#and i think I’ll be processing tonight for a while

[senzasord]

.

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[reidsworld]

Patience Wears Thin

Summary: Logan’s flirty behaviour has you thinking he’s just being sarcastic. But when his attitude changes and his grumpiness intensifies, leading to him avoiding you, you confront him, only for him to finally snap. Based on this request.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Reader’s oblivious, mild language, sexual tension, slight jealous!logan, making out, hickeys, oral sex(m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, (semi) public sex (you’ll see what I mean), no use of Y/N, pet names (darlin’) — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!

Word Count: 2.9k

Mars speaks… It's been a while since I’ve posted but here we are!! Thank you for the request, this was kinda tough for me to write and didn’t really turn out how I wanted it but I hope it meets your expectations! The reader is a mutant but her powers aren’t specified. Any and all feedback is always appreciated!

Masterlist

You were used to Logan’s gruffness, but lately, something had changed. At first, it was little things—him hanging around more often, offering to help with tasks that didn’t need his strength, or staying close by even when you were just making coffee. You noticed the way his hand would brush against yours when passing you something or how he’d rest his hand on your shoulder a little longer than necessary. Despite all of his actions, he was still cold around you, seemingly never able to escape his own grumpiness.

One evening, as you were getting ready for a date, Logan wandered by your room. His mood was clearly off as he knocked leaned against your door frame, his eyes closed and head tilted down. When you greeted him, he slowly looked you up and down. His expression shifted from frustration to shock as he took in how stunning you looked.

“Damn,” Logan said, his voice cold and deep, if you didn’t know him, you would’ve sworn he hated you. “You look incredible. Got a big night planned?”

You glanced up from the mirror, surprised by his comments. “Oh, I have a date tonight,” you replied with a smile, still adjusting your dress.

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly as he processed your words. “A date, huh?”

“Yep,” you said, focusing on your reflection. “I’m just trying to pick the right outfit.”

He pushed himself off the door frame, his gaze still fixed on you. “You don’t need to be worried about impressing anyone tonight, darlin’. Trust me, you look incredible.”

You laughed, thinking he was just being his usual flirtatious self. “Thanks, Logan. But it’s just dinner. Nothing too serious.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he took a step back, his demeanour now distant. “Right. Well, have fun.”

You smiled at him, not noticing the shift in his attitude. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

As you left for your date, Logan watched you go, his face a mask of frustration and disappointment. The knowledge that you were going out with someone else hit him hard, and his mood darkened.

You were left puzzled by his sudden change in behaviour. However, in Logan’s mind, if you were going out with someone else, you clearly didn’t want him, so why should he put effort into a losing game?

But you didn’t think much of his compliments, chalking it up to Logan trying to be supportive. Until one day, you noticed something different—he started avoiding you.

It began with him skipping out on the usual training sessions you shared. Then, he stopped joining you for movie nights in the common room, always coming up with a vague excuse that didn’t make sense. He’d disappear for hours, not even leaving a trace of his familiar scent behind. The final straw was when he didn’t show up for your breakfast dates (well… that’s what they were to him), a ritual he never missed. It was confusing, and you couldn’t figure out what had changed.

You asked him once, in passing, if something was wrong. His answer was clipped, dismissive. “Nothin’ for you to worry about, darlin’.”

But you were worried. His behaviour was off, and no matter how much you replayed your interactions in your mind, you couldn’t pinpoint what had triggered this sudden shift.

A few days later, you walked into the kitchen to find Logan grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Relief washed over you—this was the first time you’d seen him in days without him immediately bolting. But when you greeted him, he barely grunted in response, not meeting your eyes.

“Logan, seriously,” you said, trying to sound casual but unable to keep the concern out of your voice. “What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me.”

His jaw clenched, and he didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the bottle in his hand. “Just been busy.”

“Busy?” You frowned, crossing your arms. “Too busy to even say hello?”

He looked up at you then, his eyes hard. “Yeah, busy. I don’t have time for games, alright?”

“Games?” you echoed, thrown off by the accusation. “What are you talking about? I’m not playing any games, Logan.”

He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head as he pushed past you, brushing your shoulder as he went. “Forget it.”

That was it? He was clearly upset, but he wouldn’t talk to you about it. It didn’t make sense. You stood there, staring at the spot where he’d just been, confusion and hurt swirling inside you. Logan was the last person you expected to act like this—especially toward you.

A few more days passed, and the tension between you only grew. Logan’s avoidance became more blatant, and every time you tried to approach him, he’d find a way to leave before you could say anything. You started to wonder if you’d done something to upset him, but every time you asked, he brushed you off with a noncommittal grunt or a sarcastic remark.

It was driving you crazy.

Now you were sitting alone in the common room, you and Logan somehow being the only two in the mansion with everyone else out on various missions and overnight school trips. As you attempted to watch a movie to take your mind off things, Logan’s absence gnawed at you. He was always here for movie nights, even if he’d just sit silently in the corner. The emptiness of his usual spot was glaring, a constant reminder that something had shifted between you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to confront him, to find out what the hell was going on.

When you walked into the gym, your eyes immediately found Logan, his muscular form sitting on a raised bench, sweat glistening on his skin. He didn’t acknowledge your presence, focusing on his workout with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice firmer than you felt.

He paused, setting the dumbbells down with a heavy thud before finally looking at you. “What?”

“What is your problem?” you demanded, stepping closer, not giving him a chance to escape this time. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague, and I want to know why.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off his face. “Maybe I’m just tired of tryin’,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Trying what?” You crossed your arms, frustration boiling over. “Logan, you’re not making any sense. You’ve been acting like I did something wrong, but I don’t even know what that is!”

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, maybe? But there was something else too, something deeper that made your heart race.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he growled, stepping closer to you, his presence overwhelming.

“Get what?” you shot back, refusing to back down even though his proximity was making it hard to think straight.

Logan huffed, his hand running through his hair in a rare display of frustration. “I’ve been tryin’ to show you, but you’re too damn blind to see it.”

“Show me what?” You were at your wit’s end, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

His eyes bore into yours, intense and unyielding. “That I want you, darlin’. I’ve wanted you for a long damn time, and I’m sick of you not seein’ it.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence. This was the last thing you expected him to say. Logan—gruff, no-nonsense Logan—wanted you? The thought was so far from anything you’d ever imagined that you couldn’t even process it.

“You…you want me?” you finally managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the frustration in his eyes palpable. “I’ve been tryin’ to show ya, but you keep thinkin’ I’m just bein’ a grumpy bastard.”

You blinked, completely floored by his confession. “Logan, I…I didn’t know. I thought…”

“Thought I was messin’ with ya?” he finished for you, his voice rough, almost bitter. “That’s why I’ve been avoidin’ ya—figured if you couldn’t see it by now, I was just wastin’ my time.”

The weight of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. You hadn’t seen it, not because you didn’t want to, but because the idea that Logan could feel that way about you seemed impossible. And now, standing here, with him staring at you like you were the only person in the world, you realised how wrong you’d been.

“Logan, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “I didn’t know. I never thought…”

“Don’t apologise,” he cut you off, his voice softer now, but still edged with frustration. “I’m just done waitin’, darlin’. I can’t keep doin’ this—dancin’ around it, hopin’ you’ll figure it out.”

You took a shaky breath, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to think. “What do you want, Logan?”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that made your knees weak. “You, darlin’. I’ve always wanted you.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, rough and demanding, as if he was trying to make up for all the time lost in that one kiss. The force of it stole your breath, your hands automatically reaching up to clutch his shoulders as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

Logan’s grip on you tightened, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing your lips until you parted them, letting him in. The taste of him—smoke, whiskey, and something unmistakably Logan—filled your senses, making your head spin.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide with desire. “Still think I’m jokin’?”

You shook your head, your heart racing, your thoughts scattered. “No,” you breathed out.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours before he started kissing his way down your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. “’Cause I’m gonna show you exactly how much I want you.”

His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin before he bit down gently, making you gasp. Your hands fisted in his shirt, needing something to hold on to as his hands moved to your thighs, lifting you and moving to sit on the bench. Your legs desperately straddled him, pulling him closer.

Logan’s hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist, skimming up your ribs, his touch igniting a fire in you that you hadn’t realised was there. He was careful, almost reverent, despite the rough edge to his movements, as if he was holding himself back from completely losing control.

When his hands found your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric of your bra, you arched into him, a whimper escaping your lips. He growled, the sound low and primal, as his mouth found yours again, his kiss fierce and demanding.

You could feel the hardness of him pressing against your core, the friction sending waves of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but rock your hips against him, seeking more.

Logan’s response was immediate, his hands gripping your hips as you ground against him, his mouth devouring yours as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You were lost in the sensation, in the heat and the intensity of him, and it was all you could do to hold on.

Just when you thought you might lose yourself completely, Logan pulled back, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild as he looked up at you. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his voice strained, as if it was taking everything in him to hold back. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. You shook your head, your voice breathless as you whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Logan let out a low, feral sound, his lips crashing against yours again as he ripped off your shirt. His patience had worn thin, and now there was no turning back. As your lips roughly moulded together, tongues battling for dominance, your hands slid under his tank-top, brushing over his abs. You pulled away, taking off his shirt, jaw dropping at the sight of his glistening body from the sweat of his workout.

“Holy shit, you should be shirtless more often…”

He didn’t respond, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into another kiss. Your hands trailed down his chest, fingers sliding down his happy trail. Climbing off him, you dropped down to your knees in front of him. He raised his hips as you pulled down his sweatpants and boxers, his dick springing out and slapping against his stomach.

You didn’t give him time to process what was happening as you immediately licked a stripe up his dick before taking the head into your mouth, tongue brushing against the tip, making him throw his head back against the bench and groan.

Your hands gently massaged his balls as your mouth focused on the head of his cock, gently sucking as his hand moved to gather your hair into a make-shift ponytail. You lowered your head, taking more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks.

Looking up through your lashes, your eyes met with his while you began to move your head up and down faster, your hands touching whatever couldn’t fit into your mouth. You continued this until your jaw was aching and his dick was twitching in your mouth.

He began to gently thrust into your mouth, making you gag as he hit the back of your throat. One of your hands slid down into your shorts, rubbing your clit before pushing a finger into your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, so good darlin’,” he grunted as you moaned around him, slipping another finger into yourself.

“If you don’t stop now, m’gonna cum, wanna feel you ‘round me.”

He pulled you off of him, revelling in your dishevelled appearance. You stood up, and pulled off your shorts and panties. You reached behind you, unclipping your bra, letting it slide off your body. His eyes trailed up and down your body admiring you. You bit your lip at the way his eyes shined with something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on but you never wanted him to stop looking at you like that.

You silently moved to straddle him, pulling him into a slow kiss as your bare core grinded against his cock. One of his hands wrapped around you, trailing up and down your back as you both sat there, grinding against each other. His other hand reached down and grabbed your hip.

You raised your hips as you reached for his cock, positioning at your entrance before slowly sinking down onto him. You leaned forward and he fell back against the bench and buried your face in his neck, letting out a simultaneous moan as you stretched around him. You stayed still, adjusting to his size, panting into his neck, making him harder than he thought possible.

Once you were ready, you slowly raised your hips before sinking back down onto him. His hands moved to grip your hips as you began to ride him, gently helping you. You kissed him roughly, moaning into his mouth as his hips thrust up to meet yours.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the loud moans and groans coming out of your mouths. In that moment, neither of you cared where you were— that there was a chance someone could easily walk in on you even though it was just the two of you in the mansion. All you two cared about was the feeling of him inside of you and how you wrapped so tightly around him.

He let out a rough groan as your lips met his neck, biting into it when his hips met yours. Bouncing on his dick, you clenched around him, making him let out an almost feral sound.

“Oh fuck don’t stop, wrapped so tightly ‘round me, s’like you were made for me.”

“‘M all yours, Lo.”

“Shoulda never avoided you, shoulda just manned up and kissed you, ‘stead of waiting ‘round for you to realise that I want you.”

If you weren’t so desperate for him, you would’ve laughed but all you could do was moan and nod into his neck.

“‘M gonna cum, Lo.”

“Give it to me, darlin’.”

His hand reached to roughly circle your clit, sending you over the edge. You moaned out as a feeling of ecstasy overcame you and your vision went white. Your body slumped against his but his thrusts were relentless. As they got sloppier, you could feel his dick twitch inside of you, making you moan.

“I’m so close, need to cum inside you.”

His mouth pressed against your neck, marking you like a blank canvas for everyone to see later. He pounded up into you, his hand still rubbing your clit causing you to cum for a second time. You tightened around him, making him shoot his cum deep inside you.

His thrusts slowed, fucking you through it as you both panted, trying to catch your breath. His movements came to a stop and he titled his head back, letting out a deep breath.

You raised your head, looking into his eyes and laughing,

“I can’t believe I could’ve had this so much sooner if I wasn’t so obvious.”

Mars speaks… (again) woah that got… 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

Tags… @pastelpinkflowerlife

[pucksandpower]

Princess Protection Program

Logan Sargeant x Princess of England!Reader

Summary: when your safety is compromised due to escalating threats, the decision is made to send you overseas for your own protection, with one caveat: no one can know about your true identity (aka the fix-it fic we desperately need right now)

The sun streams through the ornate windows of Buckingham Palace as you pace anxiously in your private chambers. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your designer blouse, a habit you’ve developed when stress creeps in. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air, thicker than the plush carpet beneath your feet.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. “Come in,” you call, trying to keep your voice steady.

Your father, King Edward, enters with a grim expression etched on his face. Behind him, your mother, Queen Charlotte, follows closely, her usual poise wavering slightly.

“Darling,” your mother begins, her voice soft but strained. “We need to talk.”

You sink into a nearby armchair, bracing yourself. “Is this about the threats?”

Your father nods, his jaw tightening. “I’m afraid so. The situation has ... escalated.”

“How bad is it?” You ask, dreading the answer.

The King exchanges a look with your mother before responding. “Bad enough that we can no longer ignore it. The security team believes your life is in genuine danger.”

Your heart races, but you force yourself to remain composed. “What does that mean for me?”

Your mother moves closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We think it’s best if you leave London for a while, sweetheart. Just until we can neutralize the threat.”

You stand abruptly, shaking your head. “Leave? But I can’t! I have responsibilities here, engagements planned for the entire summer!”

“Your safety is our top priority,” your father interjects firmly. “Everything else can wait.”

“Where would I even go?” You ask, exasperation creeping into your voice.

Your mother hesitates before answering. “We’ve been discussing options with the security team. We think it’s best if you go somewhere ... unexpected.”

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding your anxiety. “Unexpected how?”

“Florida.”

You blink, certain you’ve misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Florida?”

Your mother nods, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of the situation. “Your Aunt Maggie and Uncle George have that lovely beach house in Fort Lauderdale, remember? We visited when you were younger.”

“But ... Florida?” You repeat, still struggling to process the idea. “It’s so ... American.”

Your father chuckles softly. “Exactly. No one would think to look for you there. It’s the perfect cover.”

You begin pacing again, your mind racing. “For how long?”

“We’re not sure yet,” your mother admits. “But we promise to bring you home as soon as it’s safe.”

You pause, turning to face your parents. The concern in their eyes is palpable, and it hits you just how serious this situation must be for them to suggest such a drastic measure.

“Can’t I just stay here? Increase security or something?” you plead, making one last attempt.

Your father shakes his head firmly. “The palace is too exposed. There are too many variables, too many potential weak points. We need you somewhere more ... inconspicuous.”

You sigh heavily, knowing deep down that they’re right. “When do I leave?”

“Tonight,” your mother says softly. “We’ve already begun making arrangements.”

Your eyes widen. “Tonight? But I haven’t packed, I haven’t said goodbye to anyone-”

“I know it’s sudden,” your father interrupts gently, “but the quicker we move, the safer you’ll be.”

You nod slowly, reality sinking in. “I understand.”

Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace. “Oh, darling. I know this is difficult, but please try to think of it as an adventure. A chance to experience a different kind of life for a while.”

You lean into her hug, drawing comfort from her familiar perfume. “I’ll try, Mum.”

As she pulls away, your father clears his throat. “There’s one more thing. While you’re there, you’ll need to ... blend in.”

You furrow your brow. “What do you mean?”

“We think it’s best if you adopt a different identity,” he explains. “Just temporarily, of course. To throw off anyone who might be looking for you.”

“A different identity?” You repeat, the concept both thrilling and terrifying. “Like ... a commoner?”

Your mother nods encouragingly. “Exactly. You’ll be staying with Maggie and George, of course, but to the rest of the world, you’ll just be their niece visiting for the summer.”

You take a deep breath, trying to wrap your head around it all. “I suppose I could use a break from royal duties,” you admit with a small smile.

Your father’s face softens with relief. “That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side.”

A knock at the door interrupts the moment. “Your Majesties,” a voice calls from outside. “The security team is ready for the briefing.”

Your father sighs. “We’d better go. Darling, start packing what you can. Someone will be up shortly to help you with the rest.”

As your parents move towards the door, you call out, “Wait!”

They turn back, concern etched on their faces.

“I just ... I love you both,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “And I know you’re just trying to protect me.”

Your mother’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she rushes back to embrace you once more. “We love you too, sweetheart. More than anything in this world.”

Your father joins the hug, his strong arms encircling both of you. For a moment, you’re not a princess facing a crisis, but simply a daughter cherishing her parents’ love.

As they reluctantly pull away, your father says, “Remember, this is only temporary. Before you know it, you’ll be back home, safe and sound.”

You nod, forcing a brave smile. “I know. I’ll make the best of it, I promise.”

With one last loving look, your parents exit the room, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and a suitcase to pack.

You move to your closet, running your hands along the rows of designer gowns and tailored suits. How do normal people dress in Florida? You wonder, realizing just how much you’ll need to adapt.

As you begin selecting clothes, a bittersweet excitement begins to bubble up alongside your anxiety. It’s terrifying, leaving everything you know behind, but there’s a tiny part of you that can’t help but wonder what adventures await in this unexpected journey.

You’re lost in thought when another knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” you call, expecting to see one of the staff sent to help you pack.

Instead, your best friend and lady-in-waiting, Olivia, bursts into the room. “Is it true?” She demands without preamble. “Are they really shipping you off to America?”

You sigh, nodding reluctantly. “Florida, to be exact.”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “Florida? Land of alligators and questionable fashion choices? Oh, darling, no.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s not that bad. I hope.”

Olivia moves to your side, helping you fold a blouse. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Until they catch whoever’s behind the threats, I suppose.”

Olivia’s face softens with concern. “Are you scared?”

You pause, considering the question. “A little,” you confess. “But also ... I don’t know. Maybe a tiny bit excited? Is that weird?”

Olivia shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not at all. It’s like your own personal Princess Protection Program, but with better weather and beach access.”

You snort, grateful for her ability to find humor even in the darkest situations. “I’m going to miss you so much, Liv.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffs, though her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “You’ll be having so much fun living your secret Florida life, you’ll forget all about little old me.”

“Never,” you promise, pulling her into a fierce hug.

As you embrace, Olivia whispers, “Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” you reply without hesitation.

“If you meet some devastatingly handsome American and fall madly in love, you have to tell me every single detail.”

You pull back, laughing. “Liv, I’m going there to hide, not find romance!”

Olivia winks mischievously. “The best love stories always happen when you least expect them, darling. Trust me on this.”

As you continue packing, chatting and joking with Olivia, the weight on your shoulders begins to lift slightly. Yes, you’re leaving behind everything you know. Yes, there’s danger lurking in the shadows. But with the love of your family and friends behind you, you feel a flicker of hope.

Whatever awaits you in Fort Lauderdale, you’ll face it head-on. After all, you’re not just any ordinary girl — you’re a princess. And princesses, as you’ve always been taught, are made of stronger stuff.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your room, you zip up the last of your suitcases. Olivia helps you change into a simple outfit — jeans and a t-shirt, clothes that won’t draw attention during your journey.

A soft knock at the door signals the arrival of your security detail. “Your Highness,” a voice calls. “It’s time.”

You take a deep breath, looking around your room one last time. “Well,” you say to Olivia, your voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it.”

Olivia pulls you into one last fierce hug. “Go show those Floridians what British royalty is made of,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “And don’t you dare come back with an American accent.”

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. “I’ll do my best. Take care of everything while I’m gone, okay?”

“Of course,” Olivia promises. “Now go, before I change my mind and hide you in my closet instead.”

With one last smile, you open the door. Your security team waits outside, their faces a mask of professional calm. As you follow them through the winding corridors of the palace, each step feels both like an ending and a beginning.

At the private exit, your parents wait. Your mother pulls you into a tight embrace, whispering words of love and encouragement. Your father, ever the king, maintains his composure, but you can see the emotion swimming in his eyes as he kisses your forehead.

“Remember,” he says softly, “no matter where you are, you carry the strength of your ancestors with you. You are a princess of the realm, even if you’re pretending not to be for a while.”

You nod, standing a little straighter. “I won’t let you down.”

“You never could,” your mother assures you.

With one last look at your family, at the only home you’ve ever known, you step into the waiting car. As it pulls away from the palace, you don’t look back. Instead, you fix your gaze forward, towards the unknown adventure that awaits.

Florida, you think with a mix of trepidation and excitement, I hope you’re ready for me.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you step out of the air-conditioned car, squinting against the bright light. The humid air immediately wraps around you like a warm, damp blanket, a stark contrast to London’s typically cool climate.

“Welcome to Fort Lauderdale, sweetheart!” Your Aunt Maggie’s voice rings out, full of warmth and excitement.

You turn to see her hurrying down the driveway of an impressive Mediterranean-style villa, arms outstretched. Behind her, your Uncle George follows at a more leisurely pace, a wide grin on his face.

“Aunt Maggie, Uncle George,” you greet them, trying to infuse your voice with enthusiasm despite your jet lag and lingering anxiety. “Thank you so much for having me.”

Aunt Maggie pulls you into a tight hug, her floral perfume momentarily overwhelming your senses. “Oh, darling, we’re thrilled to have you. Aren’t we, George?”

Uncle George nods, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Absolutely. Our home is your home, princess. Er, I mean-”

“Just Y/N,” you remind him quietly, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. “Remember, I’m just your normal, everyday niece visiting for the summer.”

“Right, right,” Uncle George says, lowering his voice. “Sorry about that. Old habits, you know.”

Aunt Maggie loops her arm through yours, leading you towards the house. “Don’t you worry, dear. We’ve briefed all the neighbors. As far as they know, you’re our lovely niece from England, taking some time to experience life across the pond.”

You nod, grateful for their thoughtfulness. As you enter the house, the cool air conditioning washes over you, providing instant relief from the oppressive heat outside.

“Now,” Aunt Maggie continues, “I know this must all be very overwhelming for you. Why don’t you freshen up, and then we’ll give you the grand tour?”

“That sounds lovely,” you agree, realizing just how grimy you feel after the long journey.

Uncle George appears with your suitcases. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s got a great view of the pool.”

As you follow him up the stairs, you can’t help but marvel at the casual opulence of the house. It’s certainly luxurious, but in a relaxed, lived-in way that feels worlds apart from the formal grandeur of the palace.

Your room, as promised, is beautiful. Large windows overlook a sparkling pool surrounded by swaying palm trees. For a moment, you feel like you’ve stepped into a holiday brochure.

“I’ll let you get settled,” Uncle George says, setting down your bags. “Take your time, we’re on Florida time now. No rush.”

As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, finally allowing yourself a moment to process everything. You’re here, in Florida, thousands of miles from home and everything familiar. The reality of your situation hits you anew, and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. “Y/N, dear?” Aunt Maggie calls. “I’ve brought you some iced tea. May I come in?”

“Of course,” you reply, quickly composing yourself.

Aunt Maggie enters, carrying a tall glass of tea so cold that condensation is already forming on the outside. She hands it to you with a warm smile. “I thought you might need this. The Florida heat can be quite a shock to the system.”

You take a sip, the sweet, refreshing liquid instantly soothing your parched throat. “Thank you, Aunt Maggie. This is delicious.”

She sits beside you on the bed, her face softening with concern. “How are you really doing, sweetheart? I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

For a moment, you consider maintaining your composed facade. But something about Aunt Maggie’s gentle demeanor breaks through your defenses. “I’m ... scared,” you admit quietly. “And I miss home already. But I’m trying to be brave.”

Aunt Maggie wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Oh, my dear. It’s okay to be scared. What you’re going through, it’s not easy. But you are brave, just by being here.”

You lean into her embrace, allowing yourself this moment of vulnerability. “I just feel so ... out of place. I don’t know how to be a normal person.”

Aunt Maggie chuckles softly. “Well, I’ve got news for you. None of us really know how to be normal. We’re all just figuring it out as we go along.”

Her words bring a small smile to your face. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Tell you what,” she says, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “Why don’t you get changed into something cool and comfortable, and then we’ll show you around the neighborhood? It might help you feel more settled.”

You nod, feeling a flicker of curiosity despite your apprehension. “I’d like that.”

After Aunt Maggie leaves, you dig through your suitcase, realizing with a start that you have no idea what constitutes “cool and comfortable” in Florida. You eventually settle on a light sundress and sandals, hoping it’s appropriate.

Downstairs, Aunt Maggie and Uncle George are waiting. “Oh, don’t you look lovely,” Aunt Maggie coos. “Very Floridian chic.”

Uncle George grabs a set of keys from a hook by the door. “Shall we take the golf cart? It’s the preferred mode of transportation around here.”

You blink in surprise. “We’re allowed to drive golf carts on the streets?”

“Welcome to Florida, kiddo,” Uncle George laughs. “Different rules apply here.”

The next hour is a whirlwind tour of the neighborhood. You zip along palm-lined streets in the golf cart, waving at neighbors who call out cheerful greetings. Aunt Maggie provides a running commentary.

“That’s the Johnsons’ place — lovely people, but their dog is a menace to squirrels everywhere. Oh, and over there is the community pool, although everyone just uses their own pools, really. And that’s where we have our neighborhood barbecues ...”

As if on cue, a man watering his impeccably manicured lawn calls out, “Hey, Maggie! George! Don’t forget the barbecue tonight!”

Aunt Maggie turns to you with a bright smile. “Oh, that’s perfect timing! What do you say, Y/N? Feel up to a little neighborhood gathering?”

You hesitate, anxiety bubbling up at the thought of meeting so many new people. But you remind yourself that this is part of your cover, part of being normal. “Sure,” you say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Why not?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of unpacking and preparation. Before you know it, you’re walking down the street with your aunt and uncle, a dish of something called “ambrosia salad” in your hands.

The barbecue is in full swing when you arrive. The air is filled with the smell of grilling meat and the sound of laughter and cheerful conversation. Children splash in a nearby pool while adults mingle, cold drinks in hand.

“George! Maggie!” A jovial man with a impressive mustache approaches, clapping Uncle George on the back. “Glad you could make it. And this must be your niece!”

You smile politely, remembering your cover story. “Yes, hello. I’m Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Y/N,” the man says warmly. “I’m Bill, by the way. Now, let me introduce you to some folks. Can’t have you standing around like a wallflower, can we?”

Before you can protest, Bill is leading you through the crowd, making introductions left and right. You smile and nod, trying desperately to remember names and keep your story straight.

“And this here is Logan,” Bill says, stopping in front of a young man about your age. “Logan’s our local celebrity, drives race cars for a living.”

You look up, meeting a pair of startlingly green eyes. The young man — Logan — smiles, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Hi there,” Logan says, his voice a pleasant drawl. “Logan Sargeant. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hello,” you manage, suddenly very aware of your accent. “You’re a race car driver?”

Logan nods, a hint of pride in his smile. “Formula 1, yeah. I drive for Williams Racing.”

Your eyes widen in recognition. You’ve attended a few F1 events in your official capacity, though you’ve never paid much attention to the drivers themselves. “That’s impressive,” you say genuinely.

“Ah, it’s just a job,” Logan says with a self-deprecating shrug, though his eyes sparkle with obvious passion. “What brings you to our little slice of paradise?”

You launch into your prepared story about traveling abroad, surprised at how easily the words flow. Logan listens attentively, asking questions that show genuine interest.

Just as you’re starting to relax into the conversation, Aunt Maggie appears at your elbow. “Y/N, dear, come meet the Hendersons. They’ve got a daughter about your age.”

You turn back to Logan with an apologetic smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan.”

“Likewise,” he replies, that charming grin still in place. “Hope to see you around, Y/N.”

As Aunt Maggie leads you away, you can’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan is still watching you, and when your eyes meet, he gives a little wave.

For the rest of the evening, you find yourself scanning the crowd, hoping for another glimpse of those green eyes. But between meeting what feels like the entire neighborhood and helping Aunt Maggie with hostess duties, you don’t get another chance to talk to Logan.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the gathering, you feel a mix of emotions washing over you. There’s still a lingering sadness, a homesickness that sits heavy in your chest. But there’s also a tiny spark of excitement, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, this unexpected adventure might not be so bad after all.

Uncle George finds you as the party begins to wind down. “How you holding up, kiddo?” He asks gently.

You consider the question for a moment. “I’m okay,” you say, surprising yourself with how true it feels. “It’s all very different, but ... I think I might be able to get used to it.”

Uncle George smiles, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s my girl. Now, what do you say we head home? I don’t know about you, but all this socializing has worn me out.”

You nod gratefully, suddenly aware of how tired you are. As you walk home with your aunt and uncle, the warm night air filled with the sound of cicadas, you feel a sense of calm settling over you.

This isn’t home, not really. But maybe, for now, it can be enough. And as you climb into bed that night, your mind drifts to a pair of green eyes and a charming smile, wondering what other surprises Florida might have in store for you.

***

The Florida sun has barely crested the horizon when you step out of your aunt and uncle’s house, running shoes laced tight. You’ve taken to early morning jogs as a way to clear your head and adjust to the new time zone. The neighborhood is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of exotic birds and the distant hum of sprinklers.

As you round the corner, lost in thought, you nearly collide with another runner coming from the opposite direction.

“Whoa there!” A familiar voice calls out, hands reaching out to steady you.

You look up, startled, into the green eyes of Logan Sargeant. He’s dressed in running gear, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Oh! Logan, I’m so sorry,” you stammer, feeling heat rise to your cheeks that has nothing to do with the morning warmth.

Logan grins, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away. “No harm done. I didn’t know you were a runner.”

You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m not really. Just trying to ... acclimate, I suppose.”

“To the heat or to Florida in general?” Logan asks, falling into step beside you as you both slow to a walk.

“Both, I think,” you admit with a small laugh. “It’s quite different from home.”

Logan nods understandingly. “I bet. I’ve been to England quite a bit since Williams is based there. Beautiful country, but yeah, not exactly known for its tropical climate.”

You’re about to respond when your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl. Logan’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

“Sounds like someone worked up an appetite,” he chuckles. “Have you tried the coffee shop down on Atlantic Boulevard yet? They make a mean breakfast burrito.”

You shake your head, realizing you haven’t ventured much beyond the immediate neighborhood.

Logan’s face lights up. “Well, we can’t have that. What do you say we grab some breakfast? My treat, to make up for almost running you over.”

You hesitate for a moment, your ingrained caution warring with the genuine warmth in Logan’s smile. “I wouldn’t want to impose ...”

“Not at all,” Logan insists. “Besides, I could use a coffee after this run. What do you say?”

Against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding. “Alright, that sounds lovely. Thank you.”

The walk to the coffee shop is filled with easy conversation. Logan asks about your impressions of Florida so far, and you find yourself relaxing as you share some of your culture shock moments.

“Wait, you’ve never had a key lime pie before?” Logan asks incredulously as you approach the quaint storefront of the coffee shop.

You shake your head, laughing. “I had never even heard of it! Aunt Maggie was scandalized.”

Logan holds the door open for you, the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods washing over you as you enter. “Well, we’ll have to remedy that. They make a pretty decent one here, actually.”

As you settle into a cozy booth by the window, you can’t help but marvel at how ... normal this feels. Sitting in a cafe with a handsome boy, discussing pastries and local cuisine. It’s a far cry from formal state dinners and carefully orchestrated public appearances.

“So,” Logan says after you’ve placed your orders, “what brings you to Fort Lauderdale? Your aunt mentioned something about you taking some time off?”

You nod, reciting the cover story you’ve practiced. “Yes, I wanted to experience life outside of England for a bit before graduate school. My aunt and uncle were kind enough to let me stay with them.”

Logan leans forward, genuinely interested. “That’s cool. Any specific plans while you’re here?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Not really. Just ... experiencing life, I suppose. What about you? Shouldn’t you be off racing cars somewhere exotic?”

Logan grins, a spark of excitement lighting up his eyes. “Usually, yeah. But it’s the summer shutdown right now. All the teams take a break for a few weeks. I always try to come home when I can.”

“That must be nice,” you say softly, a pang of homesickness hitting you unexpectedly.

Logan’s expression softens. “You miss home?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak for a moment. Logan reaches across the table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, it’s okay. Homesickness is rough. But you know what helps?”

You look up, meeting his eyes. “What’s that?”

“Making some good memories in your new place,” Logan says with a warm smile. “And I happen to be an expert in South Florida fun.”

You can’t help but smile back. “Is that so?”

Logan nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. In fact, I’d be happy to be your official tour guide. If you’re interested, that is.”

Before you can respond, your food arrives. The conversation flows easily as you eat, Logan regaling you with tales of his racing adventures and you sharing carefully edited stories of life in England.

As you finish your meal, Logan glances at his watch. “I hate to eat and run, but I’ve got a training session in an hour. But hey, if you’re free later, maybe we could meet up at the beach? I could show you some of the best spots.”

You hesitate, knowing you should probably decline. But the thought of spending more time with Logan, of experiencing a slice of normal life, is too tempting to resist.

“That sounds wonderful,” you find yourself saying. “What time were you thinking?”

Logan’s face lights up. “How about three? I can meet you at the public access point near your aunt and uncle’s place.”

You nod, already looking forward to it. “Three it is.”

As you part ways outside the cafe, Logan gives you another heart-melting smile. “See you later, Y/N. And welcome to Fort Lauderdale.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. You help Aunt Maggie with some gardening, your mind constantly drifting to thoughts of green eyes and easy smiles. By the time 3 o’clock rolls around, you’re a bundle of nervous energy.

You spot Logan waiting by the beach access, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He waves as you approach, that now-familiar grin spreading across his face.

“Ready for Beach Life 101?” He asks as you fall into step beside him.

You nod, breathing in the salty air. “Lead the way, Professor Sargeant.”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, I like that. Maybe I’ve found my post-racing career.”

As you walk along the shoreline, Logan points out various landmarks and shares local trivia. You find yourself captivated, not just by the information, but by the passion with which he speaks about his hometown.

“And over there,” Logan says, pointing to a stretch of beach dotted with volleyball nets, “is where I learned that I am absolutely terrible at beach volleyball.”

You giggle, the sound surprising even yourself. “Oh? Do tell.”

Logan dramatically recounts a particularly disastrous game from his teenage days, complete with exaggerated gestures. You’re laughing so hard you barely notice when you stumble over a piece of driftwood.

Logan’s arm shoots out, steadying you. “Whoa there. You okay?”

You nod, suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing. “Yes, thank you. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“Must be my sparkling wit distracting you,” Logan teases, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before dropping away.

As the afternoon wears on, you find yourself relaxing more and more in Logan’s company. He’s easy to talk to, genuinely interested in your thoughts and experiences. For a few blissful hours, you almost forget about the circumstances that brought you here.

As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Logan leads you to a quiet spot away from the main beach.

“This,” he says with a flourish, “is the best place to watch the sunset in all of Fort Lauderdale.”

You settle onto the sand, marveling at the view. “It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

Logan sits beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his sun-kissed skin. “Yeah, it really is.”

For a moment, you sit in comfortable silence, watching as the sun slowly sinks into the ocean. Then Logan turns to you, his expression suddenly serious.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod, a flicker of nervousness igniting in your chest. “Of course.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more to your story than you’re letting on?”

Your heart races, panic threatening to overwhelm you. “What do you mean?”

Logan shrugs, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know. There’s just something about you. The way you carry yourself, the things you say ... or don’t say. It’s like you’re holding part of yourself back.”

You look away, focusing on the horizon. “I’m just ... adjusting. To being here, I mean.”

Logan nods slowly. “I get that. And hey, if there are things you don’t want to share, that’s cool. I just want you to know that you can trust me. If you want to, that is.”

You turn back to him, struck by the sincerity in his eyes. For a wild moment, you consider telling him everything — who you really are, why you’re here. But the weight of your family’s expectations, the very real danger that drove you here, holds you back.

Instead, you offer him a small smile. “Thank you, Logan. That means a lot.”

He returns your smile, reaching out to squeeze your hand gently. “Anytime. Whatever brought you here, I’m glad it did. It’s been really nice getting to know you.”

As the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you find yourself wishing you could freeze this moment. Here, with the sound of the ocean in your ears and Logan’s hand warm in yours, you feel more like yourself than you have in years.

But as the sky darkens and the first stars begin to appear, reality starts to creep back in. You know you can’t stay in this bubble forever.

“We should probably head back,” you say reluctantly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between you.

Logan nods, standing and offering you a hand up. “Yeah, I guess so. But this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

You smile, surprising yourself with how much you want that. “I’d like that very much.”

As you walk back along the beach, Logan’s hand brushes against yours. After a moment’s hesitation, you let your fingers intertwine with his. It’s a small gesture, but it feels monumental.

At the edge of your aunt and uncle’s property, you pause. “Thank you for today, Logan. It was ... wonderful.”

Logan’s smile is soft in the dim light. “I’m glad. And if you ever need a break from acclimating, you know where to find me.”

Before you can overthink it, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Logan.”

As you hurry inside, your heart pounding, you catch a glimpse of Logan touching his cheek, a dazed smile on his face.

In your room, you sink onto the bed, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through you. You know you’re treading dangerous waters. Logan is everything you shouldn’t want — a distraction, a complication, a risk to your cover.

But as you drift off to sleep, your dreams are filled with green eyes and the sound of waves crashing on the shore. And for the first time since arriving in Florida, you find yourself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.

***

The gentle lapping of waves against the hull of the boat fills the comfortable silence between you and Logan. You’re sprawled on the deck, basking in the warm afternoon sun, while Logan sits nearby, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie.

You turn your head to look at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking about how surreal this all feels. A few weeks ago, I never could have imagined ... this.”

Logan’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement. “What, lying on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic? Or spending time with an incredibly charming race car driver?”

You laugh, playfully swatting his arm. “Both, I suppose. Though I’m not sure about the ‘incredibly charming’ part.”

“Ouch,” Logan clutches his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me.”

Sitting up, you lean against the boat’s railing, taking in the endless expanse of blue around you. “It’s just ... I’ve never felt this free before. This ... unburdened.”

Logan’s expression softens as he moves to sit beside you. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip, choosing your words carefully. “Back home, there’s always ... expectations. Responsibilities. Here, with you, I feel like I can just be myself.”

Logan nods thoughtfully. “I get that. It’s kind of like how I feel when I’m racing. When I’m in the car, nothing else matters. It’s just me, the track, and the speed.”

“That sounds exhilarating,” you say, genuinely curious. “Is that why you love it so much?”

Logan’s eyes light up with passion. “Partly, yeah. But it’s more than that. It’s the challenge, you know? Pushing yourself to the absolute limit, always striving to be better, faster.”

You listen intently as Logan delves into the intricacies of Formula 1 racing, marveling at the depth of his knowledge and the intensity of his enthusiasm.

“Sorry,” he says suddenly, looking a bit sheepish. “I tend to ramble when it comes to racing. I’m probably boring you.”

You shake your head emphatically. “Not at all! I love hearing you talk about it. Your passion is ... inspiring.”

Logan’s smile is warm as he takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Thanks. You know, it’s nice to be able to talk about this stuff with someone who actually listens. Most people just hear ‘Formula 1 driver’ and make assumptions.”

“What kind of assumptions?” you ask, curious.

Logan shrugs. “Oh, you know. That I’m some adrenaline junkie who doesn’t take anything seriously. Or that I’m living some glamorous, carefree life.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “But it’s not like that at all, is it?”

“Not even close,” Logan admits. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. But the pressure ... it can be overwhelming sometimes.”

“How so?” You prompt, recognizing the weight in his voice.

Logan leans back, his gaze distant. “It’s not just about driving fast, you know? There’s the physical training, the technical knowledge, the media obligations. And then there’s the constant pressure to perform. Everyone always questioning whether you deserve your seat.”

You nod, understanding all too well the burden of constant scrutiny. “That sounds incredibly stressful.”

“It can be,” Logan agrees. “But then I remember how lucky I am to be living my dream, and it puts things in perspective.”

You smile, admiring his positive outlook. “That’s a wonderful way of looking at it.”

Logan turns to you, his green eyes intense. “What about you? What’s your dream?”

The question catches you off guard. For so long, your life has been dictated by duty and expectation. The concept of a personal dream feels almost foreign.

“I ... I’m not sure,” you admit quietly. “I’ve never really thought about it in those terms.”

Logan’s brow furrows in concern. “Really? There must be something you’re passionate about, something you’d love to do if you could do anything in the world.”

You ponder the question, thinking back to the interests and passions you’ve had to set aside for your royal duties. “I’ve always loved art,” you say finally. “Painting, specifically. But it’s always been more of a hobby than a serious pursuit.”

Logan’s face lights up. “That’s awesome! Have you painted anything since you’ve been here?”

You shake your head, a twinge of regret in your chest. “No, I ... I didn’t bring any supplies with me.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” Logan says decisively. “I’m sure there’s an art supply store in town. We could go tomorrow if you want?”

The thought of picking up a paintbrush again sends a thrill of excitement through you. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Logan laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Mind? Y/N, I’d love to see this side of you. Maybe you could even paint me sometime,” he adds with a wink.

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I’m not sure you’d want that. I’m terribly out of practice.”

“I’m sure you’re amazing,” Logan says with such conviction that you can’t help but believe him a little.

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the sound of the waves and the occasional cry of a seagull. You find yourself studying Logan’s profile, admiring the way the sunlight catches in his hair and highlights the strong line of his jaw.

As if sensing your gaze, Logan turns to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, returning his smile. “I’m just ... happy.”

Logan’s expression becomes tender as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah? Me too.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotion. Logan leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. But you don’t want to. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips brushing together in a soft, sweet kiss.

When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he admits.

You laugh softly, your heart feeling lighter than it has in years. “Me too.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of conversation, laughter, and stolen kisses. As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Logan steers the boat back towards the docks.

“So,” he says as you dock, “what do you say we go on a proper date tomorrow? Dinner, maybe? After our art supply shopping trip, of course.”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “That sounds wonderful.”

As Logan walks you back to your aunt and uncle’s house, his hand warm in yours, you can’t help but marvel at how much your life has changed in just a few short weeks. The weight of your royal responsibilities, the constant fear from the threats that drove you here — it all feels distant, like a half-remembered dream.

At your doorstep, Logan pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” you reply, reluctant to let go of his hand.

Inside, you lean against the closed door, your heart racing with a mixture of excitement and an emotion you’re not quite ready to name. For the first time in your life, you’re experiencing something that’s wholly yours — not dictated by duty or protocol, but born from genuine connection and shared moments.

The next few weeks pass in a whirlwind of stolen moments and shared adventures. True to his word, Logan takes you to the art supply store, insisting on buying you the best paints and brushes despite your protests.

You find yourself rediscovering your passion for art, spending hours capturing the vibrant colors and energy of Fort Lauderdale on canvas. Logan is always eager to see your latest creations, his genuine enthusiasm bolstering your confidence.

One evening, as you sit on the beach watching the sunset, Logan turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you say we go for a swim?”

You laugh, gesturing at your sundress. “Now? We��re not exactly dressed for it.”

Logan shrugs, his grin widening. “So? Live a little, Y/N. When was the last time you went swimming in your clothes?”

You think back, realizing with a start that you’ve never done anything so spontaneous. “I ... never, actually.”

“Well then,” Logan says, standing and offering you his hand, “there’s no time like the present.”

Before you can overthink it, you take his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Together, you run towards the water, laughing as the cool waves crash around your ankles.

Logan pulls you deeper, until you’re both waist-deep in the ocean. The water is refreshing against your sun-warmed skin, and you can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all.

“See?” Logan says, pulling you close. “Isn’t this fun?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s perfect.”

As you float together in the gentle waves, the last rays of sunlight painting the sky in brilliant hues, you’re struck by a sudden, overwhelming realization. You’re falling in love with Logan Sargeant.

The thought should terrify you. After all, you know this can’t last forever. Your real life, your responsibilities, they’re all waiting for you back in England. But in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you and the vast ocean stretching out before you, you can’t bring yourself to care about the future.

“What are you thinking about?” Logan asks softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.

You look up at him, taking in the warmth in his green eyes, the gentle curve of his smile. “Just ... how happy I am right now. How I wish this moment could last forever.”

Logan’s expression softens as he leans in to kiss you. It’s a kiss full of unspoken emotion, of shared dreams and secret hopes. When you part, Logan rests his forehead against yours.

“Me too, Y/N,” he whispers. “Me too.”

As you float in the warm Florida waters, the stars beginning to twinkle overhead, you allow yourself to fully embrace the moment. You know that reality will intrude eventually, that the carefree days of this Florida summer can’t last forever. But for now, in Logan’s arms, you feel truly, completely free.

And for the first time in your life, you dare to dream of a future shaped by your own desires rather than the expectations of others. It’s a dangerous thought, a seed of hope that you know might lead to heartbreak. But as Logan pulls you in for another kiss, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

For now, you’re just a girl falling in love under the Florida stars. And for now, that’s enough.

***

The sun is setting over Fort Lauderdale as you and Logan stroll hand in hand along Las Olas Boulevard. The street is alive with the buzz of restaurants and boutiques, but you’re barely aware of your surroundings, lost in thought about the conversation you know you need to have.

Logan’s voice breaks through your reverie. “Earth to Y/N,” he says, gently nudging your shoulder. “You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”

You force a smile, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling in your chest. “I’m fine. Just ... thinking.”

Logan’s brow furrows with concern. “Anything you want to talk about?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Actually, yes. Logan, there’s something I need to tell you-”

But before you can continue, a flash goes off nearby, startling you both. You turn to see a man with a camera, his lens pointed directly at you.

“Princess Y/N?” The photographer calls out, his voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Is that you?”

Your blood runs cold as more flashes go off. Suddenly, it seems like cameras are appearing from every direction, voices calling out your name and title.

Logan’s hand tightens around yours. “Princess?” He repeats, confusion evident in his voice. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You feel panic rising in your throat. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out. “Logan, I can explain-”

But Logan’s already pulling you away from the growing crowd, his jaw set in a hard line. He leads you down a side street, away from the main thoroughfare, until you reach a quiet park.

As soon as you’re alone, Logan drops your hand, turning to face you with a mixture of hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. “Princess Y/N? That’s who you are?”

You nod, your heart racing. “Yes. Logan, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you-”

“When?” Logan interrupts, his voice sharp. “When were you planning on telling me that everything about you has been a lie?”

“Not everything,” you protest, reaching for his hand, but he pulls away. “My feelings for you are real, Logan. That’s not a lie.”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think this was funny? Playing at being a normal girl, slumming it with the commoner?”

His words sting, and you feel tears pricking at your eyes. “No! Of course not. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Then what was it like?” Logan demands. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been playing me for a fool this entire time.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “I came here because my life was in danger. There were threats, serious ones. My family thought it would be safer if I disappeared for a while, if I lived like a normal person.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Okay, I can understand that. But why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth?”

“I wanted to,” you say softly. “So many times. But I was scared. Scared of how you’d react, scared of ruining what we had.”

“What we had,” Logan repeats, his voice bitter. “And what exactly was that, Y/N? Or should I call you ‘Your Highness’ now?”

You flinch at his tone. “Logan, please. What we have is real. My feelings for you are real.”

“Are they?” Logan challenges. “Because the Y/N I thought I knew wouldn’t have lied to me for weeks. The Y/N I was falling in love with wouldn’t have let me make a fool of myself, talking about my problems like they were anything compared to being actual royalty.”

His words hit you like a physical blow. “Falling in love with?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s expression crumples for a moment before he schools it back into anger. “Yeah, well. I guess that just shows how stupid I’ve been.”

“You’re not stupid,” you insist, taking a step towards him. “Logan, I love you too. That’s why I was so scared to tell you the truth. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Logan laughs humorlessly. “Well, great job there. Because finding out like this? With paparazzi swarming us? That’s so much better.”

You feel tears starting to fall, but you make no move to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Logan asks, his voice softer now but still laced with hurt. “Did you think we could just keep playing pretend forever? That your real life wouldn’t come crashing back in eventually?”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your reality pressing down on you. “No, I ... I don’t know what I thought. I just knew that when I was with you, I felt free. I felt like myself for the first time in my life.”

Logan’s expression wavers between anger and sympathy. “And who is that, Y/N? Because I’m not sure I know anymore.”

“I’m still me,” you insist. “The girl who loves art and quiet moments on the beach. The girl who laughs at your terrible jokes and feels safest when she’s in your arms. That’s all real, Logan. The only thing that’s different is my title.”

Logan scoffs. “Only your title? Y/N, you’re a princess. Do you have any idea what this means? The media frenzy, the scrutiny, the expectations ... it’s not just your title that’s different. It’s your entire world.”

You feel a flicker of frustration ignite in your chest. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t lived with that pressure every day of my life? That’s why being here, being with you, has meant so much to me. For once, I got to just be myself.”

“But it wasn’t really yourself, was it?” Logan counters. “It was a version of you. A version without the weight of a crown.”

His words hit too close to home, and you feel your own anger rising. “And what about you? You talk about pressure and expectations like I couldn’t possibly understand. But I do understand, Logan. More than you know.”

Logan shakes his head, his voice rising. “It’s not the same thing, Y/N! I chose this life. I worked for it. You ... you were born into it. And you lied about it. To me, to everyone here.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” You shout, surprising yourself with the intensity of your emotion. “Do you think I wanted to lie? Do you think I enjoyed keeping this secret? I was trying to stay alive, Logan. I was trying to protect myself and the people I care about. Including you!”

Logan takes a step back, his eyes wide. For a moment, silence hangs heavy between you.

“Protect me?” He finally says, his voice low. “How does lying to me protect me?”

You take a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself. “The less you knew, the safer you were. And ... the more I fell for you, the more I wanted to keep you separate from that part of my life. To keep this — us — untainted by all of that.”

Logan’s expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still evident in his eyes. “Y/N ... I get that you were in a difficult position. I do. But relationships are built on trust. How can I trust you now?”

His words cut deep, and you feel fresh tears welling up. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But I want to try. Logan, please. What we have ... it’s worth fighting for, isn’t it?”

Logan runs a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is ... it’s a lot to process. I need time to think.”

You nod, your heart sinking. “I understand. I just ... I hope you can forgive me. Eventually.”

Logan looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I hope so too. But right now I think we both need some space.”

As he turns to walk away, you feel a piece of your heart go with him. “Logan,” you call out, your voice breaking.

He pauses but doesn’t turn back. “Yeah?”

“I really do love you,” you say softly. “That was never a lie.”

Logan’s shoulders slump slightly. “I know,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the growing darkness of the park.

You stand there for a long moment, tears streaming down your face, feeling more alone than you ever have before. The sound of distant camera shutters reminds you that your private world has well and truly shattered.

With a heavy heart, you pull out your phone to call your aunt and uncle. It’s time to face the music, to deal with the fallout of your exposed identity. But as you dial, all you can think about is the look of betrayal in Logan’s eyes, wondering if you’ve lost him for good.

As you wait for your aunt to pick up, you gaze out at the Florida skyline, the twinkling lights now seeming cold and distant. For a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to imagine a different life — one where you’re just Y/N, an ordinary girl in love with a boy who races cars. But reality crashes back in as your aunt’s worried voice comes through the phone.

“It’s time to come home,” she says, and you know she doesn’t just mean back to the house.

Your summer of freedom, of love and normalcy, is coming to an end. As you give your aunt your location for pickup, you can’t help but wonder … was it worth it? The joy, the love, the heartbreak — would you do it all again, knowing how it would end?

As you spot your uncle’s car approaching, you realize with a start that yes, you would. Because for a brief, shining moment, you knew what it was like to be truly, completely yourself. And no crown, no duty, no threat could ever take that away from you.

***

The Florida sun beats down mercilessly as you sit on the porch swing of your aunt and uncle’s house, listlessly flipping through a magazine. It’s been a week since the paparazzi incident, a week since your world turned upside down. The threats back home have been neutralized, your security team assures you, but it feels like a hollow victory.

Your aunt’s voice drifts from inside the house. “Y/N, darling, are you sure you don’t want to come to the beach with us?”

“I’m sure, Aunt Maggie,” you call back, forcing a cheerfulness you don’t feel into your voice. “You and Uncle George go ahead. I’m fine here.”

As the sound of their car fades away, you let out a heavy sigh. Fine is the last thing you are. With only a week left before your scheduled return to England, you feel like you’re in limbo, caught between two worlds and belonging to neither.

The sudden roar of an engine pulls you from your melancholy thoughts. A sleek sports car you recognize all too well pulls up in front of the house. Your heart leaps into your throat as Logan steps out, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever in jeans and a simple t-shirt.

For a moment, you both freeze, eyes locked on each other. Then Logan takes a hesitant step forward. “Hi,” he says, his voice carrying a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Hi,” you reply, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as a sign of his anxiety. “I ... I needed to see you. To talk to you. Can we ...” He gestures vaguely towards the porch.

You nod, moving over on the swing to make room for him. Logan sits, careful to leave space between you, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

Finally, Logan breaks the silence. “I owe you an apology,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “The way I reacted when I found out ... it wasn’t fair to you.”

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No, Logan. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I lied to you, kept this huge part of my life secret. You had every right to be angry.”

Logan turns to face you, his green eyes intense. “Maybe. But I’ve had time to think. To really process everything. And I realized something important.”

“What’s that?” You ask, hardly daring to breathe.

“That it doesn’t matter,” Logan says simply. “Princess, commoner, whatever — it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Because the girl I fell in love with? She’s real. Royal title or not.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. “Logan ...”

He reaches out, taking your hand in his. “Let me finish, please. I talked to my family, tried to sort out my feelings. And I kept coming back to one thing — how I feel when I’m with you. How you make me laugh, how you challenge me, how you see me for who I am, not just what I do.”

“I feel the same way,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Being with you ... it’s the freest I’ve ever felt.”

Logan’s thumb traces circles on your palm, sending shivers up your arm. “I know we have a lot to figure out. The distance, the media attention, our careers ... it won’t be easy. But Y/N, I think what we have is worth fighting for. If you’ll have me, that is.”

You can’t hold back your tears any longer. They fall freely as you launch yourself into Logan’s arms, burying your face in his neck. “Of course I’ll have you, you idiot,” you mumble against his skin.

Logan’s arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank God,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I could bear losing you again.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I’m so sorry. For lying, for putting you in this position. I never meant to hurt you.”

Logan cups your face gently, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry too, for not giving you a chance to explain. For letting my hurt and pride get in the way of what really matters.”

“And what’s that?” You ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“Us,” Logan says simply. “You and me. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”

You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. “Together,” you repeat, loving the sound of it. “I like that.”

Logan’s lips curve into a smile. “Me too. Now, can I please kiss you? Because I’ve been dying to do that since the moment I saw you on this porch.”

You laugh, a sound of pure joy and relief. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As Logan’s lips meet yours, you feel like you’re coming home. The kiss is tender and passionate all at once, an apology and a promise wrapped into one. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“So,” Logan says, his arms still wrapped around you. “What now, Princess? Because I have to say, I’m a little out of my depth here. Is there some royal protocol for dating I should know about?”

You can’t help but giggle at the mix of humor and genuine concern in his voice. “Well, traditionally, you’d have to ask my father for permission to court me. Preferably while wearing a powdered wig and breeches.”

Logan’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

You pat his cheek affectionately. “About the wig and breeches, yes. About talking to my father ... that might actually have to happen at some point.”

Logan gulps audibly. “Right. Talking to the King of England. No pressure or anything.”

You snuggle closer to him on the swing. “He’ll love you. How could he not?”

“I hope you’re right,” Logan says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because I’m not giving you up without a fight, royal decree or not.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of being in each other’s arms again. But reality begins to creep in, and you feel Logan tense slightly.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “What about ... I mean, you’re leaving in a week, right?”

You nod, feeling a pang in your chest. “Yes. The jet is being sent to pick me up next Saturday.”

Logan takes a deep breath. “And then what? I mean, for us?”

You sit up, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I want to make this work, Logan. More than anything. But I won’t lie to you — it won’t be easy.”

Logan nods, his expression serious. “I know. The distance, our schedules ... not to mention the media circus that’s bound to happen when word gets out.”

“Are you sure you want to deal with all that?” You ask, voicing the fear that’s been nagging at you. “It’s not too late to back out, to go back to your normal life.”

Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Y/N, look at me.” When you meet his gaze, he continues, “My life stopped being normal the moment I met you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Whatever challenges we face, we’ll face them together. Okay?”

You lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Okay,” you agree softly.

“Besides,” Logan adds with a mischievous grin, “dating a princess might actually be good for my image. Think of all the sponsorship deals I could get.”

You gasp in mock outrage, swatting his arm. “Logan Sargeant! Is that all I am to you? A ticket to better endorsements?”

Logan laughs, pulling you back into his arms. “Busted. It was all an elaborate scheme to get my face on a tea towel.”

You can’t help but join in his laughter, marveling at how easily he can lift your spirits. As your giggles subside, a thought occurs to you.

“You know,” you say slowly, “there might be a way to make the distance a little more manageable, at least for a while.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I’m all ears, Princess.”

You take a deep breath, hoping you’re not overstepping. “Well, the F1 season isn’t over yet, right? There are still races in Europe ...”

Logan’s eyes light up as he catches on. “Races where a certain princess might be able to make an appearance?”

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement. “It would be a good opportunity to show support for British motorsport. Purely diplomatic reasons, of course.”

Logan’s grin widens. “Of course. Very diplomatic. I’m sure the press won’t read anything into the Princess of Wales suddenly becoming a racing enthusiast.”

You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Let them talk. As long as I get to see you, I don’t care what they say.”

Logan’s expression softens. “You really mean that, don’t you? You’re willing to face all the scrutiny, the gossip, just to be with me?”

You nod, your voice firm. “You’re worth it. We’re worth it.”

Logan pulls you close, burying his face in your hair. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “More than I ever thought possible.”

As you sit there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other’s arms, you know that the road ahead won’t be easy. There will be challenges, obstacles, moments of doubt. But looking into Logan’s eyes, seeing the love and determination there, you know you can face anything as long as you’re together.

The sound of a car approaching breaks the moment. You recognize your aunt and uncle’s vehicle coming up the driveway.

Logan tenses slightly. “Should I ... do you want me to leave?”

You shake your head firmly. “No. Stay. It’s time they met the real you, not just the boy next door.”

As your aunt and uncle pull up, looking surprised to see Logan there, you stand up, hand-in-hand with the man you love. You’re ready to face whatever comes next, be it nosy relatives, prying media, or the complexities of a long-distance relationship between a princess and an F1 driver.

Because now you know — home isn’t a place. It’s not a palace in England or a beach house in Florida. Home is wherever you and Logan are together. And that’s a feeling worth fighting for.

***

The Florida sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon as Logan’s car pulls up to the private airstrip. The sleek private jet waiting on the tarmac is a reminder of the reality you’re about to step back into. Logan cuts the engine, but neither of you move to get out, both reluctant to face the inevitable goodbye.

“So,” Logan says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I guess this is it, huh?”

You turn to him, taking in every detail of his face as if trying to memorize it. “Not it,” you insist. “Just ... see you later.”

Logan manages a small smile, reaching out to take your hand. “Right. See you later. In England. Where you’ll be a princess again.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’ll always be me, Logan. Title or no title.”

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s just ... it’s going to be different, isn’t it? You’ll have responsibilities, obligations. And I’ll be ...”

“The man I love,” you interrupt firmly. “No matter what.”

Logan’s eyes soften at your words. “I love you too. I’m going to miss you so much.”

You lean across the center console, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m going to miss you too. But we’ve got a plan, remember?”

Logan nods, his breath warm against your skin. “Right. The plan. Want to run through it one more time? You know, just to make sure we’ve got it down.”

You can’t help but smile at his attempt to prolong the moment. “Okay, let’s see. You’ve got ten more races this season, right?”

“Yep,” Logan confirms. “Zandvoort, Monza, Baku, Singapore, COTA, Mexico, Brazil, Vegas, Qatar, and Abu Dhabi.”

“And I,” you say, sitting back slightly to meet his gaze, “will be making surprise appearances to as many as I can. To support British motorsport, of course.”

Logan grins. “Of course. Very diplomatic of you.”

“Then,” you continue, “once the season’s over, you’ll be spending more time at the Williams headquarters in Grove.”

“Which, coincidentally, is just a short drive from London,” Logan adds with a wink.

You nod, feeling a flutter of excitement despite the impending separation. “And I’ll make sure to have plenty of reasons to visit Grove. Lots of ... local businesses to support.”

Logan laughs, the sound warming your heart. “I’m sure the people of Grove will greatly appreciate the royal attention.”

“Then there’s Christmas,” you say softly. “I talked to my parents, and ... they want to meet you. Properly.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly. “Christmas with the royal family. No pressure or anything.”

You cup his cheek gently. “They’ll love you, Logan. How could they not?”

He leans into your touch. “I hope you’re right. Because I plan on sticking around for a long time, Princess.”

“Good,” you say firmly. “Because I’m not letting you go that easily.”

Logan’s smile fades slightly as his gaze drifts to the waiting plane. “We should probably ...”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah. We should.”

With a deep breath, you both step out of the car. Logan moves to the trunk to retrieve your luggage while you take a moment to compose yourself. As he joins you, bags in hand, you’re struck by how domestic this feels — and how much you wish this was just a normal trip, not a return to a life an ocean away.

“Your chariot awaits, Your Highness,” Logan says with an exaggerated bow, trying to lighten the mood.

You roll your eyes fondly, but play along. “Why thank you, kind sir. Your service to the Crown is most appreciated.”

As you walk towards the plane, Logan’s free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers. “You know,” he says casually, “I’ve been thinking about taking some flying lessons. Might come in handy for, oh, I don’t know ... surprise visits to England?”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Logan Sargeant, are you planning on becoming my personal pilot?”

He grins, that mischievous sparkle you love so much dancing in his eyes. “Well, I figure if I can handle an F1 car at 200 miles per hour, a plane can’t be that much harder, right?”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” you say, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Details, details,” Logan waves his free hand dismissively. “The point is, I’m going to find ways to see you. Even if I have to learn to fly, sail, or ... I don’t know, teleport.”

You stop walking, tugging on his hand to make him face you. “You know you don’t have to do all that, right? I mean, I love that you want to, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to change your whole life for me.”

Logan sets down your bags, taking both your hands in his. “Y/N, listen to me. You are worth changing my whole life for. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about finding ways to make our lives fit together. Because that’s what I want — a life with you in it.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “I want that too. So much.”

Logan reaches up to brush away a tear that’s escaped. “Then we’ll make it work. Whatever it takes.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “Whatever it takes,” you repeat softly.

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks the moment. You turn to see the pilot standing a respectful distance away.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness,” he says, “but we need to begin boarding if we’re to make our departure time.”

You nod, straightening your shoulders. “Of course. Thank you, Captain. I’ll be right there.”

As the pilot retreats, you turn back to Logan. “I guess this is really goodbye.”

Logan pulls you close, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Not goodbye. Never goodbye. Just ... until next time.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. “Next time,” you murmur. “The Netherlands, right?”

“The Netherlands,” Logan confirms, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be the one in the Williams car, trying not to crash while looking for you in the stands.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears threaten to fall again. “Please don’t crash. I quite like you in one piece.”

Logan pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “No promises. You’re pretty distracting, Princess.”

Before you can retort, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that takes your breath away. It’s tender and passionate, a promise and a farewell all at once. When you finally part, you’re both breathless.

“I love you,” you whisper, your foreheads still pressed together.

“I love you too,” Logan replies. “Now go, before I decide to jump in the cockpit of that plane and fly us both to some remote island where we can just be us.”

You laugh, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. “Don’t tempt me. That sounds pretty perfect right now.”

Logan picks up your bags again, walking with you the last few steps to the plane’s stairs. “Your royal carriage, m’lady,” he says with another exaggerated bow.

You shake your head fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it,” he counters with a grin.

“I do,” you admit softly. “I really do.”

With one last lingering look, you start up the stairs. At the top, you turn back. Logan is still there, watching you with a mix of love and longing that makes your heart ache.

“Hey, Logan?” You call down.

“Yeah?”

You smile, feeling a sudden surge of certainty despite the impending separation. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

Logan’s answering smile is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. “Yeah, Princess. We’re going to be more than okay. We’re going to be amazing.”

With those words echoing in your heart, you finally step into the plane. As you settle into your seat, you watch through the window as Logan returns to his car. He stands there, hand raised in farewell, until the plane begins to taxi.

As the ground falls away beneath you, you close your eyes, already counting the days until the Dutch Grand Prix. The path ahead won’t be easy — you know there will be challenges, misunderstandings, moments of doubt. But you also know that what you and Logan have is worth fighting for.

You’re leaving behind the carefree summer days of Florida, returning to the responsibilities and expectations of your royal life. But you’re taking with you something precious — the knowledge that you are loved for who you are, not what you are. And that, you realize, is the greatest gift of all.

As the plane soars over the Atlantic, you allow yourself to dream of the future — of stolen moments at race tracks, of quiet evenings in London, of a love that bridges oceans and transcends titles. It won’t be easy, but then again, the best things in life rarely are.

You’re a princess and he’s a race car driver. On paper, it shouldn’t work. But as you drift off to sleep, Logan’s last words replay in your mind.

“We’re going to be amazing.”

And you believe him. Because with Logan by your side, how could you be anything else?

***

The Texas sun beats down mercilessly on the Circuit of the Americas as Logan adjusts his fireproofs, preparing for another round of interviews. It’s his home race and the pressure is palpable. He’s been struggling all season, the weight of expectations and the constant comparisons to his teammate wearing him down.

As he walks towards the waiting journalists, Logan can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. You had told him you couldn’t make it to this race, citing royal obligations back in England. He understands, of course, but the thought of racing on home soil without you in the stands feels hollow somehow.

“Logan! Over here!” A reporter waves him over, microphone at the ready. “How are you feeling about today’s race?”

Logan pastes on his media-ready smile, falling into the familiar rhythm of pre-race interviews. “I’m feeling good, you know? It’s always special racing at home, and the energy here at COTA is incredible.”

“There’s been a lot of talk about your future with Williams,” another journalist chimes in. “Any comments on the rumors that your seat might be in jeopardy for next season?”

Logan’s smile falters slightly, but he recovers quickly. “I’m focused on doing my best in every race, including today’s. The future will take care of itself.”

As he continues answering questions, Logan’s gaze drifts over the bustling pit lane. Mechanics scurry about, making last-minute adjustments to the cars. Team personnel hurry back and forth, clipboards and tablets in hand. It’s a familiar scene, one he’s witnessed countless times before.

But then, something catches his eye. A flash of familiar hair, a silhouette he’d recognize anywhere. Logan blinks, sure he must be seeing things. But no — there you are, walking down the pit lane as if you belong there (which, he supposes, you do in a way).

“Logan?” The interviewer’s voice seems distant. “Logan, can you tell us about your strategy for today’s-”

But Logan isn’t listening anymore. His jaw goes slack, eyes wide with disbelief as he watches you approach. You’re dressed casually in a flowing maxi dress, your hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. To Logan, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“I ... uh ...” Logan stammers, completely losing his train of thought. The interviewer follows his gaze, her own eyes widening as she recognizes you.

A hush falls over the pit lane as heads turn to watch your progress. You seem oblivious to the attention, your eyes locked on Logan. A brilliant smile lights up your face as you break into a run.

Logan barely has time to brace himself before you’re launching yourself into his arms. He catches you instinctively, spinning you around as laughter bubbles up from his chest.

“Surprise!” You exclaim, pulling back just enough to see his face. “Did you really think I’d miss your home race?”

Logan shakes his head in amazement, still not quite believing you’re here. “But you said ... how did you ...”

You grin mischievously. “I may have told a tiny white lie. Royal prerogative and all that.”

Logan laughs, setting you down but keeping his arms wrapped firmly around your waist. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink.

It’s only then that Logan becomes aware of your surroundings again. The entire pit lane has gone silent, all eyes on the two of you. Cameras flash incessantly, capturing what must be the most undignified public display the Princess of England has ever made.

Logan feels a moment of panic. “Y/N,” he whispers, “everyone’s watching.”

You shrug, seemingly unconcerned. “Let them watch. I’m just a girl supporting her boyfriend at his home race.”

The casual use of the word ‘boyfriend’ sends a thrill through Logan. Despite the months you’ve been together, sometimes he still can’t quite believe this is real.

A throat clearing nearby breaks the moment. Logan turns to see James Vowles approaching with a bemused expression.

“Your Highness,” James says with a slight bow. “This is ... an unexpected honor.”

You turn to face him, your arm still wrapped around Logan’s waist. “Mr. Vowles,” you greet him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced. I was just so eager to see how our British team is faring.”

James nods, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Of course, we’re always delighted to host you. Perhaps you’d like a tour of the garage?”

“That would be lovely,” you reply, your voice sweet but with an undercurrent of steel that makes Logan’s eyebrows raise. “I’m particularly interested in discussing team strategy. And driver management.”

Logan feels you tense slightly beside him, and he suddenly realizes what you’re doing. His heart swells with a mixture of love and awe.

James seems to pick up on the shift in atmosphere as well. “I see,” he says carefully. “Well, I’m sure we can arrange a meeting after the race-”

“Oh, I think now would be perfect,” you interrupt, your smile never wavering. “After all, I’m quite invested in the success of this team. Particularly when it comes to nurturing young talent.”

Logan watches in fascination as James visibly squirms under your gaze. He’s never seen his usually unflappable team principal so wrong-footed.

“Of course, Your Highness,” James finally manages. “Shall we step into the hospitality area for some privacy?”

You nod graciously, but before following James, you turn back to Logan. “For luck,” you murmur, pulling him down for a quick kiss that leaves him breathless and the watching crowd buzzing with excitement.

As you walk away with James, Logan overhears snippets of your conversation.

“I do hope, Mr. Vowles,” you’re saying, your voice light but with a clear edge, “that Williams is committed to giving all its drivers equal opportunities to succeed. It would be such a shame if rumors of ... unequal treatment were to reach certain ears.”

Logan watches in awe as James nods frantically, clearly understanding the implied threat behind your words.

“And these whispers about potentially dropping Logan,” you continue, your smile never faltering. “I’m sure they’re just baseless rumors. After all, it would be terribly short-sighted to let go of such promising talent, don’t you think?”

As your voice fades into the distance, Logan stands rooted to the spot, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He’s vaguely aware of the chaos around him — journalists clamoring for comments, team members and rivals alike shooting him curious glances — but all he can think about is you.

You, who flew across an ocean to surprise him. You, who jumped into his arms without a care for protocol or propriety. You, who’s currently backing his team principal into a corner with a smile and a veiled royal threat.

In that moment, Logan Sargeant knows without a doubt that he has never been more in love.

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of his reverie. He turns to see Alex grinning at him.

“Mate,” Alex says, shaking his head in disbelief, “when you said you were dating a princess, I thought you were having us on. But that? That was ...”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, still a bit dazed. “She’s something else.”

Alex laughs. “Understatement of the century. You better hold onto that one, Sargeant. And maybe put in a good word for the rest of us with her royal highness? I wouldn’t mind having that kind of backing in contract negotiations.”

Logan chuckles, finally snapping out of his stupor. “Sorry, Albon. This princess is spoken for.”

As Alex walks away, still shaking his head and laughing, Logan takes a deep breath. The pre-race nerves that had been plaguing him all morning have vanished, replaced by a surge of confidence and determination.

He may not know what the future holds — for his career or for his relationship with you — but in this moment, he feels invincible. Because no matter what challenges lie ahead, he knows he has you in his corner.

With renewed purpose, Logan heads towards the garage. He has a race to prepare for, after all. And now, more than ever, he’s determined to prove himself worthy of the faith you’ve placed in him.

As he reaches the garage entrance, he catches sight of you emerging from the hospitality area, James trailing behind you looking slightly shell-shocked. You spot Logan and wink, giving him a thumbs up.

Logan grins, blowing you a kiss before disappearing into the garage. He has a feeling this is going to be his best race yet. And win or lose, he knows he’ll have you waiting for him at the finish line.

And really, what more could a guy ask for?

[dreamwritesimagines]

Theory of Gravity

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Making small talk can be difficult with a crush.

Word Count: 1234

Genre: Fluff Oneshot

Content: Drinking, reader being awkward because she has a crush, flirting

Contrary to popular belief, snitching on the whereabouts of a very dangerous mobster in the bar you worked in and possibly getting killed or maimed in the process was not a good plan for a Friday night but to be completely honest, you had done worse things over a silly little crush.

Like back in college freshman year when you pretended to be into music biopics just so that the hot guy in your elective would think you two were meant to be.

So if anything, this was a pattern.

“Logan?” you said as you put his drink in front of him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“What was Galileo like?”

He blinked a couple of times, the familiar scowl that seemed to be etched on his handsome face getting deeper and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” he said. “I will lose all the belief I’ve never had in the first place in this country’s education system if you’re serious.”

You gave him a bright smile. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I figured it was better than asking how the public took it when Newton came up with the theory of gravity.”  

The look on his face couldn’t be described with anything but complete horror and you let out a laugh, then went to serve another customer before quickly making your way to him.

“I’m just messing with you,” you said, leaning against the bar as you stole a look at the mobster sitting by the table with his men, then to Wade who was very, very busy with Vanessa by the corner.

“You look nervous,” Logan pointed out, making your head whip up before you cleared your throat.

“Nah, not at all,” you said. “I’m just thinking that if I die tonight, I’ll die doing what I love.”

“Which is?”

Gazing at older men who couldn’t look less interested in me.

“Being surrounded by drunk people who want to give me money,” you said. “Not a bad way to go.”

He scoffed into his drink before taking a sip while you nibbled on your lip, shifting your weight.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” he said, his voice gruff. “We’re just waiting for his partner to show up, then we will deal with them both.”

You nodded your head. “Yeah. Sure, I know.”

“Do you?”

You nodded again, absentmindedly reaching out to play with the cocktail straw on the counter, painfully aware of his gaze on you that made your face burn.

“How’s grad school?”

…He remembered.

He remembered you saying that the last time he and Wade were here.

One simple observer would’ve thought he was on his knees proclaiming his undying love for you with the way your heartbeat went insane and his eyebrows rose as if he could hear it, but you quickly casted the thought away from your mind; that was surely impossible.

“Oh it’s going well!” you said, your voice going high-pitched for a moment. “Came for the hot professors, stayed for the education—I’m joking,” you added in a haste, waving a hand in the air. “I’m a very…very deep and intellectual individual.”

“Uh huh.”

“And none of my professors are hot,” you muttered and wiped at the damp spot on the counter with a napkin. “They should put that on the brochure if you ask me, it’s important information.”

“So you’ll be a doctor?”

“If by some miracle my dissertation goes through the jury,” you pointed out. “How about you? How’s your roommate situation with Wade going?”

He only grumbled something under his breath and you bit back a smile, then topped his drink.

“Thanks sweetheart.”

If there was one thing you hated the idea of more than dying was proving Freud right but it looked like you were going two for two tonight.

“So uh,” you said, trying to ignore the goosebumps rising on your arms because of his deep voice. “Hey, at least you have the place to yourself sometimes, no? When Wade is with Vanessa? Should give you some time to…bring someone home.”

And I volunteer as tribute.

He raised his brows, his unwavering gaze pinning you to your spot and you cleared your throat.

“Or—or someones,” you stammered. “Sky is the limit if you’re into that sort of thing. Now that it came up by the way, are…are you?”

“Am I bringing people home?” he asked as if he wanted to make sure that was what you were asking and you shrugged your shoulders, your face on fire.

“I’m just asking because, you know,” you began the sentence without having a clue on how you would finish it as usual. “I’m great at giving relationship advice, so if you were in a relationship I could be your own personal relationship coach.”

He pulled his brows together in confusion and you reached out to get the bowl full of peanut shells from his right just so that you could keep yourself busy, then turned the bowl over the garbage can.

“I’m not,” he said and you swallowed thickly.

“Who has the time for that these days, am I right?”

“Do you have—”

“Yes I have the time!” you cut him off, nodding your head in enthusiasm, your heart beating in your ears but he had already finished his sentence;

“…ice?”

You hoped to God tonight was the night you’d die because if that mobster in the corner didn’t shoot you, you were going to have to ask Wade to do it just to save you from this embarrassment.

“Oh,” you said after a beat as he stared at you. “Yeah—yeah I have ice, sorry.”

You rushed to get some ice and put it into his whiskey, biting inside your cheek and he cleared his throat.

“You don’t want to go out with me sweetheart.”

Well good news was that you had already made a fool of yourself so one could think the bar for your self-respect couldn’t get any lower, but boy oh boy you had already brought your metaphorical shovel.  

“I disagree,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I would very much love to if you were interested.”

“You think I’m not interested?”

“I feel like I’d have a better chance at proving you’re not interested with dates and references than my own thesis,” you pointed out. “And that’s saying something—”

“I am interested,” he cut you off, making your eyes widen and you gawked at him, frozen in your spot. “Trust me, that’s not the problem here.”

“Am I getting the I’m too dangerous for you speech?” you heard yourself ask through disbelief. “Because screw that speech. Honestly, the only thing I’m focused on in here is if you—fuck!”

He pulled his brows together. “If I—?”

“No no!” you said as you pointed at the back door where two men were dragging Wade through. “Wade!”

Logan cussed under his breath as he shot up from his stool.

“Don’t go anywhere, we’ll talk about this later,” he told you and made his way to the back door while you heaved a sigh, leaning back to the counter as he stepped outside and you caught the sight of him grabbing a man by the neck before the door slammed shut. You pressed a hand over your chest, then tilted your head back with a groan.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself. “That was smooth.”

[stillmonsterz]

be with her tonight

pairing: heeseung x reader

genre: smut

summary: every week, you go to the same coffee shop for their great service and wonderful drinks. but for some reason, the barista has always rubbed you the wrong way. he seems harmless, though.

contains: unprotected sex, rape, noncon, somnophilia, drug mentions, lying, swearing, johnny is there, mark is there, twitch mention

word count: 5.0k (unproofread)

---

Heeseung’s eyes were shifty, his hands trembling over the paper cups. He plucked one off, a grande, and started to prepare the same familiar order. Despite his quivering hands, Heeseung went through the motions of making the drink with the utmost of effort. A small splash of hot coffee dribbled from the spout onto his hand; he scarcely noticed the pain. 

He set the cup down on the counter and surveyed the small cafe where he worked. Patrons were settled into small wooden tables, the windows were bright, and succulents lined the windowsills. Heeseung tugged at the collar of his black button-up and adjusted his apron. His coworker, Sunghoon, noticed him and smirked. 

“Is she coming again today?” Sunghoon asked while he restocked the croissants in the pastry display.

It took a few seconds for Heeseung to process that Sunghoon was talking to him. “Huh?”

“That girl, what’s-her-name…” Sunghoon conspicuously slipped a small brownie bar into the pocket of his apron.

“Oh,” Heeseung said softly. “I dunno…” Of course you were coming today. You came here every Wednesday and Friday at 2:00 pm, during your lunch break. Your favorite coworker was off those two days, so you ate alone and got yourself a coffee and a pastry. You were coming today. Heeseung had to see you again. 

When 2:00 arrived and you hadn’t walked through the doors with your usual vivacity, Heeseung got nervous. He begrudgingly served some other people whose faces he couldn’t have recalled if he had been paid to do so. 

2:15 and Heeseung’s hands shook even more. Sunghoon was already glancing at him strangely, so Heeseung busied himself by wiping down the counter. Why weren’t you here? He only got to see you twice a week, so he savored the time where he got to drink in your face, to inhale your scent that percolated so harmoniously with the ubiquitous scent of coffee. 

As the second hand slipped to 4, a cold chill spread all over his body and he felt as though someone had forced him to swallow a handful of nails. They sat in his stomach, tearing apart the delicate lining, puncturing holes in his organs, ripping him apart from the inside. It was Wednesday. You were normally here by now. What had happened? 

The drink he had made you in advance was getting cold. 

Had you switched coffeeshops? Had you forgotten about him? What if you hated him? What if you had caught onto him?

Heeseung swallowed hard; he dug his jagged nails into the palms of his hand. “Sunghoon…” he began quietly, “I think I’m going to step outs-,”

The door opened and you stepped inside, waving at Heeseung. The nails melted away and were replaced by spoonfuls of honey, soothing his throat, filling him with golden light. 

“Hi,” you said, pulling your purse out of your wallet. You glanced over at the forgotten drink resting on the counter. “Oh, was that mine?”

“I’ll make you another one,” Heeseung said, far too quickly. He unceremoniously dumped the drink into the sink and started bustling about in the kitchen. Once he was facing away from you, a grin split across his face, and he had to restrain himself from giggling. You hadn’t forgotten him! You had come back. While he pulled himself together, Sunghoon input the order into the machine before wandering away, presumably to take care of more customers. Whatever. 

Heeseung lifted his head up to face you again.”The same as usual?”

You nodded and grinned. “Same as usual. You know me so well.”

If only you knew, Heeseung thought. “You were late today- I mean, you came in later than you, uh, normally, arrive, at the uh, here. Why?” Heeseung wasn’t known for his eloquence on a normal day, but you rendered his vocal cords obsolete, his frontal cortex inoperable. 

“Oh, well, had a long day at the office,” you said, tapping your card on the reader. “Another useless meeting from HR.”

Heeseung wished he had something clever to say, something that could win your heart, make you love him. Instead, all he could offer was, “That sucks.” He bit his lip and got another grande cup so he could remake your drink. 

“It does suck,” you said with a wry smile. “How’s your day been?”

You were asking him how his day was, too? Heeseung nearly dropped the cup as he pumped syrup inside of it, and he couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face. “It’s been…good. Good. A little busy.”

“Well, busy is good,” you said. Then you cleared your throat. “Hey, I was going to come over on Saturday with a…friend of mine. What time do you think would be the best? You know, so it’s quiet?”

Heeseung carefully pressed the lid onto the cup, scrunching his nose as he thought. “Probably…I’d say 5 pm-ish? Most people don’t really want a coffee around that time.”

“Good to know,” you said, placing your wallet back into your purse. Heeseung admired how confident your motions were, and his eyes lingered on your hands. When his eyes flickered up to your face, he realized that you were looking at him. 

Desperate to seem like he wasn’t ogling you, he stammered out, “Y-your friend…does she work at the same, uh, place as you?”

“He actually works down at the insurance company, the one on Smithson?” you kept talking, but Heeseung couldn’t hear a word. His blood ran cold, and his vision went blurry. Him. He. You were going to have your date here? You must despise him. 

Heeseung thrust the cup in your direction. “Uh, enjoy,” he murmured, looking away from you.

“Thanks, Heeseung! You have yourself a good day,” you said brightly before leaving. 

Heeseung felt Sunghoon put a hand on his shoulder, heard him ask if Heeseung were okay. “I feel sick,” Heeseung whispered. “Could I step out for a bit?” Heeseung didn’t actually hear Sunghoon’s answer, but Heeseung was already leaving, stripping his apron and casting it aside someplace in the little break room. He tugged his worn leather jacket on and went outside. The sun stung his eyes so he lowered his gaze to the ground. Heeseung sat down on the concrete step leading into the back room and fished his lighter and cigarettes from his jacket pockets. 

He took a long drag as he tried to calm down, but it was difficult. Every time he thought about your date with some other guy, he started to feel strange. Beyond his initial panic and feelings of abandonment, there was something else nipping at him. A feeling he couldn’t quite place, but it was harsh and red and ragged. 

Heeseung wasn’t an idiot. He knew he wasn’t normal. He knew that his fascination with his pretty customer was irrational, and deep within his heart, he knew that you didn’t belong to him. Yet at the same time, Heeseung knew that you should belong to him. Already, he could read your emotions so well, and that was just after quick interactions twice a week for 3 and a half months. Heeseung would do anything for you, just so he could bask in your sweet glow. 

Normally, the world was cold and boring. Everything was predictable and trite. Heeseung couldn’t remember a time in his life where there had been any novelty. Talking to people wasn’t fun to him at all; navigating the labyrinthine social rules that others seemed to understand effortlessly just made him feel confused and worn. All throughout elementary school and middle school, even into high school, Heeseung had been ignored and ridiculed. He couldn’t decide which was worse. Even at his menial barista job, people purposefully averted his gaze. 

Not you, though. You had given him a bright smile and had even dropped money into the little tip jar. Most importantly, you had awarded him his first compliment. Despite his current misery, Heeseung smiled at the memory. You had sipped the coffee he had made you, your eyes had lit up like a little kid’s, and you had said, “You make great coffee, Heeseung.” When Heeseung had protested shyly, you had continued. “No, no, this is really good. You have a knack for this, you know.”

Heeseung took a long drag off of his cigarette as he sulked. Tears pinpricked his eyes at the thought of you disappearing from his life. Of course, he figured he could always spy on you at work (he had spent hours trying to find your LinkedIn based off of your first name), or maybe break into your house and hide under your bed (he had followed you home from work a few times.) but it just wouldn’t be the same. What made him happy was that you chose to come see him. There were a lot of cafes near your workplace, some even closer than Heeseung’s, but you came to his. Even if it wasn’t for his personality, you liked the coffee that he made. You chose him, but now you were choosing some other guy. And if this date went well, then you might disappear from his life.

Salty tears streamed down his sallow cheeks, and Heeseung swiped them away with his free hand. That feeling simmered within him, festering within him like rot. Angry. That’s what he was. Angry, upset, mad. 

Heeseung couldn’t let you disappear. He couldn’t let you go. 

He stubbed the cigarette out on the step and started coming up with ideas.

Then Heeseung smiled. 

– 

You pursed your lips in the mirror as you applied your red-tinted lip gloss. You had your coffee shop date at 5, and you wanted to look nice. The way you saw it, it was a win-win: you got to get a free coffee and pastry out of a guy, and you could finally subtly let Heeseung down without having to acknowledge his feelings for you at all.

It wasn’t hard to tell that Heeseung felt something for you. Ever since you had complimented his coffee, his dull eyes had developed a shine whenever he saw you. He always made your coffees with the utmost of care, which was one of the reasons why you kept coming back instead of going to another place. And, of course, you’d be lying if you said that his attention didn’t flatter you in some small way. Heeseung wasn’t necessarily unattractive. If he did something about his lank hair, stopped fidgeting so much, and could string together a sentence without stammering, he’d be passable. Even cute. That wasn’t the problem.

It was the same thing you had told your friend and workmate just before she had proposed the date idea. “He’s just…creepy,” you had told her over a shared Cobb salad. “Something about his eyes.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” she had said, snapping her fingers. “Like they’re empty, right?”

“Exactly,” you had said, relieved that she understood. “Empty. It freaks me out.”

Your friend took a bite of salad and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “So stop getting coffee from there.”

“No can do,” you had replied. “Gotta take you there sometime. The coffee is amazing.”

“Okay, well, just tell him to back off.”

You frowned. “Technically, he’s never actually said he liked me or done anything or anything, so…”

“Subtly hint that you have a boyfriend?”

“I’m a bad hinter.”

Your friend groaned. “You suck, you know that?”

The two of you had hemmed and hawed over the dilemma before she had offered up a solution: Find a guy from the office, ask him out on a coffee date at that exact place, and make it seem like you were enjoying the date.

So now you were in your bathroom, tucking the front of your sweater into your skirt. As you were posing one last time, you got a text from your date, Mark. He had texted you a succinct “yooooo i’m pulling up 😬”, so you locked up your apartment and walked out. 

When you got to the coffee shop, you were initially worried about Heeseung’s reaction. He looked like a sad little deer when he got upset. You shook your head slightly to get those aberrant thoughts out. You were here to get him off your back, anyways. So that the creepy barista wouldn’t get any ideas and you could keep enjoying some of the best coffee in this part of downtown.

You needn’t have worried, though. Heeseung was kindly towards you and your date. He had even taken your coats at the door and hung them up on the coat rack at the front. He had plied you with pastries, and even stuttered out a, “T-take care of her, she’s a good one” to Mark. When you glanced at the counter, you could see Sunghoon smiling at Heeseung as he brought out refills of coffee and dusted extra powdered sugar onto delicate little desserts. 

Mark looked at you with glee as he dug into his second croiffle. “Nah, this place is dope,” he said, crumbs surrounding his lips. “I see why you come here every week.” You hadn’t bothered telling Mark about Heeseung. It seemed a bit cruel to use a guy  to get rid of another unsavory guy.

You reached out and rubbed some of the crumbs from his mouth, hoping that Heeseung would see you. “Yeah, it’s great. Maybe…” you lowered your voice and leaned in, “this could be our spot, you know?”

Mark gently reached out and took your hand. “Why were you wiping my nose, weirdo? Did I get crumbs up there?”

“Huh? I was wiping your mouth…” you reached out with your other hand to touch his mouth, but your arm started to feel a bit heavy. 

“You okay?” Mark frowned as his eyes scanned your face. 

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“Drink a little more coffee,” he suggested. “It’ll make you alert and shit.”

As you sipped your drink again, you realized that the drowsiness wasn’t going away. Even though you had downed a whole grande latte, you felt like you were about to

–

You slumped over the table and Heeseung had to suppress his smile. This part had to be perfect. He called your name and strode over to the table. Mark was just sitting in his chair, frozen. “What happened?” Heeseung asked, trying to make himself sound worried. His naturally anxious tone actually helped him.

“N-nothing, she just…fell over,” Mark said, staring at you. “I dunno, she must have had a long work week. Or she’s anemic, women are always anemic.”

Heeseung made a show of checking your pulse on your wrist and on your neck. Getting to touch your velvety skin, and not just a quick brush of hands when he handed you a coffee cup, was exquisite. He could already feel himself getting hard, so he had to move fast. 

“I’ll take her to my place,” Heeseung said, already lifting you out of the chair. Mark quickly stood up, blocking Heeseung’s path. Heeseung bit back a groan. 

“Nah, shouldn’t I, you know, take her home? I know her from work,” Mark said, crossing his arms. He looked from Heeseung to you to Heeseung to you as though he were following a ping-pong match. 

Heeseung sighed and attempted to try using that wheedling, condescending tone some male customers had used on him sometimes. “No offense, but when normally, a pretty girl like this passes out on a date, it’s not because of a-anemia.” 

Mark stepped back, holding his hand to his heart. “Ay man, are you tryna say that I roofied her? I’m not like that!”

“Yeah, well…” Heeseung pushed past Mark, carrying you in his arms. “I don’t know you, do I?” Then he paused and turned around. “Tell you what. You give me your number, and after she gets a little more rest, I’ll call you so you can pick her up, okay?”

Mark nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, sounds good, thanks.” He told Heeseung his number, and Heeseung carefully repeated the numbers in his head. “I think I’mma head home, thanks for the…hospitality.” Without his jacket, Mark stepped into the cold and ran to his car. 

As Heeseung was leaving, he called out to Sunghoon: “Cover me until I get her some medical help, okay?” Sunghoon gave him a curt nod, and Heeseung left the coffee shop. 

With some difficulty, he managed to get you buckled up in the front seat of his old clunker. Now that he was alone and no one could see him, Heeseung could finally smile. The way you were sitting here, all dolled up, it almost seemed like you and him were on a date. You were going on a drive together after a date at the coffee shop, and you would be going home with him. Heeseung carefully adjusted the car seat so that you were reclining, so it would look like you were just napping. 

“Carbs will do that,” Heeseung said sympathetically, rubbing your hand. “Make you tired. You should know better, baby. You come here all the time.” He stroked your warm, soft hand, and he ran his fingers along your sweet little cheeks. The hand that caressed your face slowly fell to your chin, then your neck. “You look so pretty. You always look pretty, of course, but you looked really pretty today. All for me.”

His hand slid all the way to your chest. Heeseung hesitated; he was risking everything, and he didn’t have much time to execute the rest of his plan. Just one kiss, he told himself, just one. Heeseung leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, ever so gently. It made him shudder, the sweet taste of chocolate lingering on your lips. He wanted to keep going, but he would have to wait. 

As Heeseung drove to his apartment, one hand rubbing your thigh, he congratulated himself on his ingenuity. It hadn’t been easy to coordinate this plan. 

–

First, he had had to figure out who you were cheating on him with. That wasn’t hard; you had foolishly Tweeted: “sooo excited for Saturday!” and “onyour_mark” had replied with a devil emoji. A cursory flick through his Twitter account offered Heeseung an informative, if not somewhat nauseating, look into Mark’s life. Heeseung found out that he worked the same hours as you, but he was on a separate floor. He lived with a Twitch streamer, Johnny “suhcondem” Suh, who streamed on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. As he scrolled through Johnny’s Twitter account, Heeeung found that Johnny had once complained about his fans sending them dildos, pizzas, and other “weird ass shit.” Perfect. 

After that, Heeseung had searched for Mark’s Instagram. Thankfully, Mark had posted a picture of his outfits in front of an open window. Utilizing a combination of Mark’s own descriptions of his neighborhood and Google Earth, Heeseung had found Mark and Johnny’s apartment complex within three hours of tireless searching. He could extrapolate the floor from the basic positioning of the tree, and after scouring Mark and Johnny’s social media accounts for more descriptions of their living space, he had narrowed their apartment to a potential unit. 

Now came the more difficult part. Using Tor browser, Heeseung was able to access a site where he could purchase some Rohypnol. It cost a pretty penny, but Heeseung wasn’t about to experiment with other roofies and potentially ruin his chances of having you. He ordered it on Wednesday, and on Friday he had two packages sitting in front of his door, one small and unmarked, the other a lettermail package. Heeseung used gloves to pick up the white package and take out the white box. He couldn’t have his fingerprints on it, after all. The other package held precious cargo: a used Papa John’s uniform with a pizza carrier.

Next, he had to plant evidence in Mark’s room. On Friday, he begged Sunghoon to cover his shift, citing violent diarrhea. Heeseung knew that Mark would be working, but Johnny would be streaming all day. Heeseung changed into the Papa John’s uniform, threw his jacket over it, ordered a meat lover’s pizza from Papa John’s, and drove a few blocks away from Mark’s apartment complex. No way was he going to risk people seeing his car. 

Heeseung placed the pizza inside of the carrier and headed to the apartment. He was nervous about getting inside, but thankfully an older couple let him inside. With a tremulous hand, Heeseung pressed the button for Mark’s floor. If he screwed this up, then Mark would get to have you. The thought alone spurred Heeseung on to keep going. 

He walked to Mark’s door and rang the doorbell. After a full, heart-wrenching minute, Johnny opened up and gave Heeseung a slow once-over. Johnny was wearing a baggy hoodie that said “I ATTENDED SUH CON AND I GOT THE LONG JOHN” with sweatpants. 

“Uh… meat lover’s pizza for Johnny?” Heeseung said tentatively. 

Johnny groaned. “Dumb ass chat gotta stop buying me pizzas,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Heeseung asked, shifting his weight between his feet. 

Johnny shook his head and waved dismissively. “Sorry man. I uh, I stream on Twitch, so a lot of my fans like to send me shit. I didn’t order this.”

“Oh,” Heeseung said contritely. “Well, I can’t exactly keep it…” 

“Why don’t you eat it?” Johnny asked, leaning his arm on the doorframe. 

“I’m vegan,” Heeseung lied. 

Johnny chuckled. “I can tell. You skinny skinny.”

Heeseung laughed awkwardly. “Right, yeah.” He shifted again, and he could feel sweat pooling under his armpits.

“What, you gotta piss?” Johnny gestured at Heeseung. “You’re dancing like you gotta go.”

“Oh, yeah,” Heeseung said, trying not to appear too eager .”I drank too much, uh, soylent.”

Johnny stared at Heeseung like he was an idiot. “Whatever. You can use the bathroom. Use the one in my buddy’s room, actually. Don’t need chat to hear someone piss.”

As Johnny stepped aside to allow Heeseung to enter, Heeseung fought to keep himself in check. The apartment was as sparsely decorated as a Twitch streamer and male office worker’s living space could be. Which is to say that the only notable decorations were Johnny’s streaming awards that were strewn on the walls and Mark’s bible on the living room table. 

“You can just put the pizza down there,” Johnny said, pointing at the kitchen counter which was already littered with a variety of take-out boxes and greasy bags. “Down the hall and to the right for Mark’s room. Make it quick. Mark gets weird when people go in there.” Johnny retired into his own room, and from the clattering noises he made, Heeseung figured that he was going back to streaming. As Heeseung hurried into Mark’s room he heard Johnny say, “Chat, you’ve been very, very bad…” 

The first thing Heeseung did was take some rubber gloves from his pocket and tug them on. Then he scoured Mark’s room to try and find condoms. They weren’t in the bathroom, they weren’t in his nightstand, and they weren’t under his bed. Heeseung searched desperately for them, before he found them behind his pillow, along with some lube. Just how much fucking does this guy do?

Heeseung inspected the box and was pleased to find that him and Mark were actually the same size: Mark used Trojan larges. Then Heeseung frowned: him and Mark were the same size. Heeseung had always been proud of his size, but now it didn’t feel so special. No matter, Heeseung thought as he removed a condom from the pack, I’m the one who’ll fuck her. He slipped the condom into his pocket and made a note to purchase the same brand of lube. Heeseung went into the bathroom and pulled out the flattened Rohypnol box from a Ziploc bag he had kept in his pocket. He placed it inside of Mark’s trash can and covered it up with some tissues he found in there. As Heeseung searched, he found a tissue coated in Mark’s dried semen. Couldn’t hurt to have it. Heeseung put it in a spare Ziploc and kept it for later. It was nasty, disgusting work, but it would pay off. 

Finally, Heeseung did actually use the bathroom. All this stress made him piss a river. 

When he left the apartment, Johnny didn’t even notice. Heeseung had actually done it. 

– 

Now Heeseung gently carried you into his apartment. It was still early, so thankful there weren’t a lot of people milling around. 

He laid you onto his bed, and your head hit the headboard as he lowered you. “Sorry,” Heeseung said apologetically. “I’m sorry, baby.” Heeseung kissed your forehead. He could wash your forehead, but for the next part, he figured he should put on some gloves. Rummaging around in his nightstand, he found more latex gloves and tugged them on. 

Now that he finally had you, he didn’t actually know what to do. Should he take off your clothes first, or his? He decides to disrobe first, so he could take his time with you. Quickly, Heeseung tossed off his work clothes, throwing them into his dirty laundry pile. His room was about as bare as Mark and Johnny’s living room had been, but once you were his, he would decorate it however you wanted. 

Heeseung forced himself to take his time as he popped your skirt buttons, one after the other. It was the kind of skirt that opened from the front, so when he was done, he could part the skirt off of you, admiring your panties. 

“You wore this just for me?” Heeseung asked softly. God, he wished he could touch you, skin on skin, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He ran his finger along your clothed pussy, and he trembled from the white-hot flames he felt licking at his cock. Patience, he told himself. Patience. Your sweater came off next, and Heeseung folded it up into a neat square and set it to the side. 

Heeseung pulled the condom he had filched from Mark’s room onto his cock,wishing he could just go in raw. At least Mark used ribbed. Then, he got the lube from his nightstand and slicked his cock with it,making sure it wouldn’t be too hard to slide in.

 He couldn’t believe it. There you were, so pliant, so vulnerable, so his. Of course, now that he was hovering over you, he couldn’t deny the twinge of guilt he felt. As he tugged your panties down, he kept whispering apologies. “Sorry,” he said as his cockhead tapped your entrance. “I’m so sorry,” he said while marveling at the way his thick cock bulged your stomach. 

Heeseung moaned so loudly he thought for sure the neighbors would hear. But he didn’t care, even though he should. How could he care? He had never experienced anything like this. Your pussy was gripping him so tightly, its walls enveloping his cock so warmly, he couldn’t care about anything else. With some effort, he pulled out of you and drenched his cock with even more lube.

He plunged back inside of you and gripped your hips, admiring the way your tits jiggled as he fucked into you. As he took your pussy, it dawned on Heeseung that he wasn’t being very romantic about this. “Sorry,” he said, feeling like an idiot. Heeseung pulled out of you and used his gloved hands to put you in a more sensual position. He would just have to wash the places where your bodies touched. He put you on your side and crawled behind you, so that he was spooning you. 

He groped at your tits as he slid inside of you again. This much was much better. Ever since you had told him that you were going on a date, Heeseung had been edging himself for hours so he could last longer, just for you. He did it all for you.

Heeseung started going faster, pounding your cunt harshly. A part of him was sad that you wouldn’t remember this. No, you would wake up scared, wondering why Mark had done this to you. You wouldn’t even know that Heeseung had given you the most passionate fucking of your life. His headboard smacked against the wall as he pushed himself into you from behind. Using his gloved hand, he turned his face towards his. Your face looked so peaceful, and seeing it only made him go faster. The bed creaked as Heeseung relentlessly thrusted in you. He could feel you getting looser and wetter, accommodating his dick. 

Heeseung felt himself bottom out, hitting the firm muscle of your cervix. He couldn’t stop now. Heeseung gripped your tits, loosening his grip when he remembered that he could leave handprints, and thrust up and down. He could have spent all day in your pussy, but he didn’t have much time left. 

His balls smacked into your thighs as he felt his orgasm approaching. It was unlike any other orgasm he had had; he had never felt so in-tune with his body, and the sensation burned. Heeseung grunted and pulled out of you before he came inside the condom.  Heeseung rolled off of the bed and laid on his carpet, panting. 

Soon, he would get up, wash himself off, then wash you off. Then, he would call Mark and say that you weren’t waking up. While Mark drove to his place to get you, he would use the cum he had extracted from Mark’s tissue, wet it with water, and smear it in your pussy. As soon as Mark had gotten you, Heeseung would dispose of the used condom and wash his sheets. After half an hour, he would call Sunghoon and say that you and Mark had forgotten your coats. 

Undoubtedly, Sunghoon would find the bottle of roofies that Heeseung had planted in Mark’s jacket. 

Heeseung sighed, completely content. After this, you wouldn’t trust men again, let alone Mark. Except, of course, for the man who had taken you home, tried to take care of you, and had called the police on Mark, the man who had assaulted you. 

Heeseung couldn’t wait for you to wake up.

[not-neverland06]

Hii ! I was hoping you could do Logan x Reader where all the teachers go to a club, and the Reader starts dancing with Storm and Jean while Logan is sitting on a couch, looking at her. They both have a crush on each other, but they don't know it, so when the Reader notices Logan staring at her, she gets shy and decides to go get a drink. When she got her drink, a guy starts flirting with her, and Logan obviously sees it. he gets jealous and walks up to the guy telling him to leave her alone. After they talk for a bit, the Reader accidentally confesses and Logan kisses her. this ends up in a private room with Logan fucking her as he always wanted. I know this is a long request and I'm sorry for that, bue I'm a writer myself, so I already had develop this bit of the story in my head. I completely understand if you don't want to do it. Hope you have an awesome day !!🤗❤️ Love your writing btw

a/n: I loved this prompt so much, did switch it up a bit bc I faced a bit of writer's block trying to flesh this out!! (and if I said I was listening to Thong Song while writing this, what then?)

18+ MDNI (fucking in a club bathroom, if that's not your thing, move on out)

Logan rummages around somewhere behind you, digging through the cabinets and moving everything around. The longer he searches, the more confused you grow. Your brows furrow as he cusses to himself.

There’s a low grunt of frustration as Logan rounds the kitchen island to glare at you. His face is screwed up in anger that seems to be misdirected towards you. You give him an awkward look, “Uh, hi?”

“He stole my booze,” he responds shortly and without explanation. You shake your head in confusion as the dots slowly connect. A small smile curls up on your lips but the glare he gives you makes it quickly drop. 

“Well, you know Charles' rules about it,” you tell him flippantly. Logan huffs and shoves away from the counter. He turns back to the fridge, destroying the organizational system as he continues his search. You roll your eyes, eating your food and watching him with a bored expression. 

Jean walks just as he really begins to work himself up. Her face pinches in distaste, catching on to the root of his anger quicker than you had. She looks at you with a small smirk. “Charles?”

“Yep," You answer, eyes still trained on him. He finally gives up the futile search, moving to stand beside you. Your eyes widen and you try not to physically react to his proximity. It’s an everyday struggle to remain calm around him. You’re desperately trying to keep a cool girl persona but you don’t think it's working. 

You’re pretty sure he sees right through your pathetic attempts at nonchalance every time you two are paired on a mission. Jean notices the look on your face and smiles slightly. “The rest of us are thinking of going out tonight.”

It's not an offer with her, more of a demand for the two least sociable members of the team. She gives you both expectant looks, ignoring the way you minutely shake your head in disapproval at the idea of going out.

“Pass,” Logan grunts. He steps away from you, making for the kitchen door. Jean quickly steps in front of him, firmly placing her hand on his chest and giving him a stern look.

You feel like you're missing something as they silently converse with tense looks and aggressive eye motions towards you. You might be worried they're flirting if it weren't for how fed up they both look right now with one another.

Your brows furrow in confusion and it only worsens when Logan lets out an aggrieved huff. “Fine. I’ll come.” He gives Jean a thin smile, “Happy?” 

She releases him and moves out of the way with a smug look. “Very. You’ll thank me, by the way.” She says to his retreating back, ignoring whatever he mutters back to her.

You’re completely lost about what that was but don't have much time to process it before Jean turns her attention to you. You already know what she wants and you immediately shake your head. “No, nope, you know I don’t like going out.” Jean smiles at you, but you know she’s just pretending to agree with you. 

“Jean,” your voice is sharp as you glare at her. “Not happening.”

You really regret ever befriending her. She’s either ridiculously persuasive or she's used her mind-warping abilities on you.

You're squished between Ororo and Logan on a sticky club booth. The smell of booze and cheap perfume soaks through your senses. You feel the beginnings of a headache forming as the music pounds.

While you love the feeling of Logan's biceps pushed up against you, you hate the club more. Storm catches the tense look on your face and sighs in disappointment.

"We need to get some more alcohol in you," she tells you with a faux sense of authority. "Come on," she nods her head and for a moment you think she's talking to you. But, with a move that seems practiced, Scott and Jean both follow her out of the booth and head toward the bar.

You watch them go with a suspicious glint in your eye, not trusting how smoothly they all just conveniently slipped away. That leaves just you and Logan behind at the table and you doubt that's coincidental.

They've been a little pushy about this crush of yours ever since they found out. They insist that he feels the same way about you as you do him. But you sincerely doubt he's fantasizing about going on romantic picnics with you and thinking of mushy dates.

He seems like the kind of guy to value silence over a girlfriend and you doubt you're his type. You don't tend to stray from the rules, ever. You don't think there's much you two have in common, as much as the others insist the opposite.

You give him a subtle look over. He hasn't moved away from you, which seems like a good sign. There's plenty of space for him to go now, but he keeps himself pressed up against you.

But, he's also not looking at you. His thumb is idly tracing the rim of his glass and he's refusing to take his eyes off the stained wood of the table. You know he can feel the way you're staring at him, but he's stubbornly refusing to acknowledge your presence. It almost feels petty and that makes you scoff and roll your eyes at the thought. You doubt Logan cares enough to be petty.

Practically in love with me, you think sarcastically. 

You know your friends are taking longer than necessary at the bar, trying to give the two of you some privacy. You feel like a high school girl, trying to get the cool guy to like her when he literally couldn’t give two shits. 

Your friends being pushy about the two of you really isn't helping anything. It only gives you false hope, and when he's inevitably a jerk again, it just makes all your little fantasies come crashing down.

You pick up your glass, tipping your head back and letting the alcohol warm you from the inside out. You've done your hair, spent forever doing your makeup, and you put on your favorite slutty dress. You don't feel like sitting here all night sulking alongside your unrequited crush.

More often than not, Logan is nothing more than a wet blanket. You've put in the effort and dragged yourself outside for once, you'd like to enjoy the experience. He could come find you when he felt like pulling the stick out of his ass. You slide out of the booth with a huff, uncaring as the hem of your dress rolls up your thighs. 

“Where’re you going?” Logan demands, voice gruff. Now he wants to pay attention, figures. 

You turn around and glare down at him. His eyes rove slowly over you, the way they should have been all night. His gaze is a physical caress and his stare lingers along your body. You can practically feel his touch on the curves of your hips. Slowly, he looks back up to meet your eye, something like a challenge on his face. 

You assess him, raising a brow and shrugging. “I’m gonna dance.” Something has possessed you or there’s a very talented telepath manipulating you right now. In a rare display of confidence you lean over the table, breasts pushed out towards him. “Wanna join me?” You ask, breath barely above a whisper. 

He scoffs and goes back to glaring at the table. Whatever confidence you had settles coldly in the bottom of your gut. “Not my thing, kid,” he gripes, every bit the crotchety old man. 

You roll your eyes, playing off the sting of rejection as an annoyance. “Of course, you’re not. You’re not having fun unless everyone else is miserable,” you snap. His eyes shoot up to meet yours, something like shock playing on his face. 

You don’t let him respond, already turning on your heel and walking off. As much as you like Logan, sometimes this attitude of his becomes tiring. What’s wrong with wanting to have fun for a night?

You’re not usually a huge fan of clubs. But when you’re out with your friends, you’re not going to actively ruin their night. As rude as that was, it’s right. He’s the “cool” kid in high school who thought everything was lame and never wanted to enjoy anything. 

So, what? You like to get a little drunk and sloppy sometimes, maybe if he ever tried it he might be less miserable. You head towards the bar, spotting Ororo’s hair easily through the crowd. You slide behind her, slipping your arm over her shoulder, “Hey pretty,” you whisper in her ear, laughing as she jumps. 

She turns and glares at you, swatting at your shoulder. “You’re lucky I didn’t hurt you.”

“Ooh, save it for later.” She rolls her eyes and passes you a shot. You take it with a smile, wincing at the burn of the tequila. “You wanna dance?” You have to shout to be heard over the music but you know she hears you when her eyes widen in surprise. 

She glances behind you and you don’t have to look to know Logan is glaring daggers at your back. You can feel him and it's pissing you off. “What happened?” You know she can tell something is up, you’re never this outgoing when you go out. But you don’t want to talk about finally coming to terms with the fact that you and Logan aren’t going to work out. 

Instead, you hold your hand out and wink. “Wanna dance or not?” She laughs a little, slipping her palm into yours and letting you drag her out onto the dance floor. It’s been a while since you’ve actually been sober dancing. You usually like to be near blackout drunk, but you just don’t have the energy for that tonight. 

Ororo is a little tipsier than you, clearly having been drinking while she was waiting at the bar. Her inhibitions are looser and she’s giggling as you move your hips against hers. Neither of you is dancing to impress, you’re messily moving around each other to the beat of the music. You don’t pay attention to the people around you, just having fun by yourselves. 

Ororo takes your hand, spinning you a little and pulling you back into her arms. You laugh, swaying your hips to the same rhythm she is, chests pressed tightly together while you smile at each other. 

She only lasts a few songs before she pulls back. “I need a drink,” she yells before stumbling back towards the bar. You feel yourself deflate, not sure what to do with yourself now that your favorite dancing partner has ditched you. 

You look through the mass of grinding bodies and try and spot your table. You can’t see much through the brightly colored lights spinning all around you. Everything’s a little disorienting and the shots you’ve had aren’t helping. 

Someone’s hand slips around your waist, “Your friend left you all alone?” Normally, you’d push whoever it was off and tell them to back off. But he’s got an attractive voice and you can feel how fit he is against your back. 

“You gonna keep me company?” You tease, voice a low purr as you push back against him. Your hands drift down to his arms, pulling them a little tighter around your waist. He chuckles, the noise reverberating through your back. 

You barely even get a chance to dance before your back is cold and you can feel his arms forcibly ripped off you. It doesn’t take much digging to find the culprit. Logan is behind you, hand fisted in the guy’s collar, “Why don’t you back off, bub?” He shoves him back and you roll your eyes as the guy scrambles off. 

“What the hell was that?” You demand arms crossed as you glare at Logan. 

He turns around and you’re surprised at the intensity of his glare. Something about it has you heated for an entirely different reason. He’s staring down at you like he’s gonna pounce on you. Your heart races, thighs clenching the longer he’s glowering at you. 

He shouldn’t be allowed to be so attractive when he’s pissed off. He reaches forward, grabbing your bicep and jerking you into his chest. He leans down until his lips are brushing against your ear. “You wanna dance, let’s dance, kid.”

“What-”

He cuts you off, flipping you around and pulling your back flush against him. You can feel just how much your little show with Storm got him going. You truly weren’t doing anything too alluring, but it seems to be enough for him. 

When you don’t move his hands drop to your hips and he grinds them down against him. “Logan,” you gasp his name out, caught off guard by how brazen he’s being in the middle of the club. There are people around you doing much worse but you’ve never known him to be this bold before. 

“You trying to make me jealous?” It’s hard to pay attention to what he’s saying, to focus on anything at all when his hand is drifting steadily down your body. The tips of his fingers just barely brush the skin of your thigh while his thumb lets the hem of your dress curl up. 

He flips you around, taking his hands off of you and instead tilting your chin up to face him. “I said,” he repeats in a condescending tone, “were you trying to make me jealous?” He doesn’t sound like he’s taking you seriously. Even if that was your intention, he thinks it’s just your petty way of lashing out at him for not dancing. 

You narrow your eyes at him and swat his hands off of you. “No. I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was trying to have some fun since you’re clearly not interested at all.”

That insufferable smirk of his doesn’t go away for a minute. If anything, he’s more incensed by your anger. “Who said I wasn’t interested?” Your lips part, another dumb little noise about to slip out when he dips down and stops you. 

He’s not trying to be subtle at all, gripping your dress and tugging you up against him while your lips lock. His tongue dips briefly into your mouth, savoring the taste of tequila on your gums before he pulls back. 

“I’m interested in you, kid, just not this shitty little club.” Your mouth is gaping and you feel like a fool, standing there and just staring at him. Your brain is completely scrambled, bits and pieces forming together to scream that he kissed you. Too many things are happening at once. The music is making the floor beneath you vibrate, liquor is warming you from the inside out and tilting you closer to him. And he kissed you. Your lips are still tingling from it. 

He chuckles a little under his breath, keeping you moving steadily against him. You’re simply something to be puppeteered by your desire for him. No thoughts linger inside your brain except his name. “You’re interested in me?” You repeat dumbly.

He leans down, tilting his lips closer towards your ear. “You can’t feel how much I want you?” One of your thighs is practically draped over his leg and he’s grinding his hips against you. The only thing you can feel is him. The smell of his cologne overpowers all the bodies surrounding you both, his voice drones out the loud music around you. You’re completely consumed by him. 

“Logan,” your tone is scandalized, you can’t believe he’s bold enough to have you nearly half-naked on his lap right now. Your butt is one wrong move away from being the club’s newest attraction. Yet, despite every protest lingering on your tongue, you can’t do anything except kiss him again. 

You don’t know if the moment is all one vivid wet dream your brain has conjured up at three am and you don’t feel like finding out. You want to enjoy being risky for once. You always play everything so safely. You don’t confess your feelings to Logan so you aren’t rejected. You never break the rules, you never act out. Just once, you want to do something bad and enjoy it. 

Your arms twine around his neck and you tilt your head to deepen the kiss further. You feel his reaction more than you hear it. A low grumble in his chest that has you practically vibrating with want. He pulls away from you first and it takes a moment for your eyes to flutter back open. 

When you finally do meet his gaze again, he’s got nothing but a smoldering desire in his eyes that makes you want to melt. He’s staring you down like you’re prey to be chased and consumed. “Can’t do this here,” he mutters. 

You’re almost shocked that he’s the first one to cut this off. You knew it was going to happen, you can’t exactly fuck in the middle of the dance floor. As much as you might want to. But you thought you would be the one to chicken out. 

He grabs your hand and shoves through the throng of grinding bodies. You grab the back of his shirt, stumbling after him and trying to stay close. “As much as I’d like to make that poor son of a bitch watch me fuck you, we need a little more privacy.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about the man you’d danced with earlier. If you could even qualify that as dancing. He’d barely put his hand on your waist before Logan had appeared out of nowhere.

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you glare at his back. How had he even gotten to you so quickly? He must have been watching you like a creep the whole time. You almost want to laugh at the thought. But you’re distracted by him nudging you through a door and locking it behind you. 

You glance around, spotting three sinks and some cracked mirrors. Toilet stalls linger to your right and your nose wrinkles in disgust. You turn around to complain but he’s already stalking toward you. Whatever sanitary complaints were lingering in the back of your throat are thrown out the sealed bathroom window. 

He buries his hands in your hair, ruining the meticulously placed style. You arch into his hold, opening your mouth for him to explore and gasping as his hand drops to your hips. He tugs you closer, ripping your dress up and yanking your underwear down in one smooth move. 

You barely have a second to process half of what’s happening before he’s got you bent over the sink. It’s all happening so fast, so many different desires of yours surging to the surface in one dingy club bathroom. 

You’re slick with months of fantasies and sleepless nights where not even your vibrator could curb your desire for him. You hear his belt clink behind you and your back arches like a cat in heat. You practically present yourself to him, so desperate to feel him that you don’t care how much of a slut you’re being. 

You know, if this was anyone else, you’d slap them for even suggesting the bathroom as the first place you have sex. But you’d have let Logan take you in the alley behind the club. You don’t care where you are, just so long as it's with him. And you know that desire runs a bit deeper than just a surface-level crush. 

He doesn’t give you much warning as he thrusts into you. The breath is practically punched out of you as he fills you. Everything about it feels right. You’re so full of him you feel like you could explode. You know it’s going to take a pathetically short time for you to come. It’s just too much, too fast, you’re so overwhelmed by him. 

“Oh god, Logan,” the porcelain creaks under your palms before you feel it splintering off into your skin. You can’t pay attention to it, though, jaw agape, capable of nothing more than slutty moans of his name. 

He’s relentless behind you, thrusting so hard inside you that it feels like a punishment. He fists his hand in your hair and forces you to look in the mirror. “Come on, want you to see how wrecked you are. What a fucking slut you’re being for me, letting me fuck you like this in this bar.”

Your mascara is completely ruined, streaked down your face with your lipstick smeared across your chin. You look like a fucking mess and you couldn’t care less. You feel yourself fluttering around him the tighter his grip on you is. His hand slips from your hair, latching around your neck and tugging you into his chest. 

He grips your chin and keeps your eyes on where the two of you are joined in the mirror. It only makes you clench tighter around him, watching as he moves in and out of you. You can see just how much of an effect you're having on him and it’s the biggest ego boost you’ve ever had in your life. 

You’ve reduced him to a mess in a dirty club bathroom, so desperate for you he couldn’t even wait to take you home. He tilts his hips, hitting the spot inside you that has your eyes nearly rolling in the back of your head.

You whisper his name in warning, letting go of the sink to clutch tightly at his wrist. He wraps his arm around your waist, keeping you secured against him. His hips start to stutter, losing some of their rhythm the tighter you are around him. The feeling builds in your fingers, tingles down to the tips of your toes, and explodes in a nearly blinding pleasure. His hips are still against you, warmth filling you a moment later. 

You would slump forward into the sink if it weren’t for his protective hold around your stomach. He keeps you tight against his chest for a minute, waiting for you to catch your bearings again. It takes an embarrassingly long time for the feeling in your legs to come back. You’ve never had such an intense experience like that. 

You don’t know if it's from the thrill of possibly getting caught or just because you were with him. You’ve longed and lusted after Logan for so long, and finally having the real thing is a bit of shock. Especially when he exceeded your fantasies, you didn’t even know that was possible.

He props you against the sink, tugging your dress down and pulling your underwear back up. You watch him with dulled interest, still reeling from what you’ve just done. You’ve never been so bold before, it almost feels liberating to just say ‘fuck it’ and do what you want. 

He pulls his own pants back up, fixing his belt and grabbing a wet paper towel for you. He’s silent as he wipes the mascara of your cheeks and you give him a questioning look. “You want the others to know what happened?”

You scoff and glance away from him, looking towards the door of the bathroom. “I’m sure they already know. Weren’t exactly subtle,” you tell him with a small smile. 

He smirks, tossing the towel away and walking back towards you. He keeps his arms on either side of you, bracketing you against the sink and grinning down at you. “No, we weren’t, were we?”

You shake your head silently, lips curled up in amusement. Your eyes briefly dart to his lips before meeting his eyes once more. He catches the look with a sly smile, dipping his head down and giving you a brief kiss. 

It’s short and sweet, more loving than the passionate, rip-my-clothes-off kisses from before. It feels like the type of kiss a married couple would share in the early morning when they only want to remind the other they love each other. Your proximity and the look he’s giving you feel more intimate than anything that just happened. 

“You really meant it?” You muse, voice barely above a whisper as you smile at him. 

“Meant what?” He mutters. 

“You like me,” you tease, entangling your hand with his and tugging him even closer to you. 

He gives you a confused look, glancing at the sink behind you and then back at your disheveled form. “Did I not make that clear enough, kid?”

You shake your head, “No, I think I might need another reminder,” you tell him. It takes a moment for your words to click for him. You can see when it does, he gives you a small smile and shakes his head with an aggrieved sigh like you’re bugging him. 

“Really making me work for it, huh?” You nod your head playfully, dragging him down towards you and bringing him into another kiss. You can deal with the line forming outside in a minute. You can push off your nosy friends’ questions for another day. Right now, it’s just you and him, finally doing what you’ve wanted since the moment you saw him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡ 

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte 

@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allllium @insomniachox @izbelross  ♡

[fandoms-x-reader]

Period Cramps

Requested By: @olivia-willo-w

Summary: The brothers find out (thanks to Satan) what a period is and try to help you through yours. The Seven Demon Brothers x Reader Word Count: 2,257

Periods are something that has become so normalized in the human world. 

It's a natural thing that happens to women and it shouldn’t be something to be embarrassed about.

But, in the Devildom, the only other human you had was a male. 

There was no one down there who would understand the process your body goes through once a month.

And that made it hard to talk about it.

You figured it would just be easier to keep them in the dark rather than try and explain it.

But, sometimes when you're on your period, it had a mind of its own.

You were having a bad cramp while at dinner with the brothers and you did your best to hide your pain.

But, Satan could tell you were in pain and he was worried about you. Not to mention, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to show his brothers how smart he was.

See, Satan was your resident human expert.

When he found out that a human was coming to live with him and his brothers, he read every book he could find about humans and when he was done with those, he grabbed all of the specific books about females.

He wanted to know everything he could before you got down there.

So, when you were having your period in the Devildom, Satan immediately knew what was happening and was well-versed in the subject.

You had all of the tell-tale signs - mood swings, food cravings, headaches, bloating.

Whatever symptom you had, it pointed to it being your time of the month.

There was a conversation already going on amongst his brothers, but Satan ignored it in favor of asking you, “Are you on your period?”

Everyone froze in place at Satan’s question and your face burned a bright red as all of the attention was on you. Who just asks a personal question like that?!

Satan didn’t mean any disrespect. The way it was presented to him in the books was as a natural, common thing that all women go through. So he didn’t you would have any reason to be embarrassed about it.

And maybe if he had approached you about it on his own, things would have been different. But he just blurted the question out…in front of everyone…in the middle of dinner.

Before you could even respond, Mammon asked, “What’s a period?” And your cheeks felt even hotter as you began to slowly sink down in your chair, wishing you could disappear from this conversation.

“You don’t know?” Asmo asked with a glint in his eyes. Of course, the Avatar of Lust would know what a period is. Considering the amount of human women he had probably met you were sure he was as knowledgeable as Satan was about it.

But there was no way the fourth-born would allow his little brother to take his thunder. “Allow me to explain,” Satan stated.

And for the next few torturous minutes, you had to uncomfortably sit there as Satan explained what a period was in vivid detail.

You watched the brothers’ faces go through a whirlwind of reactions until they were all left sitting there speechless and somewhat bothered.

“Well?” Lucifer’s question broke the silence and you turned to face the eldest. He was making eye contact with you and he continued to ask, “Are you?”

“Is that why you look like you’re in pain?” Belphie asked. “Wait, do periods hurt?” Beel questioned in response.

“Do all female normies go through that?” Levi questioned, his cheeks threatening to burn as bright as yours at the question.

Your cramps weren’t backing down and you were feeling more than overwhelmed at the sudden bombardment and soon everything felt like it was too much.

“I think I’ll skip dinner tonight,” you stated plainly before abruptly getting up from the table and making your way to the bedroom.

The brothers watched you leave, confused and worried about you. Was it something they said? Or was it because you weren’t feeling well?

Lucifer was in a state of surprise when you left the dining room table.

He knew about periods, and he knew it was something female humans experienced.

But, it wasn’t something he had prepared for.

In all of the things that he had done and gathered to ensure you would have everything you need for your stay in the Devildom, that had somehow slipped his mind.

It took him a moment to gather his bearings before going to check on you.

He showed up to your room with a glass of water and medicine to help with your cramps.

He gave you a small smile when you gratefully took the medicine and allowed him in your room.

He looked a little lost, unsure of how exactly to help you. But, if you tell him what you need, he will move heaven and earth to make sure you get it.

You were his responsibility after all. He couldn’t disappoint Diavolo by allowing you to be in pain. And he couldn’t trust his brothers to do a good enough job.

Or maybe - just maybe - he wanted to be the one who took care of you.

Either way, he won’t leave your side for the rest of the night, and if you show any sign of discomfort, he’ll find a way to soothe you.

Mammon was still freaking out about all of the information he had obtained that night.

Periods sounded awful and he couldn’t believe that it was something that happened to female humans - every month.

Mammon was trying to process everything when you left the table and that’s when his mind went from his own train of thought to you.

From all of the facts he was told, one stood out more than the others - you were in pain.

And Mammon was supposed to protect you, so he couldn’t have that.

He excused himself from the dinner table as well before quickly doing a search on his D.D.D. to find out ways to help you.

About a half an hour later, Mammon showed up at your bedroom door, his arms full of miscellaneous objects.

He had everything he could think of - a heating pad, pain medicine, chocolate, and your favorite snacks.

He wasn’t sure what out of those items would help, but he hoped at least one of them would.

He also offered to stay in your room that night and watch a movie with you, which inevitably ended in you falling asleep in his arms, while he held you close.

Mammon is just happy that you felt safe enough with him to let him help you when you’re in this vulnerable stage.

It is a known fact that Levi panics in intense situations.

And you abruptly leaving the dinner table was something he would classify as an intense situation.

He didn't necessarily understand all of the intricacies of your period, but he did know that he wanted to help.

Levi didn't have any idea where to start, so he went to his default of bringing videogames and DVDs to your room.

You bit back a chuckle as you opened the door and saw Levi struggling to hold everything he brought.

You let him inside, grateful of the fact that he was trying and Levi quickly got to work setting up yours and his favorite game.

The fun that you were having with Levi was enough to distract you from the pain of your period cramps.

But that didn't stop him from checking in - quite often - and asking if you were alright.

Levi offered to get you food, something to drink, medicine - anything you would need.

And if you did ask him for something, he moved faster than you'd ever seen to get it back to you promptly.

He may not be an expert in what was going on with you, but he would do just as good of a job as any of the others when it came to comforting you.

As stated, Satan was an expert on everything to do with your period before you even got it.

He didn't need to search anything up or refer to his books.

He figured this would happen sooner rather than later and he was prepared for it.

Like Mammon, Satan gets everything you need. But, unlike Mammon, it’s all already prepared in an emergency kit that he’s kept in his room.

Satan grabbed the bag and went to your room in a matter of moments.

When you opened the door, Satan offered you a brief apology about the events that occurred at dinner. He felt guilty about putting you on the spot like that.

But, he offered to make it up to you by helping relieve your pain.

When you allowed him in, Satan was as strict as a doctor, almost in an overbearing way.

He gave you the medicine to take and instructed you to lay in a way that allowed for the ideal positioning of the heating pad.

And even if it wasn’t the way you wanted to lay, when the heating pad started working, you were thankful for Satan’s expertise.

He stayed with you for the rest of the night, sitting next to you and gently running his fingers through your hair as he read one of your favorite books to you.

It ends up being much more comforting than you would have expected from the Avatar of Wrath.

Asmo may not be like Satan or Lucifer in knowing all about a human period.

But he has had his fair share of experience with it.

And he’s a pro at rest and relaxation.

Asmo let you calm down in your room for a little bit while he set things up in own room. 

He was sure you were upset at all of them for bombarding you at dinner like that.

But, he was hoping that you would let him help you anyway.

When he was ready, he asked you to join him in his room, and after promising he wouldn’t try anything risque, you agreed to go.

When you got to his room, you were met with an overwhelming aroma of essential oils and the sound of soft music playing.

The lights were dimmed so that the room was bright enough to see, but dark enough to relax.

Under normal circumstances, you would have assumed that Asmo was trying to come on to you, but he had promised he just wanted to help.

He led you to his bed and asked for permission to give you a massage.

Being the Avatar of Lust, Asmo’s knows the human body very well, and he knew every technique and every spot that needed to relax, and you felt all of your tension release and your cramps subside.

Asmo had a small smile on his face as you slowly drifted off after feeling relaxed enough.

He would always be there to help pamper you whenever you needed it.

Beel was a bit confused when you left the table.

He didn’t really understand the gravity of the situation. 

And so, playing to his kind and innocent nature, Beel thought something was wrong with the dinner.

He quietly finished the food on his plate before disappearing from the House of Lamentation. 

When he came back, he went directly to your room with bags full of all of your favorite food. No one should skip dinner.

You had to keep yourself from laughing as Beel explained why he brought all of your favorite food and you invited him in to share the food with you.

Beel noticed the pained expression you flashed every so often and when you told him about your period cramps and how that was the reason you left dinner early, Beel wanted to do everything he could to help.

He immediately engulfed you into his arms, holding you tightly into him as his hands rubbed soothing circles onto your back.

You felt your pain slowly going away as Beel’s body warmth underneath you acted as a heating pad and his hands relieved any tension you were holding.

He might not know exactly how to help you, but he’s just as effective in soothing your cramps nonetheless.

Belphie's help almost always came with a witty remark or some teasing no matter who you were or what the situation was.

But, for this particular situation, Belphie tried to be on his best behavior.

From what he heard, this was a hard time for you and he was certain the wrong remark would set you off.

So, he played especially nice.

He came to your room and asked you if there was anything he could do to help.

When you let him in, he asked a few questions about your period and got you a few things.

But, if that doesn't help, Belphie will escalate things.

When most people think of the Avatar of Sloth, they only think about him sleeping a lot.

They don't often recognize the power he had over other people's sleep.

And if you continue to be in pain throughout the night, Belphie will reach a point where he believes sleep is the only way to help you.

And it will be the best sleep of your life, full of amazing dreams to keep any pain of your cramps far away from you.

Naturally, Belphie will spend the night in your room, cuddling you.

But it's just to make sure you get a restful sleep the whole night!

[shawtuzi]

finking of morning sex w plug!eren

mdni pls and thank you///cw include: black fem!reader, drug usage (weed), a lot of sexual tension, lazy morning sex that eventually turns kinda rough, some fluff

9:03 AM

the early morning sun nearly blinded you as eren opened the blacked out curtains in your shared bedroom. “ren what the fuck,” you whined burying your face in the plush pillow you were just a few seconds ago sleeping so peacefully on. eren chuckled, bringing a blunt he had freshly pearled to his lips that were still a bit swollen from last nights activities. you’d recently gotten into nibbling and biting on his lips during your intense kisses and although he found it extremely hot he was definitely paying the price for it.

“suns up mama, time to get up….unless you want me to finish this without you,” he smirked blowing a fat cloud of smoke in your direction. you lifted your head from the pillow, a deep scowl on your face. you begrudgingly sat up making eren grin, “yeah that’s what i thought, go freshen up real quick i’ll roll another one while you’re gone.” you let out a dramatic sigh before making your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

when you walked back into the room eren was laid up on the bed, little o shaped clouds of smoke flying into the air. “turn on some music,” he grumbled and you quirked a brow waiting for him to finish his sentence with a ‘please.’ when he saw you weren’t moving the realization hit him pretty damn quick, “sorry i meant turn on some music please.” you smiled and happily complied, turning on the speaker. you put on ‘feels like summer’ by childish gambino before flopping onto the bed. “careful baby careful—almost made me ash on my chest,” he chuckled giving your ass a light smack.

“yeah yeah whatever gimme some,” you plucked the blunt from his hands and took a long hit. you maneuvered your body onto his lap, his morning wood definitely not going unnoticed. “what’s on the agenda for today babydoll,” he asked tracing his name over and over on your thigh with his index finger. you handed the blunt back over to him before speaking, “mika invited us to brunch at one, then i have my nail appointment at four, we’ll have to do some grocery shopping tonight, and then i was thinking for dinner i could make that cajun chicken alfredo you like so much.” eren was trying to listen he was really was!! but it was so damn hard when your clothed pussy was directly against his dick that was practically straining against his boxers.

“you listening to me ren?” you giggled snapping your fingers in front of his face. a lazy grin broke out on his face and he nodded, “mhm of course i’m listenin’.” the room was slowly but surely becoming boxed and the more it did the more you and eren we’re feeling the effects of the drug. “had a dream about you last night,” you hummed, leaning back, resting your hands on his muscly thighs. eren smirked, his eyes drifting to your cunt that was practically swallowing your panties. he grabbed the second blunt he had rolled and lit it, “yeah? tell me all about it mama.”

“you were eating me out…and you had those fuckin’ grills in. you were doing such a good job i think i might’ve came in my sleep from it,” you sighed dreamily thinking of how damn fine eren always looked when he had his grills in. you felt eren’s dick twitch but didn’t dare say anything, deciding to tease him a little and see how long he’d last. he handed the blunt to you, a low groan rumbling in his chest. “those grills always make you so weak in the knees don’t they?” he said giving you a lazy smirk. his rough hands trailed from your thick thighs, up your tummy, and finally to your breasts where he gave them a soft squeeze. his thumbs brushed over your nipples and you shivered, nearly dropping the blunt in the process.

you head felt like someone had yanked out your brain and replaced it with hot air bc by god all you could think about right now was eren eren eren. “you dream about me a lot?” he asked, mindlessly toying with your breasts. oh he didn’t even know the half of it. you ran your tongue over your bottom lip, nodding at his question. you were supposed to be doing the teasing, but as always eren had the upper hand and was able to turn you into mush with just a few lewd touches. he looked like a dream right now—his jade eyes were red and hooded, his hair that was usually up was down and cascaded beautifully over his broad shoulders, and he had this damn smirk on his face that was getting your panties wetter by the minute.

‘rendezvous’ by partynextdoor (a song that just so happened to be on your sex playlist) began playing, increasing the sexual tension tenfold. eren’s nonchalant façade began to crumble once of felt your wetness begin to seep into the material of his boxers. “you know if you wanna fuck all you have to do is ask, can practically feel your heartbeat on my dick,” his words made your breath hitch making him smirk for the umpteenth time. “no you…no you can’t! don’t be weird,” you pouted slapping his chest. you hadn’t even realized how turned on you actually were until you felt how uncomfortably slick your pussy had gotten.

eren slowly pulled your panties to the side and this mf actually whistled when he finally laid eyes on your soaked center. “such a pretty pussy,” he mumbled to himself running a finger through your slit. eren took one final hit of the blunt before setting it in the ashtray on the bedside table. without warning he plunged two fingers in your cunt making you gasp but as soon as they were in he pulled them right back out. he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked your essence off of them until they were clean. “i think i’m gonna let you do the work this morning,” he smiled, snapping your panties back into place. you were taken aback at his words a soft ‘huh?’ leaving your pouting lips.

“this weed got me feeling kinda lazy, use me to get off baby i know you can do it,” he gave your thigh a few soft pats and you whined. you sat up just the slightest bit to pull eren’s boxers down mid thigh, his painfully hard dick slapping against his toned stomach. it was a struggle to get your panties off without fully standing up but you managed, and as soon as they were off you began grinding your pussy up and down his dick. each time his mushroom tip nudged against your clit you let out a little mewl that was music to eren’s ears. “goddamn babydoll haven’t even put it in yet and you’re already making my dick wet as fuck,” he groaned, digging his fingers into the plush of your thighs. your slick had his dick glistening in sunlight and man oh man was it a sight to see.

you didn’t even care that he wasn’t inside you yet, all you could focus on was how hard n warm his dick was. “you already gonna cum? hm?” eren breathlessly chuckled and you replied with a weak ‘uh huh.’ one side of eren wanted to take charge so bad and just fuck you silly, but the other part of him was loving how you were taking the lead and becoming so so consumed in the pleasure you were getting just from grinding on his dick.

within minutes you were cumming on his dick with a pathetic whimper, your hands slamming onto his chest so you were able to ride out your orgasm for as long as possible. you were incredibly sensitive in that moment thanks to the two blunts you previously smoked, but that didn’t stop you from wrapping your hand around eren’s dick, using your cum as a lubricant to slowly jerk him off. “just…just need a minute to regroup,” you breathlessly giggled, flicking your wrist a tad faster. eren groaned quietly, his eyes fluttering shut. “take all the time you need baby i’m—s-shit, i’m content as can be right now,” and he really was!! he had gods most beautiful creation taking care of him how could he not be loving life right now??

“‘kay think i’m ready,” you whispered to yourself before moving your body up until his tip was at your entrance. you slowly lowered yourself down, whining at the stretch. it rlly didn’t matter how many times you and eren had fucked you just couldn’t quite get used to the stinging stretch from that first push in. you finally bottomed out and eren’s hands wasted no time finding purchase on your hips. you felt so full.

“feels s’good ren,” you mewled, slowly moving your hips up and down. you pressed your lips to his in a needy kiss which he happily returned, shoving his tongue in your mouth in the process. “i know baby i know. feel so fuckin’ good—like heaven i swear you feel like heaven,” he grunted, bucking his hips up. you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, giving it a few soft nibbles. ‘so cute’ he thought to himself as you suckled on his lip. he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing lazy circles onto the throbbing nub. “keep doin’ that m’gonna cum again,” your voice was becoming slurred as your second orgasm of the day was approaching.

you buried your face in eren’s neck letting out little chants of his name as your orgasm washed over you. your mind was so fuzzy the only thing keeping you grounded was the smell of eren’s pine scented body wash. “come back to me baby it’s okay i got you,” he murmured in your ear, stroking your back gently. “want…want some more but i can’t do it, need you to take control please,” you whimpered, twirling your fingers in the silky soft strands of his hair.

eren pressed a kiss to the side of your head and wrapped his strong arms around your back before bucking his hips up. usually his pace would be fast and unforgiving, but he knew you had plans for the day and didn’t want to make you completely fucked out. “yeah jus’ like that baby…love the way you fuck me,” your honey smooth voice moaned directly into his ear. oh how eren loved the praise. eren glanced at the alarm clock on your side of the bed:

10:37 AM

as much as he wanted to savor this moment he knew you’d need at least a thirty minute breather to regroup from the sex, and then it would take you about a good hour to get ready for brunch so unfortunately he had to make this quick. his thrusts picked up and you squealed from how hard his dick was bumping into your pressure point. yeah you’d definitely need a pretty long break afterwards. you removed your face from his neck and after what felt like an eternity eren was able to see your gorgeous semi-fucked out face. you couldn’t help the little droplet of drool that escaped from your kiss swollen lips—he was fucking you that good.

“c’mon renny gimme that nut i need it,” you pouted, squishing his cheeks together and giving him a sloppy kiss. eren moaned into your mouth, his thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. “m’gonna give it to you don’t worry—f-fuck gonna…gonna fill that pretty pussy up,” he practically growled, giving you a harsh smack on your ass.

“gonna fill you up so full you’re gonna feel me in your tummy all—”

thrust

“fucking”

thrust

“day”

really really hard thrust

“oh shit!” you cried, unintentionally biting down pretty hard on eren’s poor bottom lip. the mix of pain and pleasure had eren’s eyes rolling as he finally came inside you with a deep groan. you weren’t too far behind, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. eren stilled his movements completely but kept your body in an iron grip against his. he hadn’t even realized your head had found purchase once again nuzzled into his neck until he heard little sniffles. worry began to coarse through his veins as he lifted your head from his neck, inspecting your face with his brows furrowed.

“what’s wrong? what happened? did i hurt you? why are you crying? talk to me please,” questions were coming out of his mouth left and right making you giggle. “wha-what? why are you laughing?” the smallest pout was settling on his lips and you internally cooed at how cute he was being. you cradled his jaw in your hands, giving his nose a soft kiss. “m’fine ren it was just a little intense, that shit is strong,” you laughed again, referring to the two roaches in the ashtray. eren let out a tiny sigh of relief after hearing you were okay, a small smile now making its way onto his lips. “damn you bit my lip kinda hard huh?” he chuckled, sweeping his tongue over his bottom lip and tasted the faintest bit of something metallic.

“m’sorry baby,” you frowned giving his lips three kisses. you slowly lifted yourself off of him making you both groan in unison. “i should probably go shower—don’t wanna be late,” you sighed, sitting up, careful not to let eren see the wince on your face. although eren was tough as nails, seeing you in any kind of pain after sex absolutely broke him.

eren sat up as well and followed you to the bathroom, his eyes drifting to the cum that slowly made its way down your thigh. “didn’t you already shower while i was sleep?” you quirked an eyebrow as steam began to fill the room. eren wrapped his arms around you from behind, giving your neck a sweet kiss, “i did but i certainly don’t mind taking another one with you.” you felt something hard poke at your back and it was all starting to make sense. “really eren? really? we just got done not even ten minutes ago,” you giggled breaking out of his hold. eren licked his lips as he examined your naked body, “s’not my fault ole boy likes you so much.”

“yeah whatever horndog.”

<333

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

hey Darling, would you write smt about Bucky suddenly having a breeding kink mid session but reader doesnt show that she doesnt like it. she is distancing herself the next day and cries when he isnt home and cries when he does that again the next time while they fuck

later she explains that she wants to have a baby and that she doesn't like breeding kink bc it's not real. and they never talked about kids etc. buck is the next one distancing bc he is shocked. but in the end its fluffy and he wants to take that step with her

<33

Want To Have A Baby » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You want to have a baby with Bucky, but you don’t like the idea of him having a breeding kink.

Warnings: some Smut (18+), Fluff, language, crying, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, praise kink, breeding kink, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

The second Bucky walked through the door of the house, he littered your body in hickeys and practically tore your clothes off. He just came home from a week long mission and he’s taking what he’s been wanting all week. As of right now Bucky was hovering over you with your hands pinned above your head and fingers intertwined with yours as he fucked you.

“This is the only thing that has been on my mind for a week.” Bucky says panting.

You nodded and hummed in response. You’ve been wanting this all week too. Your head was thrown back against the pillow, giving Bucky perfect access to your neck to mark you up some more.

“Fuck…” He moans. “You’re gonna look so pretty when I breed you.” He says breathlessly.

You eyes opened wide at what he say. You blinked a couple times, trying to process what he just said. For the moment, you just went with it. You were coming close to your third orgasm of the night.

“Bucky, I-” A moan left your lips before you could tell him that you were going to cum.

“I know you’re close, babydoll. I can feel it.” He says, speeding up his thrusts.

Your legs began to shake against his sides. You were right on the edge. You were sent over the edge when his cock hit your sweet spot one last time. You came, moaning his name loudly. Bucky gave your clit one last rub before focusing on his own orgasm, which wasn’t too far behind yours. His thrusts got sloppy, but he regained rhythm. He came inside of you soon after. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He slowly pulled out of you, making you whine at the loss of his cock. Bucky sat back on his knees for a few seconds, smirking when he seen his cum leaking out of your pussy.

Bucky laid down next to you and pulled you close to him. Both of you laid there panting and sweaty. Bucky moved your hair to the side so he can kiss your shoulder softly.

“You did so well for me, babydoll.” He says softly.

You hummed tiredly in response and snuggled yourself against him. Bucky covered the two of you up with a sheet and shut off the bedside lamp, draping his arm around your waist. You laid there while Bucky fell asleep, thinking to yourself for a few minutes before falling asleep.

The next morning, you woke up to see Bucky getting dressed. He turned around, smiling when he seen that you were awake. He walked over to the bed and leaned over to give you a kiss.

“Last night was amazing.” Bucky says.

You smiled softly and nodded in agreement, trying not to think about his breeding kink.

“You ok, doll?” He says, moving your hair from your face.

“Yea, I’m just a little tired from last night.” You say, lying through your teeth.

“Go back to bed. I’ll see you tonight.” He gave you another kiss. “I love you.” He says.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You say, smiling softly.

You watched him walk out the bedroom door, closing it behind him. You listened for the front door to close before you started crying. Your mind went back to last night. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Bucky said during sex. He wants to breed you. Last night, it didn’t show signs that you didn’t like it. Now, you don’t like it. You weren’t sure if he meant it or not. After a few minutes, you got out of bed and got ready for the day. You couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky’s breeding kink all day. You tried your best to push it out of your mind and went on about your day.

You were in the kitchen making dinner when Bucky came home from work. He went to the kitchen, smiling to himself when he see you. He walked up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist from behind and kissed your cheek. You didn’t greet him like you normally do.

“Aren’t you going to greet your man?” Bucky asks, trying to make you laugh.

You didn’t laugh or even smile. You turned your head just enough to kiss his bearded cheek and went back to making dinner. Bucky just assumed that you’re just too focused on making dinner so he didn’t think much of it. He gave you one more kiss on your cheek before going to the living room to watch TV. He knows that you’ll come get him when dinner is ready.

After dinner, Bucky took a shower and you cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes. Bucky walks out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel that hung low on his hips and went to the kitchen, knowing that you’re still cleaning up from dinner. He walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist from behind again. You could feel his bulge through the towel.

“The dishes can wait till tomorrow, doll.” Bucky whispers in your ear. “Let’s go to the bedroom.” He says.

You were trying so hard to resist him, but you couldn’t. You know you can’t and so does Bucky. So you finally gave in, turning the water off and turned around to face him. Bucky kissed you hungrily. Your worries of Bucky’s breeding kink washed away in that moment. At least for a little bit.

Bucky grasped the back of your thighs and picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom. He shredded your clothes off of your body the second you two got to the bedroom. You reached a hand down and pulled his towel off.

Bucky slid his cock inside of you the second after your back was on the bed. Your hands found their way to his back, raking your nails down his back and leaving new red line marks on his skin.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, doll.” Bucky softly kissed just below your ear, knowing how much you love it. “I bet you’d look round with my child.” He says.

A whimper fell from your lips. Bucky took it as a pleasurable whimper. He didn’t have to say the word breed. It was just implied. You didn’t want to ruin the moment so you went with it again.

“Bucky…” You moaned.

“I love it when you moan my name, doll.” He says, almost growling.

Your moans urged him on. For the rest of the night, you tried your best to not let his breeding kink bother you.

The next day, you got to thinking. You want to take the next step in your relationship with Bucky. You want to have a baby with him. Or babies you should say. You weren’t sure on how to tell him. You and Bucky have never talked about having kids. It’s something you really want with him and you hope he feels the same way about it. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the door open and close when Bucky came home.

“Doll, I’m home!” Bucky announces. “Are you home?” He asks.

Bucky frowns when you didn’t greet him at the door or answer him. He looked all over the apartment for you. He finally found you in the bedroom, lost in your thoughts.

“Doll?” Bucky says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You blinked a couple times, realizing that Bucky is home. You leaned up and gave him a small kiss on his lips.

“You looked like you were off in space when I walked in here.” He said as he took off his jacket. “Do you want to tell me what you were thinking about?” He asks, sitting on the bed in front of you.

You looked down at your lap, nervously playing with your fingers. Bucky put his hands on yours, getting you to look up at him.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” He says with an assuring smile.

You gave him a smile and took a deep breath before saying anything. You decided to be straightforward with it.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I hope you feel the same way as me about it.” You started. “I know we haven’t talked about it at all and-” You were cut off when Bucky’s hand gently caressed your cheek.

“Babydoll, you’re rambling.” He tells you. “Just say it.” He says softly.

“I want to have a baby with you.” You blurted out. “I want to do it the right way. Not with your breeding kink.” You say.

Silence filled the bedroom and Bucky’s eyes went wide. Bucky didn’t know what to think. You sat there nervously and waited for him to say something.

“Bucky?” Your voice sounded nervous. “I want to have a baby with you.” You say again.

“I-I know. I heard you.” Bucky says.

Bucky put your hands back on your lap and stood up, walking to the bathroom to take a shower. You watched him closed the bathroom door behind him. A sad whimper left your lips, thinking you just screwed up everything with Bucky. Your eyes teared up. You sniffled and laid down, facing away from the bathroom door. You covered your mouth with a blanket to muffle your whimpers so Bucky’s enhanced hearing didn’t pick up the sound of them.

Bucky stood in the shower, water cascading down his body. The words “I want to have a baby with you.” was the only thing on his mind. He still didn’t know what to think. He closed his eyes and shook his head, rubbing his hands over his face. He sighed loudly before cleaning himself up.

When Bucky walked out of the bathroom, he seen you facing the opposite direction. He sighs softly, thinking he hurt your feelings by not saying anything after you confessed that you want to have a baby with him. He got ready for bed and laid down next to you, staring up at the ceiling for a while before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning, Bucky woke up, quickly noticing that you’re not in bed. That’s when he smelled coffee coming from the kitchen. Bucky got out of bed and got ready for work. He walked out of the bedroom and went to the kitchen, hoping you were in the kitchen and you were. He walked in the kitchen at the same time you were pouring coffee in a travel mug for him. You handed it to him without saying a word. As he was about to leave for work, you stopped him by grabbing him wrist. He looked down at your hand and then looked at your face. You stood up on your tippy toes and gave him a kiss on his cheek as a way of saying have a good day at work. Bucky gave you a small before leaving for work.

Bucky was distracted at work. He stared off at a wall during a meeting, lightly tapping his fingers against the table and bouncing his leg. The words “I want to have a baby with you.” echoed in his head. He was so distracted that he didn’t even feel Steve tap on his shoulder. He felt it the second time. He stopped tapping his fingers on the table and stopped bouncing his leg, turning his attention to his best friend.

“Are you ok?” Steve whispered.

Bucky nodded his head yes before turning his attention back to the meeting, getting quickly distracted again. He didn’t listen to a single word that was said in the meeting due to him being distracted. After the meeting, Bucky walked out of the conference room to go to the gym. Steve seen him walking down the hall and caught up with him.

“What’s got you all distracted today?” Steve asks.

“What means you think I’m distracted?” Bucky asks.

“You were staring a the wall, tapping your fingers against the table, and bouncing your leg during the meeting.” Steve points out. “I’ve known you for a long time and I know when something’s on your mind. Tell me what it is.” He says.

Bucky sighed, knowing that he’s not going to get out of this easily without telling Steve what’s on his mind so he might as well tell him.

“Last night, Y/N told me she wants to have a baby with me.” Bucky tells him.

“Wow. I bet that came as a shock.” Steve says.

“I still am shocked.” He says.

“Is she pregnant?” He asks.

“No.” He answers and then frowned. “At least I don’t think she is.” He says.

“Do you want to have a baby with her?” Steve asks.

“I-I- of course I do. We’ve never talked about having kids.” Bucky says with a stutter.

“Then that’s what you should tell her.” He said. “The Bucky I know would love to settle down and have a family. I know that guy is still in there somewhere.” He says, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at his best friend. Steve is right. The guy who wants to settle down and have a family is still in him.

“You’re right, man.” Bucky smiles. “I should tell her. In fact, I’m going to do that right now.” He says.

“Let me know how it goes.” Steve says, patting his shoulder.

Bucky left the Avengers Compound and went home. He stopped at a floral shop and bought your favorite bouquet of flowers before going home.

You were finishing up notes for work in the dining room when Bucky came home. You looked up and put your pen down when Bucky walked in the dining room. You looked from him to the bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand.

“You got my favorite bouquet of flowers.” You pointed out, still looking at the bouquet.

“They’re for you.” Bucky says like a nervous teenage boy, handing them to you.

You took the bouquet from his hand and admired the flowers. Bucky took his jacket off and put it on the back of the chair and sat down in the chair next to you.

“I want to talk about what you said last night.” He says.

You felt yourself get nervous quickly. Your heart pounded in your chest, waiting for him to continue.

“I thought about it- actually I talked to Steve and he-” Bucky was cut off when you put a hand on his arm.

“Baby, you’re rambling.” You repeated his words from last night.

Bucky nervously chuckled.

“What I’m trying to say is that I would love to have a baby with you.” He says.

“You do?” You asked.

“Of course I do.” He smiles widely. “The guy who wants to settle down and have a family is still in me.” He tells you. “I found the most beautiful woman in the world and I want nothing more than to have a baby with you.” He says.

A huge smile grew on your face. You leaned forward and kissed him sweetly. Bucky’s hand caressed your cheek.

“I love you so much, baby.” You say in almost a whisper.

“I love you more, doll.” Bucky softly said. “How about we start making a baby?” He suggests.

“You read my mind, babe.” You whispered, looking in his beautiful blue eyes.

Bucky took the bouquet of flowers from your hands and put them on the table. He stood up and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder, making you squeal in excitement. You and Bucky went straight to the bedroom and started to make a baby right away.

🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖

-Bucky’s Doll

[0omillo0]

HAN X READER — JEALOUSY

angst, happy ending

synopsis: During Han’s tour, jealousy and misunderstandings strain his relationship with Y/N.

˚୨୧⋆｡♡˚⋆

You curled up in bed, pulling the covers tighter around your shoulders as the concert livestream played on your laptop. The screen glowed with bright lights and the screams of fans, their adoration for Han filling the room. Your heart swelled with pride as he stood on stage, pouring his soul into the performance. He looked electrified, alive in a way only music could make him.

Y/N: Knock ’em dead tonight! I’m so proud of you! I’ll be watching 💜

A second later, his reply came through.

Han: Thanks, babe. Thinking of you. Wish you could be here 😔

You smiled, feeling that pang of missing him mixed with gratitude. Watching him perform was almost enough to fill the space he’d left behind — almost.

The next song started, and you watched with a proud, content smile until something made your heart dip. The camera panned, catching Han as he made his way down the stage, engaging with fans along the barricades. He leaned close, flashing that signature smile that you knew all too well. And then, with one fan near the front row, he took her hand. He lingered, his expression soft as he chatted with her, giving her that devoted look he often gave you. Your stomach tightened.

The minutes stretched on, and you couldn’t shake the hollow feeling that had crept in. You told yourself that it was just fan service, that it was part of his job, but your mind refused to quiet. Why was he lingering so long? Why did it feel like more than just a quick interaction?

Before you could fully process it, your breathing had turned shallow, chest feeling like it was caving in. Panic coiled in your stomach, and your hands trembled as you clutched your phone. You needed to talk to someone, anyone. You thought for a while and after the show, you dialed Felix.

The phone barely rang before he answered.

Felix: “Y/N? Hey, what’s up?”

Your voice came out in shaky breaths, words stumbling over each other. “I—I’m sorry to call so late, I just… I’m freaking out.”

Felix: “Hey, hey, slow down. It’s okay, I’m here. What happened?”

You took a deep breath, struggling to find the words. “Han was… he was holding hands with a fan at the concert. I know it’s dumb, but… it just got to me. They looked so close.”

Felix: “Y/N… I get it, I do. You know he loves you, right? He’s just trying to connect with fans.”

Y/N: “I know, but… it hurt, Felix. He looked so… sincere.”

Felix: “I know it’s hard, but he’s doing it for the fans, not to hurt you. Just breathe, okay? You’re allowed to feel this way, but remember, his connection with you is real. You’re the one he calls every night, not anyone else.”

You exhaled shakily, feeling the tension start to ease. “Thanks, Felix. I don’t know what I���d do without you.”

Felix: “Anytime, Y/N. You don’t have to go through this alone, you know?”

As you hung up, a small part of you felt reassured, yet doubts lingered. But the comfort Felix provided was something to hold on to, at least for tonight.

Hours later, halfway across the world, Han stood in a quiet backstage hallway, trying to clear his head when he overheard his name. He stopped, listening as your voice, faint but unmistakable, carried through the phone. And then he heard Felix’s voice, soft and reassuring, comforting you. It stung — why hadn’t you come to him first?

When he finally got back to his hotel room, he saw your messages but didn’t open them right away. His thoughts swirled with emotions, jealousy the loudest among them. He opened his messages and began typing, fingers moving faster than his mind.

Han: Why did you go to Felix with this?

You replied almost instantly.

Y/N: I had a panic attack, Han. I didn’t know who else to call.

Han: But you could’ve waited. You could’ve… trusted me to handle this.

Y/N: Waited? Han, I needed someone in that moment. You weren’t there, and I was falling apart.

Han: You don’t think it hurts to hear you went to someone else with this?

Y/N: I wasn’t trying to hurt you! I just… I needed someone, and Felix was there.

Han: Well, maybe… maybe it’s better if you just don’t call me while I’m on tour. This is just too much.

Y/N: Han… are you serious right now?

Han: I’ll call you when I can handle this. But please, don’t message me for a while.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. You stared at the screen, disbelief mingling with a deep, piercing pain. With shaking hands, you set your phone down and shut your laptop. The hollow ache turned into an overwhelming emptiness.

Days passed in a blur of missed calls and unread messages. You’d turned off your phone, needing to escape the world that had once felt so full with him in it. Nights blurred into days, loneliness pressing in on you like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Across the world, Han felt every second of your silence, each one heavier than the last. His words replayed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving. He knew he had overreacted, let his jealousy get the best of him, but pride and guilt kept him from reaching out. It was Felix, eventually, who confronted him.

Felix: “You realize what you did, right?”

Han: “Felix, I was upset. I didn’t think—”

Felix: “No, you didn’t think. She called you, desperate, because she needed you. And you told her not to.”

Han ran a hand through his hair, guilt churning in his gut. “I just… I got jealous. She’s close to you, and I…”

Felix: “So you punished her for it. She’s been miserable, Han. Fix this.”

When Han finally gathered the courage, he knew words alone wouldn’t be enough. He wanted to show you how deeply he regretted his actions. He called a florist, ordering 500 roses, each one a silent plea for forgiveness. Alongside them, he sent a letter.

Y/N,

I was wrong. I’m sorry.

I let my own jealousy cloud my judgment and hurt you. You are the most important person in my life, and I can’t bear the thought of pushing you away. No amount of distance can lessen what I feel for you, and I was selfish to let my pride get in the way. Please give me a chance to make this right. I love you, and I’m so sorry for the pain I caused.

Love, Han

When the roses arrived, you stared at them, your heart pounding with a mixture of relief and hesitation. Each petal felt like an apology, each one carrying a whisper of the love you feared was lost.

With trembling fingers, you dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, his voice breathless.

Han: “Y/N…”

The silence stretched, filled with emotions neither of you knew how to express.

Y/N: “I don’t know why you would do that, Han. Why you’d make me feel like… like I didn’t deserve to feel those things. This was the first time I was jealous and I was scared to talk about it. Now I know I can’t do it.”

Han: “ No no no baby, you have to talk about it… I’m so sorry— I know I didn’t react well and I regret every second of it. I was angry… and I didn’t think about what you needed. Only what I felt.”

Y/N: “You really hurt me.”

Han: “I know, and if I could take back those words, I would. I’ll never make you feel that way again, I promise.”

A weight lifted, the ache in your chest easing as you listened to him, his voice full of genuine regret. You felt the love that had always been there, beneath the hurt and distance, waiting for you both to reach it again.

Y/N: “Just… don’t ever do that again. Don’t make me feel like I can’t come to you.”

Han: “I won’t. I swear. I love you, Y/N, and I’ll spend every day showing you that.”

A soft smile crept onto your face as you finally allowed yourself to forgive him. The hurt was real, but so was his love — and so was yours.

taglist

@hannamoon143 @intartaruginha

[mythos-writes]

Revenge

Rhea Ripley x Wrestler! Reader

Plot: With Rhea gone because of injury, leaving (Y/N) alone in the Judgement Day, and the new target for Liv Morgan. But when Rhea returns from injury, all is fair in love and war

Word Count: 914

Warnings: None, just an angry Rhea Ripley :)

Main Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Since Rhea was sidelined after Wrestlemania, things slowly started to fall apart within Judgment Day. With Damian struggling to keep the group together, Finn and JD winning the Tag team belts was amazing. But having Dom running around and fooling around with Liv, was driving a spike deep into the heart of the Judgement Day. 

But the person taking Rhea’s absence the worst was (Y/N). Failing to get the women’s title after Rhea relinquished it, dealing with the group, and Liv bullying her was starting to get too much for her. The boys tried not to let Liv near her, but once Dom spent a lot of time with her, keeping her distance was getting harder. 

(Y/N) was getting ready for her match against her friend, Dakota Kai. Usually, Rhea would have come out with her, but because of the injury, she had been flying solo. 

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Damian’s voice booms in the small empty hallway. “Are you ok?” he asks. 

“Yeah. This has been one of the only places that Liv can’t find me to harass me,” she says, looking down at her boots. She never likes showing how much Liv affects her. 

Damian sighs, placing a hand on her shoulder. He tries his best to get Liv away from her, and away from Dom, but he can only do so much. 

“Do you want me to accompany you to the ring tonight?” he asks. (Y/N)’s heart warms at the offer, missing someone in her corner for matches.  

“I think I’ll be fine. Thanks though. If I need you, I’ll send an arrow to the entrance,” she says while mimicking Damian's archer taunt. He lets out a breathy chuckle at her actions. 

“What are we laughing at?” Liv’s voice breaks their moment. 

“Um, nothing important,” (Y/N) says, becoming shy���Damian moves to protect her from the Women’s champion. 

“I was just talking to her before her match, which is next so if you excuse us,” Damian says, grabbing (Y/N) wrist and pushing their way past Liv. Once they got out of the hallway and away from Liv, she let out a sigh of relief. 

“Thanks, Damian,” she mumbles as they walk towards the gorilla.

“You know I got you,” he says while pulling her into his chest. 

“(Y/R/N) and Dakota Kai to the gorilla. Match in 2 minutes,” The voice calls out over speakers. 

“You ready?” He asks. She sends him a smile. 

“I’m ready. But the question is are they ready for me?” 

“Yes,” Dakota replies, getting a chuckle from the two members of TJD. Dakota’s music blasts as she leaves the gorilla. 

Damian places his hands on her shoulders, grounding her again. Damian has stepped up a lot to be there for (Y/N) since her girlfriend has been out. Rhea has also been in constant contact because she knew that (Y/N) wouldn’t have been 100% honest with her. After all, (Y/N) wouldn’t want her to come rushing back when she wasn’t ready. 

“You got this,” Damian reassures her before her music hits. She sends him one last smile, taking a deep breath, before walking through the curtain and out to the waiting crowd. (Y/N)  rocking black pleather shorts with a leather garter belt. Her top was a simple pleather wrestling top with a cut-up Judgement Day shirt over it. She made her way to the ring, ready to get this small match over with. 

Once the bell rings, (Y/N) was dominating the match. They had some good back and forths but (Y/N) keeps the upper hand. She could hear the growing noise coming from ringside, but she chose to ignore the noise. (Y/N) hits her finisher (a version of the Walls of Jericho), securing her win. Dakota rolls out of the ring, refs making sure she is ok.

As she was processing the win, something hard hit her in the back of the head. (Y/N) is looking up to the rafters and Liv Morgan’s face comes into her view. Liv gives her an overly ‘friendly’ wave. (Y/N) slowly rolls off of her back, still holding her head.

As (Y/N) slowly gets up, Liv grabs a steel chair and is ready to lay a beating on her. When Demons in your Dreams belt out through the arena. The crowd cheers, Liv and (Y/N) couldn’t believe it. Liv scampers out of the ring like her life depends on it while Rhea charges the ring, wanting to get her hands on her placeholder. 

Rhea made sure that Liv was nowhere close to the ring before she turns her full attention to (Y/N).

“Rhea?” (Y/N) questions. Rhea moves her hair out of her face, getting a better look at her girlfriend.

“I’m here love,” she replies. Refs came over to see if extra assistance was needed.

“I thought you were still out?”

“I’m not 100% clear but I couldn’t sit at home anymore and watch you get hurt at the hands of her,” Rhea was still enraged at what had been happening. “I’m also gonna have a chat with a certain Dirty Dom after getting you to the medics,” she says while helping (Y/N) out of the ring.

“I’m happy you’re back,” she whispers for only Rhea to hear. She smiles down to her partner and places a kiss on her forehead.

“Me too babe. Me too.”

[hanasnx]

" DON'T BURY THOUGHTS THAT YOU REALLY WANT " — katsuki bakugou.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established coworker relationship ノ sexual and suggestive content: dirty talk ノ degradation: m+f receiving ノ body shame joke.

You’ve known pro-hero DYNAMIGHT for years now, and he just started paying attention to you in ways you notice. Admiring him from afar was easy, but closing in was another matter entirely; working alongside one another got you in the same proximity, and he was forced to acknowledge you. He treated you like any other person he meets, and after studying him, you figured out an in.

Instead of a simple, “I’ll kick your ass!” from him when you’ve pissed him off, you’ve devised your own special language with him. Miraculously, he doesn’t seem to give you the impression you’ve gotten the best of him. Instead, you’re rewarded with hateful but sexual confessions. Now when you piss him off, his and your special brand of understanding and humor have turned a violent warning into a disgusting promise. “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you.” he tells you.

If anyone was listening in, they’d think you and him have entered some romantic relationship, completely inappropriate to your professional standings. On the contrary, you’ve trained him to speak to you in a way that pleases you without him even knowing. Now your banter with him consists of angry flirting, and he still believes he’s making threats. Out on the battlefield he shamefully critiques your poor choices with something along the lines of, “Was gonna fuck your brains out tonight, but it looks like my job’s already done!”

You wear it proudly. You’ve managed to get the great Katsuki Bakugou to do what you want him to. After a long, arduous process groomed by your consistent schedule with him, spending time together observing him as you work alongside one another, you’ve done it. In place of him calling you a simple idiot, he tells you you’re lucky you’re hot.

A “fight” with him, looks like a horny situationship from the outside, publicly debuting your desire for one another like PDA-obsessed freaks. You delight in it, while he remains oblivious. At least you thought he was. More and more, he leans into this little share of humor you two have going on, wit that leads you into suspicion.

“You look like shit. Maybe if you slept over at my place, I would’ve tired you out enough to get you to bed at a decent time.” Bakugou notes, passing you as if he’d relayed the weather. Brows furrowed, you pivot your head to watch the back of his while he strides on. It’s unusual that he’d phrase it that way, regarding it as opportunistic rather than domineering. You shrug it off under the basis he’s just evolving the jokes, he’s not extending an offer.

The next day isn’t so different, sitting across from him at the table in a meeting you’re both early for. His body language is lax as always, an elbow hooked behind a corner of the chair, his glove at his belt, legs spread far. Taking up as much space as possible, whereas your hands are clasped neatly on the surface in front of you. You can tell he’s reading you, those crimson eyes unapologetically scrutinizing your erect posture and a cruel grin stretches one side of his mouth. Sighing impatiently through your nose, you call him out on being a creep. “What? What’re you lookin’ at, Bakugou? You want me or something?” you call upon that unique sense of sexual humor, hoping to trip him up.

No such luck. He snickers, and leans back in his chair to cross his thick arms across his wide chest. A pose that leaves you gulping, and he visibly notices how your eyes wander for a milisecond. “Whatever guy you’re fucking is doing a shit job because you’re still a bitch with a stick up your ass.” Has he been cooking that up this whole time? He looks mighty pleased with himself.

“Don’t be a pig, Dynamight. Who I’m sleeping with is none of your concern.” you retort, and you’re not beating the bitchy allegations. You stick your nose in the air in spite of yourself, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him teetering on the back legs of his chair. So you peer at him a little more deliberately while you’re faced away. “Unless you want a piece, that is.” A much more subtle flirt, gauging his reaction to such a timid offer.

Meanly, he scoffs. “‘A piece?’” he parrots. “What, a piece? Of that little thing? The fuck am I supposed to do with that, huh? Ass like that you’ll have to work for it.”

“Bakugou!” Somehow, he went a little too far that time. A pang of hurt is uncharacteristic to experience, and yet it twists your heart. You mask it, trying to match his energy in a way you can manage. “Are you just gonna comment on my body or are you gonna do something with it?”

“Oh, I’m gonna do som’thin’ with it, alright. I’m gonna do som’thin’.” A greedy expression shifts his features, eyeing you up like you’re a meal, a prey. Maybe he's catching on to you... And before he can explain and you can rebuke, other heroes enter the meeting room, and all four legs of his chair land with a slam.

@HANASNX 2024 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[crguang]

wasted with longing

You and Kafka have a simple, superficial relationship that benefits you both. You should have known that nothing is ever simple when she’s involved.

friends with benefits, smut, afab!reader, gp!kafka, vaginal penetration, blowjob, dom!kafka, 4.5k words

A/N: fuckboy kafka is real and we should all be running… towards her🤣 this will be a series! i’ll fine tune it when i wake up but this is for my very excited anons and mutuals <3

part two

this is the collective playlist, i’m still adding songs as i go: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4fNHJsbeJLC49Fa8ACVOwW?si=pgaCSUzVTgmXZ8OuQJWLKA&pi=u-9uwba0QiQlWH

You push open the door to your apartment with a tired sigh and step inside. Freeing your feet from the new boots you bought days before feels heavenly, you’re still breaking them in and the process is almost torturous, often leaving you sore by the evening. You put on the slippers you discarded that morning as you shrug off your jacket, placing it back into the tiny closet near the front door. The lights are off but you don’t bother turning them on, instead, you make a beeline for your bedroom and flick that switch on. It’s late, around 11 PM, and you’re itching for a shower before collapsing into bed after spending the afternoon on your feet. You open the window a crack to let the breeze in, seeing as the summer nights tend to leave you sweating. You discard some of your clothing on the way to the bathroom, holding onto them to throw them in the laundry basket next to the sink. Standing in your underwear, you turn on the shower and adjust its settings to room temperature before removing your clothes. You’re grateful for the peaceful moment when you step into the shower, simply letting the water hit your face and soak your body.

Today was particularly challenging; your boss was a jerk your whole shift, more demanding than usual, and you’d promised some friends that you would go out with them after work even though you just wanted to be home by then. Forcing yourself to socialize is mentally taxing and often leaves you with a headache at the end of the night, too. Under the refreshing water, you feel the knots of your muscles loosen slowly as if smoothed out by warm, gentle hands. Your head tilts towards the shower head. For a few minutes, you wash away the weight of the day, focusing on the pitter-patter in your ears deafening you to all but your thoughts. An impulsive one passes by, meant to be fleeting but it solidifies in your head until you can’t help but entertain the idea.

You wonder what Kafka is doing, if she’d come running if you called the way she often does once the sun sets. She’s been busy lately, you think; you haven’t heard from her in around two weeks and you’ve been too preoccupied with work to bother checking on her. You don’t know what she does for a living, only that your palms brush against new cuts across her skin every once in a while. The acknowledgment of their presence goes unsaid like many other things, locked in a messy closet to which you both hold the key yet refuse to organize. Still, she’s skilled in the ways of your body and works you out like no one else can, so you ignore a lot about her to prioritize how relaxed you feel after a couple of hours with her. Some parts of you, your heart and fingertips, twitch to understand her absences and inconsistencies. You try not to dwell on that confusing desire for too long lest you come to a conclusion you don’t like. Kafka’s enigmatic, she’s mysterious and rehearsed as to always keep the upper hand in whatever war she’s implicated in like the world is an open minefield and she can’t afford a single misstep. Every semblance of genuine conversation about her turns into a game she has to win and you’re getting tired of playing along. However… you have to admit that you could use the distraction tonight.

The thought doesn’t leave you as you finish washing yourself and step out of the shower with a clean towel around your frame. You look for your phone once in the bedroom, picking it up from where it was discarded on your dresser, then sit at the edge of your bed. It takes a bit of scrolling through your recent conversations to find Kafka’s contact. You refrain yourself from rolling your eyes at the last texts you’ve exchanged. She can’t be relied on for your impromptu needs and you wish the opposite was true as well, but you’ve learned to make yourself available whenever she seeks you out. It’s pathetic, you tell yourself, even as your thumbs hover over the screen’s keyboard. You recline on the mattress with a sigh and hold your phone above you, wondering if you should do this. It’s late, and though that’s usually when you see each other, Kafka has the habit of not replying until hours later. It’s irritating, especially when you scroll up to her last messages and notice how quickly you always answer them. You toss your phone on the bed and cover your face with your hands. You swallow a scream.

“Embarrassing, embarrassing,” you mutter to yourself, “no dignity at all.”

As you question your life choices and consider blocking Kafka’s number to make yourself feel more in control than you are, your phone buzzes with a notification. You turn on your stomach to pick it up, tapping open the screen.

You stare at the most recent text for almost a full minute before closing the device and sitting up straight. The coincidence of her messaging you while you’re debating whether you should text her first leaves you reeling for a moment. You hesitate, fiddling with the phone in your hands. You want to leave her waiting like she often does to you, but… Excitement creeps up your spine at the thought of seeing her. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Why not take what you need from her and send her on her way? This is what she’s good for, it’s how she regards you as well, so you give in to your impulses and craft the perfect text. Kafka’s reply comes almost instantly.

You can’t deny the flutter in your gut but you sure as hell can ignore it.

You make sure to be ready before Kafka comes knocking at your door. You lather yourself with your favourite lotion before pulling a tank top over your head and putting on pyjama shorts. You clean up around your apartment even if she never lingers long enough to get a good look at it, picking up dirty laundry and clearing the dishes. You don’t see the minutes tick by as you do your best to seem presentable. You check your teeth in the bathroom mirror, decide to brush them because you don’t have any mint, then tap your cheeks a couple of times, tilting your chin this way and that. You’re looking at your nails, wondering if you should clip them since they’re getting a bit long, when the doorbell rings.

You take measured steps towards the front door so as not to look too eager and shake your head at your antics. You turn the handle, revealing Kafka’s nonchalant expression on the other side of the door. She smiles at the sight of you, clad in her usual tight clothes and custom-made coat, and you have to suppress one from betraying your thoughts as you take her in. She does the same to you, gaze appreciatively raking over your figure before she even greets you. She still has makeup on, hiding the fatigue you know rests under her eyes, and she’s holding on to her pair of gloves instead of wearing them. You think she probably wrapped up whatever it is that she does and came to your apartment right afterwards.

You open the door wider and step to the side so she can come in. “You look tired.”

Kafka walks in and closes the door behind her with a foot. Her smile widens a touch, a self-assured edge to it. Her head tilts— you watch the loose strands of hair follow the movement— and her eyes drop to your chest for a deliberate second then lift to meet yours. “You look beautiful as ever.”

You don’t hide the annoyed roll of your eyes. You turn your back on her to lead her further into the apartment. She follows, slipping off her coat from her shoulders and discarding it on a sofa in the living room.

“You got rid of the painting?”

You look at where she stopped in front of the couch. She points to the far wall with her chin as she lays her gloves on top of her coat. You stand, dumbfounded. You used to have an abstract painting hung on that wall but stored it to install a TV instead. You’re mostly surprised she noticed; her lips are usually on yours instants after she’s stepped through the door.

“It’s here somewhere,” you gesture vaguely to the room.

“Mm… This coffee table’s different, too.”

“You broke the glass of the other one the last time you were here.”

Something in the way she glances at you, a cocky glint in her eyes, tells you she remembers.

“Right. What was it you said that night— ‘Don’t you dare stop?’”

You know Kafka revels in the flash of irritation that creases the bridge of your nose.

“I don’t remember that.”

“No?”

She makes her way to you, fingertips trailing on the back of the couch and amusement shining through her contacts, dusty pink swallowing the lilac at their edges, reminding you of carefully plucked calla lilies. Her slender fingers cup your jaw to tilt your chin, the nail of her index sliding across your skin, and you meet her stare with practiced ease. You hate how easily the anticipation of her touch heats the embers in your belly and you can’t stand knowing that she’s aware of her effect on you. Kafka brings you closer until all you care to see is the lustful, rosy shades of her irises. Her gaze lowers to the curves of your mouth.

“Need a reminder?” Her murmur is felt on your lips like the warm, inviting breeze wafting through the open windows.

You hook a finger under the waistband of her shorts and tug her forward. “Guess so.”

Her low chuckle is cut off by the kiss you plant on her lips. Kafka indulges your control over her, lets you back her up against the wall and pull her close with a hand around her neck. Her arm snakes around your waist, your body pressed to hers. She tastes sweet, like a sugary drink or a juicy fruit, and your tongue slips into her mouth to taste her fully. She welcomes it readily and allows it to swirl around hers before you feel her fingers curl around your throat. The pace shifts, hungry and hurried, as she effortlessly takes over the kiss, momentarily taking your breath away. You’re forced to follow her lead and exhale through your nose when she doesn’t release you. The hand on the back of her neck travels down her collarbone, pulling on the leather strap of her outfit so it slaps against her once you let go, and the hum that sounds from her throat softens your bones until you’re putty in her hands. Her shirt crumples in your grip while your fingertips tease the buttons of her shorts. Your world is reduced to the soft caress of her tongue in your mouth and the growing bulge beneath your palm.

Her hold on your neck relaxes slightly and you pull away enough to regulate your breathing. You stroke her over her clothes, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her. A pleased smile makes its way onto your face and your eyes blink open to stare at her swollen, peach lips.

“Someone’s happy to see me.”

Kafka traces the hollow of your throat with a rounded nail, smiling amusedly at your teasing tone. “Mmm.”

“Two weeks and a little kiss gets you worked up?”

“Were you counting?”

“Please. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” You unclasp the buttons of her shorts and pull them down her waist to reveal the band of her pantyhose, toying with it and sighing in faux exasperation. “I suppose I could help.”

“Yeah?”

Kafka stares at you, anticipation in the way her lips unconsciously part, and you retain her lustful gaze as you withdraw from her body to put your hair up using the hair tie on your wrist. You raise a playful eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, and her eyes narrow a touch at your cockiness. She doesn’t say a word, though, simply watches you lower yourself to your knees with that smile that says she’ll wipe that expression off your face soon enough. You start with her thigh-high boot, zipping it down to get it out of the way, then grip the edges of both her pantyhose and shorts to slide them off the rest of the way at once. Her layers annoy you on nights when your need is greater than your patience, but you enjoy teasing her like this; testing the elasticity of her boxers’ waistband, running the pads of your fingers over the thin fabric and along the thick of her bulge, pressing leisure, open-mouthed kisses on the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Kafka is a patient woman, her hand tangles in your hair but doesn’t pull. Her heavy stare makes you feel powerful despite being the one on your knees, she either doesn’t bother to hide her desire or she can’t— regardless, you’re her only way towards sweet release and she has no choice but to grant your petty wishes.

Your lips trace the outline of her length over her underwear. One hand cups her between her legs while the other kneads her plush thigh. You delight in the little hums Kafka doesn’t care to contain as you pepper kisses on her clothed cock, a thumb gently massaging her balls until you feel her twitch under your lips. Still, she doesn’t tell you to hurry along or pressure you in any way. Knowing that her cool demeanor is an act fuels the satisfaction in your gut. You pull at her boxers and free her hard cock, refraining from biting your lip at the sight of its prominent vein. You follow its pattern with your mouth and use a hand to curl around her base, eyes fluttering shut. You’ve done this so often, licked long stripes up to her tip and stroked her sensitive skin with teasing touches, that the feel of her against you is engraved in your gray matter. Your tongue swirls around her leaking tip to collect her pre-cum before taking her into your mouth. Kafka is so big you have to use your fingers to stroke what can’t fit past your lips. The weight of her cock on your tongue makes you so incredibly wet, you feel arousal trickling down your inner thigh. Her hips buck forward and her hand caresses your hair in a manner so fond you’d mistake her lust for care if you didn’t know any better. You work her up with quiet, muffled moans around her dick and she guides you down her length with one hand, unable to tear her eyes from your pretty face as you suck her off. You take as much of her as you can, feel the head brushing the back of your throat every few thrusts of her hips, and revel in the short, throaty moans spilling from Kafka’s lips.

“Mmhh… How pretty you look with your mouth full,” she manages to tease you in between low gasps, smugness dripping from her words. You give her sensitive tip a particularly harsh suck and bask in the uncontrolled jerk of her hips.

You look up at the crease between her brows and the rapid rise of her chest, her audible pants intoxicating you. With her head tilted to gaze down at you, strands of magenta hang in the air like threads of silk. You squeeze her base once to draw a longer moan from her. The taste of her bypasses your every thought, and you can only focus on her throbbing, wet cock filling your mouth. You stroke her with the same hungry pace, occasionally squeezing your thighs together to appease the heat between your legs. She’s so hard, so needy, you can’t help the indignant whine that escapes you when her fingers grip your hair and pull you away from her dick. A thin string of saliva connects her head to your tongue and breaks with the distance, falling onto your chin.

“Don’t pout, you’ll get your fill,” Kafka smiles despite her heavy breathing, urging you to stand with her hold on your head, “I’ll make sure of it.”

A tinge of irritation surges in your bloodstream at the cocky edge of her tone and the way your pussy aches for her touch. Her nose brushes yours once you’re on your feet, warm breath fanning over your lips. You hate that you want her, that your body responds to her by melting into hers as she steals the air in your lungs with a single heady kiss. You hate the way your thighs part almost immediately to allow her wandering hand better access to your cunt. You hate the amused chuckle that leaves her when she realizes you’re not wearing any underwear and rubs between your slit with a finger. And yet, you only get wetter under her ministrations, brows twisting with the pleasure she’s giving you. Her digit withdraws from your slick pussy, glimmering with your arousal, and Kafka stares at you with lidded eyes as she brings it to her lips to suck it clean. The wet sound of her mouth sends a jolt straight to your core. You need her to fuck you so badly, you can barely think before grasping the leather strap under her collarbones to pull her forward.

Your lips meet in a messy, heated kiss, her salty taste on your tongue and your slick on hers. You stumble down the hallway, losing pieces of clothing along the way, until you reach the bedroom and Kafka firmly pushes you down onto the bed with a hand on your bare chest. Her mouth is locked with yours and you feel her touch on your hips, across your waist, over your ribcage where your heart drums for her. Her thumb applies pressure on your erect nipple, drawing a needy sigh from you. You sneak around her chest to unclasp her bra and she assists you in sliding it off her arms to discard it on the floor. Her cock presses against your thigh while she teases your nipple between two fingers. You know you’re ruining the sheets beneath you but you can’t bring yourself to care; you get more desperate with every minute she’s not buried inside you, unable to contain the quiet whimpers that escape you.

“Kafka…” you breathe out in a whine, aware of how much it turns her on to hear her name out your lips. Her cock throbs on your thigh at the sound.

She plants kisses down your jaw and pinches your nipple a couple of times, the feeling delicious yet not enough. Her hum rumbles through her chest, “Mmm… Pleading already?”

Aeons, she’s infuriating. You wrap a leg around her waist and her length rests on your slit, but you bite the flesh of your cheek to keep in a breathy moan, not wanting to inflate her ego more than it already is. Kafka reaches down to rub her tip between your lower lips, almost groaning as your slick mixes with the saliva from your tongue. Your lungs stutter and you suck in a breath, nails digging into the expanse of her back. Her head grazes your aching clit, you arch further into her to repeat the action. It feels so good you forget all about who you’re dealing with until she speaks up again.

Kafka’s licks a broad stripe up your neck, then her mouth brushes the skin of your jaw on its way to your earlobe, pressing a kiss just below.

“You’re dripping…” Though her voice is close to your eardrums, you barely register the words she utters, lost in the pleasure of your clit sliding against the thick of her cock. “How much do you want this, mm?”

There’s a lick on the cartilage of your ear before she pulls away to look at you through the dull pink of her irises, eyelids heavy. The movement of her dick on your pussy comes to halt and it takes you losing that relieving friction to understand that she expects an answer.

“W-What?”

“Did you miss me this much?”

Your heel digs into her lower back to pull her closer, but her lips simply stretch into a knowing, teasing smile. She presses her tip against your twitching clit once, delighting in the flutter of her eyelashes and the beginnings of a needy moan that you refuse to let her hear.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you reply, but even you have to admit that your sentence lacks conviction or venom.

“Mm…” Kafka guides the tip of her cock to your gushing entrance and your next inhale gets caught in your throat. “Is it flattery if it’s true?”

“You w— Hah—!”

She pushes the head inside you, feeling you clench instinctively at the intrusion, and lets out a sigh of pleasure as your warm, tight cunt welcomes her cock. She watches a quiver go through your bottom lip and briefly bites her own. One hand digs into the plush of your love handle, the other sinks into the bedsheets next to your head. She slides another inch into you and your fingers tangle in her locks, tugging at the sensation of her length inside you, stretching you so well a breathless gasp spills from your mouth. Her smile is smug, pleased at your silence, and you swallow as you muster the strength to speak. Kafka leans closer, the tip of her nose against your cheek and her breath warming your skin. Slowly, she bottoms out completely and gives you a moment to adjust to the fullness. Something in the way her pants falter occasionally tells you that she needs that pause too. Her lips are on your jaw in a kiss way too soft, too gentle to be from her; her who means nothing to you aside from the pleasure she provides you.

“I missed you.”

You feel a buzzing sensation in your lower belly that has nothing to do with her cock nestled in your cunt. The words are murmured like a confession but you know they aren’t one, Kafka means to provoke you so that she can put you in your place, a game you’ve played since the day you met. You can’t explain why it’s as if your heartstrings are plucked and manipulated like those of an instrument, its melody disorganized and disharmonious. You don’t understand the sudden irritation that mixes with your arousal, sending a shiver down your spine.

You tug at her hair and her head follows the movement backwards, lips parting.

“I hate you,” you manage to utter through gritted teeth, and you’re frustrated to find that there’s no truth in what you’ve said.

Kafka’s growing grin turns mocking. “Aww. But you’re sucking me in…”

To prove her point, she withdraws from you just to thrust back in, her tip hitting that sensitive spot inside you. Her length rubs your walls with every thrust of her hips, rendering you speechless aside from the quiet whimpers that fall from your tongue, and your anger fades away, replaced by the desperate need to come. Your fingers messily swipe at your clit and your nails paint crescent moons on her back from how tightly you’re holding on to her body. Despite her own need, Kafka is determined to pull more lovely sounds from you. Her pace is tantalizingly slow but harsh in the way you prefer as she fills you to the brim. You feel her all around you, her lips on your jaw, the pads of her fingers sinking into your flesh, her cock buried deep inside your fluttering cunt. Her low moans and short groans hit your ears in sinful sounds that only make you wetter. Her breasts are flushed to yours, following the rocking of her hips.

“Fuck, fuck—“ you babble breathily, lost in the pleasure, “more…”

You don’t register Kafka manhandling you with an arm around your waist so that you’re straddling her lap instead, only that the change in position allows her to drive deeper into you. You moan brokenly as she grabs your hips and guides you down onto her cock in one go. Your thighs tremble, aching, and your orgasm is imminent. Kafka groans into your shoulder, bouncing you on her dick, the taut coil in her belly begging to snap. Your slick trickles down her length and your wet pussy swallows her cock, you clench around her like you dread she’ll pull out before you can come. She uses a palm to apply pressure on your lower stomach, feeling the faint outline of her bulge inside you, and the sensation pushes you over the edge. You cream on her cock with a cry. Your head tilts back and Kafka leans away from your shoulder to gaze at your cum drenching her girth. She knows how sensitive you get after an orgasm, can feel you twitch against her with the aftershocks, but she can’t help jerking her hips upwards to fuck your cum back into your pussy. She wants to see her own cum merge with yours until you’re so full of her that you’re gushing.

“Kafka—!” You gasp out, fingers gripping her loose ponytail, “W-Wait…”

She shushes you with an insistent kiss. She’s close, guiding your hips up and down her throbbing cock. With a particularly harsh thrust, that familiar coil in her stomach finally breaks and her cum spills into you in hot, intense spurts against your inner walls. It’s too much for you to handle even as her thrusts stutter, yet a second orgasm builds inside you, quick and desperate; your body moves on its own accord, further stimulating you and drawing a long, drawn out moan out of you. Kafka’s lips are parted and you miss the sheen in her eyes as she stares up at you unashamedly riding her until you come around her dick a second time.

You’re both coming down from your high some time later, your eyes are shut and the pace of your rising chest slows down enough for you to take deep breaths. Kafka is a comforting presence beside you on the bed, and like you do with many things, you ignore the warmth that is born from your chest and spreads across your torso. A welcomed kind of exhaustion creeps up on you, almost pulling you into a dream, but you hear Kafka move next to you so you turn your head to look at her. She’s fixing her hair, putting back locks of magenta into her ponytail. She feels your gaze on her and meets your eyes with a small smile. There’s that twitch of your heart and fingertips again at the sight of the soft glow of her sweaty skin under your bedroom lights.

“You look exhausted,” her tone lacks its usual teasing edge but you’re too tired to notice, “I’ll use the shower and lock behind me with the spare key. You should sleep. I’ll message you tomorrow.”

You don’t say anything to that. You stare at the ceiling as the shower is turned on in the background.

Kafka doesn’t text the next day.

[2amriize]

˚⟡˖ RIIZE when reader was a bet (part2)

click here to read part 1

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist genre angst, fluff pairing riize x reader

ᯓ★ SHOTARO

Your gaze lingered on him for a few more seconds before you looked away, eyes cast down as you whispered, "I don't know..." You had felt utterly betrayed by what Shotaro had done. You had never connected with someone so quickly, and realizing that it was all because of a bet broke your heart.

Still, there was a part of you that felt maybe his apologies were genuine. There he was, standing in front of you with an expression full of regret.

"I really... I don't know, Shotaro. I need time to think," you murmured, wiping away the traces of tears from your cheek. Shotaro stayed silent for a moment before nodding.

"Okay, I'll give you time to think," he said softly before stepping away, leaving you alone. After a few minutes, you decided to head home, falling asleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

For the rest of the week, Shotaro kept his distance, but he'd greet you from afar every time he saw you, always with a small smile. He also started leaving notes on your desk—little phrases he found funny, always ending with another apology. Each note made you wonder if you should forgive him. After all, he seemed genuinely remorseful. Why else would he try so hard and treat you like this?

By the end of the week, after spending countless hours thinking it over, you decided to give Shotaro a second chance. After class, you walked up to him, gently tapping his shoulder. He turned around, immediately focusing all his attention on you.

"Y/n, did you need something...?"

"Do you want to grab a coffee?" you cut him off before he could say more.

Shotaro's face lit up with a bright smile at your words, and after a moment, he nodded eagerly, quickly gathering his things.

ᯓ★ EUNSEOK

"I don't know, Eunseok…" You murmured as you turned to leave, but Eunseok stopped you by gently grabbing your arm.

Surprised, you looked back at him, meeting a gaze you'd never seen from him before. He usually seemed calm when you saw him in the hallways, always laughing with his friends about something or another. But this time, there was an anxiousness in his eyes, a clear sense of regret.

"I'm really sorry, y/n… What can I do to make it right?" he asked, his voice almost pleading.

You stared at him silently for a few moments. How did things get to this point? It was hard to believe that Eunseok was now begging for your forgiveness. While it had hurt knowing you were originally just a bet to him, you couldn’t deny that over time, you'd started to develop feelings for him. Seeing him like this made it even harder to stay mad.

“If you take me on 7 dates, I’ll forgive you,” you said, meeting his gaze. Instantly, his eyes lit up.

Eunseok let out a relieved sigh as he released your arm. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his reaction. Just then, the bell rang, signaling the start of classes. As the two of you hurried to your classroom, Eunseok turned to you with a determined smile.

"You're going to have the best 7 dates of your life. I’ll pick you up at 9 tonight."

ᯓ★ SUNGCHAN

"What...?" Seeing the smile on Sungchan's face, all the pride and confidence you'd had until that moment vanished.

Although you thought you were the one playing the joke, in the end, Sungchan had managed to trick you and win his bet. You stood there for a few seconds without reacting, processing what had just happened while Sungchan smiled widely. Finally, you gave him a cold look, then simply turned around and walked away. You didn’t want to see him anymore. You couldn’t understand how you had believed him.

“Y/n, wait…” you heard Sungchan call out from afar, but you decided to ignore him and keep walking.

You spent the entire week avoiding him. Sungchan kept trying to approach you to say something, but you always managed to escape or hide. You really didn’t want to see him, or rather, you couldn’t. You were too embarrassed about having kissed him, and even more so that it had all been part of Sungchan’s bet.

It was the end of the week, and you were exhausted. Luckily, the bus wasn’t too crowded, so you managed to find a seat. To your surprise, just a second later, Sungchan sat down right next to you, smiling as he looked at you. You couldn’t escape this time, so you decided to ignore him and reached for your earphones to put them on, but Sungchan snatched them from your hands.

“Sungchan, give them back.”

“Wait, y/n, please, just listen to me. It’ll only take five minutes…” He looked at you in silence, waiting for an answer, but you just stared back at him, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry for playing with you like that, and I’m really sorry for involving you in a bet. I truly regret it, and I mean it… The truth is, I’d really like for us to talk more because… well, I don’t know if you were serious, but I do like you. I know it’s going to be hard for you to believe me now, but please, let me prove it.”

You couldn’t believe what you’d just heard—Sungchan liked you? When did that happen? And more importantly… did you believe him? You could feel your cheeks getting warm, and butterflies fluttering in your stomach. How could you feel like this when he had tried to play with you? But in the end, you couldn’t lie; you kind of liked Sungchan too.

“How would you prove it?” you murmured, looking at him. Seeing that you were paying attention, he smiled.

“I’ll pick you up every day, bring you lunch, and walk you home until you agree to be my girlfriend.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at how determined he seemed. After a few seconds, you nodded several times.

ᯓ★ WONBIN

"Are you sure you're sorry? Because from the way your friends talked, it sounds like something you do pretty often."

Your words left Wonbin frozen, unsure of what to say. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Finally, you turned around and walked home, crying the whole way. How could you have been so foolish? Did you really think someone like Wonbin would talk to you out of the blue?

Whether it was from the emotional toll of what Wonbin had done or something else, you woke up the next morning with a high fever, forcing you to stay home for a few days. When Wonbin noticed you weren’t at school, he couldn’t stop thinking that it might be because of him, feeling even worse than he already had. By the end of the week, he decided to go to your house, just to check on you and apologize once again.

When you opened the door, you didn’t expect to see Wonbin standing there. You were in your pajamas, with a messy hairstyle, but you felt so sick that you didn’t care how he saw you.

"What do you want now, Wonbin? I don’t have the strength to argue..." you whispered between coughs.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Seeing you in that state, he couldn’t help but feel concerned. "I really am so sorry, y/n. I've spent all these days thinking and beating myself up about it. I know what I did was wrong, and I swear I’ll never do it again. Can we start over?"

You hadn’t expected those words from Wonbin, and they caught you off guard. You weren’t sure if it was because you were feeling extra emotional from the cold, but after thinking for a few seconds, you nodded a few times, extending your pinky finger to him.

"Do you swear?"

"I promise, y/n."

ᯓ★ SEUNGHAN

Even though Seunghan’s words sounded sincere, you didn’t know what to believe after learning what he had done. You stood there in silence, watching him, as he kept his head down, unable to look at you. Never speaking to him again? It wasn’t something you had really thought about doing. Truthfully, you had started to feel something for him too, but at that moment, you weren’t ready to keep talking, you were just too hurt.

“I just… I need some time to think, Seunghan. What you did really hurt me and…”

“I know, and I’m really sorry, y/n. I’ll give you all the time you need to think…”

After hearing him say that, you turned around and walked back to your house. You couldn’t help but think about his reaction the entire way home and the situation as a whole. When you got home, you told your friends everything, and they gave you their opinions on it. Even though he had initially talked to you as part of a bet, your friends saw that Seunghan was genuinely interested in you. “I don’t think a guy would show this much interest in someone just because of a bet…”

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. In fact, you spent the whole night wondering whether you should forgive him or not. But every time, you came back to the same thought—you missed talking to him, even though it had only been a few hours. You knew exactly why you felt this way, why you couldn’t stop thinking about him. That’s why, when you arrived at university the next day, the first thing you did was walk up to him. He looked at you in silence, waiting for you to say something.

“Seunghan, I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and… I can’t stay mad at you. But I need you to do something to prove you’re really not lying to me…”

“Anything. I’ll do whatever you want, y/n.”

“I need you to… ask me out. It doesn’t have to be now, but I need to know you’ll do it.”

Seunghan stared at you in silence for a few seconds. At first, you couldn’t quite read his expression, but then a small smile spread across his lips, and his cheeks turned slightly red.

“Of course… I’ve been dying to do that, but I want it to be special. Can I take you out to dinner tonight?”

ᯓ★ SOHEE

All you could do after hearing Sohee was lower your head and sigh. You couldn’t understand how someone who had made such a good impression on you had only started talking to you because of a bet, not because he genuinely wanted to.

After a few seconds, you lifted your head again and looked at Sohee, who still had his head down. You remembered his words and how he said he was embarrassed. You felt a bit bad seeing him like that, and honestly, all the anger and sadness you felt when you found out it was a bet had already faded.

“Hey, Sohee…”

“Yeah?” He lifted his gaze, looking directly into your eyes with a worried expression.

“I’m not really mad at you, but… I don’t know. I feel stupid for trusting you so quickly. I don’t know why I feel like this…” you murmured.

“I’m really sorry, y/n. I don’t know how to prove it, but I swear, I genuinely enjoyed talking to you from the start. From the first moment, I felt, like, connected to you, you know?”

“Did you feel that way too?” You were a bit surprised to hear him say that, but you couldn’t help smiling, and Sohee smiled back. You both stared at each other for a few seconds in silence before breaking into small laughs.

“So… are we good?”

“Well… maybe I’ll make you run a few errands for me as an apology.”

ᯓ★ ANTON

Once you two had walked a bit away from Anton’s group of friends, you pulled your arm out of his grasp, stopping in your tracks, making him turn to face you.

“Do you really think a simple apology is enough, Anton?”

“No, but-”

“You embarrassed me in front of them, and… Oh god, I’m so humiliated right now…” You covered your face with your hands.

Anton stood in silence, looking at you, unsure of what to say or do. Everything you had said was true, and he felt terrible for making you feel that way, but he didn’t know how to make it right. Slowly, he stepped closer to you and offered you his hoodie, since it was getting dark and colder outside. He didn’t give you a choice to accept or reject it, he just placed it over your shoulders as he began to speak.

“Y/n, listen… I’m really sorry for everything that happened. I know it’s no excuse, but I just wanted to fit in with them, and… I took it too far. I knew perfectly well what I was doing was wrong and how much it would hurt you, but… I don’t know why I did it. I’m so sorry, y/n, I really am. What can I do to make it right? I don’t want to lose you…”

You listened to Anton’s words in silence, looking at him. You could tell he was nervous, and you even noticed how his voice shook a little as he spoke, like he was on the verge of tears. You couldn’t deny that you were still upset, but after hearing him out, you could understand him a bit better.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Anton…” you whispered while still looking at him. He stared back at you, a bit surprised by your words.

“Does that mean…?”

“It means I’ll forgive you… once we start dating, so I’ll be waiting,” you said, walking away.

Anton stood there for a few seconds, processing what you had just said. After a moment, he quickly walked after you. “Wait, y/n, I have to walk you home!” he said with a big smile on his face.

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