luring him out of his house were still on.

__

Light work was made of tricking Joel out of his home and now he sat gagged on his knees in front of them both. The rushing river behind them drowning out the gagged cries and groans. Khia buzzed beside him with excitement and she watched his every move, watching and waiting to see how he would draw blood first. Terry circled the man, ready to pounce like a lion. Fists gripped at his side as he eyed the man, a man who wanted his girl, a man who had been harassing her, a man he planned to carve like a pumpkin. His hands grabbed Khia’s wrist and he twirled her in front of Joel.

“This is what you wanted…hmm? This what had you taking your drunk ass down to Sapphire every damn night?” Terry let a palm come down on Khia’s ass and gripped it slowly making a show off gripping and groping her supple body.

He watched Joel’s eyes widen in anger and he mumbled angrily behind the gag. Oh so he thought he actually had a chance with her? Delusional.

“You thought she wouldn’t tell her man that some bum wouldn’t leave her alone at her job… you thought you would skate?” Terry shook his head and a laugh erupted from deep with him. He would let this man get no words, he didn’t want his voice and words ever gracing Khia’s ears again. The star of the show finally made its appearance, the serrated knife felt electric in his palm and he gripped the handle with unyielding force.

“Khia baby this is for you… for you to never again doubt the extent of my love and care for you. For you to trust me completely, we all we got.” He watched her wipe away a tear and he pressed a kiss to her forehead, sealing it.

The knife was plunged into his chest. Jagged edges slicing and cutting through cloth and flesh, Terrys eyes gleamed at the sight and slowly pulled it out eyeing the gush of blood that flowed behind it. Khia’s hand gripped his bicep tightly and her hot wet mouth sucked and licked at the shell of his ear.

“Daddy please…more blood, I want you to cut him here next. He’ll bleed more.” Terry watched her point at his wrist and grinned evilly. She wanted slit wrist and that’s what she’d get. Her breathy moans coaxed him further and further. Close and closer to draining the kneeled man of his life force.

Quick flicks of Terry's hand made crimson flow again. Left and right wrist slit and draining slowly. There would be no more Joel Castille, he would become a former, a notch on both of their belts. Their first kill together. A slit throat sealed his fate and brought forth something carnal between the two. This energy was dark and new, yet it felt balanced between them.

The body laid rolled tightly in the deep blue tarp, limbs zip tied together tightly. Terry eyed Khia as she slipped off her left boot reaching down into it. Her eyes gave off this feigned innocence that made his dick rock hard. He watched her bring forth a small pocket knife. It’s silver blade shimmering in the night.

“I thought that maybe we could have our own fun daddy…promise to be gentle?” Terry felt like his head was spinning right off his head. She always said the most painfully beautiful things to him, she knew the control she had over him.

“Fuck baby, you gonna let me carve up this this pretty soft skin? Let me put my name on it for real?” She sauntered over placing the small knife into his palm, giving him full creative control.

“Yess… I want this with you. I want you to mark me… do whatever you want.” Terry let his fingers tangle roughly in her hair as he pulled her roughly to meet his lips. He was hungry for her and couldn’t slow his rushed movements.He had removed his black denim jacket and placed it on the plush grass beneath Khia. He was kneeled over her, fondling her heavy breast, fingers plucking and squeezing the plump nipples.

He slid the knife slowly over her hard nipples bottom lip sucked into his mouth in intense concentration. He had plans of cutting her out of her tight catsuit slowly but surely, a well put together act of his non existent patience. He didn’t know what would happen when he sliced into her supple skin and the anticipation lit a fire deep inside him.

His mouth was placed over hers in a deep feverish kiss, tongue deep in her hot mouth exploring and tussling with hers. Terry let his free hand pinch her nose, allowing her only source of air to come from her mouth… and yet he controlled that airway too. Anytime she attempted to pull in a large gust of air his plump lips covered hers again cutting off that airflow.

“Tell me you love me and I’ll let you breathe.”He watched her closely and felt her nails sink into the skin of his arm, piercing his skin. A groan slid from his lips and he looked down at the small crescent slits on his arm, blood slowly dotting out of the small wounds. His teeth sank into her bottom lip and drew blood from it causing her to yelp and writhe beneath him.

“We can do this all night…now tell me you love me, or I’ll bite it again.” He lowered his lips onto hers again and the metallic taste of her blood met his tongue. If Terry had been a vampire Khia’s blood would be his drug of choice and he would stay fat and engorged on it.

“I love you..fuck I love you I swear I swear!” Her professed love had gained her breathing back from Terry.

“Now stay still and let daddy work…I love you more.” The pocket knife glided slowly past her belly and down to her hips, and Terry swiftly slit a hole into her catsuit near her inner thigh, exposing the soft flesh and her warm pussy to the windy night air. He sucked at the skin roughly watching as it turned red beneath his tongue, and when a small hickey formed there he let the knife glide over it watching her finch from the cold steel.

Terry had plans for what he wanted to mark onto her skin and they had talked briefly earlier that day about gifting each other with cute marks on their skin. As he started to puncture the skin in her inner thigh she began to kick and flail, throwing him off his game.

“Terry, I don't want it…Noo I don't want your name on me.” Terry wasn’t fazed though, he knew what this was. She wanted to act disgusted by the act so that he would force her into it, another sneaky way of getting him to rough her up.

“Yes you do you feigning for this shit. You my slut…look at the type of shit that makes this pussy drip..nasty little bitch.” Her pussy was spilling clear sticky liquid all over his hand, and her erect clit peeked out at him from behind her puffy lips.

“ Move again and this juicy ass thigh won’t be the only thing sliced tonight.” He watched her shake her head as she sucked lightly on her finger.

__

The letter ‘T’ and a tiny heart had been inscribed into her skin and lightly wrapped with gauze to heal. Afterwards Terry had laid down and let her sculpt a ‘K’ and a little star on his side just above his ribcage without so much as a flinch. The act of carving the heartfelt signs and symbols into each others skin had them doing enough fucking to wake the dead…no pun intended.

Khia was riding him like a bull with no saddle. Her hips grinded against his pelvis roughly, trying to stuff inch after inch into herself. She looked like an angel. Head thrown back and hands gripping his chest like he’d disappear if she let him go. He felt her pussy squeezing and convulsing for the second time as she gushed all over him. This was good pussy. Pussy primed and ready for what he had to offer. He flipped them over and his hand immediately went to work on her sopping little cunt.

“You watched daddy do some bad things tonight…you ever gonna tell anybody about it?” He slid a finger into her slowly watching her face.

“No daddy I promise… fuck them it’s only us, they don’t get you like I do.” She moaned and her bottom lip poked out slightly.

“Of course you won’t..because how are you so sure I won’t do the same to you. You just know this good ass cat you got gonna save you regardless..don’t you?” A second finger entered her and Terry was feeling manic.

“You wouldn’t dare… I own you just as much as you own me, what bitch would love you for who you truly are.. huh baby? Monsters only thrive in the midst of other monsters baby.” Terry let and third and final finger stretch her out and his free hand gripped her face roughly.

“Mmm monsters indeed… that’s why your pussy is so wet while I’m fingering you next to a dead man. You like this shit…it makes you feel alive. Bet you breathe a little better knowing you don’t share oxygen with him anymore.” His fingers were moving fast inside of her. His palm smacking her pussy as it moved in and out at a rapid pace.

“This shit can get as sick as you want it to baby, I don’t have any limits. You ask I do. You demand I move, period!” He was kicking his pants and boxers off quickly, his head would explode soon if he didn’t sink into her intoxicating fuck hole.

“Daddy you look so pretty when you kill…you were so concentrated and you made me cum a little when you slit his throat. That’s your best form…killing.” Terry pulled his fingers from her and stuffed them into her mouth, she had a real way with words. She sounded so poetic talking about the darkest shit with a face that looked like she wouldn’t sway a fly.

“When I fold you up don’t do any moving…you hear me, just lay here and take it. Let daddy release all this shit.” He moved to smooth his hands under her thighs, pushing them into her chest. He wanted to get in deep and stay there.

His purpling tip was sensitive as it pushed into her tight entrance. He was trying to pace himself with slow strokes but the sensation of his back being scratched up and the yanking sensation on his dick had him tucking his face into her neck with a tongue in his cheek. He had her filled to the brim with veiny pulsing dick and a hand covered her mouth to smother out her loud screams of pleasure. Terry turned his face to hers and lapped at the tears that slowly rolled down her face, their salty taste propelling his hips forward.

“Khia mm..girl fuck fuck, this pussy got a grip on me. Can daddy nut in this pussy tonight…hmm put all them plan b’s to use?” They had an unnecessary amount of them in his bathroom that needed to be used, and the day they didn’t do their job..? well they’d be welcoming baby Richmond.

“Already, you can’t hold out just a little longer daddy? Just a little while longer… please just a little longer..a little rougher.” Terry was doing his best to bite back his orgasm and the loud smacks of skin were dizzying and yet he held off to fuck into her and choke her out like a ragdoll.

“Ohh you just wanna lay hear and be fucked and slutted out… I got you spoiled princess? You just lay here and let me pipe you down…and you so gorgeous, daddy’s little pretty bitch.” Her eyes rolled into her head and her open mouth was open game for the spit that left his mouth.

It sounded like a splashpad between them. White cream decorating their brown skin and wild hearts beating in tandem. This was true freedom for them. No one to judge them for how rugged and downright dirty they got with each other, no unsolicited advice or opinions on their relationship. She gave him the ok and Terry felt like he was releasing on a loop as his dick spurted shit after shot into her.

Crushed under his weight Khia raked her nails over the fresh scratches on his back and his skin got goosebumps all over. He cleaned them of as best as he could out there in the open country and pulled her up from the ground.

“I’m glad you came into Sapphire that night…everything changed for the better, I’m coming to your job next sexy.” She placed his heavy jacket over her chilled skin and walked with Terry, latex gloves tight on their hands.

“Ready baby… one..two..three!” They watched as the heavy body splashed into the river, cinder blocks pulling it further and further beneath the deep dark waves.

“Oh wow that was soo exciting…I can’t believe he thought I liked him. One look at you definitely told him he wasn’t my type.” Terry let his hands slither around her waist as he led her back to his truck.

“Mm mm you’re too much woman for any man besides me…they wouldn’t survive a night with you. I could definitely see you poisoning a man because he left your little beauty products unorganized.”

“Hey that’s a pet peeve of mine, you touch it you better put it back how you found it.“ she pointed a finger at him and grabbed his hand to step up into his truck. If it was one thing he had learned about Khia it was that she loved organization, everything had its own nook and cranny and it had better be exactly as she left it.

“Yes mam…though I’d rather you put a pillow over my face or something. At least when you lifted it up I’d be looking dead at you laughing.” She poked at his side as they shared a laugh, bright headlights pulling them out of the darkness and back towards the city.

“I’d sit something else on your face..fuck that pillow. You eat ass don’t you?…and don’t lie.”

“I’ll eat your ass..emphasis on your..I’ll stick this tongue anywhere you want me to, I never cared.”

“You’re a nasty nasty man Tj…nasty niggas deserve financial compensation for their work.”

“You plan on compensating some more Miss princess? Perhaps with dick down your throat this time?” He threw a raised brow her way before focusing back on the road.

“Mhmh and then some…now hurry and get us home man, I’m itchy.”

Terry put the pedal through the floor and sped home itching to enjoy part two of their escapade in the shower.

__

A/N: * pours glass of wine and closes robe tightly* what yall staring at?😟

@keehendrixx @ovohanna24 @venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @simplyzeeka @zillasvilla @blowmymbackout @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @theereina @keyaho @brattyfics @hotgrlcece @henneseyhoe @starcrossedxwriter @uzumaki-rebellion @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @blackerthings @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @invisiblegiurl @blackmoonchilee @talkswithdesi @notc0rtez @becauseimswagman1 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kaylaahisthebestest- @mysteryuz @tvchi @vivaalenaa @23jammy

#aaron pierre #terry richmond #black oc #black woman oc # rebel ridge

[paperyowl]

Little Rockon snippet

EDIT: Happy New Year, everyone!

(This is part of a longer fic I'm drafting along the lines of "four times it was just sex, and then one time it really wasn't")

+++

"Fuck. I'm sorry," Deacon told him when he saw the finger-shaped marks on Rocker's hips just above the fluffy hotel towel. He watched from the bed as Rocker finished rubbing his hair dry.

For a moment, Deacon almost thought he hadn't heard the comment or understood what Deacon had meant. But then Rocker gave him a look stuck somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"It's fine," he said, dipping back into the bathroom. When Rocker reappeared, the towel was still low enough to show off the marks.

"Still. Those are probably hard to explain-" Without mentioning that you have someone who fucks you hard enough to leave bruises.

Rocker tilted his head a little like he heard the bit that Deacon didn't quite say out loud. He waited for Deacon to add something, which he didn't.

"I like the marks," Rocker finally admitted, not quite looking at Deacon. "They stay, even when you leave."

And just like that, Deacon knew they were done. Even if it had been a joke - and it hadn't, he knew Rocker better than that, which, fuck, was a whole another level of this problem - this was a definite sign that they needed to stop.

"Ah," Rocker said, and it felt fake like this had been his intention all along. "Too much?"

"You know it is," Deacon told him, unwilling to play this kind of game.

To his credit, Rocker simply leaned against the wall by the bathroom, not moving any closer but not giving up any space either. He crossed his arms and considered Deacon with those clever eyes.

"I do," Rocker said. "Well, I should go."

And it wasn't quick or dramatic - Rocker was way too naked for that when he pulled the rug from under them. Instead, he picked up his clothes from beside the bed and dressed slowly and methodically. All without ever looking at Deacon. Ironically, Deacon couldn't look anywhere but him.

When he was all dressed and packed, Rocker hesitated for a moment by the door.

"Just to make it clear, I-"

"I understand perfectly," Deacon said.

At that, Rocker turned and gave him a raised eyebrow that Deacon really didn't think he deserved. But then Rocker smiled of all things - slightly sad and full of yearning - and he walked all the way over to the edge of the bed, standing close enough that Deacon had to crane his neck to meet his eyes.

"I'll be here when you make up your mind. Even if it's just as your friend. But I need you to make a decision, David. Because this isn't fair to her, to me or to you."

This time, when he finished speaking, Rocker left quickly and without looking back.

[cozzzynook]

May I offer some Dragonformer Megarod? {Warning: Its a little spicy-🤭}

Bird songs filled the air as the morning sun rose above the mountains blanking the valley in its warm glow. Hidden deep in a cave near the highest mountain slept a large grey dragon in his nest. Megatron's tail gently swayed side to side as his deep rumbles echoed throughout the cave stirring awake his partner.

Blinking away the sleepiness from his eyes Rodimus let out a yawn before crawling out from under his mate's large wing, once free the red fuzzy dragon stretched flexing his lean body as well flap his elegant wings. Turning his attention back to his mate, Rodimus trotted closer to place a gentle lick on Megatron's rugged snout. "Morning sleepy head"

"Hmm, morning" One red eye opened as Megatron gave a sleepy smile. "You're up early, are you going for a morning fly with Drift?" The large dragon rumbled as he slowly sat up to stretch his own limbs.

"You can say that" Rodimus purred as he pranced around the cave flapping his wings in a teasing manner. "But I'm looking for something a little more exciting to start my day~"

"Is that so?~" Letting out his own purr Megatron leaned forward placing his own lick on the red dragon's head before pushing his snout into Rodimus's side breathing in his scent. The large dragon then shuffled his weight using one giant paw to pull Rodimus closer to his chest. "Its still early spring yet you're already asking to bare my eggs?"

Letting out a playful chitter Rodimus swayed his flank hoping to draw the bigger dragon's attention. "That and I just love the way your spike feels inside of me" The red dragon gave a gentle nip at his mate's chin only to give it a soft lick in return as he wiggled into a better position until he was pressed flushed against his mate's warm body.

A deep rumble escaped Megatron's chest as he moved his paws to better grip Rodimus's flank, once in position he then carefully bit onto his mate's neck scruff pining him to the floor. Realising his hardening spike a slow grumble was all the warning Rodimus got before Megatron suddenly thrusted forwards ramming his large member into the red dragon's fluttering valve.

A quick chirp escaped the red dragon's throat that quickly turned into pleased moans and purrs as he slowly melted in the warm embrace. Rodimus's front limbs shook from both his weight and pleasure struggling to keep the red dragon upright, while his wings lied limp at his sides only ever twitching softly.

"Oh! J-just like that, keep going!" Rodimus panted as he struggled to looked over his shoulder. "Don't stop!"

"I don't- mrph- plan too~" Megatron groaned as he sped up his thrusts, his spike was already beginning to leak pre-fluid but he knew he had longer to go before he finished. The knot as the base of his spike had began to swell readying itself to trap and keep the pair locked in place.

As lust rushed and pooled in Rodimus stomach all the red dragon could do was lazily rock his hips and hold on as his valve was pounded away. His eyes began to mist as a rather sensitive spot was hit causing him to cry out in pleasure and arch his back only to floor back onto the stone floor with a lazy chuckle, he knew it wouldn't be long now he could feel the burning knot grow tighter and tighter.

"Megs, I-I can't last any longer- Ah~" Shutting his eyes Rodimus buried his snout into the crook of one of his front limbs. HIs body was shaking from pleasure it was all too much yet not enough at the same time.

"Come on, my flame" Megatron purred as he placed comforting licks and nuzzles on the red dragon's back and neck. "Finish with me~" With a couple more thrusts his spike would ram into the fluttering walls before finale hitting the spot he was looking for.

Rodimus cried out again as he came his whole body gave a quick shake as each fluffy feather stood on end, with one last gasp Rodimus quickly fell limp on the stone floor. The red dragon gave pleased little whimpers as he carefully watches his mate's face with a droopy smile.

With a couple more thrusts Megatron gave a low grunt as he came filling Rodimus's camber with warm, sticky fluid. The knot at the base of his spike swelled to its full size preventing any of the precious fluid from escaping making sure that Rodimus was well and truly bred. Letting out a heavy sigh Megatron slowly rolled to the side using one paw to keep Rodimus close to his chest, once settled the grey dragon began to carefully groom his mate's red fuzzy coat with a lazy purr.

"How are you feeling?" Megatron rumbled as he pressed his snout into Rodimus's cheek.

"Just perfect" Rodimus chirped leaning into the touch. "How many eggs do you think I'll carry this time?"

"Well, if everything takes and considering our size difference I think...maybe 4 to 6 eggs" Megatron purred. "Or maybe it will be like last year again, with one giant egg"

Rodimus gave a soft grumble as he remembered last spring, pushing that giant egg out of his valve wasn't fun he couldn't feel his legs for weeks afterwards! At least their hatchling was big and healthy which remined him they needed to pay them a visit this summer. "Hopefully they will be normal sized eggs this time, otherwise next year you're the one getting bred"

"Mmm, I'll look forward to it, my flame" Megatron teased as he wrapped one wing around them before placing another long lick down his mate's cheek.

"You better!" Rodimus returned the lick with his own before settling down feeling the drowsiness calling to him. Maybe sleeping in this morning wouldn't be the worst thing the world.

Ooooooh i really like this! This is a good treat! Thank you anon!!

[isalabells]

Andreas casually dropping he used to date Maud Ackermann in the late 1980s I'm- WHAT DO YOU MEAN BOB ANDREWS AND FÜNF FREUNDE GEORGE WERE AN ITEM ONCE

[pandapetals]

Crush

logan howlett x fem!shy reader - slight angst, misunderstandings, struggle expressing feelings, crushes, introvert reader, x-men cameos, logan being jealous, fluff at end

You have a crush on Logan but being shy and introverted makes it hard for you to tell him that.

read on Ao3

You had a painfully obvious crush, at least to yourself. You kept it locked away, buried under layers of awkwardness and forced indifference. There was no point in admitting it, no point in setting yourself up for the kind of rejection that would leave you reeling for weeks. That’s why they called it a crush—it hurt. And you’d rather avoid the sting altogether.

Logan, of all people, would never look at you that way. Why would he? The man was a living embodiment of rugged confidence, the kind of guy who attracted the attention of bold, sexy women without even trying. Women who exuded confidence, who knew how to flirt without stumbling over their words or turning beet red at the slightest hint of interest.

You were not that woman.

You were awkward, sometimes downright clumsy with your words, and whenever Logan was nearby, you either avoided him completely or turned into a jittery mess. The few times you’d actually spoken to him, you’d kept it short, clipped even—anything to hide the way your heart raced whenever he was within arm’s reach.

But today? Today, fate was not on your side.

"Hey," Logan’s low, gravelly voice cut through the air, pulling you out of your swirling thoughts.

You jumped, nearly dropping the stack of books in your arms as his voice startled you. A squeal escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you cursed under your breath, feeling heat flood your cheeks.

"Hi!" you blurted out, avoiding his gaze as if your life depended on it. Your eyes darted anywhere but at him, settling on the wall, the floor, even the damn ceiling—anywhere but on Logan’s piercing hazel eyes.

You stood there, clutching the books like they were some kind of shield between you and him, your heart hammering in your chest. Logan stood in front of you, his hands casually in his jacket pockets, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. His brows furrowed slightly, probably trying to figure out why you were acting like a deer caught in headlights.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice gruff, though there was a hint of amusement in it.

You nodded quickly, a little too quickly, your palms suddenly sweaty. "Yep, fine," you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Just busy.” You gestured vaguely to the books in your arms as if that explained your entire existence.

Logan's gaze lingered on you, those damn intense eyes scanning your face, trying to read something in your expression. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to act normal, but normal wasn't exactly your strong suit when he was around.

"Right," he said, his tone skeptical but not unkind. "You sure? You look like you’re about to bolt."

You forced a laugh, though it came out more like a strained chuckle. "No, no bolting," you lied, though the urge to flee was strong. Your nerves were screaming at you to make up some excuse and leave before you made an even bigger fool of yourself.

Logan didn’t move, didn’t let you off the hook that easily. He stood there, hands still in his pockets, watching you with that calm, unshakable presence that made him impossible to ignore.

"So, I was thinkin’," he started, his voice a little softer now, almost hesitant—something you weren’t used to hearing from him. "You and me, we should... hang out sometime."

Your heart nearly stopped. Hang out? Logan wanted to hang out with you?

Your brain went into overdrive, trying to process the words, but instead of the cool, collected response you wished you could give, you blurted out, “Why?”

The word came out sharper than you intended, and you immediately winced, mentally kicking yourself. Of all the ways you could’ve responded, why was probably the worst? It sounded rude, and defensive, like you couldn’t believe he would even suggest it.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not?”

You blinked, feeling your face grow even hotter. “I-I don’t know, I just—” You stumbled over your words, trying to backtrack but only making it worse. “I mean, you don’t usually talk to me, and I figured you’d rather—uh—hang out with someone else, you know?”

The smirk on Logan’s face softened, his eyes narrowing slightly in the way they did when he was trying to figure someone out. "I’d rather hang out with you," he said, his voice low and steady, without a hint of hesitation.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking you. He was... serious and that realization only made you more nervous.

You shifted on your feet, clutching the books tighter. “I’m... not exactly the best company,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze again. “I’m awkward, and—well, I’m not really good at this kind of thing.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and almost warm. “Darlin’, you think I’m lookin’ for someone perfect to hang out with? I’m about as rough around the edges as they come.”

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at him from under your lashes. He was still watching you, but there was something softer in his expression now, something that made the knots in your stomach loosen just a little.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, feeling your voice wobble under the weight of everything unsaid. Uncertainty hung in the air between you and Logan, thick and suffocating, making your chest tighten with every awkward breath.

Logan stepped closer, his usual gruffness softened by the unspoken question in his eyes. His hand moved toward your face, almost instinctively, but he stopped short, his fingers lingering just inches from your cheek, as if he was afraid to touch you—afraid of crossing a line. His jaw clenched the hard edge of frustration in his expression barely masked by the vulnerability he wasn’t used to showing.

“Do you hate me or somethin’?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, so sudden and raw that they knocked the wind out of you. Hate him? Your throat tightened as you stared at him, the disbelief written all over your face. How could he think that? How could anyone hate Logan? The idea was so far from the truth that it left you speechless for a moment, caught between the shock of his question and the overwhelming desire to fix whatever misunderstanding had led him here.

“No—” You shook your head, the word falling out of your mouth clumsily, but it wasn’t enough to erase the hurt that flickered behind his eyes.

Logan’s face hardened, that familiar guarded look slipping back into place like armor, shielding him from whatever pain he thought you were hiding. He shifted his weight, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that felt more like a barrier than anything else. “Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, his voice low, almost resigned. “You don’t talk to me. Hell, you barely look at me.”

You winced, feeling the truth in his words like a knife twisting in your gut. He wasn’t wrong. You had been avoiding him, dodging his gaze in hallways, keeping your conversations short, brushing him off whenever he tried to get close. But it wasn’t because you hated him—not even close. It was because every time he looked at you, your heart raced in a way that terrified you, a way that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.

The last thing you wanted was to fall for someone who could never want you the way you wanted him.

Logan took your silence as confirmation of his worst fears. His jaw clenched tighter, the hurt in his eyes hardening into something closer to anger, though not quite—more like frustration and resignation rolled into one. “Look, if I’ve done somethin’ to piss you off, just say it,” he said, his voice rough around the edges, but quieter now, like he was trying not to let the hurt show. “But this whole… act? This avoidin’ me all the damn time? I don’t get it. I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve this.”

His words cut deep, guilt gnawing at the edges of your heart. You could see it now—how your awkwardness, your fear, had been misread as rejection. How Logan, of all people, had been standing there, arms outstretched, only to be met with walls you didn’t even realize you were building.

You opened your mouth to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t know how to explain the mess inside your head, the way you’d convinced yourself that keeping distance between you and him was safer, easier, than admitting how much he affected you. How much you wanted him, despite everything telling you it could never work.

Logan’s eyes flashed with frustration as the silence stretched between you. He ran a hand through his hair, his rough fingers tangling in the strands like he was trying to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. “You’re really not gonna say anything, huh?” His voice broke a little, rawer now, like the frustration had finally worn him down.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the weight of his words suffocating. The look on his face—the quiet hurt, the way his eyes flickered between anger and something far more vulnerable—was too much. It was too much to bear, too much to know that he’d spent all this time thinking you hated him when the truth was the exact opposite.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but they carried more weight than you realized.

Logan stilled, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for something—some hint of truth, some explanation that made sense of all the confusion that had built between you. “Then what the hell is it?” he asked. “’Cause I don’t get it, darlin’. One minute you’re actin’ like I don’t exist, and the next you’re—” He stopped himself, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to find the right words. “I just don’t know what the hell I did wrong.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice, at the way he seemed so sure he was the problem. The truth weighed heavy on your chest, but fear kept your mouth shut—fear that once you said it, once you admitted how you felt, there’d be no going back.

Logan wasn’t going to wait forever. He took a step back, pulling his hand away from where it had hovered near your face, his eyes flickering with something close to disappointment. “Forget it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna beg.”

He turned as if to walk away, and panic surged through you, your chest tightening with the fear that you’d let him leave without explaining, without fixing what you’d broken. Your hand shot out instinctively, grabbing his arm before you even realized what you were doing.

“Wait—Logan, please.” Your voice cracked, your grip on his arm tightening. He stopped, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you with those sharp hazel eyes, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

He waited. His silence a heavy, painful thing as you struggled to find the right words. “I don’t hate you,” you repeated, more firmly this time, your heart pounding in your ears. “I… I just—” You swallowed hard, your chest aching with the weight of what you were about to admit. “I didn’t know how to be around you.”

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he studied your face. “What d’you mean?”

You bit your lip, your mind racing for an escape, any way to pull yourself out of this vulnerable moment. You could feel the truth bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out, but fear clenched around your chest like a vice. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t tell him.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, your voice tight, forced. Your eyes flickered to the floor, your stomach twisting as you scrambled for something, anything, to steer the conversation away from the truth. A lie formed on your tongue, half-formed and desperate, and you latched onto it before you could stop yourself. “I’ve just been... distracted.”

Logan’s frown deepened. “By what?” His voice was quiet, but there was a sharpness to it, a need to understand that made your stomach churn. He was getting too close, too damn close.

Panic surged through you, and before you knew what you were saying, the words tumbled out. “It’s... someone else.” You cringed inwardly as the lie left your lips, feeling the weight of it settle between you like a barrier.

Logan’s expression shifted, confusion flickering across his face, and then something darker. He tightened his jaw as his eyes hardened. “Someone else?” he repeated, his voice low, carefully controlled.

You nodded, your heart sinking. You couldn’t stop now. The lie was out, and you had to commit to it. “Yeah, um... it’s just—I’ve been kinda... into someone from the team.” The words felt foreign, clumsy like they didn’t belong to you. You hated how easily they fell from your lips, how they felt like a betrayal of everything you actually wanted to say.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he studied you. “Who?” The word was clipped, sharp, like he was bracing himself for something he didn’t want to hear.

You froze. Who? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Your mind raced, and in your panic, you blurted out the first name that came to you. “Scott.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Logan’s reaction was immediate—his jaw clenched so tight you thought you could hear his teeth grind. His eyes flickered with something hot and dangerous before he quickly masked it. He took a step back, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his posture rigid. “Scott, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing the guilt that rose in your throat like bile. “Yeah,” you mumbled, hating yourself more with every second that passed. “I mean... I know he’s kinda, you know with Jean but...you can see why I didn’t want anyone knowing—”

Logan let out a sharp breath, cutting you off. His eyes, usually so intense but warm, were cold now, narrowed and unreadable. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” His voice was rough, edged with something that made your heart ache. “Because you’re into Scott?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You just nodded, the lie sitting heavy on your chest, suffocating you.

Logan’s laugh was humorless, more of a bitter scoff than anything else. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his movements tense, almost angry. “Well, should’ve seen it.” 

You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too big, too empty, the weight of your lie pressing down on you like a heavy stone. Logan had left without looking back, his words still ringing in your ears—“Should’ve seen it”—and you wished, more than anything, that you could take it all back. But the damage was done, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of regret.

You slumped into a chair, burying your face in your hands, replaying the moment repeatedly, wishing you’d had the courage to just tell him the truth.

Meanwhile, Logan was storming down the hallway, his mind a tangled mess of frustration, confusion, and something he couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t one for feelings—hell, he’d spent most of his life trying to bury them—but this? This hit him differently. The thought of you having a crush on Scott had thrown him, and for his life, he couldn’t figure out why. What the hell did you see in the guy?

His footsteps echoed through the mansion as he made a beeline for the training room, where he knew Scott would be. When he pushed through the door, the room was mostly empty, save for Scott, who was busy adjusting one of the control panels near the Danger Room entrance.

"Summers," Logan growled, his voice low and sharp as he approached.

Scott turned, eyebrows raised beneath his visor, clearly not expecting Logan to barge in like this. "Logan," he said, keeping his voice neutral. "What’s going on?"

Logan stalked closer, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Did you know she had a crush on you?" he demanded, his voice rough with barely contained frustration.

Scott blinked, clearly confused. "Know about what?"

"Her," Logan snapped. "She’s got a crush on you. You knew about that?"

Scott looked completely taken aback, his mouth slightly agape before quickly composing himself. "Wait, who are we talking about?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. "Are you talking about... her?"

Logan clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking beneath his stubble. "Yeah, her. She told me she’s been into you, and now I’m tryin’ to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on."

Scott’s confusion deepened, and he shook his head. "I had no idea," he admitted, sounding as baffled as Logan felt. "I thought she had a thing for Kurt."

Logan's scowl deepened. "Kurt?" he repeated, the name coming out like a low growl. "You’re sayin’ she’s into Nightcrawler?"

Scott shrugged. "That’s what I thought. I’ve seen them talk a few times, and she seemed... I don’t know, shy around him. Figured she liked him."

Logan’s frustration flared even higher, his temper fraying as the conversation spiraled further away from what he thought he knew. First, he’d thought you were into Scott, and now Scott was telling him you might have a crush on Kurt? None of it was making any sense, and the knot in Logan’s chest tightened.

"Thanks for nothin’, Summers," Logan grumbled, already turning on his heel and heading for the door.

Scott held up his hands, his visor catching the light. "Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just telling you what I saw."

Logan grunted in response, barely acknowledging Scott as he stormed out of the training room, his mind racing. If Scott didn’t know, and if you weren’t into him... then maybe Kurt had the answer. Logan’s jaw clenched at the thought, a surge of jealousy he hadn’t expected twisting in his gut. He needed to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

Logan found Kurt in the garden, perched on a stone bench, lost in thought. The air around him was peaceful, the soft sound of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves in the wind providing a calm backdrop to the scene. But Logan wasn’t here for calm.

"Kurt," Logan called, his voice cutting through the serenity like a blade.

Kurt looked up, his yellow eyes widening slightly as Logan approached, clearly sensing the tension rolling off him. "Logan," he greeted cautiously, his tail twitching nervously. "Is something wrong?"

Logan stopped a few feet away from him, crossing his arms over his chest. "You and her," he said bluntly. "There somethin’ goin’ on there?"

Kurt’s brows furrowed in confusion, his tail curling around the leg of the bench as he tilted his head. "Her?" he echoed, trying to follow Logan’s line of thought. "Who are you talking about?"

Logan huffed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "The girl," he growled. "You’ve been talkin’ to her. Scott thinks she’s into you. Is that true?"

Kurt blinked, completely thrown off by the accusation. "Into me?" He shook his head quickly, standing up from the bench. "No, Logan, that’s not true. We’ve spoken, yes, but nothing like that. She’s... well, she seems reserved around everyone."

Logan’s jaw tightened. "So you’re tellin’ me you haven’t noticed her actin’ strange around you?"

Kurt smiled gently, trying to diffuse the situation. "Everyone acts strange around me at first, Logan. But no, I don’t believe she has feelings for me. I think you might be mistaken."

Logan let out a frustrated sigh, feeling no closer to an answer than when he’d started this ridiculous search. "Great," he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "First Scott, now you... I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on."

Kurt watched him for a moment, his expression softening with understanding. "Perhaps," he began carefully, "you’re looking for answers in the wrong place. If you want to know who she cares about... maybe you should ask Ororo."

“Why would I ask her?” Logan growled, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s she got to do with this?”

Kurt, ever patient, tilted his head and gave Logan a knowing smile. “Because she and Ororo are friends. I’ve seen them spend a lot of time together. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s her.”

Logan grunted, rolling his shoulders, his tension palpable. He didn’t want to involve Ororo—didn’t want to turn this into more of a thing than it already was. But if Kurt was right, and Ororo knew something… well, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Thanks,” Logan muttered, already turning to leave.

Kurt nodded, watching Logan go, but his yellow eyes were filled with something more than amusement—something that hinted at the truth Logan was too stubborn to see for himself just yet.

Logan found Ororo in the greenhouse, tending to a row of plants that thrived under her careful touch. The humid air clung to him as he stepped inside, the smell of earth and rain filling the space. Ororo didn’t look up at first, her focus on the delicate leaves of a blooming flower, but she knew he was there. She always did.

“Logan,” she greeted calmly, her voice like the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. “What brings you here?”

Logan wasted no time, his frustration still simmering just below the surface. “I need to ask you somethin’,” he said, his tone gruff as usual.

Ororo finally looked up, her serene expression unwavering. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated for a second, feeling foolish now that he was standing in front of her. Ororo wasn’t the kind of person you grilled for answers, but he was desperate. “You and her,” he started, his eyes narrowing. “You two are close. Has she… said anythin’ to you about someone she’s into?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Why do you ask?”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He hated this dance, hated feeling like he was walking into a trap he couldn’t see. “Kurt said you’d know. I’m tryin’ to figure out if what I heard is true, that she’s got feelings for Scott.” The name came out like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Ororo tilted her head, her expression softening. “Logan, what exactly are you trying to figure out?”

Logan scowled, feeling the question cut too close to something he hadn’t fully confronted. “I just… need to know if she’s into someone. That’s all.” His words were clipped, defensive.

Ororo’s eyes sparkled with quiet understanding. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched him with that unnerving calm that made him feel like she could see right through him.

When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. “Logan, if you’re so concerned about who she’s interested in, perhaps you should ask yourself why.”

Logan stiffened, his muscles coiled tight. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ororo’s smile softened, but she didn’t back down. “You’re chasing answers about her feelings, but I think the real question is about yours.”

He blinked, thrown off by her words, but before he could snap back with his usual gruffness, something clicked—something that made his heart tighten in his chest. Jealousy.

Was that what this was? All this running around, demanding to know who you were interested in, snapping at the thought of you liking someone else… it wasn’t about figuring out the truth. It was about him. It was about the way his heart twisted at the thought of you being with anyone but him. The way he couldn’t shake the anger, the gnawing insecurity, because deep down, he wanted to be the one you were looking at, thinking about.

Ororo watched the realization settle over him, her gaze steady but compassionate. “You’ve been chasing the wrong answers, Logan,” she said softly. “If you want to know how she feels, ask her. But first, figure out how you feel.”

Logan stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t respond, didn’t know how to. Instead, he gave a curt nod, turning on his heel and stalking out of the greenhouse, his mind a mess of conflicting emotions.

The rest of the day, Logan couldn’t get Ororo’s words out of his head. Jealousy. He wasn’t the type to get jealous. He’d lived too long and seen too much to get caught up in feelings like that. But damn it, whenever he thought about you with someone else—Scott, Kurt, anyone—it made his blood boil in a way he couldn’t explain.

By the time night fell Logan had had enough. He needed answers. He needed to know the truth, not just about you, but about himself.

With a deep breath, he made his way to your room, his pulse thrumming with a mix of frustration, confusion, and something he wasn’t quite ready to name yet.

When he knocked on your door, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps inside. A moment later, you opened the door, looking surprised to see him standing there. The expression on your face quickly turned to confusion when you saw the intensity in his eyes.

“Logan? What’s going on?”

He didn’t waste any time. “We need to talk.”

You frowned, your hand tightening on the doorknob. “About what?”

Logan stepped closer, his voice low and rough. “About you. Who the hell you’re really into?”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your face. “W-what are you talking about? I already told you—”

Logan cut you off with a growl, his frustration boiling over. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve been runnin’ around all day trying to figure this out—askin’ Scott, Kurt, even Ororo. And you know what? None of them know a damn thing. So I’m done with the guessin’. You’re gonna tell me the truth. Right now.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure Logan could hear it. The weight of his words, the raw frustration in his voice, wrapped around your chest like a vise. This was it—the moment you’d been running from, the one that made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and terrified.

You couldn’t run now. 

You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Logan... I don’t like Scott. Or Kurt. That was just—I panicked,” you confessed, the lie sitting heavy between you both, a truth finally dragging itself into the light. 

Logan’s eyes, usually so unreadable and guarded, were stormy with confusion and something sharper, something closer to hurt. He stared at you for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’d just said. “Why did you lie?” His voice was rough, almost accusing. “If you hate me, then just admit it.”

The way he said it—the bitterness in his tone—cut through you like a knife. Hate him? The idea was ridiculous, absurd, and yet it was clear Logan had convinced himself of it as if you avoiding him, your awkwardness, could only be explained by disgust.

“I don’t hate you!” you blurted, more forcefully than you intended. Your voice cracked with the weight of your own emotions, and you immediately took a step back, trying to gather yourself, but Logan wasn’t letting you go that easily.

“Then why does your heart race every time you see me?” Logan pressed, his voice low but intense. He took a step toward you, the space between you growing smaller, the air thick with tension. “I must scare you, right? You must be terrified of me because you hate me.”

The words hit like a wave, your breath catching as his eyes bore into yours, a mix of frustration, vulnerability, and anger swirling in his gaze. He was waiting for you to confirm it, to say what he thought was the truth—that you couldn’t stand to be around him.

Your throat tightened, your pulse hammering in your ears as you struggled to find the right words. How could you explain what you felt when even you didn’t fully understand it? The confusion, the fear of rejection, the way being near him made you feel so exposed like he could see through every wall you’d ever put up. 

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Logan, it’s not that.”

“Then what?” His voice was still rough, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath—like he was holding on to the hope that maybe there was more to this than he thought.

“I don’t hate you,” you said again, your voice steadier this time, though your chest still felt tight. “I just... I didn’t know how to act around you. Because every time I see you, every time you’re near me, I—”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Logan didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, waiting, watching, almost daring you to finish.

“I feel something,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And it scares me.”

Logan’s expression shifted, the anger fading as something else settled in—something that made your stomach twist in anticipation. His jaw clenched, his fists relaxing at his sides, and for a moment, he just looked at you, really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time.

“What’re you sayin’?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant like he didn’t trust himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.

Your breath hitched as his question hung between you, the truth teetering on the edge of your tongue. You had been running from this moment for so long, hiding behind your awkwardness and your fear. But now? Now you had to say it.

“I’m saying...” you began, your heart pounding as the words finally came, “that I could never hate you because I don’t know how to handle…you.”

Logan’s eyes softened, the frustration melting away as the truth hit him. He took another step closer, his presence almost overwhelming, but not in the way you feared. It was grounding, steady, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like running.

“I make your heart race because... you like me?” he asked, his voice low, the disbelief in it unmistakable.

You nodded, your chest tight with anticipation, your eyes locked on his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again, softer, more open than you’d ever seen it.

“All this time,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of something raw, something you weren’t used to seeing in him. “You’ve been drivin’ me crazy, and I thought—” He stopped himself, his lips curving into a small, rueful smile. “I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

You felt a wave of relief crash over you, the weight of your unspoken feelings finally lifting. “I couldn’t stand being around you,” you admitted with a nervous laugh, “because every time I was, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, like a quiet rumble from deep in his chest. He took another step closer, his hand reaching up, this time closing the distance and gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm, his fingers rough but careful as they lingered there.

“Well, now I know why you kept avoiding me,” he muttered, his smirk softening into something more tender. “Guess I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter in your chest as you looked up at him, the tension between you shifting into something deeper, something that felt like it had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to come to light.

“So... what now?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with something unreadable, but his smile stayed, slow and easy. “Now?” he murmured, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Now…I would really like to kiss you.”

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours for a heartbeat, waiting, giving you the chance to pull away—but you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in, your heart racing as his lips finally pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment he thought he’d never have.

The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, but it didn’t take long for the heat between you to build, the months of longing and tension finally breaking through. When you pulled away, your breath shaky, Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Should’ve told me sooner,” he muttered, his voice low, teasing but soft.

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “Yeah, well... better late than never, right?”

Logan smirked, his fingers brushing through your hair. “Right.”

[redflagshipwriter]

Snitches the cat and his favorite bat

I wrote up dpxdc fics based off of prompts I happened to see in the last day to add to the reading pile for anyone who didn't prep for the archive down time today.

EDIT

The idea for Danny as a cat came from @shycorvid, thank you so much for correcting me and letting me play in your sandbox!

Snitches the cat comes from @garbagewith-a-cherryontop (I think??? I couldn't find a definite first post!) but the fantastic linked post is the one with how I think Snitches the cat looks here.

Word count is 1053.

Tumblr reference

masterpost for my AO3 downtime fics

“Ugh- that's not- did we just summon a demon cat?”

“It's so messed up looking. Ew.”

Danny blinked and swayed on his feet. He'd had a tail a minute ago, speeding across the GZ to check in on Walker. There had been an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. And now he was on his feet. All four of them.

Wait, what?

“You fucked this up.”

His ears twitched at the sound of a slap. Danny swiveled towards the sound and then got distracted by the feeling of his ears swiveling back. Whaaaaat?

He looked down at his precious little feeties. They were adorable paws.

“Oh, you motherfuckers,” he said. It came out as a conversational yowl.

The humans looked at him from about ten feet away and five feet up. “Annoying…”

He was pretty sure they were high schoolers. There were five of them, two girls and three boys. They were all bigger than him. High schoolers were usually bigger than he was, but this was just ridiculous.

“Count yourself lucky, dimwits,” one of the older kids said. He took a step towards Danny. Danny pressed his ears flat against his head and hissed at the approach. “If you managed to sacrifice Patches to a demon, your Mom would straight up murder you.” He laughed when he said it, like anything about that was remotely funny.

Uh- what now?

Only now, Danny noticed a very distressed calico cat underneath a laundry basket on the other side of the room. There was a stack of textbooks weighing the basket down. A large rug had been rolled up and- he sneezed rapidly, eyes watering. Chalk! They'd drawn on the floor with chalk!

‘This is some incompetent summoning,’ Danny realized, way too late. ‘Did they- how did they turn me into a cat?’ He looked at his unfortunate brethren under the laundry basket. Her ears were flat against her skull and she looked scared.

He remembered the word “sacrifice” and his blood flushed hit with fury. They'd wanted him to eat her! They'd wanted something to eat miss Patches!

The teenagers froze and looked at him, aghast at the angry sounds that were coming out of his throat.

“Shut up!” One hissed. She took off her shoe and threw it at him. Danny dodged and then threw his head back to yowl even louder. Sonic attack! Aural damage, you big jerks!

“The neighbors are going to- make it shut up!”

Danny had to run, dashing over furniture and tearing his way across a crowded table to avoid being grabbed. He screamed the whole time, eager to alert whoever they were so afraid of. Someone should see!

The window burst in.

Danny stopped running, shocked. He hadn't actually expected-

Someone snatched him up from behind and smacked him on the face with a palm. His jaw exploded with pain. It cut off his yowling.

Stunned. He was still for a moment and then he struggled for his life. The grip on his ribs was way too tight-

He looked over at the sound of a sword being pulled from a sheath. Holy shit, that was bomb as hell. His eyes went wide at the sight of a heavily armored small child crouched on the windowsill. The boy's eyes were covered, but Danny could still see him look at Danny and the poor calico under the laundry basket. He sneered.

“Unhand the cat or lose your hands at the wrist, you wretch.”

Danny loved him.

The teenager dropped him. Danny caught himself with a stumble. He let out a sad mraow before he could stop himself.

Fight club baby was enraged. “What have you done to this animal?” He hopped down into the room, revealing he was at least a foot shorter than the smallest girl in the room.

Danny trotted to him and started winding around his ankles admiringly. What a good kid! He purred.

“I will be taking both of your cats with me. If you ever harm an animal again, it will be your head that is found in a chalk-”

“Robin.” A hugeass grown man squeezed himself through the window that the kid had broken. Danny craned his head up, up, up, to see him case the joint.

The older man radiated incredible judgment. “I see that you require education on animal welfare and demonic summoning. Go on, Robin.”

“That's my Mom's cat!” One of the teenagers protested. “You can't take her!”

Robin growled at her. Danny jumped in his skin at the sound.

“Then we shall return it to your Mother and her alone, when we explain what you've done.” Danny let murder baby scoop him up and purred at full volume. Hell yeah. He looked at the cowering teenagers with condescension.

“Not that fugly thing.”

Danny blinked. He ended up making an inquisitive mraow. Why was a finger being pointed at him? He was baby.

“That thing showed up, you can get rid of it. But Patches is Mom's cat, and you can't steal a cat because-”

“Batman can steal any cat!” Robin bit out, gathered up Patches, and jumped out the window with both cats in an expert grip.

That didn't sound right, but Danny just enjoyed the night air as a line pulled Robin up to where yet another masked vigilante was waiting, cackling himself to tears.

“Batman can steal any cat,” he wheezed. “Brilliant. Good detour, Robin. Can I hold one?” He held out his blue-striped palms expectantly.

He faltered when he saw Danny, visibly surprised.

Danny… was starting to feel bad. He curled into Robin, hurt. He wasn't ugly. Why did people keep reacting to him weird?

“No,” Robin said curtly. “You have damaged his pride, and Patches is still reeling from her shock.”

The man let out a sigh but let the topic go. “That's Patches, and this is…?”

Robin hesitated. “He is the Snitch.”

That unlocked cooing. “Snitches? Snitchy Snitch Sni- ow!”

Danny snapped at the hand that came way too close and he let out a warning growl. No baby talk!

Robin seemed very pleased. He rubbed behind Danny's ears. “Snitch… I suppose that Snitches will suffice. We are taking him home.”

“....Maybe, just for fun, we should take him to get treated for mange first!” The guy made jazz hands to go with his statement.

Robin and Danny both growled that time.

[nhlclover]

CHRISTMAS MORNING JACK HUGHES

— event masterlist !

pairing: fem!reader x jack hughes

summary: a cozy christmas morning unfolds for yours and jacks family.

warnings: established relationship + family, you and jack having two kids, brief mention (blink and you miss it) of sex, kissing

wc: 2.59k

notes: final fic of my twelve days of christmas series!! so normally i don't like writing dad fics but this was too cute to not write and i got a little carried away with the world building lol

The first whispers of daylight nudged at the frost-tinged windows, and the faint glow of a winter sunrise spilled into the corners of your bedroom. Sleep was elusive for you and Jack last night. The excitement of Christmas kept your two little ones wide awake, and it took a while to finally coax them into bed. Once they were peacefully asleep, you and Jack spent the next hour arranging presents under the tree, carefully crafting the illusion that Santa had visited your living room in the quiet hours of the night.

The dim light of dawn filtered in, teasing the edges of consciousness. Everything was peacefully silent… until it wasn’t. A cacophony of squeals and laughter accompanies the patter of small feet that gets louder and louder. Before you can even form a coherent thought, the sound of your bedroom door bursting open and hitting the wall pierces the quiet, followed by two bodies hurtling onto the bed with unbridled glee.

“Santa came! Santa came!” Ellie’s voice, sharp and jubilant, rings out like a bell, while Grayson’s higher-pitched laughter trails behind her declaration. Their small hands tug at the covers, and with them, any last shred of warmth and sleep you hoped to cling to.

Jack stirred beside you, his groggy groan muffled by a pillow he had instinctively tried to use as a shield. You glanced at the side table, the digital clock reading 7:28. You squint against the dim light and see Elliott bouncing on her knees, her strawberry-blonde curls wild from sleep, her eyes wide with the wonder of a five-year-old on Christmas morning. Beside her, Grayson is less coordinated but no less enthusiastic, flopping down on Jack’s chest before scrambling up again to pull at his arm.

“Up, Daddy!” Grayson exclaims, his chubby toddler hands gripping Jack’s wrist as if sheer determination will pull his father from the depths of exhaustion.

Jack tossed the pillow shielding his face to the side, turning towards you. His hair tousled in a way that made him look effortlessly boyish despite the years. Jack’s voice, thick with sleep but carrying a soft smile, rumbled through the early-morning chaos. “You hear that? Santa came,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple.

“Mommy, you have to come see!” Ellie insisted, her excitement bubbling over as she crawled up the bed, clambering over your body. She leaned perilously close to your face, her freckled nose inches from yours. “There’s a HUGE one under the tree! It’s got a gold bow and red wrapping and I think it’s for me!”

Grayson, not to be outdone, shifted his efforts from Jack to you. He pulled the duvet off of your torso, the air outside the bed’s cocoon biting against your skin where the covers had been yanked away. “Come, Mommy, hurry!” His blue eyes, so much like Jack’s, sparkled with the kind of joy that only a three-year-old could summon.

You sighed, a mixture of amusement and resignation, and began to prop yourself up on your elbows. Jack, catching the motion out of the corner of his eye, placed a hand lightly on your shoulder, his warm fingertips a contrast to cold air outside the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice still heavy with sleep but carrying an undercurrent of tenderness. “You stay, I’ll get the coffee going. You can take your time.”

The thought was tempting, but Ellie’s insistent tugging had grown more urgent. “Mommy, pleeease! You have to see it! Santa ate all the cookies, and—” she paused for dramatic effect, her eyes widening. “—there are glittery reindeer footprints on the rug!”

“Okay, okay,” Jack said, his tone halfway between indulgence and resignation. “How about a deal? You two go check under the tree — make sure Santa didn’t leave anything behind — and I’ll start making breakfast.” He glanced at you, his blue eyes soft with a silent promise of a few stolen moments of peace. “Mommy will be right behind you. Deal?”

Elliott pouted for half a second before nodding solemnly, the gravity of the proposal weighing on her like a proper contract. “Deal! Come on, Gray!” She scrambled off the bed with impressive speed, dragging her brother by the hand as they bolted for the door, their laughter echoing down the hall.

The sudden quiet was almost deafening. Jack sighed, rubbing a hand across his stubbled jaw as he glanced at you, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That bought us, what — five minutes?” he joked, leaving the warmth of the bed with a reluctant groan. The sheets slipped away to reveal the lean, sleep-warm lines of his torso.

Your gaze lingered on him as he stretched, his movements slow and fluid, the soft light tracing the sharp lines of his shoulders and the taut planes of his back. There was something about the unguarded ease of mornings like these — the way his hair stuck up slightly at odd angles, the curve of his mouth as he let out a contented sigh, and the way his skin held the remnants of sleep’s warmth.

Jack reached for the pair of sweats draped over the chair by the window, the muscles in his arms shifting as he stepped into them. You felt a familiar tug in your chest, that quiet, magnetic pull of affection mixed with admiration. It wasn’t just his physicality, though that certainly caught your attention—it was the unassuming way he carried himself, the effortlessness with which he balanced the roles of husband and father, and somehow still managed to look like a scene from a romantic film first thing in the morning.

As he tossed on a hoodie, Jack caught you watching, a corner of his mouth quirking into a knowing smile as he brushed a hand through his hair.

“See something you like?” he teased, his voice low and playful.

You rolled your eyes, though the curve of your lips betrayed you. “Just wondering how you manage to look that good on no sleep,” you said, your tone light but honest.

He chuckled, crossing the room to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat. “Must be a Christmas miracle.” he joked.

Jack crossed the room, shutting the door softly behind him. You sank back into the pillows for a moment, listening to the distant sound of childish giggles and screeches as your kids no doubt were scanning the bags and boxes to figure out which gifts were for them. The corner of your lips lifted as you pictured the scene awaiting you—a tree lit with soft, golden lights, stockings bursting with trinkets, and two wide-eyed children tearing into the carefully wrapped gifts with all the patience of a wild storm.

Pulling yourself from the cozy embrace of the duvet, you slipped your legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing against the cool hardwood. You reached for the flannel Christmas pajamas Jack had tugged off you last night in a quiet moment of intimacy when the house finally stilled, the soft fabric a buffer against the morning chill. You padded to the bathroom, running a brush through your hair until it framed your face in somewhat manageable waves. A quick splash of water on your face, teeth brushed, and you were as ready as you could be for the whirlwind downstairs.

The air smelled faintly of coffee as you descended the stairs, the creak of the wooden steps masked by the symphony of excited whispers and the occasional shriek of joy. Peering into the living room, you caught sight of Elliott and Grayson darting around the tree like two joyful fireflies, their small hands flipping over tags on the presents.

“Gray! This one says ‘To Grayson, Love Santa!’” Ellie shouted, holding up a package wrapped in bright red paper adorned with tiny reindeer.

Grayson’s eyes widened as he reached for it, though Jack, stepping in with his mug of coffee, quickly intercepted. “Not yet, buddy. Stockings first. Rules are rules.”

He glanced up as you entered, his face softening into that effortless smile you loved so much. “Just in time, your mugs on the counter.”

You swiped the mug from the island, indulging in the bitterness. “Mommy, hurry!” Ellie called from the living room, already tugging at the corner of her stocking. Grayson was next to her, arms deep in his own stocking, pulling out a small car with a delighted squeal.

You joined them, sitting cross-legged on the floor as you helped the kids unpack their stockings. Small toys, chocolates, and even a few practical gifts — like socks — were met with equal excitement.

After stockings, you and Jack quickly whipped up pancakes, eggs, and bacon while the kids played with the toys they’d received in their stockings. At the table, the kids barely sat still, vibrating with excitement as they ate just enough to be excused. The table was cleared quickly, plates rinsed and stacked, and then it was time for the main event.

You and Jack settled onto the couch, mugs in hand, as Elliott and Grayson dove headfirst into the pile of presents under the tree. Wrapping paper flew in all directions, accompanied by shrieks of joy as each wish list item was uncovered. A Barbie dreamhouse for Ellie. A set of dinosaur figurines for Grayson. A remote-controlled car. A glittery art kit. You and Jack exchanged amused glances, your hearts full as you watched their unfiltered joy.

Jack leaned close, his arm brushing against yours as he whispered, “This is my favorite part.”

“Mine too,” you replied softly, watching the kids with a warmth that spread through your chest.

After what felt like hours of watching the kids revel in their treasures, Jack stood and walked over to the tree. He crouched down, sifting through the remaining gifts before pulling out a small box wrapped in silver paper. Turning to you with a boyish grin, he said, “This one’s for you. From me.”

You raised an eyebrow, setting your coffee aside as you accepted the box. “Is this something I can open in front of the kids?” you teased, giving him a playful smirk.

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Yes, you can open it in front of the kids. I promise.”

The kids crowded around you, their faces alight with curiosity. You peeled back the paper, revealing a plain black jewelry box. Your heart skipped as you flipped it open — only to reveal not a necklace or earrings, but a single car key. Your eyes widened, disbelief etched across your face as you glanced from the key to Jack. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Jack said, his grin widening as he motioned towards the front door. “Go look in the driveway.”

The kids were on their feet before you, racing to the door with cries of “What is it? What is it?” trailing behind them. You followed, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. You slipped on your uggs, opened the door and stepped on the porch, the cold morning air rushing against your cheeks, though you didn’t really notice.

Because there, in your driveway, was a brand-new Cadillac Escalade parked in the driveway, its polished black exterior gleaming in the sunlight. A massive red bow sat proudly on the hood, the ribbon fluttering slightly in the breeze.

You froze, your brain struggling to process what your eyes were telling you. Jack was at your side now, his hands resting casually in his pockets, his expression one of quiet pride. “Jack,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, “did you seriously buy me a new car?”

He grinned, his gaze steady. “You were due for an upgrade. And you deserve the best, always.”

You turned to him, your heart so full it threatened to burst. “I — Jack, this is too much. It’s gorgeous.”

He shrugged, his tone light. “It’s got room for the kids, especially since they’re growing and Ellie just started hockey… And, y’know…” He paused, his eyes sparkling with a teasing glint. “Extra space. In case we want to expand the roster.”

The implication hung in the crisp air for a moment before you burst into laughter, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re welcome,” he replied, leaning in to kiss your temple.

Jack intercepted both Ellie and Grayson before they ran out in their socks, helping them into their winter boots. The kids’ squeals of excitement broke the moment as they darted down the steps of the porch toward the car, their tiny boots crunching against the frost-dusted driveway.

Ellie, impatient as ever, tugged at the door handle but stopped short when she realized it was locked. “Mommy, you have the key!” she hollered, hopping up and down in place.

You hurried down the steps, the car key still clutched in your hand. With a click of the key fob, the Escalade’s lights flashed and the doors unlocked. Ellie let out a triumphant cheer, yanking the door open with all the strength her five-year-old frame could muster. “It’s HUGE!” she exclaimed, climbing inside and sprawling across the back seat.

Grayson toddled after her, his shorter legs struggling to hoist him into the car. Jack reached down and gave him a boost, settling him beside Ellie.

Jack turned to you with a raised brow. “What do you think? Roomy enough?” His tone was casual, but you could see the hope in his expression, the eagerness to hear your thoughts.

You took a slow step forward, running your hand over the smooth, glossy paint. “Jack… it’s incredible. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you love it,” he replied, leaning casually against the car with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. His smile was easy, but there was a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes that told you how much thought he’d put into this moment.

“I love it,” you said, your voice soft with sincerity. “But I love you more.”

His smile deepened, and he pulled you into a quick hug, his arms warm and steady around you. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Ellie’s voice interrupted the moment as she leaned into the front of the car. “Daddy! It has a screen! And buttons!” She pointed to the touch screen in the center console, her small fingers hovering over it like it was a treasure chest of untold riches. “Can I push one?”

“Not yet, El,” Jack said with a laugh. “Let’s figure out what they do first, okay?”

Grayson clambered into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “I drive!” he announced, his voice filled with authority.

“Oh no you don’t, buddy,” you said, opening the driver's seat door and scooping him up before he could start pressing buttons. He giggled as you twirled him in the air, placing him in the back beside Ellie.

Jack leaned against the car, watching the kids explore with the fascination only children could bring to something new. “I can already see this thing covered in crumbs and sticky fingerprints by the end of the week,” he joked, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You laughed, leaning into him. “Probably.”

Jack wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both watched the kids giggle and chatter excitedly. The car was beautiful, but it was this moment — the shared joy, the love that radiated from your little family — that made it priceless.

You turned to Jack, resting a hand against his chest. “You spoil me, you know that?”

“Just giving you what you deserve,” he replied, his voice soft with affection.

“Careful,” you teased, “you’re setting the bar pretty high for next Christmas.”

Jack grinned, leaning in to press a soft but loving kiss to your lips. “Good thing I like a challenge.”

[tacticaldiary]

A Fighting Chance

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.

And Simon...Simon feels like the rug's been pulled from under his feet.

Part 2, Masterlist,

"What're those?"

"Papers."

Ghost pauses halfway through opening the document, glancing up at the curtness of her voice. "Papers? She doesn't meet his eyes, gaze fixed on the table of the little booth they're sitting in.

The ice in her drink is long gone, watering down her coffee into something that tastes as bitter as her heart.

It had taken months for her to finally make this decision. Days of talking with her lawyer, crying alone at night and coming to the gruelling acceptance that this was for the best. It was best for both of them.

There's not many things that unsettle Simon. He's had blood stain his hands; his own, his comrades, and his enemies. Had almost any injury you could think of marring his skin, been prodded and ripped into, been the one on the opposite end of the knife.

But as he slides out the documents, turns them over, Simon's never felt more apprehensive.

He stills, reading the first few lines, clenching his jaw. "What is this?"

"I want a divorce."

And something in him crumbles at her defeated tone. Like she's already decided. Like he doesn't even have a chance to ask why or talk it through.

"No." He says tightly, putting them down and crossing his arms.

Her gaze shoots to his. "You can't just say that."

"I did. I won't sign them."

"I want this." She argues, and Simon swallows back the lump in his throat at how utterly tired she looks.

"I don't."

She's the light of his life, the one good, untouched piece of joy he gets to see. Something other than the bloodshed and violence he lives in.

"Simon," She says, shoulders sagging forward. "I can't do this anymore."

"This isn't the solution, love." He feels like his skin is crawling, the beginnings of unfamiliar panic clawing at his chest when she doesn't react to the pet name.

Doesn't smile, doesn't flush that beautiful red, doesn't squirm.

When she doesn't respond again, tight-lipped and clammed up and so determined to not look at him, he asks the question burning a hole through his tongue.

"Why?"

Deep down he knows. Knew this was coming but that part of him is buried under the thudding of his heart, and the rush of blood in his ears. Everything feels deathly still and moving too fast at the same time.

"Why?" She repeats, something in her stirring at the question. Her brow furrows and she switches from a cautious indifference to disbelief and frustration quicker than Simon can process. "Are you serious?" She huffs out an incredulous laugh. "You're away for months at a time and I'm supposed to what? Wait for you at our doorstep and wag my tail all happy when you finally come back to me?" Her grip tightens on her drink.

"Even when you are home, it's never about us. Never about me and you. You lock yourself in your study with your work, don't talk to me unless you come out for dinner or lunch. When was the last time we went out?" She demands. "When was the last time we went on a date? The last time we slept at the same time in the same bed?"

Simon clenches his jaw but says nothing, at a loss for words. It only encourages her to keep going, spewing thoughts that have been boiling over for the past few years.

"You barely look at me when we're home, I had to drag you out of the house to get here! You left halfway through our anniversary dinner last year because work called you in. Sometimes...sometimes I feel like you're only with me because it's easier than leaving and starting over, and that fucking hurts. It hurts when you can't bear to spend five minutes with me away from work. I've been telling you this for ages but you just...you don't listen to me." She leans forward, drink completely forgotten and hits the final nail in the coffin.

"When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?" Her voice drops into something akin to defeat.

And Simon...Simon feels like the rug's been pulled from under his feet.

"I never even know if you're coming home to me." Her voice cracks, and she hugs her middle, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "So yes, Simon, I want to separate. I'm not happy, not like I was when I met you." A sheen of tears she refuses to let fall.

"You can focus on work like you love to, and I can...I can move on."

It was so good when they started out. She found him endearing, dry humour and brooding and all. It was special, those first few years, and she'll always care about him but this...this waiting, this hurting, laying in bed at night alone and cold and crying...it wasn't right. It wasn't what she wanted and she wouldn't force Simon to want it when he clearly didn't want to.

"Fucking hell, I love you." Simon says quickly, stumbling over what to say. He reaches out for her hand on the table, but she pulls it away before he can grab it. It stings more than he can convey, makes the reality crashes down onto him.

He's about to lose her.

Because he couldn't fucking bear to pull himself out of being 'Ghost'.

It was always a rough couple of weeks during his leave. The adjustment to civilian life was a slow one for him, but that's not really an excuse at all.

"I don't think you do."

Simon blinks at her like she's slapped him. "You...you don't think so?" He repeats, running a hand through his hair. She nods, one nod, quick and so sure that it makes his chest ache.

Fuck. He's absolutely messed up.

"Everything's finalised on my end." She says. "You just need to sign them." Her voice is soft, almost like she's coaxing him.

If there's one thing he knows, it's that he's not touching those fucking papers. He's not losing someone he loves again.

"I'll take time off." He says, the intensity of his gaze makes a shiver run down her spine. "We can work through it, yeah? You can't spring this on me and not give me a chance to protest."

She shakes her head, "You're only taking time off because I'm upset." She tries to explain. "What do you think is going to happen? We spend a month together doing what we used to, and when everything's a little more stable you leave again. Distance yourself. Shut me out. Then we're back to square one."

"Won't happen." He says like he hasn't been doing it for the past few years already. "You...I can't lose you, darling." He leans forward. "Let me make it better. Give me a few months-"

"Simon-"

"A week."

"A week?" Her eyes widen. "A week to...what, prove that you'll change?"

"One week."

She worries her lip between her teeth, considering. One week wasn't a long time, but hope was dangerous in a situation like this.

"I'm not letting you go over something like this." Simon says. "I can't."

"This isn't about you." She crosses her arms. "You really think you can turn just...reverse the past few years in a week?" Maybe it's foolish of her to want him to say yes, to fight for her and realise that she's been hurting, but goddamn doesn't a small part of her scream at him to do it anyway.

"Not trying to reverse it." He folds his arms, and she can see the tense line of his shoulders as he takes in the situation, gears turning in his head as he plans how he's going to work his way out of a situation so precious and daunting as this.

Part of him didn't think it would ever come to this. Yes, he can be cold and aloof but Simon thought she knew that he loved her through it all. No matter what.

When was the last time you kissed me and meant it?

Fuck if that doesn't tear through his chest more painfully than any caliber bullet ever could.

He takes her in quietly for a moment.

The woman he fell in love with. The person that gave him a reason to keep going, a motive to feel anything other than the cold efficientness of loading a gun and firing. Soft touches and warm smiles, something so at odds with the rough life he's used to.

Sitting there in front of him, she looks more beautiful than he remembers, and it only proves to make his stomach sink like a stone at the notion of seeding any doubt about his feelings in her heart.

A right fucking bastard he was for it.

"I'm sorry." He breathes out, much softer than the gruff voice he's been using with her. "I'll do better. Just give me a chance, yeah?"

For one horrible moment, Simon thinks she'll decline. That she'll slide over the papers again and demand he sign them.

But she considers his words for a moment before nodding once.

And it's all he needs.

A fighting chance.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

Part 2

(11/10/2023)

[thef1diary]

Seeing Carlos talk about knowing it’d be him exiting at some point, that they’d always choose Charles… you’d always choose Carlos, and you’d let him know, sparking that possessive streak he hides not so well, that possessive streak that has you pinned underneath him and taken over and over until your body is marked and ruined enough to believe in his heart and soul that you’d always choose him 🤭

~🫠

Always Yours | C. Sainz

— hi nonnie! I love this idea! I see you coming through with the Carlos reqs 🫡 !! did i shed a tear or two while writing this? Yes, but the second half made it all worth it.

warnings: 18+ content, hurt/comfort (but the comfort is smut), unprotected sex, lots of emotions.

wc: 2.4k

masterlist

© thef1diary. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

Carlos sat on the edge of the couch, the dim light from the setting sun casting long shadows across the room. He was soaking in the calm—the kind that felt more like stillness before a storm. 

Four years. Four years at a team that had been both an opportunity and a struggle. He wasn’t blind to the reality of it; they hadn’t valued him the way they should’ve, not for his level of talent, not for the hours of work, the sacrifices. Yet, the end still came too quickly, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. One day he was a key player, and the next, he wasn’t. They’d found someone better.

He wasn’t mad about it. Not anymore. How could he be? They’d chosen someone better, and how do you argue with that? He couldn’t. But it didn’t stop the sting, the blunt reminder that there would always be someone better. That he’d always be the second choice, the safe option until something—or someone—shinier came along. Now, he was caught in that strange, hollow space between what had been and what would be. Not part of his team anymore, but not officially welcomed by the next. Just… nowhere.

You entered the house quietly, the familiar click of your heels on the hardwood breaking the stillness. Something felt off the moment you stepped inside. The air was heavy, the kind of silence that sat uneasily in your chest.

He barely noticed when you walked in, too caught up in the spiral of his thoughts. Your shadowed figure showed up in his peripherals, but even then, his mind lingered on the weight pressing down on his chest. His team, his career—it all felt like a reflection of something deeper, something that bled into everything else in his life. 

Including you. 

When he finally looked at you, standing by the doorway of the living room with concern etched across your face, his stomach twisted. How could he not think it? The fear that settled in him like a second skin whispered relentlessly. What if he wasn’t enough for you, either? 

You were beautiful, brilliant—everything he’d dreamed of but never truly believed he deserved. And just like the team, you had a choice. There would always be someone better, someone who could…love you more. He hated the way the thought lingered, how the doubt stretched its tendrils from one part of his life to another, weaving itself into the cracks he couldn’t seem to seal. 

“Carlos?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, soft yet steady, pulling his gaze to you. He forced a smile, but it felt brittle, ready to crumble under the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

You stepped closer, your heels muffled now by the rug. His chest tightened as you knelt in front of him, your eyes scanning his face with a kind of tenderness he didn’t feel he deserved in that moment. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, but even to his own ears, it sounded hollow.

“Carlos,” you pressed, your voice firmer this time. Your hand rested lightly on his knee, grounding him in a way that both soothed and terrified him. “Please talk to me.”

He let out a heavy sigh, his head tipping forward as he tried to find the words. His gaze dropped to your hand on his knee, your thumb brushing gently against the fabric of his jeans, and his chest ached. You were so close, so present, and yet the doubts still lingered.

“They’ll always choose someone else,” he murmured finally, his voice low, almost resigned.

You frowned, your head tilting slightly. “Who?”

He shrugged, his lips pressing into a thin line as his thoughts swirled. “The team. People. It doesn’t matter how hard I work. I’ll never be… enough.”

The way he said it, the way his voice cracked ever so slightly, sent a shiver through you. But you caught it—the hesitation, the subtle way his eyes flickered to yours before darting away. He wasn’t just talking about the team.

“Carlos,” you said softly, your fingers tightening slightly on his knee. He still wouldn’t look at you, and that only made your heart ache more. “You don’t believe that. Not really.”

His laugh was bitter, a sharp, humorless sound that made your chest tighten. “Maybe I do. It’s just how it is, isn’t it? There’s always someone better. Someone who’s the first choice.”

The words hung heavy between you, and you could see it now—how his doubts about the team had spilled over, tainting the way he saw himself in every part of his life. Including the life he has with you.

Without thinking, you reached up, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look at you. His eyes were glassy, filled with a storm of emotions you could barely stand to see. “Carlos, stop.”

He blinked at you, startled by the firmness in your voice.

“I’d always choose you,” you said, the words clear and unwavering.

He froze, his breath hitching as the meaning of your words sank in. His eyes searched yours, desperate and unsure, as if he was trying to find some hidden meaning, some loophole. “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly, his voice thick with doubt.

“I do,” you said, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek. “It’s always been you for me. I love you and only you.” 

He exhaled sharply, the sound rough and almost broken. His hands moved on instinct, gripping your wrists as his gaze bore into yours. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice raw, almost pleading.

“I’d always choose you,” you repeated, leaning closer. “Over and over, Carlos. I don’t want anyone else.”

Carlos pulled you onto his lap, his hands firm on your waist as he brought you closer, close enough that your breath mingled with his, and your forehead rested against his. His eyes closed for a moment, his jaw clenching as if trying to hold back the torrent of thoughts that still raged within him.

He wanted to believe you. He wanted to take your words and hold them close, let them silence the insecurities that had been clawing at him all evening. But those thoughts—the ones that whispered of inadequacy, of being second best, of not being enough—they were loud. Too loud.

You could see it in his eyes when he opened them again, the flicker of doubt that he couldn’t quite hide. His lips parted, as if he was going to speak, but no words came. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze heavy with longing, with uncertainty, with fear.

“I don’t…” he started, his voice rough, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t let him finish. You couldn’t. Instead, you leaned in, silencing him with a kiss. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was everything you felt for him, all the love and devotion you couldn’t quite put into words. Your hands cupped his face, holding him steady as your lips moved against his, pouring everything you had into that single moment.

Carlos stilled at first, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, but then he kissed you back. Hard. Desperate. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you impossibly closer until there was no space left between you. It was a kiss that begged for reassurance, for proof that your words weren’t just fleeting promises.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads still pressed together. His eyes searched yours, wide and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“I love you,” you said again, your voice steady despite the way your heart was racing. “Only you, Carlos. Always you.”

“I love you too,” he finally murmured, his voice thick with emotion and just a flicker of hope breaking through the doubt. His hands tightened on your waist as if anchoring himself, grounding his belief in your words. He blinked rapidly, as though trying to chase away the tears pooling in his eyes, but he didn’t look away. Instead, his gaze hardened, a fierce intensity burning there that hadn’t been before.

“You’re mine,” he said, the words soft but laced with something unyielding, something absolute. His grip on you shifted, his hands sliding up to your back and pulling you flush against him. His forehead pressed against yours again, but this time, there was no hesitation. The possessiveness he’d always tried to keep hidden was spilling out, raw and unapologetic.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, firmer now, as though saying it would make it undeniably true.

His hands slid under your thighs, gripping you firmly as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms. Hearing you say you were his wasn’t enough—not now, not when his doubts still lingered like shadows in the back of his mind. He needed more. He needed to feel it, to see it, to make it impossible for either of you to deny.

He carried you through the house with purpose, the soft creak of the floorboards and the faint sound of your uneven breaths the only noises breaking the silence. When he reached the bedroom, he kicked the door shut behind him, not bothering to turn on the light. The darkness wrapped around the two of you like a cocoon, intimate and isolating, leaving nothing but the sound of your heartbeats pounding in tandem.

Carlos lowered you onto the bed with a tenderness that contrasted the storm brewing in his eyes. He hovered above you for a moment, his gaze roaming over your face, his chest rising and falling as though he were trying to steady himself. But then his head dipped, and his lips crashed into yours again, urgent and unrelenting. This wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim, one that left no room for doubt or hesitation.

His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you in place as his mouth moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath. Every movement, every touch, was filled with a raw desperation that made your chest tighten. He was pouring everything into this moment—his doubts, his fears, his love—and you felt it all.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and unsteady, as though he needed to hear the words as much as he needed to say them. “Only mine. No one else gets to have you.”

“I’m yours, Carlos,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “Always yours.”

Carlos didn’t need to hear anything else. The second the words left your lips, something inside him snapped. His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them with enough force to leave faint impressions on your skin as he parted them, slotting himself in between. 

His lips moved against yours with a renewed fervour, the kiss bruising, all-consuming, determined to leave no part of you untouched by him. 

He pushed your dress up, his hands following every inch of skin he had committed to his memory for months. His mouth followed the path of his fingers, teeth grazing and tongue soothing as he left a trail of marks along your neck, your collarbone, your chest. Each one was a statement, a reminder of his place in your life, a way to silence the nagging voice in his head that told him he wasn’t enough.

His hands left your body for just a moment, long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. The sight of him—every ridge of muscle, every freckle that you’d traced with your eyes a hundred times before—made your breath hitch. He made quick work of the rest of his clothes, the urgency in his movements making it clear he couldn’t bear even a second longer without being inside you.

When he returned to you, his bare skin pressing against yours, the heat of him was almost overwhelming. His lips claimed yours again, and as he guided himself to your pussy, he paused only long enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze searing, his jaw clenched with the effort of holding himself back.

Then when you nodded, he thrusted into you, and everything else ceased to matter. The fullness of him stole the air from your lungs, the stretch of him pushing you to your limits, leaving no part of you untouched.

Carlos set a rhythm that was anything but gentle, his hips snapping against yours with an intensity that sent shivers through your body. Each thrust was deep, deliberate, as though he was determined to carve himself into you, to leave no room for doubt about who you belonged to.

“Look at me,” he groaned, his voice rough and unsteady as he leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours. “I want to see it—see how you’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, almost overwhelmed by the force of his love, his desperation. “Always yours, Carlos. Always.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest at your words, and his pace quickened, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, your thighs, your waist—everywhere he could touch to remind himself that you were here, with him, for him.

His mouth found your neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sinking in lightly, leaving another mark to join the others. “Mine,” he growled, his voice hoarse as his lips moved down to your collarbone, then your chest, claiming every inch of you with his mouth, his hands, his body. “No one else gets this. No one else gets to touch you, to hear you like this, to feel you like this.”

The possessiveness in his tone, the way his body pressed into yours as though trying to meld you together, sent you spiraling. Your body tightened around him, your cries rising in pitch as you fell apart beneath him, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Carlos didn’t stop, even as you trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. He needed more—needed to feel you come undone for him again and again until every part of you bore his mark, until there was no question in his mind or yours about who you belonged to, who you loved.

“Again,” he murmured against your skin, his voice dark, commanding. His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, making you jolt, your body tightening around him once more. “I want to feel you again, mi amor. I want to feel you fall apart for me, just for me.”

And you did—again and again, until he was satisfied with the marks he left on your delicate skin, until the lingering shadows of doubt in his mind faded, and he could believe, without question, that you were his alone—that your love for him was unshakable, enduring, and meant to last forever.

[bunny-jpeg]

hi bunny, just got broken up with so anything to fix a broken heart would be amazing but highly need Lando Norris to be the situation.

Maybe best friends to lovers, kinky kinky good shit

heartbreak heaven

lando norris

tags: smut & fluff, friends-to-lovers, jealousy, sweet talk, break ups

a/n: i'm so sorry about that anon! break-ups are always the hardest, but i promise it does get a lot better! i hope you love this fic and maybe it soothes some of the ache from the heartbreak! i gave it a mix of romantic, fluffy, smutty goodness! - word of advice: chocolate is a great medicine for a heartbreak!

"that's crazy! i can't believe he did that." lando said as he leaned over and grabbed another tissue from the box on the coffee table, "we should kill him."

you looked at him, unamused as you took the tissue from him, "not funny, lando." you remarked as you wiped your eyes, "i can't believe he did that. he just up and left, he said that he could do it anymore. do what? am i that bad of a catch?" you huffed as you balled up the tissue, "stupid prick."

"ah well, his loss." he remarked. he was comfortable next to you on the couch with his arm draped over the back of it, "you'll get 'em next time, tiger."

you leaned up against him and exhaled deeply, "thanks, lando. nice to have a friend like you." then let out a small chuckle.

lando let you lay up against him and threw an arm around you. he sighed, "yeah... friend."

you had known lando for a while, since the karting days. your older brother was a racer, and while he didn't make it pro, you still remained closed to lando. you two were the same age and it was a a simple friendship. except lando didn't see it that way, when he was younger he never thought about happily ever afters and marriage. but, when you were around, even when you cheered on your brother, lando thought about you being mrs. norris. but time wasn't kind to him and after what felt like a dozen boyfriends, you were once again in lando's arms with tears in your eyes.

"you can do better." he said lowly, "so much better, you have no idea." he leaned in a little closer, his arm snaked around you, "how about someone who knows what the hell they're doing. to make you feel special, to please you."

"like oscar?" you asked a little oblivious.

lando sighed before he looked you in the eyes, "no... like me." before he captured your lips in his and wrapped both arms around you shoulders.

when he pulled away, he looked at you once more. and you stared back at him with shocker, "what!?" you asked and he felt heat in his cheeks.

"i can explain-"

you pulled him in for a tight kiss once more before you held onto his shoulders tightly. you felt the excitement through both of your bodies, he pressed his forehead up against yours with his eyes closed before he asked, "bedroom?"

lando know the layout of your flat like the back of his hand. he took you by the hand and led you towards your bedroom. he flicked on the lights and you led him further into your domain. the white rug, the string lights, the soft bed with the stuffed animals on it, which included a stuffed dog that he picked up for you while overseas.

"you look good you know, even with all your runny make up." he joked, "in order to really love a girl you gotta see her in her most comfortable." it didn't help that you were in sleeping shorts and a mclaren t-shirt (another gift from lando). and then started to get his t-shirt off. you did the same to your own shirt, lando eyed the shape of your body under the t-shirt.

you looked away for a moment and asked, "does it look bad?"

lando shook his head, "oh, no way. you look.... beautiful. what the fuck were these guys thinking? obviously a waste of a beautiful woman." his hands went to the belt on his black jeans, "i have a theory, that when a guy sees a woman as beautiful as you. they get intimidated. scared little boys." he chuckled.

"because you were always scared to ask me out?"

lando nodded, "yeah, but... i can't help myself anymore. if i see you with one more guy, i'm going to crash my car into them... i want you." he practically fell to his knees in front of you while you sat on the bed. he placed a large hand on your thigh, "i can't take it anymore, i want you. i need you. i want to be with you."

you took him by the face and gazed into his beautiful eyes. you ran your thumb across his bottom lip and nodded, "then after this.. you show me all the other ways a proper man should treat a woman."

lando took you by the hand and pushed your wrist up against his face, he exhaled deeply and said, "of course... every way i can."

you both were soon up by the pillows, lando's large hands on you as he held onto your shoulders to kiss you. the kiss was heavy, near bruising on your lips. the bed shifted under the both of you as you stripped of your clothes. you were left bare for lando as he felt up your skin.

he took in the sight of you, enough distance to admire your face and body, you looked heavenly, like a divine being. laid out on the soft covers of your bed. the male species must be a bunch of goddamn idiots. he laid you out on the bed, he admired your beauty as he felt you up. he swallowed and said, "beautiful, you know that right? beauty beyond words." then laughed a little as he captured your lips with his once more.

"please, lando." you reached over into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom, "no ifs, ands, or buts." and lando took it happily. it was quite erotic seeing lando put on a condom. it arose something in you, you couldn't quite put into words. and then when he was back between your legs once more. you smiled up at him and said, "you look good with one on."

"better safe than sorry." he remarked, "now, relax... i've been waiting for this for a long, long time." his childhood friend, his first crush, was now under him on her bed all spread out and perfect for him. one hand on his cock and another on your hip, he slowly sank into you and felt a shudder through his body. it felt hot, very hot.

"how does it feel?" you asked, for a moment you were self conscious. you knew that lando could have any woman he wanted, there were tons of grid bunnies, models and beyond who would die for a piece of lando. it made you feel a little self conscious in yourself.

"how does it feel? it feels amazing, fuck. you feel as good as you look. holy shit." he chuckled softly, "you have no idea what you do to me. all the times i thought about you. yearned for you. the longest crush i've ever had." he said as he held your hips and continued to move against you.

"no need to flatter me, lando. you already have me." then yelped when lando hiked your hips up a little bit.

lando chuckled as he moved against you faster, "i love when you say that, how that sounds on your tongue. your sweet voice telling me that i have you. but call me greedy, beautiful, because i want all of you." his pace quickened and he leaned in further towards you.

"fuck, lando." you groaned. you wondered where he learned those words. you felt the shudder through you as the pleasure continued to course through you, the patter of your heart grew as he continued to love you.

"that's it, angel. that's it." he groaned as he rutted against you, "jesus christ, you're beautiful. you have no idea what you do to me. fuck, i could name all the times i saw you and my jaw dropped."

"flirt." you moaned.

"only for you, angel." he said as he continued to move, his pace was rather feverish the more he needed you. you held onto his shoulders and he loved the feeling of your nails in his tanned shoulders. it only made him yearn for you more as he rutted against you. he could feel the heat in his cheeks and the pleasure cloud his thoughts.

it was hard to think of much else when he was buried in his sweet cunt. your cunt made him wild as he moved. he wanted more, no, he needed more. more of you, more of his first and only crush. no matter how many trophies he won, to have you in his arms was worth more than that.

he kissed you once more, and you held his face. you tried to meet his pace as his cock worked inside of you. it was hot between you two, you could feel the heat at your temples as you kept your legs up to keep him fucking you.

you tensed up at the feeling, at his words. when he pulled away from the kiss, you two gazed at one another. you didn't think that you'd ever be with lando, but there he was. he gazed at you with a heated want as the two of you continued to move against one another. it felt electric, hot in a way that made your core swirl.

he was erotic, painfully hot. you felt the pleasure grow in your body. it was something else, a totally different feeling. you groaned, "fucking hell, lando."

lando beamed down at you and continued to fuck you. the kisses continued soon after and he felt the fire in his gut from the want from you. you were beyond perfect, he knew that. the way your pussy took him left him hungry for more.

"you're amazing." he said lowly, "so perfect."

"not as perfect as you." you said as you kissed him on the cheek, your hands in his hair as the two of you fucked against one another with a heated passion. the fire between the both of you as you two rutted against one another.

the pleasure only bloomed in your gut as he moved against you and you moved against him. you moved together in a sort of harmony. a perfect pace of one another as the pleasure moved through both of you. it felt like heaven and it made your toes curl at the feeling.

it didn't take much longer before you held onto him and came around his cock. your cutn clenched around his cock and he rutted against you further. the two of you moved against one another heavily. the pleasure only crashed over you, and then soon after it crashed over him and he came inside of the condom. he groaned into your shoulder as he finished. you held onto him closely and the two of you continued to move against one another.

he groaned against your skin and felt the fire in his soul. it felt amazing, and as he slowed to a stop. he admired you. he saw the expression on your face and your features, the same features he loved growing up. the two of you kissed one another before lando laid in bed beside of you. he held your face when he kissed you again.

you giggled against him then pulled away. you two looked at one another and you wrapped an arm around him. you asked, "how was that?"

"oh perfect." he chuckled as he held your face, "beyond perfect." he looked at you closely and felt a sense of relief in his body. he kissed you once more then said, "i want you for the rest of my life."

and who were you say no? <3

[jenomi]

this has got to be the worst day ever. nothing has gone in jaemin's favor today.

he kept missing steps during practice, prolonging practice for the rest of the boys. despite them telling him "it's okay" and them reassuring him that it happens, jaemin still felt bad for keeping his members from their plans after practice. he could also tell that the members were starting to get frustrated too, everyone falling quiet and focusing on the choreo. mark and jeno softly give jaemin advice, and all jaemin can do is nod in gratitude.

also, this morning he woke to the pleasure of one of the Lu triplets' chewing at his favorite rug in the living room. he scolded them before inspecting the damage and seeing that it couldn't be saved. he couldn't hide this corner, since the two corners hidden under the couch are also chewed up. normally, this wouldn't bother jaemin as he loves his babies and he knows they're just cats at the end of the day, but he felt especially bothered and upset by this today. it should've been a sign for how the day would go.

to top it all off, jaemin spilled his coffee down his pants as the lid of his coffee wasn't secured. luckily, he had a spare pair of pants in his bag, but it didn't make him feel any better.

"let's call it for today," mark tells the choreographer and the group.

'thank you's and 'good job today's are said across the room as jaemin sighs looking at his phone. of course, it doesn't recognize his face, adding to jaemin's irritation for the day.

upon opening his phone, he receives a message from you:

my princess 💝👑: hi baby! i hope your practice is going well and you had an amazing day ^~^ love u

jaemin hasn't been able to speak to you all day from how busy he was, he realized you don't know how shitty his day has been. he gets in his car, and starts driving autopilot to your place.

when you hear the beeping of someone entering the code to your door, you tense up in a quick panic and look towards your door.

"it's me," you hear the familiar voice of your boyfriend jaemin as the door opens.

"jaeminnie!" you exclaim getting up from the couch to greet him. you help him take off his jacket before giving him a kiss and pulling him into a hug. "how was your day?"

"not great..." jaemin mumbles into your neck. you try to let go of the embrace to read his face, but jaemin hugs you tighter. he needs this.

after he lets go, you grab his hand and lead him to the couch. you pull him to lay his head on your chest and rub his back and neck to comfort him. with the way jaemin's hugging you back, you know he needed this more than anything else right now.

"what happened?" you whisper into his hair.

jaemin only responds with a hum. you know he'll tell you when he's ready, but right now he just needs to be here with you in your arms. because every time he is, all his worries fade to grey and he can forget about everything outside of this. you are his comfort person, his escape, his home.

[jasvtsc]

favorite lollipop

you were laying on the bed, flipping pages in some fancy fashion magazine, rocking your feet back and forth while sucking on a strawberry lollipop. you were wearing white panties and a short top in the same color because of how stuffy it was in the room.

ben emerged from the bathroom, only wearing his boxers and already blowing a cloud of smoke from his joint, a displeased scowl on his rugged but totally fucking handsome face.

“fuck me. this fuckin’ weather is insane. it wasn’t so fuckin’ hot back in my day in the middle of fuckin’ october. my balls are already fuckin’ sweating for fuck sake,” he grunted while you lost the count of fucks already on the second one.

“global warming,” you hummed, the lollipop leaving your lips with a loud pop, which was enough to gather his attention.

he raised his brows, appreciating the view of your barely covered ass he was pounding barely an hour ago, and hummed to himself. but then he grumbled again and clicked his tongue, taking a hit.

“global warming, my ass. just a fancy panties fuckass name a bunch of pussies came up with,” and you just rolled your eyes, not in the mood for lecturing him about it. you already tried and this guy was worse than a goddamn mule.

“it’s an actual thing, ben,” you sighed, putting the lollipop back in your mouth.

he scoffed once again and approached the bed, hovering over you, joint hanging from the corner of his mouth as he crossed his arms on his muscular chest.

“don’t get smart with me or i’ll actually fuck you in the ass,” he pointed his finger at you, while you rolled on your back, letting the lolly out with an obnoxious pop.

“that a threat?” you grinned innocently, tilting your head to the side.

he smirked and scoffed, taking a good look and almost immediately noticing your nipples hardening under the fabric of your satin top. he inhaled from the joint, keeping it in his lungs for a moment and then exhaling while shamelessly palming his growing erection.

“keep playin’ with that fuckin’ candy like that and the next thing you’re gonna have in your mouth will be my cock,” he growled and the way you licked your lips made him twitch. “you’re a fuckin’ tease.”

“and you love it,” you hummed and then giggled, provocatively sucking on the lollipop.

soon enough, you were bopping your head up and down, tears gathering in your eyes and your panties already having a damp spot. he was fucking your mouth, your hair in a firm grip of his fist as he moved your head however he pleased. he groaned in contentment each time your nose hit his pelvis, your saliva dripping down his thick length as you kept drooling.

after what felt like eternity, he stilled your head and pulled away with a devilish grin.

“now, open your mouth babydoll and swallow like the good girl that you are,” he cooed mockingly, watching you lick your swollen lips covered in drool and precum. then, you eagerly opened them again and he spilled his warm seed on your tongue. “and you better fuckin’ swallow this time,” he added, quickly pushing your chin up and keeping your mouth covered with his rugged palm to make sure that not even a drop left your pretty lips.

looking up at him, you swallowed his creamy essence to which he smiled and began stroking your hair.

“such a good girl. always doing such a good job, sucking her favorite lollipop. but the next time, daddy’s cum gonna go in a different hole to keep you all warm. you like that? you like being a dirty little girl, dripping with daddy’s cum?” he snarled, stroking your lower lip with his thumb.

and you just nodded eagerly, feeling your panties stick to your soaked pussy.

[bbokicidal]

"What Happens When..." | [SKZ] OT8 | [HAN]

Han allows himself to indulge in the fantasy of letting his group members use you like a toy.

Genre: Smut [18+ MDNI] Pairing: Han x Fem!Reader Warnings: Dub-con!!, reader says things like "wait," and "hold on," etc., inning/pushing/shoving, manhandling, fingering, unprotected sex, one big ol orgy, etc.

Notes: This IS a short fic and isn't anything really long. There's no plot - it's purely smut for your viewing pleasure and my mental peace, lol. also - the middle pic?? GOOD GAWD,,,

Word Count: 1.2K

Divider by @enchanthings

"She likes when you're rough." Jisung's voice peeps from somewhere in the back of the group following down the hallway of your apartment. At the front, and currently being held tight by two of the men your boyfriend was close friends with (and whom you adored), you stumble over your own feet on the way to the bedroom. "So you guys can go all out. Just - no breaking her, yeah?"

You shift in the hold of the men guiding you along, voice wavering in both excitement and uncertainty. "Nobody told me we were doing this today --" You can't help the giggle that escapes your lips, willingly letting them push you towards the bed.

"Hold her down."

It's not your boyfriend's voice you hear from behind you - but the leader of the group; Gruff, gritty with need. He huffs out from beside where you trip over the rug at the end of your bed, body hitting the mattress harder than intended. Chan's chuckling, one hand holding tightly to the fabric of your pajama top and pinning your chest down to the sheets when you begin to wriggle. "Stay still, angel, and this'll be a lot easier."

"Jesus..." Someone else from behind begins to mutter to himself. The voice lower, paired with the hand running over your thigh and tugging down your shorts to expose your dripping hole to them, gives away that it's Felix. Always eager and quite full of energy, he's almost instantly grabbing and kneading at your ass before you have to chance to move - but he does take the initiative to spank you when you wiggle too much under their holds. If you'd glanced back you would've seen just how much you affected him, rock hard and almost whimpering from how badly he wanted to get at you already.

"Jisung..--" Your voice breaks in your throat and you can hear your boyfriend giggling off to the side.

The hand currently keeping you from pushing yourself up - pinning your wrists behind your back - tightens it's grip on your soft skin. It belongs to Jeongin, who lets his body slowly lean down to the side so he can peer into your eyes when your head tips his direction. He watches as you shift to get a better look at him, whispering out, "Innie--"

But he shakes his head, a knowing smile overtaking dimpled cheeks. "Sorry, sweetheart. But I'm just as excited as they are and... if you're going to make it harder for us, then we'll just have to take matters into our own hands."

"Come on," Someone grips at your hips where they lay on the bed, palms warm and heavy before his fingers wrap around the bone and pull harshly upward. Your weight shifts, neck straining and brows crinkling when you settle on your knees - and your grimace only hardens when two fingers slip right into your pussy with such ease. His thumb slides down between your folds until he finds the soft bundle of nerves, making it swell with the way he prods and rubs over it almost angrily. "Oh my God," Seungmin coos, almost enamored with the way you tighten around his fingers. "You're dripping, aren't you?"

But your boyfriend has first dibs - He is your boyfriend after all. So after giving Seungmin some time to toy around with you, pushing at your clit and making you tremble with his hands, he shoves the younger aside to take his rightful place behind you. Pants dropped to his thighs, his cock slips right into your walls with practiced ease. "God, it's like you're made for me." Jisung sighs in adoration, his eyes slowly rolling back in his head with the warmth of your slick coating his cock. And it's little to no time at all before he's moving, the sound of his hips slamming into your own filling the room.

"Hey."

Someone all but bites. With your face pressed into the mattress, he watches as you clearly struggle to lift your head at all. The angle makes you whimper until his fingers tangle into the crown of your head, pulling your hair until you had to crane your neck to look at him. Changbin stares down at the red of your cheeks. With teary eyes blurred and damp, you blink up at the man sitting on the bed in front of you. Had he been there the whole time, watching you rock back and forth on the sheets with no way to support yourself? It seems he doesn't have much to say - He just wanted to see your pretty face while his dongsaeng fucked into you like a dog in heat, drool sliding down your chin and tears beginning to streak over the pink of your cheeks.

"Wait..-- Wait--"

The sudden emptiness of Jisung pulling out makes you whine in distress, lips falling open and jaw slack as someone seems to take his place. Cock pushing into your walls - it's heavier, thicker, bigger. It makes you choke on every breath as he sinks into you balls deep before pulling back, dragging along your inside and almost teasing you with how slowly he seems to move. "Sorry, angel." Leaning down and letting his chest just barely touch the back of your shoulders, Minho settles comfortably behind and lets his hips push closer to bury himself back inside of you. "No time to wait. We all want a turn."

You can feel every breath that escapes his lips brushing over your throat, eyes previously glued to Changbin now flittering down towards the sheets beneath your bodies. With a dull gaze and spit still coating your lips, someone's hand gently takes a hold of your chin. Your eyes remain on the sheets, almost seeming out of it with how perfectly Minho's length massages every inch of your pussy - something you've dreamed of (Jisung, too.) but never expected to actually happen.

The person's thumb gently swipes over your bottom lip, slowly gathering the spit that drips and lifting it to his own mouth to lick it clean - before he's carefully taking hold of your chin once more and letting his thumb press into your mouth. Hyunjin watches as spit pools on your tongue, coating his finger and making him shudder where he sits beside Changbin in front of you.

"Mmn--" You gasp when Minho's hips snap hard to your own, Hyunjin almost pulling his hand back with the way your lips close and threaten to bite down. But you refrain and his worries instantly fade, continuing to push down on your tongue until you were drooling over his hand. He sighs out and, with his free hand, unbuttons his jeans in a quick snap. The fly, already down, lets his cock gain some relief after straining against his briefs for so long. "Keep that pretty mouth open," Hyunjin hums, "I'll put it to good use while I wait for my turn."

Tag List : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie @inlovewithstraykids @seungminsbest @edit-me-prettyplease @butterflydemons @satosugu4l @jeonginsleftcheek

[fxstpace]

in the spirit of matrimony

summary: iwaizumi hajime is getting married and you and your ex, oikawa tooru, must pretend you’re still together to avoid ruining his big day. the charade, however, proves to be a lot more complicated than you thought.

⇢ pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader ⇢ genres: romance, angst, exes to lovers au, fake dating au ⇢ word count: 3.0k ⇢ warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption ⇢ a/n: reposted from my old blog (@/sokuroo).

Oikawa Tooru is currently using the shower in your hotel room, and you are running late for dinner with Iwaizumi Hajime because of this.

You sit on the plush armchair in the corner of the room, picking at the raised swirls and curlicues embroidered on the cushion. You’re supposed to be meeting with Iwaizumi for dinner in fifteen minutes, but Oikawa seems to be taking his own sweet time getting ready. You can’t say you’re surprised. 

Irritated? Yes.

When he finally bursts out of the bathroom, looking like a Louis Vuitton model, you simply grab your purse and hotel card, and stride out the door without a second glance. Oikawa Tooru isn’t worth your time or energy—for now.

He catches up with you quickly—volleyball legs, and all that—and you can smell his perfume: Cremo spice and black vanilla. You hate the fact that you remember; you’d rather not, but he hasn’t changed the scent in five years and it’s always the little things that are the hardest to forget. In his black button down shirt and with his hair styled carefully with gel, Oikawa definitely looks attractive. He knows it, too, probably, and it gives you a twisted sort of satisfaction knowing that he can’t go about flirting with every person who catches his eye.

He simply cannot, because as far as Iwaizumi Hajime is concerned, you and Oikawa are still together.

“Don’t forget,” you mutter, just low enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand dismissively before tucking it back into his pocket. “It’s just Hajime. Don’t worry.”

You bite back a sigh. It would do you no good to appear so visibly vexed—and it would cause Hajime to worry unnecessarily, which does a lot more harm to everyone involved. The only thing you want him to be worried about is wedding preparations and becoming a husband in three days. 

Your old friend meets you at the hotel lobby, right before Oikawa furtively slips his hand into yours. Iwaizumi looks tired—his clothes look rumpled and he has dark circles under his eyes—but he still smiles at you and Oikawa in the same way: boyish and crooked. You grin back at him.

“Hey, you two.” Iwaizumi opens his arms and pulls you in for a hug. His stubble brushes against your cheek, and you frown. 

“You’re growing a beard?” you ask incredulously, when you pull away.

He chuckles. “I wish. I need to look handsome on the day of the wedding. Akari thinks it makes me look rugged.” He shrugs and adds, “Personally, I can’t tell the difference.”

“How’s Mrs. Iwaizumi doing?” Oikawa cuts in. He smiles at his best friend, a quick flash of his teeth that you haven’t seen in ages. It almost makes you wish he still smiled at you like that. Almost.

“Akari’s great,” Hajime answers, the edges of his smile turning fond. His fiancé is truly the sweetest, and she’s perfect for Iwaizumi in ways no one else ever could be. It’s difficult to doubt their love, and you consider yourself lucky to have witnessed them falling for each other in college. “Really great, actually. She told me to tell you she’s sorry she couldn’t make it today, but she can’t wait to see you both tomorrow.”

Your ex-boyfriend sighs dramatically. “Iwa-chan. The only entertaining person of the evening is missing. Whatever shall I do?”

“I’m sure your girlfriend will provide ample entertainment, Oikawa,” Hajime deadpans.

Your cheeks flood with heat at the implication. You’re the furthest thing from being Oikawa Tooru’s entertainment tonight, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s laughing internally at the predicament.

“She’s good at entertaining me with other things,” he retorts, waggling his eyebrows in that infuriating way of his. “Not funny enough, unfortunately.”

You bristle. “Uncalled for, Oikawa.”

He turns to you—the first time he’s looked at you properly since you arrived at the hotel in their hometown—and, taking your hand in his, rubs his thumb along the back of your palm. You nearly shiver; Oikawa used to do that all the time when you were still together, and the small gesture now makes a lump form in your throat. 

“Just kidding, babe,” he says indulgently. “You know I make up for the lack of humour on your part.”

You have to give it to him. Oikawa Tooru is a magnificent actor. 

The way he talks to you, as though both of you hadn’t walked out of the hotel room without saying a word to each other is a feat in itself. He speaks to you as though nothing has changed, as though everything about the way you’re projecting yourselves to your friend is completely natural. You close the hole in your chest where Oikawa used to reside; you will not fall for his little antics—not when he chose to leave you alone.

You roll your eyes, meeting Hajime’s fond—if exasperated—gaze. “Ignore him.”

“I’ve been doing it my entire life,” he responds.

“You are mean and I hate you both,” Oikawa whines. Both of you ignore him.

“Let’s go,” Hajime says. “The izakaya gets really crowded later in the night.”

You wipe your hands on the soft cotton of the oshibori, scanning the menu taped onto the wall. Next to you, Oikawa digs into the otoshi, and in front of you, Hajime sips on his glass of beer. 

“Yakisoba noodles sounds good,” you murmur, “don’t you think?”

“I wan’ the chmmkn kraagh,” Oikawa says immediately through a mouthful of potato salad.

Iwaizumi sighs and translates, “He wants the chicken karaage.”

You scowl. You and Oikawa Tooru can never agree about things. You’re both too stubborn and hot-headed to budge from your opinions, and towards the end of your relationship, the number of petty arguments that were a result of your clashing personalities was high. At one point of time, you might have said that it was one of Oikawa’s qualities that you admired.

Right now, it just irks you to no end.

“We can order both,” you suggest. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. He makes a show of swallowing, exaggerating the bob of his throat, before he turns to you and states, “I want the chicken karaage, and I know Iwa-chan likes it more than yakisoba noodles.”

“Actually,” Hajime says mildly, “I kind of want the sashimi.”

“Let’s just order all three.” You bring your glass of beer to your lips and take a sip.

Iwaizumi looks curiously between you both. You take another sip of your beer, and you come to the realisation that for an outsider—like Hajime—you and Oikawa look absolutely nothing like a couple.

The fault is yours: You didn’t tell Hajime about your break up with Oikawa, and neither did he. Hajime still thinks you’re together. Neither you nor your ex-boyfriend are tactless enough to tell him that you aren’t dating anymore three days before he’s getting married. Iwaizumi is excited, and you aren’t about to dampen his happiness by telling him his two best friends haven’t spoken to each other in months.

That’s how, for the first time in ages, you and Oikawa Tooru decided that you couldn’t ruin Iwaizumi Hajime’s Big Day, and it was also how Operation: Pretend Like You’re Madly In Love So Your Surprisingly Intuitive Best Friend Doesn’t Feel Bad came about.

You set your beer down again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Can I try some of that?” you ask, nudging Oikawa’s shoulder with yours.

He pauses mid-chew, chopsticks held high in the air. “Sure.”

You nudge his shoulder again, a little bit more forcefully this time. Oikawa glares at you. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to send him some sort of telepathic signal. His eyes widen.

“Here, babe,” he says, plastering a grin on his face. He picks up a chunk of the creamy potato salad that was served as the otoshi and holds it up. He uses his thumb and pointer finger to gently bring your face closer to his chopsticks. You fist your fingers, nails cutting crescents into your palms, and accept the mouthful he holds out to you.

“Good?” Oikawa murmurs, his eyes not leaving your face.

You hum. It is good, rich and tart with a touch of sweetness, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to verbalise it. Your gaze flits downwards as you gently pull away from his grasp. Your jaw tingles where he held it.

Iwaizumi grins at you—almost knowingly—when you pick up your beer again. He holds a hand up, calling for the waiter to take your orders.

The alcohol washes down the taste of the food, but your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

It is always alcohol that loosens your tongue, and it’s the same for Oikawa Tooru as well. The beer you had at the izakaya lowers the towering walls between you both somewhat. It’s easier to speak to him, now, and after you switch on the lights in the hotel room and kick off your sandals, you whirl around and face Oikawa.

“What the hell was that?” you seethe, glaring at your ex-boyfriend.

He pauses in the middle of taking off his shoes. “What the hell was what?”

“You almost blew our cover! Didn’t you see the way Hajime looked at us?”

Oikawa cocks his head to the side, and his cluelessness only infuriates you even more.

“God, you haven’t changed one bit!” you rant. Your chest heaves with emotion—you’re not sure what emotion, exactly. Anger? Resentment? Foolish hope? Or perhaps a cocktail of all three that causes you to feel nothing but confusion. “Hajime is getting married in two days, and I know you couldn’t care less, but for his sake, can’t you make this whole—whole act more believable?”

“You— What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Oikawa’s eyebrows raise upwards incredulously. “You think I don’t care about Iwaizumi’s wedding? I met him before I even knew you existed.” He scoffs. “Of fucking course I care!”

“Then would it kill you to act like you still love me?” You take a step forward, eyes narrowed and index finger pointing at him. “Is that it? Is it so repulsive to pretend like you still have feelings for me, so that your best friend doesn’t worry about us?”

“That’s not it, and you know it,” Oikawa snarls, a frown marring his features. “We should’ve told him as soon as it happened.”

Hearing him refer to your relationship as it feels like a slap to the face. You falter, cursing yourself inwardly.

Of course he doesn’t care for you now. Why would he, after he decided that long-distance relationships were too much effort? I don’t see us working out in the long run, he’d explained over FaceTime. I’m sorry.

Two days later, you declared yourself officially single. You burrowed yourself in piles of work and forgot to tell Iwaizumi Hajime because talking to Hajime would remind you of Oikawa, and you weren’t ready for that yet. Eventually, you just… didn’t tell him.

That’s why it came as an unwelcome surprise to you when you walked into the hotel lobby and found Oikawa Tooru waiting there, with his arms crossed over his chest and his suitcase by his feet. You’re here, he’d said, and you wanted to punch yourself for the way your heart somersaulted in your chest.

You finally find your voice again. “But we didn’t, so would it kill you to just… not be so fucking obvious?”

Oikawa remains stoic, though you suspect he’s just as agitated as you are. “Yes. I don’t want to do this at all.”

Something in you breaks. How easy it is for Oikawa to break your heart. You’d given him the fragile thing, made of glass, and he had knocked it over like it was a house of cards more than once. 

“Fine,” you grit out, bending down and picking up your footwear again. The alcohol buzzing in your head isn’t enough—you need to stop thinking, need to find some way to stop yourself from constantly imagining him. “See if I care.”

You shoulder past him and place your hand on the doorknob.

“Where are you going?”

If you really strained your ears, you could almost hear the imperceptible concern in Oikawa’s voice. You brush it off; he doesn’t have any feelings towards you, as he’s made so amply clear.

“Why do you care?” you retort, before pushing open the door and heading in the direction of the hotel restaurant’s bar.

The room is dark when you open the door.

It’s a little past one in the morning—or so one of the bellhops had said when he kindly escorted you back to your room. Your mind is swirling.

It seems even getting yourself batshit drunk isn’t enough to eradicate all thoughts of Oikawa.

The walls spin. You stumble inside. Your hip bumps against something solid—a table, probably—and you let out a startled yelp. 

Oikawa’s voice is like a balm, soothing your feverish forehead, when he says your name.

How are you supposed to get over him? How are you supposed to go back to living alone when you’ve had this taste of what it could be like, regardless of how authentic it is?

The answer is clear as day: You cannot.

A pair of hands guides you by the shoulders to the bed. Oikawa is careful, gentle with his hold on you. You sprawl on the bed sheets, the fabric cool against your cheek. He appears like an outline in the darkness. 

“Are you okay?”

“God,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Oikawa.”

He remains silent for a moment, before he clears his throat and says, “You asked me why I care about where you go.”

You don’t say anything.

“I just do,” he continues, “and I don’t know how to explain it. But I do care.”

His fingers are warm when he caresses your cheek. The last thing you do before succumbing to sleep is murmur his name—a curse, but somehow reverent.

When you wake up the next morning, the sheets next to you are rumpled. There is no sign of Oikawa anywhere in the room, but there is a tall glass of water placed on the bedside table.

Through the pounding of your head, you squint at the note written using the hotel stationery placed beside it. 

Drink up. Hajime and Akari are bringing us breakfast.

Breakfast is a lively affair. You’re glad to see Akari again, happy to see the to-be-newlyweds so patently in love with each other.

Oikawa keeps his hand on your thigh, steady and comforting, and offers you golden smiles whenever you catch his eye, and you swallow down the awful lump in your throat.

The day passes by in a blur.

It’s on the day before Iwaizumi’s wedding that Oikawa Tooru kisses you.

Wedding photos are unnecessary, you think. After all, you’re not the one getting married. But Akari had been insistent that you and Oikawa take some pictures together, and you couldn’t refuse her beseeching gaze.

Oikawa, clad in his dapper suit, with his hair styled using copious amounts of hair gel, places his hands on your waist and draws you in. His fingers bunch up the material of your dress. The photographer asks you to place your hands on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady thrum underneath the pads of your fingertips. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, leaning in. 

You nod.

His mouth tastes like spearmint and the chocolate muffins he’d shared with you at breakfast. 

The afternoon passes by in a daze.

As you walk through the wedding venue, noting all the decorations and the flower arrangements, Oikawa slips his hand into yours. 

“You don’t have to,” you say. “No one’s here to see us.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. He is serious now, not his usual boisterous self, the way he is around Hajime and Akari. “It’s a nice place, no?”

You press your lips together. His words are oddly reminiscent of what he said the night you were drunk. Your stomach twists into knots, but if you don’t ask him the one question that has been nagging at you since then, who will do it for you?

“Tooru,” you say.

He stiffens. It’s the first time you’ve used his first name since you broke up with him.

“Why didn’t you tell Hajime we broke up?” you ask.

His shoulders loosen and his mouth twists upwards in a crooked, sad sort of smile. 

“Because I love you, and breaking up with you broke me in some way.”

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “Why did you?”

“I didn’t want to be the one holding you back,” he says, just as quietly. “I didn’t want you to be constantly worrying about someone who didn’t even live in the same country as you. You deserve someone who will be there for you. Someone you can come home to after work, and talk about your day, and cook dinner together with. I couldn’t give you that.”

You want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. What a stupid, idiotic fool you’re in love with.

“Silly,” you say. “I only want you.”

The wedding happens on a sunny afternoon, and it is beautiful. Akari is radiant, and Hajime tells her that he’s the luckiest man ever. They are in love, and looking at them doesn’t hurt anymore. Your ex-boyfriend turned current boyfriend presses his shoulder against yours and gives you a small, knowing smile when he catches you almost tearing up. You nudge him back, and his smile grows into a grin that envelops his face in gold.

(“You’re the golden one,” he’ll tell you later, pressing feather-light kisses to your collarbones and cheeks. You’ll say he’s wrong.)

Right before the crowd disperses, Oikawa takes your hand and brings it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the knuckle of your ring finger.

Later, he whispers to you that it’s all in the spirit of matrimony.

Oikawa Tooru is using the shower in your bedroom, and he’s running late to catch his flight back to Argentina, and everything is perfect.

[itneverendshere]

Bartender!reader reacting to rafes buzz cut for the first time.

made it extra fluffy and flirty bc i've been writing too much angst 😭thank you for the request, hope you like it💗

it's buzzcut season anyway - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

You were in the middle of counting your tips when the door creaked open again. You didn’t even look up this time. The lunch rush had finally slowed, and you were way too focused on making sure some old man’s cash hadn’t gotten stuck together. 

Your break started in two minutes. Your plan? Grab something to eat with Rafe and maybe—if you were lucky—convince him to give you one of those neck massages he was so good at. You’d earned it after dealing with the entitled club members all morning, and he always liked giving you a hard time about being stressed when he came to visit you at work.

If you could just survive until your break, you could—

“Hey, baby,” a voice drawled, warm and familiar.

Rafe.

Your heart did that stupid little thing it always did when you heard his voice, and you couldn’t help but smile even before you looked up.

“Hey, ba—” Your words caught in your throat the second you actually saw him.

Your hand stilled on the cash. He was standing in the doorway, all long toned limbs and that easy charm you’d fallen for over a year ago. But something was off. You squinted, your brain trying to catch up to what you were seeing. It wasn’t the way he was standing or the fact that he had on a backwards cap—he always did that. It was what wasn’t under the cap. Something was missing.

Your eyes went straight to the top of his head.

“Wait—what the—” You blinked, abandoning the tips on the counter as you stepped around it and walked toward him, your eyes locked on the top of his head, trying to figure out if you were seeing things. “Did you buzz your head?”

He just grinned, casually leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, totally unbothered. “Yeah. What d’ya think?”

You gawked at him. “You shaved your head. You literally shaved your head.”

You stared at him, eyes wide. His cap was covering most of it, but you could see enough—enough to know that his thick, messy hair, the hair you’d spent countless hours running your fingers through, was gone. 

Gone.

“Oh my God. You buzzed it? For real?”

Rafe straightened up, lifting his cap and running a hand over the buzzed length, showing it off like he was some kind of model. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. You don’t like it?”

Your fingers itched to touch it, but you hesitated. You were trying so hard not to freak out. He’d just gone and buzzed his head without even telling you.

“Like it? I—” You sputtered, waving your hand in the air. “Baby, your hair! You just... did this? No warning? No ‘hey, baby, I’m thinking about going full buzzcut, what do you think?’”

His grin turned cocky as he reached out to pull you into him by the waist. “I thought I’d surprise you. Didn’t expect you to get all worked up over it.”

You gave him a playful shove, but he didn’t budge. “I’m not worked up! I’m just... shocked. I thought I was gonna get to lunch with my boyfriend and his hair, not—” You gestured to his head, still half in disbelief. “—this.”

He chuckled, leaning down so his forehead almost touched yours. “So... you hate it?”

You gave him a look, trying to stay mad or at least a little indignant about the whole thing, but it was impossible with him looking at you like that.

“You thought I’d like you going from ‘beach boy’ to ‘buzzcut’ overnight with no warning?”

“Pretty much.” He leaned in, “You gonna tell me you don’t like it?”

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it.

Truth was, you were already starting to like it. You liked that it was new, that it was him, and that it made him look a little rougher, more rugged. But you weren’t gonna tell him that right away. You hadn’t expected to be into it, not at all. Rafe’s hair had always been one of your favorite things about him—the way it’d curl up when he got all sweaty in the summer or how it’d fall into his eyes when he was being serious.

But... the buzzcut? You weren’t expecting it to be hot. But it was. So hot.

“I didn’t say I hate it...” you said, letting your voice trail off as you finally gave in and ran your fingers over the buzzed hair. It was soft, like velvet, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning.

He chuckled, one hand coming up to cup your chin as he tilted your face up toward his. “Knew it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“See? Told ya,” he teased, his hands still gripping your waist as he watched your reaction. “You can’t keep your hands off me now.”

“I never said I couldn’t,” you shot back, your cheeks heating up. “It’s just... I wasn’t expecting to like it this much.”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your cheek. “Admit it. You think I look hot. You’re lookin’ at me like you can’t wait to get me alone.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you playfully pushed at his chest, trying to cover up how much he was getting to you. “Shut up,” you laughed. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“I know you love it.”

You groaned, finally giving in to a full laugh. “Okay, okay. Fine. You look hot.”

Rafe grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling him in for a quick peck, unable to help yourself now. “You owe me lunch for this, though.”

“I brought you lunch,” he said, lifting the bag you hadn’t even noticed in his other hand.

“Oh, did you now?” You raised a brow. “You’re really tryin’ to get on my good side today, huh?”

“I’ll grow it back, don’t worry,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against your neck. “But for now, you’re stuck with this.”

As you both sat down at one of the tables near the back of the bar, you couldn’t stop sneaking glances at his head.

It wasn’t just the look of it that was getting to you—it was the fact that he’d done something so out of the blue, just like that. He always kept you on your toes, never predictable, and surprisingly, you loved that.

He caught you looking for the millionth time and shot you a smug smile. “I can tell you wanna say somethin’. Spill.”

You reached over and ran your fingers through the nonexistent hair again, giggling. 

“I just can’t get over it, baby. You look like a whole new person. A sexy, buzzed-head guy.”

His smile softened, his hand finding yours on the table. “Yeah?”

You nodded, giving his hand a squeeze. “I mean, I miss your old hair, but I’m into this. You look hot.” You bit your lip, your gaze dropping to his mouth.

His eyes darkened a little, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Careful or I’m not gonna let you finish your lunch before I drag you outta here.”

Your heart raced, “Rafe Cameron, if you ruin my lunch break, I swear—”

He cut you off with a low chuckle, leaning across the table to press his lips to yours again, not caring that you were still technically on the clock. You melted into him, all thoughts of food forgotten for a moment. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless.

“I can’t believe you buzzed your head,” you whispered, still grinning.

“I can’t believe you’re this obsessed with it.”

“…Fine.”