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d1stalker · 5 months ago

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Undercover Flames [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It was supposed to be easy: infiltrate the gala, gather intel, and report back. But when a mission takes a deadly turn, Logan is forced to confront his deepest fears as he races to save the woman who means more to him than life itself.

PART ONE OF TWO (part two here)

Warnings: Angst, kidnapping, canon-level violence, Logan goes feral, graphic descriptions, lot's of fighting, feels

WC: 10.8k - MASTERLIST

------

A black limousine pulls up to the grand entrance of the sprawling estate, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway. The mansion ahead is bathed in golden light, a beacon of opulence against the darkening sky. Inside, Logan’s gaze shifts to the woman beside him, his fellow teammate and the only person who can keep up with his banter. You adjust the diamond necklace around your neck, the gemstones glinting in the dim light. Logan has seen you in countless situations—on missions, during training, in the midst of battle—but tonight, in that floor-length black gown, you look like someone who belongs in this world of wealth and power. You look beautiful.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Howlett,” you quip, catching him staring. A smirk plays on your lips as you adjust to fix your hair.

Logan grunts, pulling at the collar of his tuxedo. “Never seen you so dolled up before. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you tease.

The two of you have been dancing around something deeper for years, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and witty comebacks. But tonight, with both of you playing the roles of a married couple, the lines between reality and pretense are bound to feel thinner than ever.

Logan’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he takes in the way the dress hugs your figure, the way your hair frames your face. You catch the look, and for a split second, the playful atmosphere between you falls away, replaced by a charged silence that neither of you knows how to break.

The driver opens the door, jolting you back to your senses, and Logan steps out, extending a hand to help you out of the car. You take it, your touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He holds onto your hand for just a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nods, his grip tightening slightly on your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors to the mansion swing open, you’re greeted by the sight of a grand ballroom filled with the elite of society. Men in tailored suits and women in sparkling gowns mingle under chandeliers, their laughter and conversations blending into a hum of affluence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, Logan can sense the undercurrent of danger, the same instinct that has kept him alive for over two centuries. The people here aren’t just the wealthy—they’re the orchestrators of a new threat to mutants, a group so powerful that even the X-Men have to tread carefully.

“Stick close to me,” Logan murmurs as you step into the room. “These people are more dangerous than they look.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, your arm looped through his as you make your way through the crowd. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But remember, we’re supposed to be madly in love.”

He lets out a low chuckle, one that only you can hear. “Right. Madly in love.”

His words hang in the air between you, loaded with a meaning neither of you dares to acknowledge.

The two of you move deeper into the ballroom, and you can feel the weight of several eyes on you. It’s no surprise—Logan’s rugged demeanor and your striking appearance make for a captivating combination—nevertheless, you both know better than to let your guard down. This place is a viper’s nest, and any wrong move could cost you your lives.

“There they are,” you whisper, nodding subtly toward a group of older men gathered near the center of the room. “Our targets.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he focuses on them, recognizing the group from the briefings. “Time to make some friends.”

With practiced ease, you and Logan approach the group, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You introduce yourselves as a wealthy couple from out of town, interested in investing in the right causes. It doesn’t take long before the men welcome you into their circle, eager to impress and share their twisted ideals.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, was it?” one of the men, a tall, thin figure with silver hair and a sharp jawline, inquires. His eyes are cold and calculating, a predator sizing up his prey. “What brings you to our little gathering tonight?”

“Opportunities,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your tone. “My husband and I are always looking for the right people to align ourselves with. When we heard about your… endeavors, we couldn’t resist.”

Logan wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a show of possessiveness that feels all too natural. “My wife’s got a keen eye for business,” he adds for extra persuasion, “And we’ve been hearing a lot about your group. Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

The man’s eyes flick between the two of you, as if his suspicions still linger. “Plans indeed,” he says slowly. “But only for those who share our vision. Tell me, Mr. Daniels, what is it that you despise most?”

“Weakness,” Logan growls, his eyes meeting the man’s without flinching. “In this world, you’re either strong enough to survive, or you’re not. And I don’t have time for the ones who can’t keep up.”

A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes spreads across the man’s face. “I see we understand each other.”

You feel Logan’s hand tighten on your waist, his body tense with barely contained aggression. He’s playing the part, but you know how much he hates being in the company of people like this—people who would kill without remorse, all to maintain some sense of superiority.

“And what about you, Mrs. Daniels?” the older man continues, turning his attention to you. “Do you share your husband’s views?”

You meet his gaze with unwavering confidence, channeling all the poise you have. “Absolutely. There’s no place in this world for those who refuse to evolve. We believe in survival of the fittest.”

That seems to do the trick, the men in the circle nodding approvingly. “Well said, Mrs. Daniels. You two might just be exactly what we need.”

Another man in the group, stockier and with a thick, gray beard, leans in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And what do you think of the mutant problem?”

You exchange a brief glance with Logan, knowing that this is the moment of truth. If you say the wrong thing, it could blow your cover, but if you’re too vague, they might not trust you enough to share any details of their plans.

“I think they’ve had their time,” Logan says, false contempt bleeding from his words, “and it’s time someone put them in their place.”

The stocky man’s eyes light up with approval, his grin widening. “Exactly what we like to hear. You see, we’re not just talking about containment anymore.” He pauses, “We’re talking about eradication.”

Your stomach turns at the cold-blooded tone in his voice, but you keep your expression neutral.

“Eradication, you say?”

The silver-haired man nods. “A necessary step. Mutants are a threat to the natural order, and if we don’t act now, they’ll overrun us. But we have a plan—one that will send a message to the world.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his fists itching to unsheathe his claws and tear through this evil group of people. But he forces himself to stay calm, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth.

“We do,” the silver-haired man replies, his eyes gleaming with malice. “And with the right support, we can make it happen. Imagine a world free of mutants, where humanity can thrive without fear.”

You hum in feigned agreement. “Tell us more,” you prompt, leaning in as if genuinely interested. “How do you plan to pull this off?”

Glances are exchanged among the men, a clear sign of their satisfaction with the interest you seem to show.

“It’s quite simple, really,” the stocky man begins. “We’ve been gathering resources and allies from around the world. The most powerful minds, the wealthiest families—all united by a common goal.”

“And once we’ve secured enough support,” the silver-haired man continues, “we’ll make our move. We’ll target key mutant populations, taking them out in a way that will serve as a warning to others. Public displays, executions—whatever it takes to make them fear us.”

You keep your voice steady, despite the chill that runs down your spine, as you reply, “That’s… quite an undertaking.”

The men chuckle, mistaking your hesitation for awe. “It is. But it’s necessary. And with people like you on our side, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Logan smirks. “Count us in.”

The men smile, delighted with what they believe is newfound support. Logan hates every second of it—despises having to play along with these monsters. But he knows you both have to get more intel before you can make a move. The mission has to come first, even if it means playing nice with the enemy.

“Excuse us,” you say smoothly, grabbing Logan’s hand and glancing at him with a look that says it’s time to go. “We need to discuss a few things, but we’ll be in touch.”

The men nod, distracted by their own plotting as you and Logan step away, moving toward one of the less populated hallways. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Logan exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I need to tell Scott what we just heard,” you murmur quietly, “They’re planning something big, and we don’t have much time.”

Logan nods, his hand squeezing yours as you walk down the hallway. “I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

You find a secluded spot near a corner, pulling out the small communicator you’ve hidden in your purse. Quickly, you begin to relay the crucial information to Scott and Hank back at the X-Mansion, your voice hushed but urgent as you detail the plans you’ve overheard. Logan stands nearby, his senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the hallway for any sign of trouble.

It’s too quiet.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, instincts prickling with the sense that something is wrong. He turns to you, about to suggest wrapping things up when he hears it—a faint noise, like the subtle shifting of fabric, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced hearing.

Logan’s eyes dart toward the source of the sound, muscles tensing as he spots movement down the hall. “We’ve got company,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You quickly finish your transmission, tucking the communicator back into its spot in your purse. “How many?”

“Too many,” Logan mutters, his claws itching to come out. “We need to move. Now.”

It’s too late. A group of security guards rounds the corner before either of you can make a break for it. Their eyes lock onto you with suspicion, and you can see the realization dawning in their expressions. Logan immediately steps in front of you, his body a solid wall of protection.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” one of the guards says, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip. “Who are you?”

Logan forces a grin, trying to buy some time. “Just lost our way. We were headin’ back to the ballroom.”

The guard’s eyes narrow, evidently not buying it. “I don’t think so. You two don’t seem to belong here.”

Another guard steps forward before Logan has time to respond, pulling out a device that emits a faint, ominous hum. The man waves it over you, and Logan’s heart sinks as the device beeps loudly, flashing red.

“Mutants,” the guard spits, his voice filled with disgust as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to grab you. “We’ve got ourselves some freaks here, boys.”

A wave of panic surges through you, but you shove it down, focusing on the cosmic energy you can feel crackling at your fingertips. Summoning all your strength, you swing a fist, aiming to land a powerful, energy-charged punch straight into the guard’s face.

But just as you make your move, another guard from your other side grabs your wrist mid-swing and your other arm, twisting them behind your back with brutal precision. The cosmic energy fizzles out instantly, your powers rendered useless by the anti-mutant handcuffs that snap around your wrists with a harsh click. The cold metal bites into your skin, and you feel immense fear crawl its way through your body as you realize how vulnerable you are without your powers, or the use of your arms.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” the guard sneers in your ear, his grip on your arm painfully tight as he shoves you forward. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s eyes widen in fury as he sees the guard cuff you, his body trembling with the effort to keep his rage in check. “Let her go,” he snarls, his voice dangerously heavy.

The guard only grins, tightening his hold on you. “Or what, freak? You gonna bark? Gonna bite?”

Logan’s claws shoot out with a metallic shink, the sound echoing through the hallway. He takes a step forward, the feral side of him failing to suppress itself as he glares at the guards with deadly intent. “Last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

Instead of backing down, the guards react with eager viciousness. The one holding you shoves you hard against the wall, his leg sticking out to block your own, pinning you in place. Some others step forward, one landing a brutal punch to your stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of you. The world tilts, and pain explodes in your ribs as another guard’s boot connects with your side.

Logan sees red.

Something primal surges within him, the instinct to protect you overwhelming every other thought. With a roar that shakes the walls, he launches himself at the guards, his claws slicing through the first one with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters across the floor as Logan tears through them with a ferocity that is terrifying to witness.

He moves like a whirlwind of rage, his claws ripping through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The guards don’t stand a chance against him, but even as he fights, more of them swarm in, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“Logan!” you cry out, the fear and pain you feel palpable as you struggle to get free. The guard holding you down slams your head against the wall, and stars burst behind your eyes as the world blurs.

Logan spins around, his eyes wild as he sees you slumped against the wall, blood trickling from your nose, eyes fighting to stay open. The sight of you being beaten, helpless and vulnerable, sends him into a frenzy. He slashes through another guard in his way, his claws dripping with blood as he tries to tear through their ranks.

However, his efforts are futile, the guards are relentless. Their numbers never dwindle, if anything, more and more seem to join the fight. They pile onto him, using their advantage, holding him down to the ground. Logan fights with everything he has, but even he has limits. He can feel the weight of them pressing down on him, can feel his strength waning as they force him to the ground.

“Logan!” you call his name again, breaking through the chaos. He can see you being dragged from the scene, your wrists bound, your eyes locked on his as they pull you farther and farther away.

“NO!” He roars, his voice breaking as he thrashes against the guards holding him down. He has to get to you—he has to save you.

Yet the more he fights, the more they press down, their combined weight and force overwhelming even his enhanced strength. They slam his head against the cold floor, pain exploding through his skull as his vision begins to fade. The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is your terrified face, the way your lips form his name, and the cold, cruel hands dragging you away into the shadows.

And then, nothing.

----

Logan wakes up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant sound of beeping monitors. His head pounds, and every muscle in his body aches as if he’s been through a war—and in some ways, he has. Groaning, he tries to sit up, but a firm hand presses him back down.

“Easy, Logan,” comes Hank’s calm, reassuring voice. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Logan blinks, his vision slowly coming into focus. He’s in the med bay, the familiar white walls and harsh fluorescent lights greeting him. Once he finally comes to his senses, and he remembers the events that transpired the previous night, he realizes none of that matters. The only thing he cares about is you.

“Where is she?” he demands as he struggles against Hank’s hold.

Hank’s expression softens with pity and concern. “She’s… Logan, they took her. We’re doing everything we can to track her down, but—”

Panic jolts through Logan like a bolt of electricity, drowning out the rest of what Hank is saying. His eyes burn as he wrenches himself free from Hank’s grasp, his voice a gruff, dangerous snarl.

“How the hell did you get me out but leave her behind? You’re telling me you saved my sorry ass and couldn’t save her?”

Hank hesitates, his features morphing into a pained look, “It wasn’t like that. We were overwhelmed. There were too many of them, and you—”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses!” Logan cries, his words echoing off the walls as he slams a fist down on the bed. The metal frame groans under the force of his anger.

At that moment, Charles Xavier wheels in, his imposing presence immediately felt within the confines of the small room. He speaks calmly, trying to cut through the fog clouding Logan’s mind. “Logan, we did everything we could. It was hard enough getting just you. We had no choice but to retreat. If we hadn’t, we might have lost you both.”

Logan’s glare could’ve burned holes through steel as he turns to Charles, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t give a damn about me! She’s out there, alone, with those bastards, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I should’ve been able to protect her.”

His fists clench, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to contain the whirlwind of emotions tearing through him. Guilt eats him from the inside out. The thought of you suffering because he wasn’t there to protect you… “You–We…We left her behind,” he mutters, voice cracking.

Charles’s voice is firm but compassionate as he addresses the younger mutant. “You need to rest and regain your strength. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to get her back—but you can’t do that if you’re broken.”

Jaw tightening, Logan leans his body forward, holding his head in his hands. His temper is boiling, he wants to tear everything apart until there is nothing left, but he knows, deep down, that Charles is right. And as much as it kills him, he has to bide his time, to heal and prepare for what is to come.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hank, get out,” he growls, “Get out before I lose it.”

Hank exchanges a worried glance with Charles before reluctantly nodding. “We’ll find her, Logan. I promise.”

After Hank leaves the room, Logan sinks back onto the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from exploding. His eyes bore into Charles’s, who remains, silently offering his support.

“When we find her,” he says, his voice low and full of promise, “there’s no holding back. I’m done waiting, done with all the excuses. She’s mine, and I’m not letting anything or anyone take her away from me again.”

----

The first thing you feel is the cold—icy, unforgiving, and seeping into your bones. Your head pounds, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think, let alone move. When you try to lift your hands, you realize they are restrained, heavy iron chains biting into your wrists and pulling your arms taut above your head.

You jump to your senses, sharp and immediate, as you force your eyes open. The world is a blur at first, everything spinning and distorted. Then, as your vision clears, the reality of your situation hits you like a slap in the face.

You are in a cell. The walls are made of rough stone, the floor damp and filthy. There is barely any light, just a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering occasionally and casting long shadows that dance across the room. Your dress—the one you’d worn to the gala—is torn, the delicate fabric shredded and hanging off you in tatters. You can see your own blood between the patches that reveal your skin. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a deep sense of dread settles in your stomach.

You try to pull against the chains, but your limbs are weak, your movements sluggish. They must have drugged you—this realization makes your heart race, fear clawing at your throat. You have no idea how long you’ve been out, no idea where you are or what they plan to do to you.

A sound from the other side of the cell catches your attention—laughter, low and mocking. You turn your head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through your skull. Two guards stand just outside the bars, their faces twisted in cruel amusement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them sneers with malice. “The mutant bitch.”

The words sting, but you refuse to show it. You force yourself to sit up straighter, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster. “Where am I?” you demand, your voice hoarse and shaky.

The guard laughs again, louder this time. “You’re in hell, sweetheart. And there’s no way out.”

His companion, a stockier man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward, his eyes raking over you with a look that makes your skin crawl. “The boss is real interested in you, you know. He’s got plans,” he smiles, “Big plans.”

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your composure. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, it ain’t about what we want,” the scarred guard replies, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “It’s about what you can do. For us. You mutants think you’re so special, so powerful. But look at you now—all chained up and helpless.”

He reaches through the bars, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shoots through your scalp, but you bite your lip, refusing to cry out. You won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Let go of me,” you hiss.

The guard’s grin widens as he leans closer, his breath hot and foul against your skin. “Make me, sweetheart. Oh, wait—you can’t.”

He laughs again, muttering to the other guard about how satisfying this is, and you feel a wave of nausea rise in your throat. You can feel the energy within you, your power that usually simmers just beneath the surface, always ready to be called upon. But now, it’s like a distant echo, muted and weak. The chains—they must be suppressing your abilities, keeping you from using your mutation.

“Your little tricks won’t work here,” the first guard taunts, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Those chains are special, made just for freaks like you. No powers, no escape.”

You are trapped, powerless, at the mercy of these men and whoever their leader is. You know you can’t let them see your fear. You can’t let them break you.

“I’ll get out of here,” you say, keeping your voice level despite the terror gnawing at your insides. “And when I do, you’ll regret this.”

The guards exchange a glance, then burst into laughter, the sound grating and harsh in the confined space.

“Big talk for someone who’s all chained up,” the scarred guard says, releasing his grip on your hair with a rough shove that sends you sprawling back against the wall.

“You’re not getting out,” the first guard adds, his tone more serious now. “No one’s coming for you. Your friends probably think you’re dead already. It’s been days.”

For a moment, your resolve falters. What if they are right? What if the team thinks you’re gone, or worse—what if they can’t find you? But then you think of Logan, of the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he’d fought for you before. No, they wouldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t abandon you.

“They’ll find me,” you say, the conviction in your voice surprising even you.

The guards don’t laugh this time. The scarred one scowls, stepping back from the bars. “Keep dreaming, mutant. You’re ours now.”

With that, they turn and leave, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until they fade into silence. You are alone again, the cell’s walls pressing in from all sides. Yet despite the fear, despite the pain, you hold onto that sliver of hope, that image of Logan and the others coming to your rescue.

You aren’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. The drugs are still in your system, making it hard to concentrate, but you won’t let that stop you. You start to tug at the chains again, testing their strength, trying to find any weakness, any way to break free.

It is agonizing, and with every movement, the metal digs deeper into your skin, drawing blood. But the pain keeps you focused, keeps you from slipping into despair. You have to keep going. You have to believe that Logan will come for you.

And when he does, you will be ready.

----

Weeks pass since that fateful night at the gala, weeks that feel like an eternity to Logan. Each day that you remain missing is another day of excruciating uncertainty, each hour that ticks by another reminder of his failure to protect you. The mansion, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, has become a suffocating prison where he is forced to wait and hope—two things he has never been good at.

Charles Xavier is relentless in his search, utilizing every resource, every connection, and every ounce of his telepathic abilities to track down the organization that has taken you. The X-Men work tirelessly alongside him, scouring the globe for any trace, any whisper, that could lead them to you. Logan is a constant presence in the war room, his patience worn thin by the endless dead ends and false leads. He’s ready to go after them with nothing but his claws and a vendetta, but Charles insists on a plan, a strategy that won’t just rescue you but will dismantle the threat for good.

Finally, after weeks of frustration and relentless searching, they find something—a lead that could change everything.

Charles is in his study, surrounded by a tangle of maps, files, and reports, his mind stretched to its limits as he sifts through the chaotic swirl of information. Then, in the quiet hours of the night, he finds it—a faint, almost non-existent mental signature, hidden deep within the shadows of his mind. It’s the psychic equivalent of a whisper, a delicate thread that, when tugged, reveals a location: a remote island, far off the coast, where the organization has set up a secret base.

This base, as he quickly pieces together, is where they are holding you, along with other mutants they have captured. It’s heavily fortified, nearly impossible to reach by conventional means, and shielded against most telepathic detection. The mental signature he finds slips through only because it’s so faint, a brief lapse in their otherwise impenetrable defenses.

Charles spends days verifying the information, cross-referencing it with the intelligence they’ve gathered over the weeks. Every detail lines up—this is it. This is where they have taken you, and this is where they will launch their attack.

With the location confirmed, Charles knows he has to get the team together and act. Act fast.

----

Time loses all meaning in the cold, dark cell where you are held captive. The days and nights blur together, an endless cycle of hunger, pain, and hopelessness. The cold stone walls, once foreboding, have become your only companions, and the silence is a constant reminder of how alone you are.

Your dress is taken hours after you awake, replaced with a rough, beige prison uniform that itches against your skin. The fabric is thin, offering little protection against the freezing temperature. Your wrists and ankles ache from the tight cuffs they keep you in most of the time, the metal leaving angry red marks that never seem to fade.

They barely feed you—just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to give you any real strength. The meals are a cruel joke, infrequent and consisting of nothing more than stale bread and murky water that tastes like rust.

What makes it truly unbearable isn’t the food itself; it’s the way you are forced to consume it.

Chained to the wall, your arms shackled above your head, you can’t even feed yourself. Every day, like clockwork, one of the guards enters your cell, a twisted smirk on his face as he carries a small, dented tray of food. He kneels beside you, holding the bread just out of reach, as if daring you to try and grab it.

“Hungry?” he taunts, waving the bread in front of your face. “You look like you could use a bite.”

You glare at him, your stomach growling with hunger, but you refuse to beg. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperate you are. In the end, your body’s needs always win out, and you reluctantly part your lips, letting him shove the stale, crumbling bread into your mouth.

The guard never makes it easy. He pushes the bread in too far, making you gag, or holds it just out of reach, forcing you to strain against your chains, the metal digging painfully into your wrists. When it comes time for the water, he tilts the cup too quickly, spilling most of it down your chin, leaving you with just a few precious drops to quench your thirst.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, wiping the spilled water off your face with the back of his hand in a mockery of kindness. “Can’t even eat without help.”

You swallow the bread, the dry crumbs scraping down your throat, doing your best to keep from choking. The water that follows is barely enough to wash it down, leaving your mouth dry and your hunger only partially sated.

It’s a humiliating, degrading experience, one that leaves you feeling even more powerless than the chains ever could. And that’s exactly what the guards want. Each meal is an exercise in control, a reminder that you are at their mercy, that they hold all the power.

Somehow, that still isn’t the worst of it all.

Guards come daily, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always with that same twisted grin on their faces. You have learned to anticipate their visits, to prepare yourself for the taunts, the jeers, and the beatings that inevitably follow. They seem to take pleasure in your suffering, their laughter echoing off the walls as they deliver blow after blow, leaving you gasping for breath on the cold, hard floor.

Every time they come, they mock you, their voices dripping with contempt. “Where are your precious X-Men now, huh? Guess they forgot about you. Must be nice knowing no one cares enough to come get you.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. But inside, the doubt begins to creep in. How long has it been? Weeks, maybe more? Surely they would have found you by now. Surely Logan is out there, tearing the world apart to find you. But as the days drag on and the beatings continue, it becomes harder to hold onto that hope.

One day, after an especially brutal session where they leave you bruised and bleeding on the floor, you find yourself laughing—a bitter, hollow sound that startles even you.

“What’s so funny?” one of the guards sneers, looking down at you with a scowl.

You lift your head, your gaze locking onto his, something defiant sparking in your eyes despite the pain. “Do you guys get off on seeing people in pain? Is this a fetish or something?”

The guard’s expression darkens with disdain, and he steps forward, delivering a swift kick to your side that makes you gasp, the air rushing out of your lungs. “Shut up!” he barks.

You cough, tasting blood on your lips, but you can’t stop the words that tumble out. “Is that all you’ve got?” you rasp, pushing yourself up onto your elbows despite the throbbing in your ribs. “I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this.”

The guard’s face twists into a snarl, and he raises his hand to strike you again, but the other guard grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Enough,” the second guard says, though his voice is more cautious now. “We’re not supposed to kill her. Not yet.”

They leave you there, crumpled on the floor, your body aching. As much as it hurts, as much as the beatings wear you down, you cling to that small act of defiance. They haven’t broken you. Not yet.

----

The tension in the war room is suffocating, the air thick with urgency and dread. The X-Men gather around the long, sleek table, the holographic map of the enemy compound glowing in the center, casting an eerie blue light across their faces. Scott stands at the head of the table, his expression stern as he outlines possible infiltration points, while Jean, Ororo, and Hank listen intently.

Logan sits at the far end, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He doesn’t want to be here—doesn’t want to waste time with plans and strategies when all he can think about is you. But he knows that going off on his own, especially in his current state, would only end in disaster. So he forces himself to stay, to listen, even though every second feels like a waste.

His hands clench into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. He can barely focus on Scott’s words, his mind consumed with images of you—frightened, abandoned, injured. The thought makes his blood boil, his claws itching to extend and tear through anything in his path.

“Logan,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Are you with us?”

He glances up, meeting her concerned gaze. He knows she can feel his turmoil, his barely restrained anger, and that only makes him more frustrated.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snaps.

Ororo shoots him a warning look. “We need to stay focused, Logan. Losing your temper won’t help her.”

Logan grits his teeth, biting back the retort that rises to his lips. He knows she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Just tell me when we’re movin’,” he growls, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m not sittin’ around any longer while they’ve got her.”

“We all want to find her, Logan,” Scott says, “But we have to do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we could get her killed.”

“And if we wait too long, she’ll be dead anyway.”

“Logan,” Hank interjects, trying to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s right. We have to be smart about this. We’re dealing with people who have resources, power, and a deep-seated hatred for mutants. They’ll be expecting us.”

Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, this time in his mind, her telepathy reaching out to him. Logan, I know how much she means to you. We’re doing everything we can to bring her back. Trust us.

He shoots her a glare, not appreciating the intrusion, but he doesn’t push her away. Jean has always been the one who could reach him, even when he’s at his most stubborn. I’m not lettin’ them keep her from me any longer, Jean, he thinks back, his mental voice raw with emotion.

You won’t, Jean replies, her mental tone firm but soothing. We won’t let that happen. But you need to stay with us, Logan. We’re stronger together.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, breaking his stupor.

Charles exchanges a glance with Scott, who nods and steps forward to explain. “We’ll approach under the cover of night. Ororo will create a storm to mask our presence, and we’ll use the Blackbird to drop in undetected. Jean and I will handle disabling their telepathic defenses so we can get a read on the situation inside. Hank will take out their communications to prevent them from calling for reinforcements.”

“And me?” Logan growls, his eyes locked on the island’s location.

“You’ll be leading the assault,” Scott replies without hesitation. He can sense the violent need rattling within Logan’s bones—craving to avenge you. “Once we’ve neutralized the outer defenses, you and I will go in together. Our primary objective is to get her out—everything else is secondary. We can always go back to finish the job."

Logan’s fists clench at his sides, his claws itching to be released.

“When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Charles answers from where he sits at the table. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Logan remains by the map while the team disperses and begins to prepare, his eyes fixed on the small island in the middle of the vast ocean. This is it. After weeks of waiting, weeks of imagining the worst, he finally has a chance to make things right.

He can almost feel the cold metal of the anti-mutant handcuffs around your wrists, the bruises on your skin from the guards’ brutality. The thought makes him see red, but beneath the rage is something even more powerful—a fierce determination to see you safe, to get you out of there and back where you belong.

Logan will lead the charge, and God help anyone who stands in his way.

As the team assembles, suited up and ready for the mission, Charles wheels over to Logan, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll bring her home, Logan. And we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

He nods, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “We will,” he says, a dangerous growl clawing its way out of his throat, “And when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on her.”

With that, the team boards the Blackbird, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they soar into the night. The storm Ororo has summoned rages around them, the skies dark and foreboding, as they approach the island. Every second brings them closer to the moment of reckoning, and Logan’s focus sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’,” he murmurs under his breath, the words a promise to himself as much as to you. “Just hold on.”

----

“Approaching the drop zone,” Ororo’s calm voice comes over the comms, though the storm she controls outside is anything but calm. Lightning splits the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs of the remote island below, their destination hidden within the darkness.

Scott cuts through the tension. “Alright, everyone. Remember the plan. Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the outer defenses. Hank, take out their communications. Logan and I will lead the assault inside. Our primary objective is to find her and get her out.”

Logan barely nods, his eyes locked on the ramp as it begins to lower. The cold wind whips through the interior of the Blackbird, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the earth below. And underneath it all, Logan can smell them—guards, weapons, blood.

“Ready?” Scott asks, glancing at Logan.

His response is a rough, feral growl. “Let’s do this.”

With a sharp nod, Scott activates the drop sequence, and Logan is the first out, dropping into the storm with the grace of a true predator. He lands in a crouch, claws out, eyes scanning the perimeter. The island is as fortified as they feared, with high walls, watchtowers, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.

But none of that matters. He has one focus, one goal: finding you.

The rest of the team lands behind him, moving quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Ororo raises her hands to the sky, intensifying the storm, the wind and rain becoming a blinding force that conceals their approach. Lightning arcs overhead, briefly turning night into day, revealing the outlines of guards scrambling to respond to the sudden onslaught.

Scott gives the signal to move in, and the team splits up, each member heading to their designated targets. Jean and Ororo focus on the outer defenses, disorienting the guards with telepathic illusions and powerful gusts of wind. Hank slips into the shadows, his agile form disappearing into the underbrush as he makes his way to the communications hub.

The Wolverine moves like a shadow, traversing the rain-soaked night with deadly silence. He can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened as he approaches the main compound. The guards are on high alert, but they are no match for the X-Men. He watches as Jean’s telepathy turns their own weapons against them, as Scott’s optic blasts tear through their defenses.

But as the team advances, the guards regroup, their numbers swelling as they pour out of the compound. They aren’t going down without a fight. Logan spots a heavily armed squad taking position near a turret, their weapons trained on the team. They open fire, a barrage of bullets slicing through the air.

“Jean!” Scott shouts.

Jean extends her hands, a telekinetic shield flaring to life just in time to deflect the incoming fire. The bullets bounce off harmlessly, but the force of the attack makes it clear this isn’t going to be easy. The guards are better prepared than expected, their movements coordinated, their strategy clear: delay the X-Men as long as possible.

Logan growls in frustration, his claws itching to tear through the enemy lines. “We need to move, now!” he snarls, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Ororo nods, her eyes glowing white as she summons a powerful gust of wind, sending the guards sprawling. Scott seizes the moment, firing a series of blasts that take out the turret and send the remaining guards scattering. Still, even as they advance, more guards appear, swarming from every direction.

Hank emerges from the shadows, his blue fur slick with rain as he tackles a group of guards attempting to flank the team. He moves with agility and precision, disarming them with brutal efficiency before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Logan pushes forward, his senses locked on the main compound. Every muscle in his body is taut, ready to react, as he closes in on the entrance. But the resistance only grows fiercer the closer they get. A squad of heavily armored guards appears, their rifles spitting fire as they advance in formation.

“Ororo, cover us!”

Ororo unleashes a torrent of lightning, the bolts crackling through the air and striking the guards with dead-set accuracy. It’s almost like a scene from the gala, the guards coming in endless waves, their numbers never faltering.

Logan’s patience snaps. He shoots forward, his claws slicing through the rain, his cry echoing across the battlefield. He crashes into the line of guards, tearing through their armor as if it were paper. Blood splatters the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the rain as Logan carves a path through the enemy.

Scott and Jean are right behind him, their combined powers devastating the remaining guards. But the compound is heavily fortified, and as Logan bursts through the first door, a new wave of guards meets them head-on.

These are the elite, the best of the best, and they fight with a cold, calculated precision that makes them more dangerous than the others. Jean’s telepathy is their saving grace. She reaches into the minds of the guards, sowing confusion and fear, turning their own thoughts against them. But the strain is visible on her face, the effort of controlling so many minds at once taking its toll.

“Jean, hold on!” Scott calls.

“I’m… trying,” Jean gasps, her voice strained.

Logan knows they can’t keep this up. They have to find you, and they have to do it fast. He slams his claws into another door, splintering it into pieces, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guards inside. He ducks, rolling to the side as Scott’s optic blasts provide cover, the two of them working in tandem to clear the room.

“Move!” Scott shouts, and Logan surges forward, his claws tearing through the last of the guards in the corridor.

The air is thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but Logan doesn’t care. He can hear it—the faint sound of muffled cries, the rattling of chains. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves forward, faster now, driven by the desperate need to reach you.

Then he sees it: two hulking mercenaries guarding a heavy steel door. They are well-armed, and this time, their eyes hold no uncertainty. These are the final line of defense, the ones meant to stop anyone from getting to you.

They open fire, the bullets ricocheting off the walls, but Logan is too fast, too eager to be reunited with you. He ducks and weaves, his claws gleaming as he closes the distance. With a guttural roar, he leaps at them, his claws slashing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The guards crumple to the ground, lifeless, as Logan stands over them, his chest heaving with exertion.

Without wasting a second, Logan slams his claws into the door, the metal screeching as it gives way under the force of his rage. He rips the door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of damp stone and fear. And there, in the dim light of the small cell, he sees you—chained, battered, but alive.

You are slumped against the far wall of a small, dank cell, your wrists bound with the anti-mutant handcuffs, your body bruised and battered. The sight of you, so broken and vulnerable, makes Logan’s heart twist with desperation and longing. All of his fury immediately floods out of his system. He crosses the room in two strides, his claws retracting as he kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch your face.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You stir at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open as you try to focus. When you see him, a weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

He quickly reaches for the handcuffs, his claws slicing through the metal with ease. The moment they fall away, you feel a sudden surge of power within you, like a dam breaking, your abilities rushing back after being suppressed for so long. You slump forward into his arms, too weak to hold yourself up. Logan’s heart breaks at the feel of your frail body against his, but he holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Can you walk?”

You nod, though it’s clear the effort costs you. “I… I think so.”

Logan helps you to your feet, his arm supporting you as you lean heavily against him. Every step is a struggle, but he’s right there with you. Making your way out of the cell, the sounds of battle grow louder, the chaos of the X-Men’s assault reaching its peak.

“We gotta move fast,” Logan mutters tensely, “But I’m not lettin’ go of you. We’re gettin’ outta here together.”

He keeps a firm grip on you, his entire focus on getting you out of this hellhole. The whole island around you is in shambles, the walls of your prison shaking with the force of explosions and the sharp crack of energy blasts. The X-Men are relentless, cutting down the remaining guards with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Scott and Hank’s voices echo through the comms, issuing orders and coordinating the team’s movements.

Everything fades into the background—the sounds of battle, the flashes of light, the scent of blood and smoke.

All Logan can concentrate on is the fragile feel of your hand in his, your fingers moving shakily against his rough skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggle to keep going.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he rasps, urging you, “We’re almost out. Just hold on a little longer.”

Your fingers tighten around his, as if letting go would mean losing him again. The two of you move as one, your bodies pressed together as you navigate through the debris and destruction. The storm outside mirrors the one within him, but as long as you’re with him, he knows he can weather it.

When the exit finally comes into view, the cold night air hits you both, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the compound. The Blackbird is waiting, its ramp lowered, and the sight of it brings a surge of relief so powerful it nearly buckles your knees. But Logan is there, his arm wrapped securely around you, practically carrying you up the ramp.

Finally in the jet, the familiar hum of the engines fills the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging outside. Neither of you cares about the storm or the battle left behind. The only thing that matters is that you’re together.

Logan guides you to a seat, but instead of sitting beside you, he pulls you into his lap, holding you as close as he can. You don’t resist, your arms wrapping around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. In many ways, he is.

Hank approaches, concern etched across his face, but Logan barely glances at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that have begun to fall—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being safe, of being with him.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cling to him. Each touch, every whispered word, acts like a balm to the wounds you have endured. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his heart pounds against your chest.

“I knew you’d come… but you guys took a lot longer than I was expecting,” you whisper, trying to bring a hint of your usual humor into your voice, “made me look a little stupid in front of those guards.”

Logan’s arms tighten around you. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He continues to kiss your hair, his rough, calloused hands gently cradling your face as he wipes away your tears. Neither of you wants to let go, the fear of losing each other again too fresh, too real.

Logan’s lips brush against your temple, a tender, lingering kiss that conveys more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, over and over again. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you again.”

You nod, unable to speak, but your grip on him tightens, your heart finally beginning to calm as you rest in his arms. For the first time since your capture, you feel safe. Truly safe. And it’s all because of him.

----

Returning to the mansion after the rescue is a blur of activity, concern, and overwhelming relief. The moment you touch down, you’re rushed to the med bay, surrounded by familiar faces, each one filled with a mixture of worry and hope.

The sterile white walls of the med bay feel oddly comforting now, compared to the cold, damp cell you were held in. You’re laid gently on a bed, Hank and Jean immediately setting to work, checking your vitals, assessing your injuries. Their voices are calm and reassuring, but you barely hear them. Your mind is still reeling, your body still trembling from the whole ordeal.

Logan never leaves your side. Even as Hank and Jean move around you, speaking in low tones about your condition, he’s there, a grounding force. He holds your hand through it all, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. Whenever your eyes flutter open, his are there, locked on yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart ache.

Hank and Jean make sure you’re well-fed, insisting on regular meals to help you regain your strength. Plates of warm, nourishing food are brought to you, and though you have little appetite at first, Logan’s gentle encouragement coaxes you to eat. He sits with you, holding your hand while you slowly nibble at the food, his deep voice murmuring soft words of reassurance and comfort.

“Just a little more, darlin’,” he says, his tone comforting. “You need to get your strength back.”

You nod, taking another bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you, bringing with it a sense of safety and normalcy that you hadn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Nights are the hardest. The darkness brings with it the memories of the cell, the guards, the pain, and the fear. You often wake in a panic, your heart racing, the shadows of the past closing in around you. But every time, Logan is there, pulling you into his arms, whispering reassurances until the terror subsides.

Logan, for his part, is dealing with his own demons. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way his eyes darken when he hears you gasp in pain or when your hand trembles as you reach for something. He’s haunted by what happened, by the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect you from the start. You know he’s carrying a heavy burden of guilt, and it tears at your heart to see him so troubled.

He tries to hide it, of course—tries to be strong for you. However, in the quiet moments, when the mansion is still and the only sound is the soft beep of the heart monitor, he lets his guard down. He sits beside you, his head bowed, his hand holding yours as if afraid you might slip away if he lets go. And in those moments, you can see the depth of his pain, the way it eats at him from the inside.

On one occasion, after a particularly vivid nightmare leaves you shaky and breathless, Logan pulls you into his lap, holding you close as he murmurs words of comfort. As you cry, he holds you tighter, his voice breaking as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault,” you say, as many times as you need to, if it means he’ll stop feeling this way. “You saved me. You found me.”

He shakes his head, his grip on you tightening as if trying to anchor himself. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” you interrupt, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did everything you could. You saved me. You brought me home.”

His eyes close at your words, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, and you mean it.

----

When you’re finally discharged from the med bay, it feels like a victory—a hard-won battle that leaves you both relieved and eager to reclaim your life. Your strength has returned, slowly but surely, and now, after weeks of healing and recovery, you’re ready to start training again. The thought of moving your body, of pushing your limits, fills you with a renewed sense of purpose.

But there’s one thing you hadn’t counted on—Logan.

Ever since the rescue, he’s been by your side, a constant, unyielding presence. At first, you appreciated it—you truly did—his steady support, his silent vigilance, the way he seemed to always know when you needed a comforting word or a strong arm to lean on. Yet now, as you step back into the training room, ready to test your limits again, his presence is starting to feel more like a shadow you can’t shake.

“Logan,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice as you stretch, your muscles still tight from the weeks of inactivity. “You don’t have to watch me like a hawk. I’m fine. Really.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving you. The intensity of his gaze is almost suffocating.

“I know. You’re strong,” he finally says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and let you push yourself too hard.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders as you turn to face him fully. “I’m not made of glass. I need to do this. I need to get back to where I was. The fight isn't finished.”

He pushes off the wall, his expression hardening as he takes a step closer to you. “And I’m not sayin’ you can’t. I just… I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Something in his voice makes you pause, the frustration fading away as you look at him more closely. There’s a tension in his posture, tension that hadn’t been there before, and the way he’s looking at you—it isn’t just concern. It’s something deeper.

“I’m not alone,” you assure him. “I’ve got the whole team behind me. I’ve got you.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, letting the moment pass between you, and then he exhales deeply, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “You know, when you were gone… I told Charles I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

His words catch you off guard, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Hold back?”

Logan takes another step closer, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right way to explain.

“I told him that if we found you, if we got you back safe… I wasn’t gonna keep my feelings locked up anymore. I’ve been doin’ it for too long, and when I almost lost you… it made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t care as much as I do.”

You know what he’s trying to say. The charged energy between you, all the banter—it was never just friendly. It was more than that—something neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud, but it was there. You’d never been just teammates, and deep down, you both understood that.

He reaches out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses, his voice deep and hoarse, filled with all the emotion he’s kept bottled up for so long. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. But after what happened, after goin' through all that…”

He lets his voice trail off. Your heart pounds in your chest, the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You’ve always sensed the undercurrent of something more between you two, something that made every shared glance, every sarcastic quip, feel like a promise unfulfilled. Hearing Logan finally admit it, finally put words to what had always been there, makes your breath catch, your mind soar with joy.

“I know,” you confess back, “I think I’ve always known. But I was afraid to push, afraid to break whatever it was we had. I’ve felt it too. I always have.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, relief flooding his features, the hard lines of tension softening as if a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the two of you just stare at each other.

Then, as if pulled together by the same magnetic force, you and Logan surge forward simultaneously. The distance between you vanishes in an instant, and your lips meet in a fierce, passionate kiss that speaks of all the pent-up passion and unspoken words you’d both kept buried for so long.

His hands roam your body with an urgency that borders on desperation, as if he’s making sure this is real—that you’re truly there, in front of him, kissing him. His fingers trace the curve of your back, the line of your shoulders, and then tighten their grip as he pulls you even closer, his touch firm and possessive. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him with just as much need.

The kiss is everything—relief, passion, love—all rolled into one overwhelming, breathtaking moment that makes your head spin and your knees weak.

When you finally break apart, gasping for breath, Logan doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against yours, but the distance between you seems to close even further, if that were possible. His hands grip you tightly, as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s consumed by you, by the feel of your body against his, by the taste of your lips, by the sheer relief that you’re here, safe, and his. His breath is ragged, his heart pounding, and when he opens his eyes, they’re filled with a raw, burning intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“God, I don’t want to let you go,” he whispers.

His hands roam your back again, as if reassuring himself that you’re really there, that you’re not some illusion that will slip away the moment he loosens his grip.

You smile softly, though your heart is still racing from the intensity of the moment. “I don’t want you to let go either,” you whisper back. “But… I still need to be independent. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

His gaze tightens a bit, and you can see that he’s torn between the overwhelming urge to protect you and the understanding that you’re right. His eyes search your face, as if trying to reconcile his deep-seated fear with the reality of who you are.

“I just… I don’t know how to give you space,” he admits, “Not after everything that’s happened.”

You smile gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to step away,” you reassure him. “But you do have to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We’re in this together,” you kiss him again, “They’re still out there. The mission isn’t over.”

Logan’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, as if his instincts are against the idea of giving you any distance at all, against the idea of you throwing yourself back into the fight. But then, after a long pause, he slowly, reluctantly nods. “I’ll do my best,” he murmurs. “I can’t promise I won’t want to keep you close… but I’ll try to give you the space you need.”

Your heart warms at his words, recognizing the struggle he’s willing to endure for your sake. “That’s all I’m asking for,” you reply, your voice tender as you lean in for another kiss.

[END OF PART ONE]

-----

A/N: Phew! Part one done, and part two is on the way -- it'll be up by the end of the weekend. Please comment or send me a message if you'd like to be tagged in the next part. Hope you liked the story!

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crushpunky · 5 months ago

Text

drew and actress!reader at the venice film festival

check out the drew starkey x actress!reader timeline for some background <3 also i wrote this using "y/n" as people suggested, hopefully you like it :)

Cameras flashed and fans screamed as Drew exited the limousine, his navy suit matching the precise blue of his eyes. He had dreamt of this moment his whole life, the buzz in the air and the whispers of “next big thing” and “star power” that floated into his ears. He couldn’t help but smile, taking in the lively atmosphere, before continuing towards the carpet. It was by no means his first red carpet, but the grandeur of a Venice premiere made his heart skip a beat as he continued along the carpet, stopping to take photos with his costars and fans.

The crowd’s screams came to a peak, causing Drew to look up from the photo he had been signing. There she was, exiting a sleek black car in a stunning gown: y/n. Her eyes locked on his, giving him a small wave. Drew grinned, quickly finishing his signature before nearly sprinting towards her. Once he made it to her, he nearly tackled her with a kiss to her lips, not caring that her lipstick would likely stain his own lips. How could he care about something as little as that when she was looking like that and he was feeling like this?

“Drew!” Y/n giggled, using her thumb to wipe some of the smeared lipstick in the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say a word, just pulled her into his side with another kiss to her head before leading her towards the red carpet.

“Oh I don’t think—” Y/n began, looking at the photographers as they scrambled to take photos of the famous couple. She had previously been planning on just chatting with fans for a moment before quietly ducking into the theater, not wanting to detract from the cast’s special night. Drew, however, had other ideas.

“Please?” Drew asked quietly, softly tracing his thumb along the small of y/n’s back as they posed for photos. She peered up at Drew, taking him in as he glowed underneath the setting sun. Though nobody else could see, she could tell the anticipation of the premiere, the excitement of the fans, the flash of the lights, all combined in a way that undoubtedly made his mind race. She knew Drew like the back of her hand, knew the nerves he always felt at events like these, but she also knew that he had nothing to worry about.

Drew looked down at her with a grin before slipping his hand into y/n’s. They continued down the carpet before ending in front of a sharply dressed reporter. Y/n glanced at Drew once again, asking silently if it was time for her to head into the theater, however, his firm grip on her hand told her to stay.

“First off, congratulations on your very first Venice premiere!” The reporter said, causing Drew to smile widely, his cheeks blushing as they often did whenever he received a compliment.

“Thank you, thank you.” Drew responded.

“And to you, y/n, welcome back.” The reporter gestured to her with his microphone.

“Thank you, it’s wonderful to be back.” Y/n smiled softly as Drew squeezed her hand lightly.

“So, Drew, your performance is already being praised as ‘star-making’, how are you feeling?” The reporter asked, turning back towards Drew.

“Oh, wow— I don’t know...” Drew chuckled. “It all just seems so surreal. Amazing, but surreal. To see that people are appreciating the film is really all I could’ve asked for, so the fact that people are kind enough to say that means a lot.”

“Wonderful, truly.” The reporter grinned. “You deserve all the praise.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m not sure I can take all the credit.” Drew said, y/n watching intently as he spoke.

“This was definitely a group effort, between myself and Daniel, Luca, the wonderful cast and crew, the people that supported me throughout this journey, especially—” Drew looked down at y/n, pausing for a moment, his smile wide, “my beautiful wife. So many people came together for this and they all deserve praise.”

Y/n felt her heart swell, the bomb they had been holding for the past month finally dropping. She could hear the crowd erupt at his words, but she kept her eyes on Drew, the two of them grinning at each other love-drunkenly. She hadn’t even thought about how good that would feel, him calling her his wife. It was a high she had never felt, the proclamation making her feel weak in the knees.

“Wife? Did I hear that correctly?” The reporter shouted excitedly over the booming crowd.

“Yes, yes you did. This is my wonderful wife.” Drew chuckled, snaking his hand around y/n’s waist and pulling her closer.

“Wow, congratulations! That’s amazing!” The reporter practically bounced with excitement.

“Thank you.” Y/n smiled, leaning into Drew’s touch.

“I’ll let you two go, once again, congratulations!” The reporter said, directing them towards the entrance to the theater. The couple thanked him once more before heading into the screening room. Rows of people filled the theater, their eyes locked on the two of them as they entered the room.

"Love you. Proud of you.” Y/n said, pressing a kiss to Drew’s jaw before making her way to her seat behind the cast. Drew watched as she sat down, her eyes unwaveringly attached to him. Her husband. Y/n smiled back at him as the lights dimmed, the world finally prepared to see the star that was Drew Starkey.

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x actress!reader #actress!reader

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rafescvntyclubgf · 1 month ago

Text

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪-𝕋𝕨𝕠: 𝕋𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕝𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤

𝙼𝚘𝚋𝙱𝚘𝚜𝚜!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: swearing, pet names, & kissing

📖 This is based on an ask by oceandriveab. Thank you for your ask, love! Rafe is always very private about his job and business dealings. After being gone on a trip, he wants nothing more than to spend the night with you. The two of you go on a date, looking at Christmas lights and discussing the future.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

You hang around the lobby of your apartment building, pacing slightly, your heels clicking along the marble floor. Your gaze shifts between the large picture window, looking out onto the beautiful downtown, and your phone as you wait for him.

It’s almost eight o’clock. Rafe said he would be here. Your pulse quickens in anticipation of the night. You run your hands over the taut fabric—your black dress clinging to your curves—wearing something he would love.

The December chill bleeds into the lobby every time the revolving door whirls, bringing in the cool night air. Your phone buzzes in your clutch, and you quickly pull it out, seeing a text from Rafe.

Rafe: Pulling up Princess

You take a moment to catch your breath. There’s something about seeing his name on your phone, knowing he’s close by and not far away, off on some business trip or in a place that ‘he’ll tell you about later, sweetheart.’

Rafe is an enigma… He’s gone for weeks without any explanation at all, surrounded by people who looked at him with respect and fear. And with that, you’d be naive to think he was a simple businessman…

Every night, he calls, no matter how far away he is or how busy his day is. Flowers, gifts, and dinner were delivered for no particular reason, but when he sensed you needed them, he always seemed to be right.

Your heart swells with anticipation as headlights wash over the lobby floor. You look out through the windows, watching a sleek limousine roll to a stop.

The driver steps out, walking to the back, opening the door for you. Butterflies swirl in your stomach as you see your handsome boyfriend—his broad shoulders framed by the subtle glow of the limo's interior lights.

Warmth spreads over your body as you catch his eye, the heat in your cheeks battling the winter air as you step out onto the street. The driver gives you a nod, and right before you can reach the curb, Rafe steps out, wanting to help you into the limo himself.

You bite back your bright smile, looking up at the gorgeous man before you. He looks devastatingly beautiful: his black suit, tailored to perfection, showing off his muscular frame. His button-down shirt’s opened slightly, giving you a glimpse of his tanned chest and gold chain.

Rafe extends his hand for you, his gold Rolex shimmering in the city lights. His hair is brushed back slightly; some loose strands of his toffee-colored hair hang tousled on his forehead. His lips curve into a confident, almost predatory smile, yet they soften warmly when his baby-blue eyes meet yours.

“Princess,” he mumbles, stepping forward. His voice is low, faintly husky, his attention on you like you’re the only girl in the world.

"Hey, baby," you manage as your muscles start to unwind. Any tension you felt before fading away in a single glance.

He slips his strong arm around your waist, kissing your lips for the first time in days; a tender kiss—deep and anything but chaste.

Your body tingles as he deepens it, wrapping you up in his arms, making it impossible to think about anything other than Rafe. Rafe. Rafe. You take in the softness of his lips, his taste, and the subtle sweetness you missed more than you could have ever imagined you would.

He pulls away slightly, his eyes gliding over you in approval. “You look amazing, pretty girl,” he says softly, for your ears only, as he draws you closer. He gently kisses your forehead, lingering for a few more moments, letting you know just how much he missed you.

You rest your hand on his muscular chest, fixing his suit before tapping the material above his heart. “You’re not looking too bad yourself, baby,” you answer back, your words still a little breathless from your kiss. A low laugh rumbles in the back of his throat, his hands finding your ass, giving you a little squeeze, making you giggle.

Rafe takes your hand, pulling you inside the vehicle. It’s dark and romantic, with leather seats and tinted windows for privacy, just enough glow to see your boyfriend’s handsome features.

The driver shuts the door behind you, and you settle inside, snuggling up like no time has passed. Rafe drapes his arm around your shoulders, nuzzling in before pressing a soft kiss against your hair. You look around the interior: a bouquet of white roses, champagne on ice with two glasses, and your favorite chocolates.

“I’ve got the whole night planned for you, princess. I want you to relax,” he sighs, his low tone vibrating in your ear, just above a whisper.

Rafe reaches over, popping a bottle of bubbly before pouring it in two flutes. He hands you one and smiles, the two of you clinking glasses before sipping slowly. Tiny bubbles dance on your tongue as Rafe leans in for another kiss, catching the champagne lingering on your lips. “This is perfect, Rafe,” you breathe between gentle kisses.

"Good," Rafe rasps before sucking off your bottom lip, making your whole body buzz. “I wanted tonight to be perfect for you.”

The limo rolls through downtown; every lamppost and storefront, dressed up with lights and bows for the holidays. You leave the crowded city behind, limo barrelling down the freeway toward the suburbs; bustling streets exchanged for tree-lined avenues.

The houses grow in size, each one bigger than the last; stately manors, a show of lights gleaming on each one. Rafe leans over, refilling your glass with a smile before tending to his. "Pretty out here, huh?" He asks, catching a glimpse of your bright smile.

"How'd you know this was exactly what I wanted tonight?” You ask sweetly as you bask in the winter wonderland around you. He smirks and shrugs. “Because you pay attention,” you coo, answering for him.

“I’d like to think I do, princess,” he answers. “You mentioned missing the Christmas lights when you moved to the city.”

“I did,” you smile as you lace your fingers in his, resting your head on his shoulder.

You admire the light displays, and the topic shifts from holiday traditions to how fast time has flown, the things you’ve been doing since he left, and Rafe’s travels. Of course, he doesn't elaborate on what he does when he’s away, but you don’t push… It’s easier that way—accepting that some parts of his life will always be carefully guarded. But it’s a strange thing, too… to trust someone with your heart when you know they’re keeping secrets.

“You okay, baby?” He asks sweetly.

“Mhmm…”

He chuckles weakly, seeing right through you in an instant. “C’mon, sweetheart. Lay it on me.”

"I don't know.”

“You do, baby. Please…” He sighs.

“I just—I worry about you, Rafe," you confess as you fidget with the ring on his finger. "You disappear, and I know you’re ‘handling business’… I try not to ask questions, but I can’t help but worry about you. Wondering where you are and if you’re safe…”

Rafe lifts your hand, bringing it to his lips with his striking blue eyes on yours as he kisses your hand. “I know… But I promise I’ll be careful. I’m always thinking about you. I got shit to lose now… And I’m always coming back, I promise,” he assures.

Your chest tightens with relief and apprehension, but that relief wasn’t there a moment before, and for now, that’s enough.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” you whisper.

You turn down the next street, even more opulent than the last. Trees line the streets, with lights spiraling up to the sky. Giant snowflakes dangle from houses; holiday displays meticulously placed on the lawn, far more impressive than the neighborhoods you remember growing up. Still, you get that same warm feeling in your heart nonetheless.

“Wow,” you sigh as you take in the grandeur of it all. “This has been the best night, Rafe.” He hangs his head slightly, nodding as he holds back his cheesy smile. This is all he wanted.

The limo makes a wide turn in the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. You look past the home, seeing the open water shining behind it. Rafe strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, turning it over before resting something cool on your palm.

You look down at your hand, seeing a gold glimmering key with a red bow tied at the top. You look up at Rafe, then back at the key, and back at Rafe again. “What’s this?” You ask gently, coming up with a few ideas, but the thought is too good to be true.

"I bought it," Rafe says quietly, the confident man sounding slightly nervous as he waits for your reaction.

Your heart flutters in your chest, eyes widening before you clutch it in your hand, looking back toward the mansion again. “Rafe…”

“Yeah, baby?” He chuckles, hearing the joy in your voice.

“You bought that?” You ask as you point at the house, voice breaking with emotion.

"I've wanted to tell you but was just waiting for the right time. This place… This place is safe, gated, right on the water… I've arranged things so you'd be comfortable and have space. I thought maybe you'd want to move in with me.” Your body trembles with adrenaline, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind as the night takes another turn. “It doesn’t need to be our forever home, princess, but I need to know you’re safe when I’m gone. You’ll be safe here.”

“Rafe, I don’t know what to say…” You whimper as emotion wells in your eyes at the sentiment.

"Say ‘yes’," he whispers, his perfect lips curling into a slight, vulnerable smile. “Or, say ‘you’ll at least think about it.’”

“Baby, no,” you laugh through tears. “That’s not what I’m saying. Yes. Yes, of course. I’m—I’m just trying to think of the right way to say ‘thank you,’" you whisper, voice trembling. "Of course."

Your lips connect again in a kiss that feels like sealing a promise. He breathes a resounding sigh of relief, and you chuckle lightly, cupping his cheeks in your hands and peppering little kisses against his lips.

“Did you think I was gonna say ‘no’?” You whisper teasingly.

“Had me worried there for a second, princess?”

“You never need to worry about me when it comes to you,” you smile, feeling the big, tough man melt at your words, leaning into your touch.

”I love you, sweethearr.”

“Mmm…” You hum as you lean in, closing the gap between you. “I love you more.”

The limo purrs up the cobblestone drive, pulling up to the entrance. Even from the car, you can see the Christmas tree peeking through the window, twinkling radiantly with a rainbow of lights.

Rafe grabs your hand, leading you out of the vehicle. He wraps his big arm around your waist as your heart beats faster with each step closer.

“Got it?” He asks as he smiles down at you, biting his lip. You show Rafe the key, flashing a smile before pressing it into the lock.

You gasp as you push through the front door—warmth wrapping around you like a hug. You look across the open area, taking it all in: a large living room with a roaring fire and big bay windows that look out of the Atlantic. It’s impossibly dark, but you can’t help but think about how beautiful it’ll be when the sun rises, sipping your morning coffee with Rafe as you take in the candy-colored sky.

Stepping a little further into the home, you look to the right, following the large staircase as it spirals to the second floor, the railings dressed with garland. And in the middle stands the most perfect Christmas tree you’ve ever seen, twinkling with lights, glossy ornaments, and a shimmering star perched at the top. You swallow thickly, fluttering your lashes, holding back the tears threatening to break through.

“Did you do all this?” You ask through a smile, taking one of the decorations in your palm.

Rafe chuckles warmly, shaking his head no as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels slightly. “Uh no, baby… Would have looked like shit,” he chuckles as he comes up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, his arms hugging around your waist. ”Paid someone to do it, but I told ‘em what I wanted… May have gone a little overboard,” he hums. "I wanted it to feel like Christmas when you walked in, pretty.”

You scrunch your nose, holding back more tears. “I can’t believe you did all this for me,” you whisper.

"For us," he hums in your ear. “It's officially ours now that you said ‘yes.’ But, you gotta know I’d do anything for you."

“I know you would,” you whisper as you turn toward him.

Before you can wrap your hand around his neck, he smiles and holds out another gift. “Rafe,” you scold with a playful huff. “Another gift? Are you kidding me? The house wasn't enough?"

“Good luck beatin’ that, right?” He smirks and winks jokingly. “This one's smaller.”

You slide off the ribbon, revealing a gold necklace with a glittery R. "Rafe,” you sigh blissfully. “It’s beautiful…” Rafe reaches into his shirt and pulls out his chain as well, showing off his matching pendant with your initial, making the gift that much sweeter. “I feel so spoiled,” you giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing his lips.

“That’s exactly how I want you to feel, baby…” He whispers. “I’m gonna always take care of you, alright?”

“I know you will-”

“Keep you safe… You know I worry about you too when I'm gone.”

“I know you do,” you assure as your fingers skim into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“This is a forever kind of thing… You know that, right?” He drawls, voices low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine.

“Mhmm…” You hum against his lips. “Forever. I love you, Rafe-” He kisses you, soft and sweet, stealing the words off your lip. Your breath catches in your chest as Rafe’s hand traces down your spine, the other working in your hair.

He tilts your head, his lips moving against yours more urgently—the hunger in his kiss making your knees weak. You melt into him, letting your hands drift to his muscular chest, resting on top. His heart bangs under your palms, matching yours.

When your breathing finally turns shallow, he reaches for a breath against your lips, smiling sweetly, before resting his forehead against yours. "I love you too, princess," he whispers, his voice raw and hoarse with emotion that only you get to see from him.

Rafe holds you in his arms, rocking back and forth with the music that plays through your house. The crackling of the fireplace adds to the warmth all around you. "You said you wanted forever," he murmurs. “I’m not proposing right now,” he whispers. “But I got plans for when that day comes…”

”You do?” You smile.

“‘Course I do…” Rafe kisses your forehead. “Soon. I hate waitin’… Especially when it comes to you.” A faint smile plays on his lips as he looks down at you—pure adoration. “You know how much I love Valentine’s Day, princess.”

335 notes · View notes

musaslullaby · 4 months ago

Text

The night has only just begun

Max Verstappen x fem reader

Summary: Max becomes jealous when he sees you talking to another man.

Warning: NSFW, +18, you are responsible for what you read.

Masterlist

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪

I've always loved being around people. Parties, interviews, or simply going out to dinner were a way to clear my head from eternal melancholy.

The limousine sped through the empty streets of Monaco. The only lights visible through the tinted windows were those of the beautiful stars, shining independently in the sky. They’ve always inspired a sense of trust in me, and now, after years of hard work, I can happily consider myself one of them.

"Schatje, are you ready?" Max asked, placing his hand on my leg, covered by the expensive blue dress that sparkled under the moonlight.

"I'm always ready. Perhaps I should ask you if you are." My mischievous smile caused an adorable chuckle from Max, who gently stroked me before stepping out of the car. Like a true gentleman, he opened the door for me, and only at that moment did my eyes wander over his entire body, perfectly framed by a black tuxedo as dark as the night, which highlighted his light blue eyes.

He extended his hand toward me with an elegant gesture while a brilliant, sincere smile adorned his features. His expression was relaxed, genuinely happy, and it made me smile involuntarily. I loved seeing him so at ease, especially because it was rare—during races, he often showed his worst side.

I gently placed my hand in his, which was larger than mine. It felt reassuring as we walked down that red carpet; his presence was warm and calm, in stark contrast to the continuous flashes of the journalists' cameras blinding us. Even the sky seemed to hide its beloved stars from those equally bright machines.

When we entered the venue, the lights were dim, a soft murmur lingered in the background, and waiters constantly passed by with glasses of sparkling wine. Occasionally, you could notice a dark wooden table surrounded by Ferrari-red couches.

My eyes darted around, scanning every person, and they casually caught sight of blonde hair. In an instant, I left Max's side, diving into that ocean of important people, dressed like kings and queens. When I got close enough, I recognized that boy. I knew my eyes weren’t deceiving me. "If I’m not mistaken, this is the scent of…" I said, stopping, resting my hand on my chin as I pretended to think. "Ah yes, it’s the new Giorgio Armani fragrance?"

The boy turned to me with wide eyes. "I can’t believe it, Y/N, how long has it been!"

"Too long!" I whispered, laughing, as we hugged, fearing we’d lose each other again.

"So, how’s it going?" he asked, his bright smile so contagious that I felt a facial paralysis coming on.

"Everything’s fine, thanks," I replied kindly, my voice slightly sweetened.

I had no idea how much time had passed since we started talking, but the only thing I knew was that he hadn’t changed: he was still the same goofy boy as always, and in some ways, that was reassuring. As caught up as we were in the conversation, I completely ignored the phone going crazy with calls and messages. By then, my handbag was vibrating every three seconds.

A laugh erupted from the back of my throat; I loved his humor and jokes, but I didn’t even have time to reply before I felt a deadly grip on my wrist, being yanked from the conversation without realizing it.

"That's enough," Max whispered through clenched teeth, his jaw tight.

"Stop it!" I yelled, trying to resist, drawing the attention of those around us, who suddenly stopped talking. Couldn’t they mind their own business?

"Will you explain what’s wrong with you?" I asked, stumbling as he let go, shoving me violently against the bathroom wall.

"What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?" His anger was evident; I could see it in his eyes, but beyond that, I saw something else… sadness? Melancholy? No, that wasn’t it. Something deeper, perhaps?

"I’m not the one who was eyeing another man," he continued, almost shouting, his voice filled with frustration and repressed feelings.

"What are you talking about? You know I only have eyes for you," I whispered, a slight sense of guilt starting to weigh on me, causing me to lower my gaze.

"Good, liefde, then prove it," he said, pressing his face against mine. I felt his warm breath brushing my lips and his mischievous grin. Ah, that’s what had been in his eyes earlier: lust.

With my cheeks flushed pink, I made the first move, throwing myself onto his slightly chapped lips. Max knew me too well; I would never back down from his provocations.

His hands gripped my hips in a firm hold, pulling me against his body. His teeth sank into my lips, asserting his dominance.

Involuntarily, I let out a sharp squeal, which earned an approving sound from Max. His kisses moved down to my exposed neck, biting and sucking the sensitive spots he knew all too well.

When he pulled away, I ran my hand over the purple and red marks he had left on me. A shiver of excitement shot down my spine as Max seductively licked his lips.

"Kneel," he ordered in a firm, authoritative voice, as he unbuttoned his pants.

With a subdued nod, I knelt before him, noticing the bulge in his pants. When I saw his member freed from its restraints in front of my face, I felt a sharp pang of pleasure deep in my core. Without hesitation, I took him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him. I could hear his muffled grunts under my touch, and the heat he caused throughout my body was heavenly.

"Damn…" His hands found a grip in my hair, tugging to push deeper into his sex. My cheeks flushed red as he completely controlled the rhythm. Gag reflexes took over my body, feeling his member contract and the veins growing rigid. Suddenly, I noticed the pace increasing, although sloppier, and after two more thrusts, Max released himself into my throat.

"Swallow it all, I don’t want to see a drop," he whispered, pulling me up by my hair. His cheeks were flushed pink, and sweat dripped down his forehead.

He was incredibly sexy. With a seductive movement, I placed my hands on his chest, letting his expensive jacket fall to the ground. The white shirt clung to his body from the sweat, revealing his sculpted abs.

Max dropped the authoritative act for a moment, planting a sweet, wet kiss on my lips, tasting himself, before returning to the Max from before.

Without effort, he lifted me into his arms, playing with the edge of my panties, slightly pushing them aside, brushing against my swollen, already wet lips.

"You're already ready for me, schatje? Pathetic," he whispered with a mischievous laugh on my lips, and his closeness definitely wasn’t helping.

Quickly, he aligned himself with my entrance and penetrated me, our ragged breaths mingling together. I could feel every part of him inside me, every small movement and his overwhelming heat. He didn’t wait a second before hammering into me at an inhuman pace. I was sure my screams could be heard throughout the club.

He was consistent, hard, and fast. No second thoughts or hesitation, his movements were precise and sure. I buried my face in his neck while he grunted, throwing his head back in pleasure.

The tip of his member hit my g-spot, making me melt like cream in his hands. I could no longer think straight. A warmth crept into my lower abdomen, and with each thrust, it became more intense and taut until it finally snapped, accompanied by a scream carrying his name in a vulgarly melodious way.

"He would never make you scream the way I do," he said between grunts, pushing even deeper, losing energy as he went.

After a few more thrusts, he reached the height of pleasure and came inside me with a stifled groan, muffled by a kiss full of sweetness and lust, mixed in a perfect cocktail.

Sweat dripped down his face as he lovingly pressed his forehead against mine.

"I love you, schatje," he whispered against my lips in a soft voice, planting a few kisses on my face.

"I love you too, especially when you're jealous," I said with a playful smile, grazing his earlobe with my teeth, making him shiver at the contact.

"Ready for the next round?" he said with a mischievous smirk, running his fingers down my back, exposed by the low cut of my dress.

"The night has only just begun..." I whispered, laughing softly as I gently caressed his cheek, my heart beating faster knowing what awaited me.

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writingforstraykids · 9 months ago

Note

Heyyy! Hope you're doing great :)

Can I request a birthday special of how husband Chan treats the female reader on her bday? Like totally spoiling her hehe :)

Thank you! Have a great day!

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Word Count: 737

Warnings/Tags: fluff, birthday date, husband!chan

A/N: Happy birthday, love. I hope you like the little something I came up with🤭🖤

The morning sun hadn’t even broken the horizon when you felt a gentle nudge. Your eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and you turned to see Chan, your husband, with a smile that could outshine the dawn itself.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Chan whispered, his voice soft as silk. The room was still dim, but there was a flicker of excitement in his eyes that told you he had something special planned. You stretched, a content smile playing on your lips, and leaned in for a morning kiss, which he returned with a warmth that filled your heart with joy.

As you sat up, you noticed that Chan had laid out a beautiful outfit for you: a soft, flowing dress paired with your favorite accessories. It was your birthday, after all, and he seemed keen on making it unforgettable.

“Get dressed at your pace,” Chan said, his hands clasped behind his back, trying to hide his eagerness. “I’ve got quite the day planned for us.”

After a long shower, you dressed and joined Chan downstairs, where the aroma of breakfast filled the air. The table was set for two, adorned with fresh flowers and your favorite dishes: pancakes topped with a generous amount of berries and maple syrup, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a delicate omelet filled with herbs and cheese. It was a feast for the senses.

“Everything looks amazing,” you said, taking your seat. Chan beamed with pride as he poured you a cup of coffee just the way you liked it.

Breakfast was a delightful affair, filled with laughter and plans for the day. Once you were both finished, Chan took your hand and led you outside. A black limousine waited at the curb, its chauffeur holding the door open. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“A limo, Chan?” you asked, a giggle escaping your lips.

“Only the best for my wife,” he replied, helping you into the car.

The first stop was a luxurious spa. You were treated to a couple’s massage that melted away any lingering stress, leaving you both relaxed. The scent of lavender and the sound of soothing music followed you as you continued to a manicure and pedicure, chatting about everything and nothing at all.

Lunch was at a quaint little restaurant by the sea. You ate outside, the salty sea breeze mingling with the aroma of the seafood platter you both shared. Chan raised a toast to you, his eyes twinkling with love and affection. “To my beautiful wife, may this year bring you as much joy as you’ve brought into my life.”

The afternoon was spent walking hand in hand along the beach, shoes in hand, sand between your toes. Chan had always known how much you loved the ocean, and the peaceful sound of the waves was the perfect soundtrack to your perfect day.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Chan led you to a secluded part of the beach where a blanket and a picnic basket awaited. You watched the sunset together, the world seeming to stand still around you, the moment filled with nothing but beauty.

But the surprises weren’t over yet. As twilight turned to night, you noticed little sparks of light on the sand leading away from your picnic spot. Chan nodded for you to follow the trail, which led to a small clearing where a projector was set up. “I thought we could end the day with an outdoor movie under the stars,” he said, his grin infectious.

You snuggled together under a blanket as your favorite movie played, the stars twinkling above you. It felt like the universe was celebrating with you, each star a testament to the love and care Chan had put into making this birthday the best you’d ever had.

As the credits rolled and you leaned against Chan, feeling the steady beat of his heart, you knew that this day would be etched in your memory forever—not just because of the grand gestures, but because it was a day spent with the one you loved most, celebrating not just your birth, but the life you shared together.

“I love you, Chan,” you murmured, your voice soft with emotion.

“I love you more, Y/nnie,” he replied, his voice equally tender.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you together under the vast, starry sky.

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

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drugsorgasmsandcheese · 5 months ago

Text

to kiss and to die | l. howlett

old man!logan howlett x fem!grim reaper!reader

description: in which death has never been so peaceful

warnings: logan’s death, angst, fluff, not beta read, pics used are not mine and were found on pinterest, the use of one latin word so if it’s badly translated i do apologise.

word count: 2084

he was used to people on the richer side of town booking his limousine service. it was a limousine service, after all. so logan didn't think much of anything when he pulls up outside of a penthouse building and a young woman steps into the car, giving her name to confirm she ordered the service.

when logan confirms, she smiles and closes the door behind her. she screams money, but old money. there's class about her and the way she holds herself. back straight as she sits, one leg crossed over the other and her head held up high. he can't help but take her in. he's never been one to care about the likeness of a lady a woman could be, but there is beauty that radiates off her, that is her, that logan can't seem to shake.

her head is turned to look out to the window, gazing upon the lights of the city that never sleeps. she seems observant in the way she looks, like not a single detail could be missed by her and she wouldn't allow it if it slipped by. logan's eyes slip down to the outfit she wears: a short black dress with a slit in its side, a pair of sheer black tights, black leather heeled boots that hugged her calves, and a black leather trench coat. she's slick, she's elegant, she holds herself high and with might.

as he drives, he approaches a red light. the woman takes the time to pull out a compact mirror, reapplying her lip liner followed by a clear gloss. when she's done, she smacks her lips and places the items away. "you're a hard man to find, logan howlett."

logan's eyes snap up into the rear-view mirror as he starts the limousine up again. his name on her lips is like honeyed venom, he can't quite decipher the emotion that lingers in him when she speaks of him like she knows him. his hands clench on the wheel as he drove, keeping the ride smooth as he turns a corner.

"who are you?" he asks, his voice gravelly and gruff just like his appearance, eyes flicking between hers and the road.

the woman smiles softly, an odd reassurance about it as she does so. "a mutant, just like you." she speaks, honeyed tone never dropping.

teeth snarl at her response. "that's not an answer." he's lived what feels like a thousand lifetimes, and he knows that even people like him aren't to be trusted.

"'the reaper.'" there's a knowing look on her face as she, the reaper, confirms her identity.

mutants knew her, the stories and legends that were a tale as old as time itself. a mutant that dealt the card of death, one who escorted mutants into the afterlife, who resurrected those she believed were not quite done with living. she was all four horsemen of the apocalypse, a woman that wielded so much power the world was her sandbox. nothing more to play with. to see her was like to see a ghost - blink and she's gone.

his jaw clenches tightly. "and what do you want from me?" logan all but growls out.

"you seek me out. why?" she questions with such poise in her character that it's hard for logan to differentiate between talking to death and indulging in his own delusions.

her questions hangs in the air for a moment or two, it's not like either one are keeping count. he can't find the words, he's never been good with them. he's harsh, he's a brute, a killing machine. when is there time to talk when you're killing yourself by killing another?

but there's a security in her presence. she's reassuring, it's peculiar. he's face to face with death and logan's never felt so settled. "i'm old, and i'm tired. there's nothing left for me here."

the way she smiles at him was a comfort in his own as he pulls up to her destination, the limousine coming to a stop. "there's plenty left for you, logan." she sits forward, and logan only notices how she never wore her seatbelt. he supposed she didn't have to. "just because you are at war, doesn't mean you can't find peace."

there's always the discussion of god being all-knowing, but what of death? what of the reaper who knows your story, who escorts you to the place you shall forever remain. death knows, she knows.

the woman pulls out a slick, black business card that's tucked between her pointer and middle finger, handing it to logan. he takes it so gently that he scares himself. he's a brute and yet he's gentle when the time comes. it appears to just be a simple black card, but even with his weakened vision, he can feel the indents in it. 'THE REAPER.'

"no one understands pain better than death." she says and logan's eyes are still fixated on the card.

death, such a simple term given the complexity and intensity of the situation. of him, of her. the words ring out in his head, no one understands pain better than death.

his gaze snaps up, his expression stoic but calm, like he's accepting whatever fate she'll grant him. he watches as she leans forward and places her hand on his cheek. he never expected death to be so warm.

"don't be what they made you." she whispers, and he lets out a sigh in content, in relief. the weight of his regrets and his lost humanity have hung on him heavily, his shoulders finally being lifted.

it's been a long time since logan's been touched. he doesn't even know if he's ever been held like this, cradled almost. to be looked at in such understanding. solitude and loneliness have kept him a shell. he chased it out, leaning into her touch, and it's like she can see him. the guilt, the regret, the pain.

"that's all i am. that's all i know." logan replies. his voice is strained, like the battle he's fought against himself, in his mind, has finally come to light.

her thumb runs across his cheek slowly, brushing against his grey beard. "if death is what you wish, logan, don't let it be a slow one. you've been tortured long enough." her eyes lock onto his. "good men don't deserve to be tortured, and you are a good man. you are a man, not the soldier, or the monster, or the weapon they forced you into being."

logan's expressions softens at her words. and, for the first time in his life, he's being given a choice. the choice to die. not as a weapon, a monster, a soldier, but as a man.

his hand reaches up, brushing over her own cheek. death is warm. there's an intimacy behind it that he's craved for so long that logan feels like he's falling apart from the inside out, and it's different from how he's felt before.

"you have my card, use it. death is everywhere, logan, and so am i."

the feeling of human connection. he craves it. being secluded and a shell of himself has made him overwhelmed as their skin touches. "death," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and gruff like it always is "and you."

she nods, her lips twitching. "take care of yourself, superstes, it's not your time just yet." she finishes and pulls away, stepping out of the limousine and leaving logan entrapped within his mind. not at war, but at peace.

—

the next time logan sees the reaper is at the funeral. it’s expected, mutant reaper or not she’s bound to turn up when one dies. but he also knows it’s because his fingers had subconsciously stroked the sleek business card in his pocket.

she lingers by his side and he feels himself reaching out, grasping onto her hand and she returns to the touch. death is warm. their fingers interlock, and it’s a reassurance that she gives him like she did last time. like she can read his thoughts.

it’s not your time just yet.

the thought makes him reach into his pocket, fingers itching to grace the adamantium bullet he’s carried like his guilt for years but he can’t find it. it’s then that he realises the weight that settles in between their hands and he looks at her.

she still wears that leather trench coat, and a part of logan wonders if that’s her very own black cloak. it suits her, if it is. the air of sophistication, of elegance still surrounds the reaper, and another part of logan wonders if she’s always been like this, or if there was a time when she succumbed to her powers and became a beast like he had.

the reaper’s gaze meets logan’s, that same soft smile gracing her lips. “not just yet.” she speaks and logan nods, hand squeezing hers. human connection.

she stays with logan when gabriela lopez approaches him, and a part of her seems to physically soften at the sight of the woman. when he questions her about it later, she only responds with a question of her own. “what did i tell you?”

it takes a few seconds to recall. he can’t tell if it’s from the old age so his brain has wore down, or if he was so focused on being touched and looked at like he was understood that he forgot her words, until it clicks. “death is everywhere, and so are you.”

and all the reaper does is nod, not another word spoken. but she was the one who pushed for logan to accept the job of escorting laura, and he didn’t know why. but there is something so alluring about death that he couldn’t say no.

the reaper stays by logan’s side awhile longer, her scythe hanging over him like a thread. there’s a time when her fingers trace the scars over his skin that his weakened healing has failed to take care of of, and the word is uttered from her lips again: “superstes.”

he’s not quite sure what it means, what language it is, but she looks into his eyes as she says it. not at the scars, but at him. and it touches his soul.

there’s another time in the kitchen. the couple who had graced them into their homes after the accident, where it’s just them. there’s the slow music in the kitchen, and if his old self remembers correctly, it’s ‘dream a little dream of me.’

logan’s leant against the counter as the reaper approaches, taking his hand in hers; an offer. he’s reluctant at first, he’s not really one for dancing, but death is so tempting. the weight of the adamantium bullet in his pocket, the way she follows him everywhere.

his calloused hand slips into hers, and it’s not really dancing. they sway on their feet, her clutched close to his chest and his chin rests on top of her head. death is warm, and this is the human connection he has longed for for so long. he wants it to linger, to last longer, he needs it like a beggar, and logan is willing to get on his knees if he has to.

but when x-24 arrives, she’s as good as gone.

—

he meets the reaper again, and it’s like a setback in time the way her hand is outstretched in front of her, and the words escape from her lips in a promised whisper: “it’s your time, superstes.”

logan looks down at her hand and he smiles. it’s genuine, just like the one in his final moments, and he takes the reaper’s hand without a single moment of hesitation.

even in death, she is a warm embrace.

he holds her close to his chest, and logan can’t help but sway like the lyrics are behind them, and the reaper chuckles, following his movements. his head dips down, nose brushing against hers and logan lets out a sob. peace, all he’s ever wanted, has finally settled down upon him. in his death as he held laura’s hand, he knew what it felt like. to be at peace, to be loved, to die.

now, as he places a gentle kiss on the reaper’s lips, he knew what it was like to be loved by death, to find peace with death, to be kissed by death.

death is warm. death is beautiful. death is peace. death is…all a man like logan has ever wanted.

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #james howlett x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett #wolverine x fem!reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine

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misswynters · 6 months ago

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Midnight Romance

Tom Glynn-Carney x gn!reader

no warnings just fluff

[word count: 700

[note | it would greatly appreciated if you would not only just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. thank you!

The evening sky over New York City was painted in shades of deep blue as you stepped out of the sleek black limousine, your hand tightly clasped in Tom Glynn-Carney’s. The iconic steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art stretched out before you, adorned with the glamorous and opulent decor of the Met Gala. The air buzzed with excitement, the crowd's murmurs blending into a symphony of admiration and anticipation.

Tom looked dashingly handsome, the movie star in his custom-tailored tuxedo, his hair perfectly styled, and his eyes sparkling with excitement. He turned to you, his gaze softening as he took in your elegant gown, the intricate beadwork shimmering under the lights.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and affection.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied with a smile, feeling a rush of warmth at his words.

Hand in hand, you began your ascent up the grand staircase, the cameras flashing in rapid succession. Each step was a moment in itself, the two of you pausing every few feet to pose for photos. Tom’s arm was a constant presence around your waist, his touch grounding you amidst the chaos.

“Tom, over here!” a photographer called out, and he turned, his charismatic smile lighting up the night. You followed suit, your own smile bright and genuine. The cameras loved him, but the way he looked at you made you feel like the true star of the evening.

As you reached the top of the steps, you encountered a host of reporters eager for interviews. Tom handled them with ease, his charm and wit captivating everyone. He never let go of your hand, and whenever he had the chance, he included you in the conversation.

“Tom, what inspired your look tonight?” one journalist asked, her microphone pointed toward him.

“We wanted to embrace the theme with a touch of classic elegance,” Tom replied, his eyes briefly meeting yours before addressing the reporter again. “And having someone so stunning by my side certainly elevates the look.”

The journalist’s gaze shifted to you, a curious smile on her face. “And how does it feel to support Tom at such a prestigious event?”

Your cheeks warmed under the scrutiny, but you answered confidently. “I’m incredibly proud of Tom and all the work he’s done. Being here with him to celebrate is an honor.”

Tom’s eyes sparkled with affection as he listened to you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. The reporter, sensing the genuine bond between you two, smiled warmly and moved on to the next question.

As the interviews wrapped up, Tom guided you toward the entrance of the museum. Before you could go inside, he pulled you aside, finding a moment of privacy amidst the bustling crowd.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said, his voice filled with admiration.

“You make it easy,” you replied, your heart swelling with love for him.

Tom leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. It was brief, yet it conveyed all the emotions words couldn’t capture. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright with determination and affection.

“Let’s go enjoy the night,” he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I can’t wait to share this with you.”

Hand in hand, you entered the museum, the grand hallways filled with art and beauty. The evening unfolded in a series of unforgettable moments, each one more magical than the last. You mingled with celebrities, admired the breathtaking exhibits, and danced under the glittering chandeliers.

As the night drew to a close, you found yourselves on a balcony overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking, but it paled in comparison to the man standing beside you. Tom pulled you close, his arms wrapped around you as you gazed out at the twinkling lights below.

“This has been an incredible night,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

“It has,” you agreed, leaning into his embrace. “And I’m so glad I got to share it with you.”

Tom turned you to face him, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. “I love you,” he said, his voice steady and sure.

“I love you too,” you replied, your heart swelling with happiness. In that moment, amidst the glamour and glitz of the Met Gala, you had found something far more precious—each other.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood

a/n: late night writing, can i get someone like him for myself pls

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd season 2 #hotd x reader #house targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #tom glynn carney x reader #met gala

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natswife-marvelicious · 4 months ago

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Not so common Premiere Reveal

Plot: The rumor mill has been churning for weeks. What if Scarlett doesn't walk the red carpet alone shortly afterwards for the big "Jurassic World" premiere, but with someone the world has yet to see?

Warnings: none

Word count: 2,3k

Masterlist

The sky over Los Angeles was painted with hues of pink and orange as the sun set, casting a warm glow over the world premiere of 'Jurassic World: Dominion'. It was the biggest event of the year, a red-carpet spectacle drawing stars, fans, and media outlets from around the globe. The premiere had everything you’d expect: dinosaurs, Hollywood icons, and endless flashes of cameras. But tonight, there was one name on everyone’s lips, Scarlett Johansson.

For months, rumors had swirled about her personal life, only escalating after her year-long silence following her high-profile split from Colin Jost. Scarlett had famously guarded her privacy throughout her career, carefully choosing when and where she would appear in public.

Lately, however, the media had latched onto the mystery woman photographed with her. The paparazzi shots, taken from afar, showed the two in casual moments: dining together, walking through the park, and sharing soft, intimate glances. The internet had exploded with speculation, and fans worldwide had dissected every angle of the story. Yet Scarlett remained silent, fueling the mystery even further.

Now, at the premiere of one of the most anticipated movies of the year, the world waited to see if she would address the rumors. There had been no official statement from Scarlett, no interviews, no social media posts. The only thing people knew was that Scarlett Johansson was set to arrive on the red carpet tonight.

The atmosphere outside the theater was electric. Hundreds of fans lined the barricades, holding signs and chanting her name. Reporters from every major outlet stood ready with microphones and cameras, hoping for an exclusive scoop. Photographers jostled for position, desperate for the first shot of Scarlett as her limousine pulled up to the curb.

The door of the sleek black limo swung open, and there she was, Scarlett Johansson. She emerged with effortless grace, her long, shimmering black gown hugging her figure. The material sparkled as she moved, catching the lights of the paparazzi cameras, and her blonde hair was styled in loose waves, falling perfectly over her shoulders.

As soon as she stepped onto the red carpet, the crowd erupted into cheers and shouts. “Scarlett! Over here! Scarlett!”

But something was different tonight. Scarlett paused for a moment, scanning the crowd with a soft smile, before stepping aside slightly, her hand reaching back toward the limo. Another figure emerged, and this time, the gasps from the crowd were audible.

It was a beautiful and slightly younger girl, y/n.

You stepped out, looking stunning in an emerald-green gown that flowed elegantly as you moved. Your hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, your expression one of both awe and nerves. This was your first time in the spotlight, and the cameras immediately began clicking, capturing the moment the world had been waiting for.

Scarlett smiled at you, her hand slipping yours hers with a reassuring squeeze and suddenly, the rumors were confirmed. Scarlett Johansson wasn’t just attending the premiere tonight, she was making her relationship with you public for the first time.

As you walked side by side onto the red carpet, the world seemed to freeze for a moment. The flashes of cameras intensified, creating a wall of light that surrounded you. The noise was deafening. Fans screaming Scarlett’s name, photographers shouting for their attention, reporters trying to get in a quick question. But amidst the chaos, Scarlett remained calm, her hand never leaving yours.

“Stay close,” Scarlett whispered to you as you moved forward. She could feel the nervous energy radiating from you, but her presence was grounding. You looked over at Scarlett, offering a small appreciative smile. This wasn’t your world. You had spent most of your life away from the glare of fame, but tonight you were diving headfirst into it.

As you walked, Scarlett paused every few steps to wave to the fans, their cheers growing louder every time she acknowledged them. But it wasn’t just her they were cheering for. Scarlett was a beloved figure, adored for both her talent and her down-to-earth nature, but tonight the fans seemed just as excited to see you beside her.

The moment was already going viral. Social media was exploding with real-time reactions, pictures flooding Instagram and Twitter within seconds of you stepping onto the carpet. The hashtags #ScarlettandY/N, #ScarlettNewLove, and #ScarlettPremiere were trending worldwide.

You reached the center of the red carpet, where you were to pose for official photos. Scarlett turned to you, her eyes warm and reassuring. “You’re doing great,” she whispered. You nodded, trying to steady your breathing. You weren't used to this kind of attention, thousands of eyes watching you every move, every glance. But with Scarlett beside you, you felt grounded.

The cameras captured every moment, the way Scarlett kept a protective hand on your waist, how you exchanged soft, knowing glances, the slight but affectionate touches between you. You were nervous, but you also felt a quiet confidence in Scarlett’s presence, as if you could get through this as long as you two were together.

After the photos, Scarlett guided you toward the row of interviewers waiting for their chance to talk to the couple. Both of you were greeted by a reporter from 'Entertainment Tonight', her excitement barely contained.

“Scarlett! You look absolutely incredible tonight, as always. And y/n, welcome! It’s so great to see you both here.”

Scarlett smiled warmly, her hand never leaving yours. “Thank you. It’s good to be here,” you said, your voice steady despite the madness around you.

The reporter, clearly hoping to dig into the heart of the night, quickly moved on to the question everyone was dying to ask. “Scarlett, you’ve always been very private about your personal life, and yet here you are, at the premiere of one of the biggest movies of the year, with y/n. Can you tell us a little more about your relationship?”

Scarlett looked at you, a soft, affectionate smile playing on her lips. The crowd behind the barricades was silent, waiting with bated breath for her answer. “Yes, I can,” Scarlett said, her tone gentle but firm. “Y/n and I have been together for a while now. She’s... someone very special to me.”

You blushed at Scarlett’s words, your smile growing despite the attention. The reporter’s eyes gleamed with excitement, knowing she had just gotten the quote that would make headlines around the world.

“Y/n,” the reporter said, turning to you, “this must be overwhelming for you. How are you feeling, being here tonight in the spotlight?”

You glanced at Scarlett, a little unsure but clearly trying your best to navigate the newness of it all. “It’s... a lot,” you admitted with a soft laugh. “But Scarlett’s been really great. She’s been helping me through it.”

Scarlett smiled proudly, leaning in to kiss your temple, her affection so clear and unguarded. The cameras flashed wildly, capturing the tender moment between them. Fans on social media were already losing their minds, the images of Scarlett and y/n together spreading like wildfire.

They moved down the line of interviewers, answering questions about the movie, Scarlett’s role, and the technical aspects of 'Jurassic World'. But inevitably, the questions kept circling back to them as a couple. Each time Scarlett was asked about you, she answered with calm confidence, and her eyes always gleamed with affection.

“Scarlett, what made you decide to go public with your relationship tonight?” a reporter from 'Variety' asked, microphone poised.

Scarlett paused, her hand still on yours. “I’ve always valued my privacy,” she began, the weight of her words carefully measured, “and that hasn’t changed. But this, what you see here, is important to me. Y/n is important to me, and I wanted to share that, in my own way. We’ve been together for a while, and at some point, it felt... right not to hide it. We’re happy.”

Y/n looked over at Scarlett, her smile soft but full of emotion. The nerves she had felt earlier were melting away, replaced by a sense of belonging, belonging beside Scarlett, and being embraced by the world, even if in an unfamiliar and overwhelming way.

A follow-up question came almost instantly, this time from a reporter with 'E! News': "Y/n, how has this experience been for you? Being in the public eye like this?”

You hesitated briefly, clearly still adjusting to the media frenzy. “It’s... definitely new,” you admitted, laughing lightly, “but I have Scarlett by my side, so it feels... easier than it might otherwise.”

Scarlett’s hand squeezed yours gently, that soft touch anchoring you both in the chaos. There was something special about the way you two interacted, so natural, as if you had always belonged together. The media might have been focused on the two of you, but for Scarlett and y/n, they were only focused on each other.

The interviews continued, with more questions about the film, Scarlett’s portrayal of her character, and her future projects. But each time they tried to steer away from the personal, the audience could sense the undercurrent of interest, a curiosity about this new chapter in Scarlett's life. Every camera flash, every whispered comment, was about her relationship with you.

The energy on the red carpet was palpable. Fans outside continued chanting, hoping for a glimpse of the couple. Scarlett waved again, this time pulling your hand up so the crowd could see it clearly, you were here together, no hiding, no secrets. The crowd’s roar intensified, echoing around the street, and you felt a slight rush of adrenaline. You weren't used to the public adoration, but something about this moment felt incredibly freeing.

The two of you eventually made their way inside the theater, where the excitement of the night finally began to settle. Once you were away from the flashing lights and endless interviews, you let out a slow breath.

“Are you okay?” Scarlett asked softly, her thumb brushing your hand as you walked together through the foyer.

You smiled, leaning in closer. “I think I am,” you said with a soft laugh. “I just wasn’t expecting... all of that.”

Scarlett laughed, her voice warm and gentle. “You handled it like a pro,” she teased. “Honestly, I’m so proud of you.”

You found your seats, surrounded by the rest of the cast and crew, and you took a moment to appreciate the quiet intimacy of sitting beside Scarlett after such a public spectacle. You could feel the weight of the day start to lift as the film's opening scene began to play.

The roar of the dinosaurs on screen seemed to echo the roar of the outside world, but within the theater, it was as if Scarlett and you existed in your own private bubble. Scarlett’s hand rested on your knee beneath the armrest, a small but constant reminder of her presence. For you, this moment wasn't about the movie or the premiere, it was about being part of Scarlett’s life in a way you hadn’t before.

As the movie progressed, you stole glances at Scarlett, watching her reactions to key scenes. You admired Scarlett’s confidence, her strength, and the way she seemed to navigate the complexities of fame with such grace. But more than that, you admired her for how open she had been tonight, how unafraid she was to show the world exactly who she loved.

After the film ended, the audience erupted into applause, and Scarlett turned to you with a wide smile. “What did you think?”

You beamed, your eyes sparkling. “You were incredible,” you whispered back, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Scarlett’s cheek.

You lingered for a few more moments inside the theater, mingling with other celebrities and industry figures, but soon it was time to leave. The thought of facing the media again, even if briefly, caused a flicker of nerves in your chest, but Scarlett was right beside you.

As you stepped out onto the street, the flashing cameras began again, though this time they seemed less overwhelming. You held your head a little higher, your hand never leaving Scarlett’s. The premiere had been a whirlwind, but it had also been a defining moment for you two as a couple.

By the time you reached the limo, the media frenzy was still in full force. Scarlett paused just before stepping into the car, turning to face the cameras one last time. She glanced at you, her expression filled with nothing but love, and then turned back to the crowd, her voice strong but sincere as she said, “Thank you all for coming tonight.”

As the car door closed behind them, you let out a soft sigh of relief. Scarlett chuckled, reaching over to take your hand again. “We made it,” she teased.

You laughed, leaning into Scarlett’s side. “I can’t believe we did that.”

Scarlett’s eyes softened, and she brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m so glad we did,” she murmured. “I’m glad everyone knows. I’m glad I can finally show the world how much you mean to me.”

Your heart fluttered at her words. “You’re not worried about what they’ll say?”

Scarlett shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “They’ll say what they want, like they always do. But at the end of the day, what matters is us. I’ve never been more certain of that.”

Your eyes welled with emotion as you nodded, feeling the truth of Scarlett’s words settle deep within you. “I love you,” you whispered softly, the words almost lost in the gentle hum of the limo.

Scarlett’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “I love you too,” she whispered back, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

The world outside was still buzzing with excitement, but inside that limo, it was just the two of you. It didn’t matter what the tabloids would write tomorrow, or how many photos would circulate on social media. All that mattered was this, the love you had, the bond you shared, and the fact that, from now on, you were facing it together, hand in hand.

And for the first time, you felt like you truly belonged.

Sooo that's my first Scarlett x reader fanfic!! I like it :)

Oh and I really love Colin and Scarlett together, i have nothing against him (despite the fact he stole my wife). But I love seeing her happy and being with a man who truly loves her. It just fitted the story!

#scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson x reader #world premiere #jurassic world: dominion #natasha romanoff fanfiction #fanfition #ynstories #x yn #red carpet #natasha fluff #oneshot

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adore-laur · 8 months ago

Note

the girls asking Harry & their mom how they fell in love ?

——

With the kids’ bath time done, you fall onto the couch like a rag doll. Your eldest daughter is in your arms, wearing a fluffy white robe. She's about to get the princess treatment, which consists of her favorite thing—you gently combing through her curls with apple-scented detangling spray. Harry holds your youngest daughter and steadily walks around the living room to make her sleepy. She's in zip-up pajamas, and she smells like fresh lavender. Her eyes aren’t closed yet, but Harry knows what tricks to use. Before long, she'll drift off and be transferred to her crib, all clean and fed.

As you yawn and stretch, the little arm tucked in your embrace wiggles free. It'll take significantly longer for her to tire, so you're hoping some snuggles and soothing hair brushing under the dim lights will speed up the process.

She points aimlessly toward the fireplace, her eyes tracking above it. The artificial plant? The pillar candle? The row of picture frames?

"What, baby?" you ask, kissing her damp curls while equipping the comb and spray.

"Pretty dress," she says, aiming her finger more precisely. You follow it and smile. On the mantel shelf, there’s a photograph in an elegant gold frame. It has been proudly displayed there for nearly five years as a keepsake from one of the most euphoric days of your life. It's an eight-by-ten photo of you and Harry after your marriage ceremony, sitting in the sleek black limousine that chauffeured you both to the reception venue. Through the open window, the hired photographer captured the moment Harry tried to unclip your lace bridal veil. Your legs, covered by the lush and heavy silhouette of your gown, were thrown over his lap even when there was plenty of space to spread out.

The reason that particular photo is the chosen one for the living room is because of how you and Harry are looking at each other in it. His fingers, one in particular the forever home of a gold wedding band, were tangled in your intricately styled hair, working to unclasp the plethora of pins lost in the strands. His eyes, though, were feasting on you—captivated, ecstatic, and soaking you in like you were the only thing that existed. His smile was the brightest part of the photo. He was mid-laugh, with his dimples deep, nose scrunched, and cheeks pushed up so that crinkles formed near his eyes. You can hardly remember what he was laughing at. He was giddier than a kid in a candy store, with unrestrained hands and excitement. He never did end up successfully removing your veil. His mother later helped him out, and it's now packed away in a storage box in the back of your closet.

Your expression in the photo is quite similar to his—irrepressible joy mixed with fierce love for your better half. The high resolution captured the residual tears in your eyes, which were caused by the overwhelming emotions from when you greeted family and friends after the ceremony concluded. It was a gorgeous, sunny day. The afternoon sunshine poured into the limousine and accentuated the details of your exquisite gown and Harry's traditional tuxedo. You parsed through countless photos after the honeymoon, and Harry agreed that this one encapsulated the intimate love you shared with each other the best. It always brought you back to that day and that indescribable feeling. It still makes your heart pound. You would marry him a million times over just to cherish every second again.

When you and Harry started a family together, the mantle shelf was filled with more precious photographs over the years. Now, with two children, anniversary milestones, and vacation memories under your belt, it's a beautiful display of the life you built with Harry. It's a reminder of what life’s experiences are all about.

"That's Mommy's wedding dress," you say, beginning to comb through her hair. Harry pauses his laps around the rug and stares at the photo.

"You wore it when you met Daddy?" she replies, a cute sense of curiosity quieting her voice.

You laugh and catch Harry's gaze just as a crooked smile breaks loose on his lips. "No, I wore it when I married him."

"Oh. What did you wear when you met Daddy?"

"Gosh, I don't think I remember," you reply, searching your brain for that night at the dive bar. It was a late-night encounter, and you were tipsy.

Harry, still staring at the photo, says, "An open-back dress. Black, short, and form-fitting." He shakes his head, lost in thought. "Effortlessly gorgeous."

"How in the world do you remember that?" you ask, a heated blush crawling up your neck.

"The disco lights were dancing across your skin." He shrugs, like the memory is permanently stamped inside his brain. "I'll never forget that sight."

"It was a funeral dress?" your daughter asks, piecing together the visual her father verbally painted.

"Definitely not," Harry says, sending a secret smirk your way.

"Where did you see Mommy in the black dress?" She lets you move her head around as you spritz her curls with detangling spray.

"We were at the same... restaurant," you say slowly, being careful not to mention bars around her. Better to keep her innocence alive as long as possible.

"What did you eat?"

"We didn't eat," you reply. "We had strawberry and lemon drinks." You intentionally leave out the infused with alcohol part.

"What did Daddy say?"

You smile sweetly, loving her endless questions. "He asked me questions about myself. Made me feel comfortable and special. Unfortunately, our conversation didn't last very long. Mommy was tired and had to go home."

"And Daddy thought he was never going to see her again," Harry added theatrically. "He was really bummed out about it, but by some magical force, he crossed paths with her a month later."

"Magic?" Your daughter whispers the word, her eyes wide with interest.

"It sure seemed like it," Harry says, gently sitting beside you so as not to wake the baby. He looks at you, and somehow, his eyes transport you right back to the start of it all. "Took us three tries to finally get things right."

You lean forward and kiss him tenderly. "Look at us now."

He reciprocates the kiss—his is a bit more urgent and sentimental. He then admires his daughters, both on the verge of sleep, and rubs his palm over where his heart is. "Thank you for choosing me, baby," he says to you. There seems to be emotion lodging in his throat, but he clears it away and breathes in deeply. "I'm yours every day. And I love you for infinite reasons, but growing our little family has the number one spot in my heart."

You toss the comb aside and hug him, your daughters cocooned by two souls that somehow found each other more than once. By magic, fate, or simply coincidence, you truly lucked out.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dad!harry #dadrry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur

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kinda-super-hot · 5 months ago

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I Want More. (2)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Harvey Specter x F!Lawyer!Reader - friends to enemies to lovers <3

Part 2 Summary: Well, (Y/n)'s first day doesn't go as she had planned. She learns that she is office neighbors with Harvey Douchebag Specter. Luckily, she makes quite a few gal pals + Louis. Harvey brings her what might be a peace offering, and she learns they will be working closer together than she thought.

Warnings: overthinking - I think that's it but if you noticed something I missed, please let me know.

Word Count: 4038

I wake up from my first night in my new apartment to the sound of busy traffic and honking horns outside. “Blegh...” I mutter and force myself out of bed. Today’s the day- My first day on the job! “Ok, time to get hype.”

I hop to the bathroom and poke at my eyebags for a moment before doing light, office appropriate makeup. I’d picked my outfit out the night before and I had to squeal just at the sight of it laying on the bed. A hot pink dress shirt that I planned to leave more than a few buttons undone towards the top- just enough to not get written up! And a black pencil skirt for the shirt to get tucked into with some pointy, black pumps.

The way I see it, this is my first impression, and I need them to know not only do I mean business but I’m bold.

I take my time curling my hair and even make myself an egg to really soak up my morning. And finally, just as my toast pops up, I snatch it and walk out the door with my thin suitcase.

It’s a short walk towards the firm and I can’t keep the smile off my face. I beam at people walking in the opposite direction and occasionally get a smile back! Nothing could ruin this perfect morning. My optimism was not prepared for me to glance towards the building and catch sight of a familiar face, however.

Time slowed, but my heart sure didn’t. Across the street and right in front of my new place of work was Harvey Douchebag Specter getting out of a limousine. I stopped in my tracks and let out an audible gasp.

I watch him walk until he disappears into Pearson Hardman. What. The. Fuck.

Ok, ok, don’t panic. He’s probably from another firm and just has a meeting with another lawyer. All I have to do is keep my head held high. Obviously, also actively avoid him if I see him, but otherwise, pretend I never saw him.

I take a deep breath and keep walking. My heart is RACING, but I won’t let him ruin this for me.

I walk through the glass doors and don’t see him. Good, he must have gone up already. I waste no time introducing myself to the lobby ladies, taking my employee picture, and getting my newly printed employee ID.

Ok, everything is going fine. We’re alright. I scan my keycard and make my way to the elevator. “(Y/N) (L/N)!” Shit.

I turn around, but thankfully, it’s a new face. “I thought that was you.” A beautiful, confident black woman glides over to me. She reaches her hand out, and I shake it with a smile, despite not knowing this lady. “Jessica Pearson.”

“Oh!” A real smile takes over my face and I shake her hand more enthusiastically. “It is so good to finally meet you. I must say, my first impression of the firm: very impressive.” I’m saying the absolute truth, but I also want to smooth talk her. “I’m thrilled to be working here, Ms. Pearson.”

She releases my hand and smiles at me, but her eyes say something different. I can tell that she’s a great lawyer just by this first encounter. Her face is warm and inviting but her piercing gaze says mischief in big, bold letters. “I’m glad to hear it. I have a very busy morning ahead of me, so one of our Junior Associates will be giving you the tour.” She looks over my shoulder and I turn to see a mousey, stout looking man. “This is Louis Litt. You will be working closely together on the same floor with both myself and one of our Senior Partners.”

I smile at Louis and reach my hand out, he beams at me, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Litt. I can’t wait to be working with you.” Once again, I try to flatter the person in front of me.

His smile grows wider, and he looks to Jessica behind me before his eyes dart back to mine. “The pleasure’s all mine.” He hesitates to release my hand, and I inwardly laugh at his awkwardness. “We can start the tour right away.”

We all get into the elevator and instead of getting off at each floor and showing me around, Louis pulls out some papers from his pocket. “This is a list telling you exactly what you need to know about each and every floor. What they work on, who manages it, and the phone number for the head receptionist if you ever have any questions.” I take the stack of papers from his hands, and find they are heavier than they look.

“Oof, thank you.” I have to re-straighten my knees from the new weight just placed on them. Jessica raises her brow in Louis’s direction. I flip through some of the pages. Everything he said was on here plus more. Something tells me he wants to show me the type of guy he is by giving me this surplus of paper.

“You’re welcome. Though, you won’t really need to travel to other floors,” He comments, “that’s what the lacky associates are for.” He nudges me with his elbow and lets out a laugh. I do as well, more to keep the cramped space from being uncomfortable than actually finding it funny. Jessica rolls her eyes, and I am obsessed with her refusal to put on an act for him. “No,” he clears his throat, “most of your work will be done…here.”

The elevator doors open, and I’m met with familiar sounds of clicking away at computer keys and phones ringing. I smile and step out onto the floor instantly. It’s everything my old firm was, but better. More advanced, more colleagues, more in general. I let out a pumped-up, “Yes!” and punch the air as discreetly as I can.

Jessica takes over swiftly by saying, “There’s more.” We follow her down a long hallway and pass an office with Louis’s name on it as well as one with Jessica’s name until I see one with my name. There’s a corner office directly to the left of it but I don’t bother looking at the name, I found what I was looking for.

“Oh, wow.” I breathe out to the furnished office that still felt empty. “I can’t wait to put my own flare in here. I can see it now,” I throw my hands out from my sides and walk through the office, I think out loud, “A vintage end table would be so cute here, maybe a fancy vase on top with some fresh carnations...” I ponder.

Jessica hums from the doorway and I turn to see a new person has joined my entourage. “Sounds cute, I can tell we’re gonna be friends.” The new woman is much more relaxed than Jessica and Louis. She has voluptuous, orange hair and a charming smile. “I’m Donna. I work for your grumpy colleague on the other side of this wall.” She knocks on the conjoining wall.

“Nice to meet you, Donna! I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” I look over her outfit. “And by the look of those shoes, we’re going to be the best of friends.” I give her shoes a pointed look and we laugh together.

“Oh, we needed a girly like you in the office.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You let me know if you need anything, and I will get it done. I’ll be your temporary secretary up until you get too many clients and we have to hire someone new. Though, I’m sure it won’t be long with a personality like yours.” She flips her hair and walks out.

“I love her.” I breathe out and turn to Jessica. She smiles before her eyes glance just above my head.

“What great timing!” I turn around, ready to greet whoever else I’ll be working with. “(Y/N), this is our Senior Partner, Harvey Specter.” My smile drops as I look at his face. He’s changed. There are lines on his forehead that weren’t there before. He wasn’t scrawny anymore, either, he’d beefed up. His shoulder width was probably double the size of mine. But when my eyes met his, I knew it was most definitely the same Harvey. “Harvey, this is our new Junior Partner, Ms. (L/N).” We both freeze in shock, looking each other over, analyzing what might have changed.

Tension. Unbelievable tension fills the hall, and I’m sure everyone has stopped what they’re doing to watch our interaction. Harvey’s face, that is usually so great at hiding how he feels, is failing him. His mouth is slightly agape, and his brows are raised the smallest bit. His big, brown eyes widen the more he looks at me. Stunned is the only way to describe him, and that doesn’t even begin to cover it. Though, I’m sure I don’t look much better.

The silence becomes awkward. I clear my throat, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Specter.” I reach my hand out sharply and remove my gaze from him, preferring the wall. What am I doing?! “I’m sure we’ll work great together.” My tone is curt, and I have the best smile I can muster on my face. I look him in the eyes once more, silently urging him to shake my hand.

He recovers and clears his throat as well before shaking my hand. “I can’t agree more.” Oh god. I roll my eyes and remove my hand from his grasp. “If you’ll excuse me.” His face is back to being unreadable as he turns and walks into the office right next to mine.

No- I read the name on the glass: Harvey Specter. I clench my jaw; I have to get through this. I turn my head back to Jessica. “Well, what’s next?”

I received the grand tour of the floor and was then told by Louis to make myself comfortable. The company’s top paralegal would come to speak with me as soon as she was available. I gave him a tight smile before sitting in my office very distressed. “Fuck.”

I want to close my blinds so I can peacefully bang my head into the wall without anyone seeing, but I don’t want to seem closed off. I wonder if I should sit here any longer and wallow in self-pity. “Fuck it.”

I get up from my very comfortable, very expensive chair and leave my office. I can’t help looking over my shoulder as I walk away from it to see if he is still in his office, but all I see is an empty chair. Ok, that means I need to be aware. He’s probably prowling around here somewhere…

“Are… you alright?” I stop surveying my surroundings when a younger man with blonde hair and a skinny necktie talks to me from his cubicle. “You’re, like, scowling at the entire bullpen.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry.” I fix my face before walking to the man’s cubicle. “I swear I’m not an a-hole, I’m just…” I stop myself as I continue surveying. I need a confidante. I stare right into his soul and bend down so we’re on the same level. “Can I tell you something you will never ever tell anyone else in your entire life?”

He retreats back in his seat a little flabbergasted. “You know, confessing to murder in a law firm probably isn’t the best idea.” I smile at his joke, cool kid.

“Oh, it’s much, much worse.” I stand straight again and lean onto my right leg with my hip jutted out. I smirk as he raises a brow, “So, there’s this guy-”

“You just got here and you’re already talking about guys you’re into?” A tall, tan brunette asks me with sass. Her eyebrows are raised, and her smirk tells me she’s my type of people. “I’m Rachel, top paralegal.” She reaches her hand out.

I shake it, “I’m (Y/N) (L/N), the new Junior Partner.” I smile at her before turning back to the associate I was talking to. “Gosh, sorry! I never asked your name?”

“You were going to confess murder to me, and you didn’t even know my name?” His brows furrow and I roll my eyes jokingly.

“I needed a confidante!” I joke though it’s not really a joke. “Trust me, I’ve had a really odd first day.” I turn to Rachel, “Though, I think I’ve found your replacement.” I return my gaze to the kid. “Sorry it didn’t work out; I’ve just met my match.” I shrug and nod towards my office, Rachel follows behind me as I walk in.

She giggles behind me. “His name is Mike by the way.” I sit in my new, cool chair and let out an exasperated sigh. I motion her to sit across from me. “I’m not a counselor, by the way, but I totally support a girl who needs a quick rant sesh.” She jokingly grabs a writing pad from atop my desk and clicks a pen that was formerly behind her ear. “And, trust me, you are way better off with me than Mike.”

I smile at her thankfully. She says nothing but nods her head, waiting for me to start talking. I groan dramatically and slouch in my chair. “Rachel- you wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to go through today!” She’s already writing on her pad. “My ex who I haven’t seen since law school is my office neighbor-”

Her pen drops from her hand, and she looks deep into my eyes as if making sure what I’m about to say is nothing but the absolute truth. “Harvey?” I nod and hide behind my hands. “Oh. My. God.” She breathes out in shock.

“Well, technically, we were never boyfriend-girlfriend,” she gives me a questioning look, “but we did kiss and go on dates.”

“So, boyfriend girlfriend?” She questioned and I could tell she got it.

“Exactly! But someone doesn’t like labels or commitment or head apparently.” I huff and sink deeper into my chair. When we were together, Harvey and I had the occasional heated make out, but had only just started having sex before we broke it off.

I look back to Rachel and her mouth is still wide open. “W-Well…” Her eyes are everywhere but me. She fidgets with her fingers in her lap, and I feel like I’ve traumatized the poor girl.

“Rachel, I know you’re not a counselor, but I expected more than this.” I can’t help but laugh as she gawks. “Don’t tell me I need to go back to Mike!” I joke and put my hands on my desk to lift myself out of my seat.

“No!” She yells and throws her hands out in front of her, urging me to be seated once again. I freeze before plopping back in my seat. “Mike is Harvey’s personal associate, he’s like his right-hand man.”

My lips create an O. If I told Mike, there’s a good chance he would have told Harvey. “Well, it’s a good thing you saved me when you did.” I smile at her and let out a sad sigh. “I’m really glad you’re here. You and Donna are gonna be my girls, I can tell.”

“Oh, Donna is the best.” She stops and winces before she continues, “She is also Harvey’s right-hand woman.” I let out an exasperated groan. “But! She’s all girl code! You can absolutely trust her so long as you’re not conspiring against Harvey… probably even then too.” I stand from my desk and move to her seat while giving her arm an appreciative squeeze.

“Thank you, Rachel. I’m super happy I get to work with you.” I pull her into a hug that she’s not prepared for which is evident when she lets out a squeak. She pats my arm awkwardly.

I get through the rest of the day, just getting adjusted to the system the company uses and setting up passwords for mandatory accounts. Only when it’s pitch back outside am I interrupted.

I sense someone at my office door, someone I’ve been expecting. “Ms. Pearson.” I smile but don’t look up from my computer. I’m not surprised by her dropping in.

“Ms. (L/N).” She greets back. I wait for her to continue but there is silence. My quick fingers slow their typing, and I look up at her, but she’s already looking at me expectantly. “Spill.”

I’m about to act like I have no idea what she’s talking about, but it’s like she reads my mind. She raises her hand to stop the lies I’m about to spew and squints her eyes. Scary. “I know him.”

“Well that much is obvious.” She glides to my desk before perching on the edge and crossing her arms. “But why were your reactions to each other so… hostile?” Her expression evolves from confusion to intrigue.

“I don’t know if I’d call it hostile…” Her expression doesn’t waver, and I cave. I can’t help but spill every secret I have when she looks at me like that. “…but I swear, when I applied for this job, I had no idea he worked here.” I finished my story out of breath and worried about what she would think of me and my character.

“Hm.” She thinks for a minute before standing. “Hm.” Again, she hums in thought before briskly walking out of the room. My mind is racing but there’s also not a rational thought.

I walk into the firm the next day wearing another pink top, this one more pastel. I refuse to cower down, especially to Harvey.

“Good morning!” I say to just about every associate in the bullpen. When I finally reach Mike, my smile grows tenfold. “’ Morning, you.”

He pulls out one of his earbuds. “Still don’t know my name?” He asks playfully but doesn’t look up from his computer.

“Mike,” I speak. He nods but still won’t look at me. If this is Harvey’s right-hand man, I need to be on good terms with him, and maybe get some info, too. “So, you work for Mr. Specter?” I try to be nonchalant while getting information. He stops clicking at his computer and gives me a weird look. “What?”

“Mr. Specter?” He pulls his only earbud from his ear and leans back in his chair. “That’s awfully formal.” I don’t like this. He gives me a quizzical look before he comes to some sort of realization. “That’s why you guys were so weird yesterday…”

“What?” I can feel myself start sweating and my voice is at least two, maybe three pitches higher than before. “We weren’t weird-that’s a weird thing to say- you’re weird.” I huff and can tell he’s not buying it. “Ugh, how obvious was it?”

He ignores my question. “How do you know him? One night stand?” I can’t help but grimace at the thought, “No? Oh, you must be the girl from France.” A pang of unexplainable hurt goes through my chest. He’s not mine, never was actually, it’s pointless for me to feel- “Jealous.” His eyes widen, “You loved him.”

My throat tightens and my mouth runs dry. “You have some nerve.” I fight to keep my voice level. “When you’re done making assumptions about me, and being an overall smartass, see me in my office.” I walk away from him.

I pull out my phone, contacting Louis to tell him I’m in the office so he can come talk to me about what duties would be passed on to me. As I do so, I see a figure out of the corner of my eye right outside my office door. One that’s awfully Harvey shaped.

I stop texting to make sure my eyes aren’t failing me. Sure enough, Harvey is leaned against the glass wall that separates me from the bullpen. In his hand is a drink carrier with what looks to be two hot coffees. He’s wearing a navy-blue suit and a… pastel pink tie that matches my shirt to a T.

He looks at me and pulls his body from the wall. His face is unsure, not very Harvey-like. “’ Morning.” He extends his arm with the coffee in it towards me. I can smell the delectable caramel macchiato that he knows I love. I eye the cup suspiciously, and then I eye him suspiciously.

“’ Morning.” I take the coffee and look at the familiar label. It was no Starbucks, that’s for sure. No, this coffee was from Samson’s Brewery. The same mom-and-pop coffee shop that we would go to during late night study sessions. This coffee place is on the literal whole other side of town, he didn’t go out of his way for this… did he? No, he definitely either door-dashed it or sent a driver.

His eyes don’t leave my face as I inspect the beverage. Once I deduce it’s not poisoned, I look up at him. For the first time since seeing him, I’m not a panicked mess. I just look at him, his gelled hair and puppy dog eyes. I’m staring. I avert my gaze and mutter a, “Thanks,” before pushing past him into my office.

I stop myself from closing the door behind me. He won’t. He won’t walk in. I sit in my chair and put the coffee on my desk. I stare at it intently, trying not to remember the late nights we spent together. But I also stare at it, so I don’t look at the door, so I don’t look to see if he’s still there.

There are three quick knocks at my door. I look up with hope I can’t mask, only to be disappointed. “Hey, girly.” It’s Louis. I look over his shoulder, but there’s no one.

“G’morning, Louis.” I smile through the pain. “How are you doing?” I side-eye the coffee on my desk like it’ll disappear if I leave it alone too long.

“Same old, same old, I just convinced a major pharmacy company that they needed to break a deal with…” He drones on for a little bit, bragging to me about accomplishments I could do in my sleep. “But, anyway! I came to tell you about the workload you’ll be taking on. Seeing as Harvey is the closest Senior Partner on the floor, you’ll be shadowing him for the next few days. Just until you think you’re ready to fly solo.” He says that like it’s nothing, and I guess it would be for anyone else.

“So, like an associate?” My face scrunches up. “Why can’t I just shadow you, then? Aren’t you in charge of the associates?” I cross my arms.

He chuckles. “I wish, but we’re both Junior Partners, for the time being-” He winks at me. Poor guy, I’m sure he’s been waiting to be Senior Partner for a while. “So, you technically need trained by a Senior Partner.”

“Great.” I have a tight-lipped smile and unconsciously reach for the coffee on my desk. I bring it up to my lips and hum at the nostalgic taste before I even realize I’ve done it. I stop mid-sip and lick my lips guiltily.

“What coffee place is that from?” Louis gets closer and squints at my cup. When he doesn’t recognize it, he pulls away. “The best coffee around is Roaster-Roos right down the way,” He uses his thumb to point over his shoulder. A coy look flashes across his face, “I could go get you one if you want.”

“No. No, this is fine, thank you.” I say a little too quickly. I hold the cup closer to my chest and grip it a little tighter. He shrugs and I clear my throat, “When does this shadowing begin?”

“ASAP.” He snaps and turns his back to me to walk out the door. “Harvey’s in the office right next to yours,” He pivots outside the door to face me again. “He’s kind of cocky, so let me know if you need anything.” He smiles with raised eyebrows. I nod hesitantly in discomfort before he goes to the left and disappears from sight. A long exhale leaves my body. “Why me?”

#harvey specter #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter x reader smut #x reader #friends to enemies to lovers #suits #suits x reader #harvey spector x reader #harvey spector #angst #fluff #romance

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mrs-elsie-barnes · 7 months ago

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Mob Rules - Playtime with Thor

Playtime | Thor x Reader | 2.4k words

When you and Thor make an early exit while waiting for the boss' meeting to be over, he suggests a little playtime.

Warnings: 18+ AU with d/s themes, open relationship/free use. Semi-public sex (in car), use of butt plug, cockwarming, cum marking/creampie, anal, anal play. Little bit of Stucky x Reader at the end. Rated S for smut and F for filth.

Masterlist | Mob Rules | Poly Fics |Bucky | Steve

It was boring, worse than boring, mindless, endless, the food terrible, the conversation none existent. You gave a petulant sigh, tapping your manicured nails against the side of your crystal champagne flute.

You turned to Thor, one of two bodyguards assigned to you by Sir and Sarge, and rolled your eyes. He was your designated escort for this a formal tea party held by one of the gang’s latest business associates and while the garden was very beautiful and the sun lovely and warm, you were still endlessly bored. At least you got to spend more time with Thor though, you hadn’t had a chance to spend much time with him yet, one on one, you were mostly occupied with Sir and Sarge, although they were starting to allow the other gang members to approach you.

In fact, you’d slept in Andy’s bed last night, a congratulatory prize for the lawyer after getting one of the dealers off a minor charge the day before. Andy was gentle, but firm, and you’d slept well afterwards, waking naturally when the sun came streaming through the windows. Naturally, but alone. There were normally so many people around that you hardly got a moment to yourself so, enjoying the luxury of privacy, you took a long hot shower before heading back to your own room.

As soon as you opened the door you knew that Sir and Sarge had already been looking for you. Your bed was still neatly made, but your clothes for the day were placed on the end of the comforter. A light blue summer dress, strappy heels and matching lace underwear. They always knew just what to pick to make your day.

Sir and Sarge had left instructions for you to dress and join them in the garage for 1pm, ready for this ridiculous attempt at a tea party, and had left a discrete black box alongside your dress. Inside was a small silicone butt plug, bright pink and very soft as well as a new tube of lube. Excitedly you’d dressed in all your new gifts and clenched your legs together, waiting for something to happen. You were sure from the bluetooth symbol on the side that they had some wicked plan to toy with you during the day. But nothing happened.

Thor caught your eye again and you gave your secret signal to leave, standing politely and excusing yourself until you were out of ear shot.

It felt good having Thor following you through the garden and into the courtyard of the mansion. He was huge, taller even that Sir and Sarge, with dark blonde hair that fell about his shoulders. Despite his muscular stature he had a friendly, welcoming, face that had instantly put you at ease when you were introduced. That, alongside his booming laugh, made you think he must have been some sort of jovial god in another life.

Thor walked half a pace behind you, head swivelling to make sure no one was following, or watching, who shouldn’t be. Half of his hair was in a messy bun, the rest looked stuck to his neck, the day was so hot you were desperate for the cool of the air conditioned car.

“God, that was shit, can we go home now?” You whined as soon as you were out of earshot, and Thor gave a low chuckle in answer.

“Not yet, Bambi, the bosses still have some work to do.” He laughed but it was indulgent and kind. If you were bored he must have been falling asleep, stood watching without taking part.

“But I’m bored,” you pouted up at him while he opened your car door, looking around once more before following you into the dim interior of the limousine.

“Good job I brought something to entertain you then,” he smirked and, suddenly, you remembered the plug.

His face lit with a smile at the same time your eyes widened, “that was from you, wasn’t it?”

“Correct,” he pulled his phone from his pocket and flicked through the apps, grin widening and finger dragging up the screen. You squirmed, shocked, as the plug began to vibrate. The feeling shot through you instantly, your body going slack and giving in to the pleasure.

“Does that feel good, Bambi?” His voice dropped lower, a rich, rolling tone, still a lilt of his Australian accent despite years spent in Brooklyn.

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, biting your bottom lip and digging your fingernails into the leather of your seat.

Thor watched the expression on your face change, the plug was exciting, it had your skin prickling with need, but it wasn’t quite enough. He kept his eyes trained on yours as you began grinding into the seat beneath you, slipping a hand up your thigh -

“No. Don’t touch yet. I’ve had to watch you for so long, I want you to wait too.”

He reached forward and tugged you into him, arranging your legs on either side of his hips until your wet panties were plastered against his growing cock. It felt wonderful between your legs, pressing into your wet folds and aching clit.

Thor’s hands found your waist and allowed you to circle your hips just once, searching for friction, before he lifted you again.

“Need some help, Bambi?” He smirked, confident and cocksure, “be a good girl and ask for it.” With one hand he kept a tight hold of your waist, with the other he freed his cock, the head bobbing through the black material of his trousers and leaving a trail of precum.

Since moving in with Sir and Sarge you had yet to see a dick you didn’t love, even if you had only been allowed to sample a very select few. Every one was different, delicious, filling in their own right, and Thor’s was no exception. You were sure your fingertips wouldn’t touch if you tried to grasp him, the shaft thick and heavy, tapering slightly to the flushed head. You wanted it, now, inside you, stretching you, the perfect match to the insistent buzzing of the plug in your hole.

“Please, Thor, please can I have your cock?” You wanted to look at him, you really did, you knew the sort of manners expected of you as the gang’s girlfriend, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from the swollen head of his cock. “Plug me up, fill me up, please?”

He let out a deep, rough, laugh and squeezed himself harder, milking a single drop of precum from the tip that slowly pearled and fell down the length of his shaft. You squirmed, letting out an embarrassing mewl.

The plug stopped and you balled up your fists in frustration at the total lack of stimulation. Throwing caution to the wind, you lifted yourself and rubbed your pussy against him, dipping down enough to tease the head over your covered entrance, pushing against the fabric.

“So needy,” he commented, more to himself than to you, his own gaze was locked on your thighs, straddling his own, the sheen of your arousal making them slick, and his cock, disappearing between them and under your dress. You bunched it up further, holding the skirt with one hand and using the other to grip his shirt for leverage.

“Please,” you pouted, batting your eyelashes.

“Fine, you can sit on it.” He conceded, pushing your panties to one side, and allowing you to slowly lower yourself, inch by inch, his cock getting wider, the stretch a burn that had you begging for more, bouncing slowly until you were fully seated.

You dropped your dress in favour of dipping your fingers between your legs and feeling the way he’d stretched you, pushing up on your lower stomach.

“The bosses were right, you do feel like heaven.” He observed, cupping your cheeks, “you sit tight -” he winked, “and I’ll turn your little toy back on for you.”

Your mouth dropped into a surprised ‘o’ as the vibrations started again, stronger this time. With Thor’s cock buried so deep the plug pressed even harder against your walls, vibrating into your pussy as well.

You circled your hips, attempting to press your clit to the cold belt of Thor’s trousers, but he held you firm, slightly away from his body.

With a smirk he slid his hand under your dress and pressed his thumb to your clit, a deep insistent pressure.

“Please.” You begged, eyes wide.

“Let’s see how long it takes you to cum like that.” He leant back and spread his arms over the seats.

“Thor, that’s not fair.” You moaned, the sensations too overwhelming to form any more of an argument, though you could tell that he was struggling too by the way his jaw was clenched.

Despite his lack of movement you could feel the coil of your pleasure tightening, your walls clamping down on his and your hole squeezing the plug deeper.

“Thor -” you whined, trying to move again but finding hands on your hips again, holding you down on his cock, impossibly deep and with no escape. You could barely twitch, your hands fisted so tightly in his shirt that it pulled against his muscled chest, the buttons straining.

“Come on my cock, Bambi, let me feel that little pussy and then I’ll give you my cum.” His eyes met yours focussed and unrelenting, his body remaining still despite your efforts to writhe and rub yourself.

Your orgasm hit you all the harder, the pulsing of your walls and clit were relentless with no respite from the feel of him, no push or pull just the feeling of being entirely full. Thor continued to smirk, brushing one long lock of blonde hair behind his ear before lifting you and spinning you around, pushing you over until your hands hit the floor.

Embarrassment flooded you. From this position he had full access to you, he’d be able to see the way your hole still greedily gripped the neck of the plug, pulling it in and out as your orgasm faded. He’d be able to see the drip of your own arousal as it spilled from between your puffy lips, and he wouldn’t be able to see your face, he didn’t need to after all, you were just a toy now, easily tossed about for him to use.

“Such a good fucking girl, aren’t you Bambi, so sweet, bet neither of the bosses ever put you in this position did they?” He brought a large hand down to smack the globe of your ass, it stung, but you couldn’t help the flood of arousal either. “I’m gonna use your little holes and then I’m going to plug you back up so you don’t forget that you belong to all of us.” He growled, “you took too long to come to me, Bambi, I won’t want this long again.”

You felt him move and then the solid weight of his cock against your lips, but he didn’t thrust in. Instead you could feel his hand as he moved it up and down his cock at pace, his knuckles catching on your clit and making you cry out. And then he was tugging at the plug, pulling it from your hole with an obscene pop and replacing it with the head of his cock. With as much energy as you could muster you tried to move backwards, but he didn’t give you anymore, just the wide head keeping you open. For a moment you wondered why he’d stopped, and then he gave a guttural groan and you felt the hot splash of cum painting you from the inside.

He picked up the plug, the silicone rolling in the cleft of your ass cheeks briefly before he began to tease it in again -

“Well, well, well.” The door to the limousine opened, flooding the dark space with light. You couldn’t see, but you could tell by the polished shoes that slid past you that Sarge and Sir had finished their meeting. “What’s going on here?” Sarge asked.

“Thor was -”

“Not you, Bambi. We only want to hear you make those pretty little noises.” Sir snapped.

“Just having some play time, boss, Bambi was bored, weren’t you sweetheart?” Thor laughed, plunging the plug in and you groaned again, grateful to have the toy back inside even if it wasn’t buzzing.

Sarge hummed, “sounded fun, mind if we join in?” He didn’t wait for an answer before your world was spinning again, still on the floor you were now at least face up, looking up into Sarge’s twinkling eyes.

“You good down there, Bambi?” He asked, smoothing his hands across your arse and down past your pussy. His thumbs rubbed your lips teasingly.

“Yes, thank you, Sarge.”

He laughed, “you like being full of cum, do you? We’d better give you some more then.” The tent in his trousers was unmistakable, how long had they been listening to you?

Sarge removed the plug, wiping it on the handkerchief from his top pocket before putting it in your mouth, “you keep that warm like the good slut you are, because it’s going right back in when we’re finished with you.”

Sarge began to stroke himself slowly, rubbing and cupping your pussy with one hand until you were mewling again, your begging muffled around the toy.

“Should gag her more often,” Sir said, sliding along the bench seat to be closer, his own cock rock hard and dribbling precum.

Thor, though he’d tucked himself away, was pressing his heel to his crotch again, unsure if he’d be in trouble or not, and that thought alone had you desperate for one of them to fuck you. Being caught had been a lot more exhilarating than you’d thought it would be.

“Move, gonna cum.” Sir pushed against Sarge and grabbed one of your thighs, pushing it back until you were almost bent in half, your hole gaping slightly without the plug to cling to. Like Thor, Sir pressed his head into your hole and came with a grunt, thrusting a little before pulling back pushing the cum in with his fingers. “Shit,” he panted. “Fill ‘er up, Buck.”

Sir angled you back towards Sarge just in time for him to push inside, thrusting as he came until he was bent over you, fucking his way through his orgasm. You cried out as his hips rubbed against your clit perfectly, sparking new pleasure through your whole body.

“Good girl,” he moaned, “good fucking girl.” His eyes were glazed when he pulled back, plucking the plug from your mouth and pushing it back in easily. “Fuck, that was a good idea Thor. Wonder how many she could take before it starts coming out again.”

Sir and Thor laughed while you gazed up at them. You weren’t sure you could manage everyone without getting to cum at least one more time, but you would certainly try!

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