#does this count as pt...i mean they show up in it....

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every life ࿐‧₊ worst logan - imperfect for you pt.2

chapter summary: You and Laura find yourselves in the void. A few months later, Wade—who claims to be from your universe, and a different Logan appear with a way out.

word count: 13.7k+ (31k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: alright! this is the second part... to the second part. all the warnings/tags are the same! and take this as your warning-this is split in two parts! it's too long for tumblr to fit in one post!

(also, i know that it's 10 pm est, but i felt like i had to put this out now after watching lady gaga and bruno mars' performance at the grammy's)

warnings/tags: canon to 'deadpool and wolverine', black widow!reader, worst!logan, laura calls reader mom, violence, heavy angst, detached!reader, loverboy!logan, slow burn, fluff, wade wilson interruption, happy ending, not proofread

series masterlist - part 2

You had been to Italy a few times, never of course to see the sights. But Logan insisted, not caring that the mission was over and the two of you were supposed to be going back to the mansion.

“C’mon,” he murmured against your lips, pressing another chaste kiss against them. “I’ll show you around.”

"Do you even know where we’re goin’?" you asked, raising a skeptical brow as Logan laced his fingers through yours, tugging you along the cobblestone streets of Rome.

"’Course I do," he muttered, but the way his eyes flicked between the street signs said otherwise.

You smirked, leaning into his side. "Uh-huh. So, what’s the plan? Wander around aimlessly ‘til we find somethin’ interesting?"

"Pretty much," he admitted, bringing your joined hands up to press a kiss against your knuckles. "Not like we’re in a rush."

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Charles is gonna kill us when we get back."

Logan scoffed. "What’s he gonna do? Give me a disapproving look? Put me in time-out?" He squeezed your hand. "C’mon, darlin’. When’s the last time we had a real vacation?"

You exhaled, looking around. The warm glow of streetlights reflected off the damp stone, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread and espresso. It was peaceful. Normal.

You nudged him with your shoulder. "You’re lucky I like you."

He smirked. "Damn right I am." Logan leaned in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Plus, it helps I got a girl who can speak Italian."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. "Yeah? And how exactly does that help you?"

Logan squeezed your hand, guiding you through the winding streets. "Means I don’t gotta fumble my way through orderin’ dinner."

You snorted. "So that’s why you’re keeping me around? For food?"

"Pretty much," he said, smirking. "That and the company."

You hummed, pretending to consider. "Could’ve just hired a translator."

Logan stopped walking, turning to face you with that look—the one that made your stomach flip, the one that told you he was serious even when his words weren’t. "Don’t need a translator. Need you."

Your breath hitched, but you covered it with a scoff, nudging him playfully. But before you could get out a word he spoke again.

“Let’s get married.”

You blinked at Logan, unsure if you’d heard him right. “What?”

Logan didn’t flinch. He just stood there, watching you with that same calm intensity he always had. “Let’s get married.”

A laugh escaped you, unbidden, half incredulous, half breathless. “You drunk already?”

Logan smirked. “Not yet.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms. “Logan—”

“I’m serious.” He stepped closer, taking your hands in his. “I know you know about the damn ring.”

Your breath hitched.

You did know.

You’d found it once, hidden away in his things. A simple gold band, unassuming, well-worn. You hadn’t asked about it at the time, but part of you had known—Logan didn’t keep things unless they mattered.

Your fingers curled around his. “You’ve had that ring for years.”

“Longer,” he admitted. “First time I met you, I bought it.”

Something in your chest tightened. “Logan.”

“I’ve lost a lot,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, rougher. “Too much. But you keep coming back to me. Life after life. And I keep finding you.”

Your throat felt tight. “This isn’t like the other times.”

Logan shook his head. “No. It ain’t. This time, I’m not gonna waste any more of it.”

You searched his face, looking for hesitation, doubt—anything that might tell you he was caught up in the moment. But there was nothing. Just certainty.

A quiet, stunned laugh escaped you. “You want to get married. Right now?”

“Why the hell not?” He grinned. “We got a whole city to ourselves. We’ve both seen enough shit to know waiting doesn’t always do us any favors.”

You exhaled, tilting your head. “You don’t even have the ring on you.”

Logan pulled his hand from yours, reached into his pocket, and held it up between his fingers. “You sure about that?”

Your heart nearly stopped.

“You carry it around?”

“Every damn day.”

You stared at him, at the way he was just standing there, so unshaken, so sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.

Maybe he had.

And maybe, just maybe, so had you.

“Alright,” you breathed. “Let’s do it.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head, laughing under your breath. “Let’s get married.”

---

The church was small—hidden in the quieter part of the city, far from the crowds of tourists. The old priest inside raised a brow when you and Logan walked in, but he didn’t ask many questions.

Logan held your hand the entire time, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin. When the priest asked if you were ready, Logan squeezed your fingers, just once.

Neither of you had vows prepared—there hadn’t been time for that. But you didn’t need them.

“You already know what you mean to me,” Logan murmured, slipping the ring onto your finger. “Don’t need words to prove it.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, looking down at the band that fit so perfectly. Then you looked back at him, that same familiar, stubborn, impossible man you had known for years.

You curled your fingers around his hand. “Good. Because I don’t have anything poetic either.”

Logan chuckled. “Don’t need poetic.”

You smiled, lifting your joined hands to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Then let’s just get to the part where they say we’re stuck with each other.”

Logan smirked. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The priest gave a small, amused shake of his head before speaking the final words. And just like that, it was done.

Married.

You turned to Logan, your new husband, and before he could say anything, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

He made a noise of surprise, but it didn’t take him long to catch up, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. His lips were warm, familiar, and when he broke away just enough to murmur against your mouth, his voice was thick with something you couldn’t name.

“’Bout damn time.”

You laughed, forehead resting against his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It is.”

Logan cupped your jaw, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re mine now.”

You smirked. “Always was.”

He kissed you again, and this time, neither of you were in any rush to pull away.

---

You woke up, not with a start, just a slow realization that it was a dream—a memory.

The ceiling fan above you spun in lazy circles, the dim morning light filtering through the blinds. The scent of saltwater lingered in the air, mixing with the faintest trace of lemon cleaner from Laura’s half-hearted attempt at tidying up the place. For a second, you could still feel Logan’s hand in yours, the weight of the ring on your finger, the warmth of his breath against your lips.

But it wasn’t real. Not anymore.

You exhaled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before pushing yourself up. The bed was too big, too empty. You swung your legs over the side, the cool floor grounding you in the present.

A quiet knock sounded at the door. “Mom?”

You sighed, rolling your shoulders before standing. “Yeah?”

Laura cracked the door open, already dressed, her sunglasses perched on top of her head. “You okay?”

You huffed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Why?”

Laura leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You were making that face again.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“The sad, I’m thinking about him again face.”

You snorted. “That’s not a thing.”

Laura shrugged. “Sure.”

Shaking your head, you moved past her and into the kitchen. “You eat?”

She grabbed an apple from the counter, biting into it as she hopped onto a stool. “Yeah. You?”

“Not yet.” You poured yourself a cup of coffee, the bitter scent filling the air.

Laura studied you for a second before speaking. “You had another dream, didn’t you?”

You took a sip of coffee before answering. “Maybe.”

Laura didn’t push, just nodded. “Was it a good one?”

Your fingers curled around the mug. “Yeah.”

She chewed her apple slowly, then said, “You think he ever dreamed about you?”

You swallowed, setting the mug down. “I know he did.”

Laura was quiet for a moment before hopping off the stool. “You wanna do something today? Beach, maybe?”

You glanced out the window at the waves rolling against the shore. The idea of a normal day, of pretending for just a little while longer, didn’t sound too bad. “Yeah. Beach sounds good.”

Laura nodded. “Cool. I’ll grab the towels.”

As she walked away, you let out a slow breath, staring at the coffee in your hands. The dream still clung to you, the weight of it settling deep in your chest.

You shook it off.

For now, there was the beach.

For now, there was Laura.

And for now, that was enough.

---

Logan exhaled, the cigarette between his fingers burning low. The Florida heat clung to him, sweat beading at the back of his neck as he leaned against the hood of his truck.

She was in there.

He knew her routine now—when she worked, when she shopped, when she left the house. He told himself he wasn’t stalking, that he was just waiting. But waiting for what, exactly? For her to acknowledge him? For her to let him in?

Wade had called him an idiot for sticking around. Said he was wasting his time. Maybe he was.

But maybe he wasn’t.

He took a slow drag, watching as a familiar car pulled out of the driveway. She was driving. Laura was in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, arms crossed, probably bitching about something.

Logan smirked.

He let the cigarette drop, crushing it under his boot as he pushed off the truck.

They weren’t running.

And as long as they weren’t running, he wasn’t leaving.

---

You stared at him, unabashedly. Something you only did when you were going to scold him for something.

“What?” Logan asked, turning to face you.

You crawled down the bed before sitting at the edge of it, chin in your hand, glasses slipping down your nose. “Why do you have to go to the bar? You could…”

Logan, who had just finished pulling his boots on, paused mid-motion. His brow lifted as he looked at you over his shoulder. “I could… what?”

You shrugged, pushing your glasses up absentmindedly. “I don’t know. Stay.”

Logan snorted, shaking his head as he grabbed his jacket. “What, and listen to Scott ramble about team-building exercises? No thanks.”

You huffed, tilting your head. “You could grade papers.”

He let out a short laugh, shrugging on his jacket. “Yeah, ‘cause that sounds like a real fun time.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back on your hands. “You wouldn’t have to grade them. You could just… be here.”

Logan’s movements slowed slightly as he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. He didn’t say anything right away, just stood there, like he was debating whether or not to argue. Then, with a sigh, he turned, arms crossed. “What’s this really about, Y/N?”

You hesitated, tapping your fingers against the blanket. “Nothing. Just thought maybe, for once, you wouldn’t leave as soon as classes were done.”

Logan studied you, his expression softening. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I just…” You trailed off, realizing how ridiculous you sounded. You weren’t clingy—at least, you didn’t think you were. But Logan was always leaving. Always heading off somewhere, whether it was a bar, a mission, or just to be alone. And even though you knew that was just the way he was, it didn’t mean you liked it.

Logan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Darlin’…”

“Never mind,” you said quickly, pushing yourself off the bed. “Forget I said anything.”

Logan caught your wrist before you could move past him, his grip firm but gentle. “Hey.” His voice was quieter now. “I didn’t mean—”

You shook your head, pulling your wrist free. “It’s fine, Logan. Go.”

His jaw clenched slightly, like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just stood there, watching as you walked past him.

You didn’t slam the door behind you, but you wanted to.

---

Logan woke up with a sharp inhale, the remnants of the dream lingering in his chest like a dull ache.

He stared at the ceiling, his breathing evening out as he tried to push the memory away. But it clung to him, heavy and persistent.

You weren’t her. And he wasn’t your Logan.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

With a grunt, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face before reaching for the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand.

He paused, staring at it for a long moment before setting it back down.

Outside, the Florida heat was already creeping in, the morning sun casting long shadows across the floor. He didn’t know what the hell he was still doing here.

But he wasn’t leaving.

Not yet.

---

The ocean breeze rolled in slow and steady, carrying the scent of salt and sunscreen as you leaned back against your towel. The Florida sun wasn’t unbearable, but it was warm enough to make you drowsy. Laura sat beside you, picking lazily at the label of her water bottle, her sunglasses shielding her eyes.

It had been a good day. The kind of day you never thought you’d have—normal, easy.

Until he showed up.

Laura was the first to notice. She didn’t say anything at first, just hummed softly before muttering, “He’s here.”

You frowned, not even opening your eyes. “Who?”

“Who do you think?”

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral as you cracked one eye open. Sure enough, Logan stood a few yards away, leaning against a wooden post near the boardwalk. He wasn’t looking directly at you—just gazing out at the water, arms crossed, the picture of casual indifference.

It was bullshit.

You sighed, rubbing your fingers against your temple. “He’s not gonna leave, is he?”

Laura took a slow sip of her water. “Nope.”

You sat up, adjusting your sunglasses as you shot him a glare. He still wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he knew you saw him.

Laura smirked. “You gonna say something, or just keep making angry faces at him?”

“I’m not making angry faces,” you muttered.

“You are.”

You ignored her, pushing yourself up. You dusted the sand off your legs before heading toward him, your steps slow and deliberate. Logan didn’t move until you were right in front of him. Only then did he glance down, his expression unreadable.

“You lost?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Logan smirked. “Nah. Just enjoyin’ the view.”

You scoffed. “Right.”

Silence stretched between you, the sound of waves crashing filling the space where words should have been. Logan shifted slightly, but he didn’t back off.

“You gonna keep following me?” you asked, your voice low.

Logan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Ain’t followin’ you, darlin’. Just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

You arched a brow. “Really? You just happened to be at this exact beach, at this exact moment?”

“Guess it’s my lucky day,” he drawled.

You clenched your jaw, debating if you should just turn around and walk away. But something about the way he was looking at you—calm, patient, stubborn as ever—made your skin prickle.

“You waiting for me to say something?” you asked.

Logan shrugged. “Figured you might.”

You inhaled sharply, taking a step closer. “I said goodbye, Logan. You’re the one who won’t let it go.”

His expression didn’t change. “Yeah, you said goodbye. I just didn’t listen.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, studying you. “I know enough.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

Before he could respond, Laura called out from behind you. “Are you done flirting, or should I come back later?”

Your head snapped toward her. “Laura.”

She just shrugged, completely unfazed. “What? I’m just saying.”

Logan smirked, and you turned back to him, pointing a finger at his chest. “Don’t.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk didn’t fade.

You huffed. “If you’re gonna keep hanging around, at least be useful and stay out of my way.”

Logan’s gaze flickered over you, something unreadable in his expression. Then, with an infuriating amount of ease, he said, “No promises.”

You clenched your fists, exhaling through your nose before turning sharply on your heel and walking back toward Laura.

She was still smirking when you sat down.

“Shut up,” you muttered.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

Laura leaned back on her elbows, tilting her head toward Logan. “You know, you could just talk to him like a normal person.”

You ripped open a bag of chips with more force than necessary. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

Laura hummed. “Then why’d you go over there?”

You froze mid-chew before shooting her a glare. “You are so grounded.”

Laura snorted. “Good luck enforcing that.”

You muttered something under your breath, throwing another glance at Logan, who was still standing in the same damn spot, watching the ocean like he had all the time in the world.

You hated how much it felt like he belonged there.

Laura smirked again, popping a chip into her mouth. “You’re gonna have to deal with this at some point, you know.”

You exhaled sharply. “Not today.”

“Yeah,” Laura murmured, staring at Logan. “We’ll see.”

---

It had been a week since the beach. Another week of pretending Logan wasn’t lurking in the background, watching but never interfering. Another week of Laura making way too many smug comments.

You ignored both of them.

Mostly.

Right now, you were more focused on getting home before the storm rolling in had the chance to flood the streets. Florida weather was unpredictable as hell—one minute sunny, the next a full-blown hurricane. The dark clouds overhead rumbled, lightning flashing in the distance as you pulled out of the school parking lot.

You had just turned onto the main road when the car jolted.

Then, the all-too-familiar thunk-thunk-thunk of a flat tire.

You let out a slow, controlled breath through your nose. “Of course.”

You pulled over onto the shoulder, gripping the wheel for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. This was fine. You could handle this.

The moment you stepped out, the humidity hit you like a wall. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of rain and asphalt. You crouched, assessing the damage. The back tire was completely shot, rubber torn to hell.

You sighed, pushing your hair away from your face. “Just needed one more week, you piece of shit,” you muttered, kicking the tire lightly before heading to the trunk for the spare.

A familiar rumble of an engine approached.

You froze for half a second before gritting your teeth.

Not even five minutes and he was here.

Logan’s truck slowed to a stop behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was already climbing out, probably looking all smug and self-satisfied.

“Need a hand?”

You exhaled through your nose before straightening up and turning to face him. “No.”

Logan tilted his head, hands on his hips as he looked from you to the tire. “You sure? ‘Cause that looks pretty fucked.”

“I got it,” you said, crossing your arms.

Logan nodded, clearly not convinced. He watched as you popped the trunk, grabbed the spare, and then crouched back down to remove the damaged tire. You worked quickly, efficiently—this wasn’t exactly your first time handling something like this.

Logan leaned against his truck, arms crossed. “Y’know, most people would just say ‘thanks.’”

You didn’t even glance at him. “Most people aren’t me.”

Logan smirked. “No argument there.”

You ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. A bolt was being stubborn, refusing to budge. You adjusted your grip, using more force—nothing.

Logan pushed off his truck, strolling over. “Want me to—”

You stood up, cutting him off. “I swear to God, Logan, if you—”

Thunder cracked overhead, and the sky opened up.

Within seconds, you were both drenched.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply as cold rain soaked through your clothes.

Logan exhaled a short laugh. “Well. That’s unfortunate.”

You snapped your head toward him, glaring. “Really?”

He smirked, completely unfazed by the downpour. “What? You don’t like the rain?”

You huffed, brushing wet hair from your face before crouching back down. “Just shut up and let me work.”

Logan didn’t. Instead, he crouched beside you, reaching for the stubborn bolt.

You swatted his hand away. “I said I got it.”

He just looked at you, unimpressed. “It’s rusted. You need more leverage.”

“I know that.”

Logan didn’t argue. He just waited.

You exhaled sharply before finally moving aside, just enough for him to take over.

With one sharp twist, the bolt loosened.

You clenched your jaw. “Show-off.”

Logan smirked. “You loosened it for me.”

You rolled your eyes, but together, the two of you worked in sync—removing the damaged tire, fitting the spare, tightening the bolts. It was quick, practiced, almost too easy.

By the time you finished, the rain had slowed, leaving the both of you completely soaked.

Logan stood, brushing water from his arms. “Could’ve just let me do the whole thing.”

You shut the trunk with more force than necessary. “Could’ve just driven past and minded your own damn business.”

Logan smirked. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

You glared at him, but before you could respond, another engine rumbled down the road.

A blue sedan slowed beside you. The passenger window rolled down, revealing an older woman with a concerned expression.

“Everything alright, dear?” she asked, eyes flicking between you and Logan.

You forced a polite smile. “Yeah, I—”

“She’s fine,” Logan interrupted.

You turned sharply toward him. “Excuse you?”

Logan ignored you, giving the woman a nod. “Just a flat. All good now.”

The woman hesitated, glancing at you again before nodding slowly. “Alright, if you’re sure. Stay safe.”

The moment she drove off, you turned to Logan, scowling. “What the hell was that?”

Logan shrugged. “What? You were fine.”

You threw your hands up. “And I couldn’t say that myself?”

Logan smirked. “You could’ve, but you were takin’ too long.”

You huffed, rubbing your temples. “You are insufferable.”

Logan grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

You took a slow breath, reining in your frustration. “Are we done here?”

Logan looked you over, still clearly amused. “Need me to follow you home? Just in case?”

“I’d rather drive off a bridge.”

“Bit dramatic, don’t ya think?”

You turned toward your car, muttering, “Go to hell, Logan.”

He chuckled, stepping back toward his truck. “I’ll see you around, darlin’.”

You didn’t respond, just slammed the driver’s door shut before pulling back onto the road.

When you glanced in the rearview mirror, Logan was still standing there, watching.

And damn it, you hated the way it made your chest tighten.

---

Laura was already sitting on the couch when you walked through the front door, damp clothes clinging to your skin, rain still dripping from your hair. She took one look at you—soaked, pissed off, barely holding yourself together—and sighed.

"You let him help, didn’t you?"

You dropped your keys on the counter with more force than necessary. "No."

Laura arched a brow.

You clenched your jaw, yanking open the fridge just to give yourself something to do. "Fine. Kind of."

Laura smirked. "Figured."

You grabbed a water bottle and shut the fridge, exhaling sharply. "He just happened to be there."

"Uh-huh."

You turned, leveling her with a glare. "Don’t start."

Laura held up her hands in mock surrender, but the amusement never left her face. "I’m just saying, for someone who wants him to leave, you sure make it easy for him to stick around."

You threw the water bottle onto the counter. "You think I want him here?"

Laura’s smirk faded slightly, her expression shifting into something more thoughtful. "I think you don’t know what you want."

That did it.

Your patience, already worn thin, snapped.

"You think I don’t know?" you shot back, voice rising. "You think this is easy? That I like having him in the background, watching, waiting, making me remember things I don’t want to remember?"

Laura blinked, caught off guard by the sudden outburst.

You ran a hand through your wet hair, pacing. "Do you know how hard I worked to move on? How hard I tried to build something—anything—that didn’t lead back to him? And now he’s here, and I can’t—" You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. "I won’t let him pull me back into it."

Laura’s brows pulled together, her voice quieter. "Mom—"

"No," you said, pointing at her. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like I’m the one making it complicated when he’s the one who won’t leave."

Laura’s jaw tightened. "Maybe he won’t leave because he actually gives a shit."

"That’s not the point!"

"Then what is the point?" she snapped, standing now. "That he’s not our Logan? That he’s not your Logan?"

You flinched.

Laura shook her head. "You keep acting like he’s a ghost, but he’s not. He’s here. And you can keep pretending it doesn’t matter, but it does. He does."

Your chest tightened. "He’s not the man I married."

"No," Laura said, her voice quieter but no less firm. "But he’s still Logan."

Silence.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a vice.

Laura let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know you miss him."

Your throat burned. "It doesn’t matter."

"It does."

You shook your head, turning away. "I need to shower."

"Mom—"

"I need to shower, Laura."

She didn’t argue this time. She just watched as you walked toward the bathroom, your legs heavier with every step.

When the door clicked shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, squeezing your eyes shut.

You could still hear his voice in your head, feel the warmth of his hands on yours, see the way he used to look at you—like you were the only thing keeping him steady.

And now he was here. Not your Logan. Not the man you’d built a life with. But Logan all the same.

Laura was right.

But that didn’t mean you were ready to face it.

---

You grunted as you pulled again, trying to unlodge the stubborn screw. “Stupid. Fucking—” A warm hand enveloped yours, you didn’t need to turn around to know who’s. “I got it, kotik.”

He hummed, not condescending, but like he knew you did. “I know. Just lemme help.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose but didn’t fight him when his hand covered yours, his other gripping the wrench. With barely any effort, he turned it, the stubborn screw finally giving way with a sharp creak.

You scowled. “I had it.”

Logan smirked, setting the wrench down. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You huffed, swiping your arm across your forehead, smudging a bit of grease in the process. Logan caught it, his thumb brushing the mark off before you could duck away. His touch lingered, his eyes scanning your face.

“What’s wrong?”

You scoffed, grabbing a rag to wipe your hands. “It was the damn screw you just unlodged.”

Logan’s brow twitched. “Try again.”

You sighed, rolling your shoulders, the tension refusing to ease. “It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t ask if it was nothing,” he said, arms crossing. “Asked what’s wrong.”

You hesitated, gripping the rag tighter before exhaling. “Scott’s just… piling things on me. Ororo asked me to help out more with the kids during training, which I want to do, but then Scott starts throwing his bullshit at me too. Paperwork, scheduling, grading tests that he’s supposed to be handling." You shook your head. "And now, apparently, I’m also in charge of making sure half the team doesn’t set themselves on fire in the Danger Room.”

Logan nodded slowly. “That all?”

Your jaw clenched. “No.”

He waited, saying nothing. Just watching.

You groaned, tossing the rag onto the workbench. “It’s everything. The mansion, the missions, the meetings—God, the meetings. I swear, if I have to sit through another three-hour debate about whether the Blackbird should have a different paint job, I’m gonna throw myself off the roof.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer. “Y’know, you could just tell ‘em to go to hell.”

You snorted. “Yeah, and then Scott would really make my life miserable.”

Logan’s hand found your waist, his grip warm and steady. “Then let me do it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, that would go over great. You storming into a meeting, claws out, telling Summers where to shove his clipboard.”

Logan grinned. “Tempting.”

You sighed, finally leaning into him. “I’m just tired, kotik.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “I know.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His hand traced slow circles against your lower back, grounding you. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the quiet hum of the mansion in the distance—it was enough to make you forget the stress, just for a second.

“You should tell him no,” Logan murmured.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “And what? Let the entire school burn down?”

His lips twitched. “Not our problem.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “You say that, but we both know you’d be the first one running in if it did.”

Logan’s smirk softened. “Maybe.”

You sighed, resting your forehead against his chest. “I hate when you’re right.”

“Lucky for you, it ain’t often.”

You smiled against his shirt, letting the exhaustion slip away—at least for now.

---

You woke up to the sound of waves crashing outside, your chest tight, your skin too warm.

For a moment, you forgot where you were. You expected the distant hum of the mansion, the smell of Logan’s aftershave, the warmth of his body beside you.

But the bed was empty. The room was quiet.

And Logan was gone.

You swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling.

It was just a dream.

Just a memory.

And that’s all it would ever be.

---

The day passed in a blur. You went through the motions—teaching gym class, keeping the kids in line, pretending like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t spent the entire morning haunted by a dream that wasn’t just a dream.

Like Logan hadn’t found you.

You’d seen him again after work. He wasn’t trying to hide this time. He leaned against his truck, arms crossed, watching from across the parking lot. Not approaching. Not leaving. Just waiting.

And it pissed you off.

Laura wasn’t home when you got back. Probably at the beach or grabbing food. You had a few hours to yourself, time to think, time to breathe—

A knock at the door cut through the silence.

You stared at it.

Another knock. Louder this time.

You already knew who it was.

Jaw clenched, you walked over and yanked the door open, grip tight on the handle.

Logan stood there, his expression unreadable. “Hey.”

You didn’t hesitate. “No.”

His brow furrowed. “No?”

You stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind you. “No. Whatever the hell you think you’re doing? No.”

Logan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Ain’t here to start a fight, darlin’.”

“Then why are you here?” you snapped, crossing your arms. “Because if you think I’m just gonna let you hover around like some stray, you’re dead wrong.”

Logan’s jaw flexed. “I just wanna talk.”

“And say the same goddamn bullshit? Here’s the thing,” you gripped the collar of his leather jacket tightly, pulling him slightly closer to you. “I don’t fucking care.”

Logan didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

Your fingers curled tighter around his jacket, the leather warm beneath your grip. “You think this is romantic? You think tailing me for months, showing up at my fucking door, is gonna make me change my mind?” You shoved him back—hard. He barely stumbled. “I don’t care what you have to say, Logan.”

His jaw clenched. “Yeah? Then why’d you open the door?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Because I knew you wouldn’t leave if I didn’t.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not here to fight with you.”

“Then what the hell do you want?” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the humid night air.

He dropped his hand, looking at you like the answer was obvious. “I want to know why you’re lyin’ to yourself.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Logan, get over yourself.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about me,” he shot back. “I’m talkin’ about you.”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms. “I told you—”

“No, you haven’t,” Logan interrupted, stepping closer. “You keep pushin’ me away, but you ain’t sayin’ why.”

“Because I don’t owe you a fucking reason,” you snapped.

Logan studied you, his gaze slow, careful. “It’s ‘cause of him, ain’t it?”

Your stomach twisted, but your expression didn’t falter. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” he murmured. “The Logan you lost. The one that was yours.”

Your breath hitched.

Logan’s voice was quieter now, steady but rough. “That’s why you’re runnin’, why you won’t let yourself stop. ‘Cause you think if you do, you’re betrayin’ him.”

You hated how easily he saw through you.

Your throat felt tight, but you forced out a scoff. “You don’t know shit, Logan.”

“I know grief.” His voice was low, weighted. “I know what it does to you. How it makes you feel like movin’ on is some kinda sin.”

You looked away, jaw tight.

“I also know,” he continued, “that it don’t go away. Don’t matter how far you run, how many times you try to start over.” His tone softened, just slightly. “It stays with you. But it don’t mean you gotta stay buried with it.”

Your hands trembled. You curled them into fists to stop it.

“Look at me,” Logan said.

You didn’t.

A rough sigh, then—you felt it. His hand, warm, familiar, pressing against the side of your face. You stiffened, but he didn’t force it, just let his thumb brush against your cheek.

“Darlin’,” Logan murmured. “I ain’t askin’ you to forget him.”

You swallowed hard.

“I just don’t want you to forget yourself.”

Your breath hitched.

You wanted to shove him away again. Wanted to punch him. Wanted to yell and tell him he was wrong.

But the worst part? He wasn’t.

And you fucking hated him for it.

Your eyes stung, but you refused to let them fall.

Finally, you forced yourself to move, pulling back, breaking the contact. “Go home, Logan.”

Logan didn’t move.

You inhaled sharply. “I mean it.”

He studied you for a long moment before nodding once. “Alright.”

Then—he stepped back, hands in his pockets. But he didn’t turn around. Didn’t leave.

Not yet.

His gaze lingered on you, something unreadable in it.

Then, quieter, rougher—

“I’ll see you around.”

You didn’t answer.

And this time, when he walked away—you didn’t watch him go.

---

He could tell you weren’t fully asleep, nor fully awake, when he got back. The lamp on your bedside table was still on, but your glasses were neatly folded on top of your book.

“Hmm? Logan?”

He slipped off his boots and pulled off his shirt before sliding in behind you, gently pushing your shoulder down so you wouldn’t get up. “Yeah. ‘S me.”

"It’s 2 in the morning." Your voice was quiet, thick with sleep. "You’ve been comin’ home later."

Logan exhaled through his nose, running a hand down his face as he settled onto the bed beside you. His body was still warm from the whiskey, the buzz clinging to the edges of his thoughts. He didn’t answer right away, just reached over and turned off your lamp, leaving only the soft glow of the nightlight in the corner.

You shifted, turning onto your side to face him. Even in the dim light, he could see your eyes—heavy with exhaustion but still watching him, still waiting. You always waited.

For months now, you had tried to get him to stay. At first, you asked outright, voice soft but certain—"Stay tonight?" And when that didn’t work, you tried coaxing, offering quiet conversation, little distractions, your presence alone.

Then, when that didn’t work either, it became this.

Half-asleep murmurs. The lingering hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d come home early for once.

But he never did.

"Yeah," Logan muttered, shifting onto his back. "Got caught up."

You huffed, barely a sound, but he felt it more than heard it. "You always do."

Logan stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. He could feel the weight of your gaze on him, the way you were waiting for him to say something—anything—to ease the ache in your chest. But he didn’t. Because he didn’t know how.

The silence stretched between you.

Then, quietly, you spoke again. "You don’t have to go every night."

Logan swallowed, his throat dry. He could lie, say it wasn’t about the bar, say he just needed the air. But you weren’t stupid. You knew what he was doing, why he kept his distance even when he was right here beside you.

So he didn’t say anything at all.

After a beat, you sighed and turned over, your back to him. A clear dismissal.

Logan closed his eyes, listening to the quiet sound of your breathing as you drifted off.

It wasn’t always like this.

At the start, you stayed up for him. You’d wait in the library, curled up with a book, or in the kitchen with tea, pretending you just happened to be awake. You used to smile when he walked in, small and tired but warm. You’d ask how his night was, even when you knew he wouldn’t answer properly.

And then, when you realized nothing changed, you started waiting in bed instead. Eyes heavy but open, glasses slipping down your nose, always murmuring some half-asleep greeting before reaching for him.

Now? Now you barely waited at all.

Logan exhaled, turning his head to look at you. You were already asleep.

Something settled deep in his chest—heavy, uncomfortable.

This wouldn’t last.

You wouldn’t wait forever.

And for the first time, the thought of losing you—of pushing you too far—felt a hell of a lot worse than whatever he was trying to drown at the bottom of a bottle.

---

Logan’s eyes snapped open.

For a second, he was disoriented, still caught in the haze of the dream—no, the memory. He could still feel the warmth of you beside him, still hear your voice, soft and tired, asking him to stay.

But when he blinked, the bedroom was gone.

No mansion. No soft lamp glow.

Just the inside of his truck, the Florida heat creeping in through the cracked window.

Logan let out a slow breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. His body was tense, jaw clenched so tight it ached. The dream had been too real—too damn vivid.

He reached for the flask in the cupholder, unscrewing the cap with steady fingers. He didn’t drink from it. Just held it.

The memory had felt like a lifetime ago. Because it was—but not his. Not this Logan’s.

It was hers.

The woman who wasn’t his Y/N but still had the same voice, the same eyes, the same way of looking at him like he was something worth waiting for.

Except this time?

She wasn’t waiting.

And Logan wasn’t sure if he was ready for what that meant.

---

For the first time in weeks, Logan wasn’t there.

You didn’t see him leaning against his truck outside the school. He wasn’t loitering at the grocery store. He wasn’t in your goddamn peripheral, watching but never pushing, always waiting for you to acknowledge him.

And it pissed you off.

You should’ve been relieved. You had told him to leave, to back off. You had shoved him, yelled at him, made it perfectly clear that you didn’t need him here—didn’t want him here.

So why the hell did your chest feel tight?

Why did you keep glancing out the window when you left work, expecting to see him?

Why did it feel wrong that he wasn’t following?

Laura noticed before you did.

“You’re looking for him,” she said flatly, popping a fry into her mouth as the two of you sat at a booth in some local diner.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Laura gave you a look over the rim of her milkshake. “Logan.”

You scoffed, picking at the label of your water bottle. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are.” She dipped a fry in ketchup, not even trying to hide her smirk. “You’ve checked the door, like, five times.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was looking at the—” You stopped, realizing you had absolutely nothing to follow that up with.

Laura arched a brow. “Right.”

You huffed, slouching back against the booth. “He’s not here.”

“Yeah. Because you told him to leave.”

“So?”

Laura shrugged. “Didn’t think he actually would, did you?”

You didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, you hadn’t expected him to leave. Logan was stubborn. Logan didn’t give up. If anything, you had expected him to show up again, keep pushing, keep trying to get you to talk.

But he hadn’t.

And for some reason, that scared you.

Laura sighed, wiping her hands on a napkin before leaning forward. “You can’t have it both ways, you know.”

Your brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you can’t tell him to leave and then get all weird when he actually does.”

You clenched your jaw. “I didn’t want him here.”

Laura tilted her head. “Didn’t you?”

You stared at her, stomach twisting, because you didn’t want him here—did you?

No. You didn’t.

But you didn’t want him gone, either.

You stood abruptly, tossing some bills onto the table. “C’mon. We’re leaving.”

Laura just smirked. “Where to?”

You grabbed your jacket. “I need to find Logan.”

---

It didn’t take long.

Logan wasn’t exactly subtle, and you had been trained to track people long before you ever met him. It was almost insulting how easy it was.

His truck was parked outside some shitty motel off the main road, tucked into the shadows near a flickering neon sign.

You could’ve knocked on his door. Could’ve walked right up, demanded an explanation—Why the hell did you listen to me?

But you didn’t.

Instead, you waited.

You sat in your car across the street, watching from the shadows, waiting to see if he’d leave. If he’d drive off, if he was planning on staying. If he was really, actually gone.

But Logan never left.

Hours passed. The motel lights flickered. You saw him once—stepping outside just long enough to smoke a cigarette before heading back in. No sign of him packing up, no sign of him driving away.

He wasn’t following you anymore.

But he hadn’t left, either.

You exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel.

This was the first time in months that Logan wasn’t hovering just outside your reach. And yet, you had tracked him down anyway.

Maybe Laura was right.

Maybe you hadn’t wanted him to leave.

Not really.

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply as you stared at Logan’s truck.

What the hell am I doing?

You had spent months trying to get him to leave, and now here you were, parked outside some shitty motel like some stalker, watching and waiting. For what? For him to notice? For him to come back?

No. That wasn’t what you wanted.

You gritted your teeth, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Then why are you still here?

You could just drive away. Go back home, pretend like you never saw him, pretend like this didn’t bother you.

But it did.

It bothered you that he listened. It bothered you that he left. It bothered you that, for the first time since he showed up, he wasn’t pushing you.

And you didn’t know why that scared you.

With a frustrated sigh, you shoved the door open and got out, the night air thick and humid around you. The gravel crunched beneath your boots as you crossed the street, your steps quick and deliberate.

You didn’t give yourself time to hesitate. If you thought about it too much, you’d turn back. And you weren’t ready to do that yet.

You knocked on the motel door.

Silence.

Your jaw clenched, and you knocked again—louder this time.

Still nothing.

A flicker of irritation ran through you. “Logan, open the damn door.”

Nothing.

Your patience snapped. You grabbed the doorknob and twisted. It was locked, of course, but that was never a problem for you. With a practiced flick of your wrist, you popped the lock and shoved the door open.

Logan was inside, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, a cigar burning between his fingers. He didn’t look surprised to see you. If anything, he looked tired.

“Real subtle, darlin’,” he muttered, exhaling smoke through his nose.

You crossed your arms. “You weren’t answering.”

“Didn’t feel like talkin’.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Too bad.”

Logan huffed out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Figures.”

You stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind you. “You just gonna sit there?”

“What do you want, Y/N?” Logan asked, his voice rough. Not annoyed. Just… tired.

The way he said your name made your stomach twist. You weren’t sure why.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, crossing your arms tighter.

Logan studied you, taking another slow drag from his cigar before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “Then why are you here?”

You shifted on your feet, avoiding his gaze. Because you left. Because I thought I wanted you gone, but now that you are, I—

You shook the thought away, exhaling sharply. “I just… I thought you would’ve left.”

Logan arched a brow. “And that bothered you?”

You hesitated.

That was enough of an answer.

Logan sighed, leaning back against the bed, arms resting behind him. “You told me to back off. So I did.”

You scoffed. “You don’t listen to people.”

Logan smirked slightly. “Guess you ain’t people.”

You hated how easily that threw you off balance.

Your throat tightened. “I don’t—”

“I ain’t askin’ for anything,” Logan said, cutting you off. “Not chasin’ you. Not pushin’ you. I meant what I said—I don’t wanna force you into anything.”

You swallowed hard. “Then why are you still here?”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe ‘cause I don’t want to leave, either.”

The air in the room felt heavy. Stifling.

You had spent so much time running, so much time convincing yourself that pushing him away was the only option. But now, standing here, looking at him—tired, frustrated, but still here—you didn’t know what the hell you were supposed to do anymore.

You took a slow breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You were… right.”

His brows furrowed slightly, like he wasn’t sure what part you were referring to.

You swallowed, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “What you said. About grief. About moving on feeling like a sin.”

Logan stayed quiet, but his gaze sharpened, locking onto yours.

You exhaled, shaking your head. “I spent years running because it was easier. Because if I stopped, if I let myself…” You trailed off, fingers curling around your arms. “Then it would feel like I was betraying him. Like I was forgetting him.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

Your throat felt tight, but you forced yourself to keep talking. “I tried to build something new with Laura. I wanted to. And for a while, it worked. Seven years in Canada, we were okay. We were living, not just surviving. And then—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “The TVA happened. The Void happened. And suddenly, it was like all that time meant nothing.”

Logan was still watching you, but his expression was unreadable, his hands resting on his thighs as he leaned forward slightly.

“Then you showed up.” Your voice was quieter now. “And I didn’t know what the hell to do with that. Because I knew you weren’t him. I knew that. But every time I looked at you, every time you called me ‘darlin’ and looked at me like you knew me…” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “It just made me feel like I was losing him all over again.”

“I mean, I can’t even take off my damn wedding ring,” your voice cracked, “without feeling nauseous even though it’s been years.”

Logan’s gaze flicked down to your hand, to the ring still wrapped around your finger. His jaw clenched, something flickering in his eyes—something you didn’t want to name.

“You think that’s wrong?” he asked, voice low.

You swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, shifting forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “Ain’t wrong to hold onto what matters.”

Your fingers twitched, curling slightly, but you didn’t look away. “Then why does it feel like it is?”

Logan was quiet for a moment, studying you. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, steadier. “Because you think lettin’ go means losin’ him.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t answer.

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I ain’t gonna tell you to take it off. Ain’t gonna tell you to move on, either.” He leaned back, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. “That’s gotta be your choice, darlin’.”

Something about that made your stomach twist. Maybe because you had spent so long convincing yourself you had to move on, that moving on meant leaving Logan behind—your Logan. The one who wasn’t sitting in front of you.

But then Logan spoke again, and his next words shattered every bit of resolve you had left.

“You ain’t the only one holdin’ on.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Logan reached into his pocket, pulling something out—something small, something old. He turned it over in his fingers before setting it on the nightstand beside him.

A ring.

Gold, simple, worn from time.

Your stomach flipped.

“I bought this the first time I met you,” he said, voice rough. “A long time ago. Different you. Different me. But you always come back, don’t you?”

You stared at the ring, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs. “Logan—”

“I kept it,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the band. “Every time. Even when I knew I’d lose you again.” He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “And every time, I tell myself I won’t go through it again.”

You swallowed hard. “But you do.”

Logan smirked slightly, but there was no humor behind it. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

Silence settled between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. The motel room felt smaller now, the air thicker. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your chest tight with something you weren’t ready to name.

Finally, you moved.

You walked forward, slow but deliberate, until you were standing right in front of him. Logan didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched you with that same patient, knowing look.

And then—hesitantly—you sat down next to him.

Not close enough to touch. Not close enough for it to mean anything.

But not far, either.

Logan didn’t say a word.

And for the first time in a long time, neither did you.

---

A few weeks later

You were cooking dinner while drinking a glass of wine—or rather the whole bottle. It wasn’t your fault you had a high alcohol tolerance.

“Jesus, fuck kid!”

“You started it!”

You furrowed your brows, stepping onto the back porch, wine glass still in hand. The salty ocean breeze brushed past as you leaned against the wooden railing, watching Logan and Laura circle each other in the sand.

The backyard—if you could even call it that—was part of a private beach, the stretch of sand leading straight into the rolling waves. Normally, it was peaceful. Right now? Not so much.

Logan huffed, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, and I’m endin’ it.”

“Doubt it,” Laura smirked before lunging again.

You sighed, watching them spar. To anyone else, it probably looked brutal—claws flashing, sand kicking up with every hit—but you knew better. This was bonding. In the weird, violent, feral way that only the Howlett bloodline could manage.

Laura landed a punch against Logan’s ribs, but he barely flinched. He countered by grabbing her wrist and twisting her to the ground, pinning her for a brief second before she slipped free and jumped back to her feet.

“You two done trying to kill each other?” you called out, swirling the wine in your glass.

Logan scoffed, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow. “She’s the one that don’t know when to quit.”

Laura grinned, unfazed. “Neither do you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh before pushing off the railing. “Dinner’s almost done. Either finish up or starve.”

Neither of them responded, too caught up in the fight, but you knew they’d trail in soon enough. You turned and walked back inside, closing the sliding door behind you.

What you didn’t see was Laura catching Logan staring at your ass as you walked away.

She paused, then turned slowly toward him.

Logan blinked, realizing too late that he’d been caught.

“…Don’t,” he warned.

Laura smirked. “Too late.”

Then she lunged—only this time, it wasn’t part of the fight. She jumped onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck, and before Logan could react, she drove her foot claws into his ribs.

“Mother—fuck!”

Laura hopped off, landing perfectly on the sand while Logan stumbled forward, clutching his side. Blood bloomed beneath his shirt.

“That’s what you get,” Laura said simply, brushing sand off her hands.

Logan glared at her. “For what?!”

“For being gross.”

Logan clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. “I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” Laura crossed her arms, looking unimpressed. “Don’t do it again.”

Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, kid.”

Laura just smirked, turning toward the house. “C’mon, old man. Before she yells at us for being late.”

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair before following her inside.

By the time they stepped into the house, you were already setting plates on the table. You barely glanced up—until you noticed the two fresh blood spots on Logan’s shirt.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “Сраные идиоты,” you muttered under your breath.

Logan frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said flatly. “Sit.”

Logan sighed, knowing better than to argue. He pulled out a chair and sat down, peeling off his shirt with a wince. Laura dropped into the seat across from him, completely unbothered, already helping herself to food.

---

You took another sip of coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as Laura shoveled cereal into her mouth at a pace that should’ve been illegal. Across the room, Logan sat in a chair, looking far too at home with his cup of coffee, flipping through the newspaper like it was 1954.

It was normal. Too normal.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why the hell are you reading the paper?”

Logan didn’t look up. “Why the hell are you watchin’ me read the paper?”

Laura snorted, not even trying to hide her smirk. “He’s got a point.”

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip of coffee. “It’s weird.”

Logan finally looked up from his paper, brow raised. “What’s weird?”

“You,” you said, motioning at him with your mug. “Sitting there, reading the paper like some suburban dad in a toothpaste commercial.”

Logan smirked, flicking the edge of the page. “It’s called keepin’ up with the world, sweetheart.”

Laura snorted. “You’re reading the classifieds.”

Logan flipped the paper shut with a sigh. “Well, excuse me for enjoyin’ the simple things.”

You shook your head, amused. It had only been a few weeks since he stopped lurking in the background and actually started integrating into your lives. He had a habit of acting like he didn’t belong—like he was just passing through, despite all evidence to the contrary. But moments like these, sitting at the kitchen table, bickering over nothing? They felt normal.

Not forced. Not heavy. Just… easy.

You were about to tease him again when the sound of a car horn blasted through the quiet morning.

Laura groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Logan frowned, setting the paper aside. “Who the hell—”

Another honk. Longer this time.

“Motherfu—” You set your coffee down and turned toward the door, already knowing exactly who it was.

Logan followed, his expression somewhere between annoyed and resigned. “You expecting company?”

You grabbed the shotgun from beside the door, checking the chamber. “Nope.”

Laura smirked, leaning against the counter. “I call headshot.”

You smirked back. “Good luck. I’m faster.”

Logan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ. Just don’t kill ‘im.”

“No promises.”

You stepped onto the porch, raising the shotgun as you caught sight of Wade, standing beside his beat-up rental car, arms outstretched like some kind of messiah.

“Hello, my beautiful, homicidal family!” he called, grinning under his mask.

You pulled the trigger.

The first shot hit him square in the chest.

He staggered back, wheezing. “Okay—ow.”

You pumped the shotgun and fired again, this time hitting his shoulder.

Wade groaned, clutching his arm. “Rude!”

Logan stepped onto the porch behind you, arms crossed. “Really?”

You shrugged, pumping the shotgun again. “He’s still standing.”

Wade held up a finger. “Technically, I’m swaying.”

Laura stepped outside, standing next to Logan. “You missed his head.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t miss. I’m savoring it.”

Wade straightened, shaking out his arms. “Alright, I deserved that. Maybe. Probably not. But—” He put his hands on his hips. “Didn’t expect the welcoming committee to include bullets.”

“You helped him find us,” you reminded him, motioning toward Logan with the barrel of the gun. “And then you just disappeared.”

Wade gasped. “Disappeared? Sweetheart, I gave you your own personal brooding, clawed man-child and then respectfully stepped aside so you could work through your very complicated feelings.” He tilted his head. “Which, judging by the tension on this porch, you’re still working through.”

You aimed the shotgun at his head.

“Okay! Okay!” Wade put his hands up. “I come in peace! No missions, no TVA bullshit, no looming apocalyptic threats. Just little old me, paying a visit to my favorite dysfunctional murder family.”

Laura tilted her head. “You brought gifts?”

Wade paused. “No.”

Laura looked at you. “Shoot him again.”

“Gladly.”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let the idiot talk before you put another hole in him.”

You exhaled sharply but lowered the gun. “Fine. Five minutes.”

Wade dusted himself off, cracking his neck. “I can work with that.” He strolled past you and into the house like he owned the place.

Logan shot you a look.

You just shrugged. “I’ll reload.”

Logan exhaled sharply, shaking his head as Wade strolled inside like he owned the place. You followed, setting the shotgun back in its usual spot near the door, but you kept an eye on Wade as he plopped onto the couch, boots kicked up on the coffee table like he belonged there.

Laura sat back down at the kitchen counter, spooning more cereal into her mouth as she watched the interaction unfold like a live-action sitcom.

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “So? You gonna explain why you’re here, or am I just supposed to shoot you myself?”

Wade sighed dramatically, tilting his head back. “Wow. No ‘Hey, Wade, long time no see!’ No ‘How’s life treating you, Wade?’ Just straight to the violence. And after everything I’ve done for you.”

“You didn’t do shit,” Logan muttered.

Wade gasped, clutching his chest. “I helped you find your long-lost murder wife and stabby daughter! And this is the thanks I get?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You helped him track us, then bailed. So yeah, not exactly getting a warm welcome.”

Wade sat up, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. You two needed time to work through your very complicated emotions without my handsome, charming self getting in the way.” He glanced at Laura. “Right, stabby junior?”

Laura scooped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “Don’t call me that.”

“See?” Wade pointed at her. “Bonding. Growth. Character development. I did you all a favor.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You got five minutes to explain why you’re here before I throw your ass back outside.”

“Fine, fine.” Wade rolled his shoulders. “Like I said, no missions, no apocalyptic disasters, no TVA crap. I just thought, ‘Hey, it’s been a minute since I’ve seen my two favorite feral murderers and their grumpy third wheel—why not drop in?’”

Laura swallowed her bite of cereal. “You came all this way for that?”

“Yes!” Wade threw his hands up. “Is it a crime to want to visit family?”

You scoffed. “We’re not family.”

“Well, no, but emotionally? Spiritually? Definitely.” Wade turned to Logan. “Especially you, big guy. We’ve got history. We’ve been through things. We’ve murdered people together. That’s a bond you don’t just throw away.”

Logan groaned. “Christ.”

Laura wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You got a hotel or something?”

Wade grinned under the mask. “I was actually thinking I’d crash here.”

You, Logan, and Laura all responded in unison.

“No.”

Wade groaned, flopping back onto the couch. “You people have no hospitality.”

“We have boundaries,” you corrected.

“And I have a deep, unrelenting need to be included in your lives,” Wade countered, making himself comfortable.

Logan pushed off the wall. “You’re leavin’ in an hour.”

“Oh, c’mon, Logan, don’t be like that,” Wade whined. “I brought snacks.” He reached into his utility belt, pulling out a crumpled bag of gas station gummy bears.

Laura stared at them. “Are those even sealed?”

“Nope.” Wade shook the bag. “Still good, though.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Jesus, Wade.”

“What? It’s the thought that counts.” He sat up again, stretching his arms. “So, what’ve you lovebirds been up to?”

“Don’t start,” you warned.

Wade leaned in, resting his chin on his hands. “Oh, I’m starting. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And let me tell you—there’s a whole lot of unresolved, slow-burn, will-they-won’t-they going on.”

Logan scowled. “Ain’t shit goin’ on.”

Wade gasped. “So you admit there could be something going on?”

Logan turned to you. “Can I kill him?”

You took a sip of your coffee, considering it. “I mean, he’d just come back.”

Laura stood, grabbing her backpack from the counter. “I’m going to the beach. I don’t have the patience for this.”

Wade pouted. “Aww, leaving so soon?”

Laura slung her bag over her shoulder, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Yeah. Before I commit an actual homicide.”

You motioned toward the door with your coffee mug. “Have fun, don’t kill anyone.”

Laura pointed at Wade. “No promises if he follows me.”

Wade placed a hand over his heart. “I would never.”

Laura shot him a look before heading out, leaving the three of you alone.

Wade stretched his arms over his head. “Sooo… what’s next? Movie night? Group therapy? A good ol’ fashioned team-building exercise?”

Logan grabbed him by the back of his suit, hauling him toward the door.

“Alright, alright! I get it!” Wade protested, feet dragging against the floor. “I’ll leave! But just know this—I will be back. Because deep down, you all love me.”

Logan yanked the door open and shoved him outside.

Wade turned back, wagging a finger. “This isn’t over.”

Logan slammed the door shut.

Silence.

You took a sip of coffee. “Ten bucks says he comes back in an hour.”

Logan sighed. “I hate that you’re probably right.”

---

The smell of fresh coffee drifts through the small kitchen as you rummage in a cabinet for cereal. Laura, half-asleep in an old T-shirt and shorts, slumps at the table with her chin propped on one hand. Across from her, Logan reads the newspaper, though he’s not really turning the pages—more like staring at the same article, his focus wandering.

You pull out the cereal box, shaking it to confirm it still has something inside. “Any of you want a bowl, or am I the only one who still eats this?”

Laura mumbles without lifting her head, “I’ll take some. Didn’t we run out of milk yesterday?”

Logan finally looks up, folding the paper. “I grabbed some on the way home last night.”

You tilt your head, somewhat surprised. “You did?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Figured you two would appreciate not startin’ the day with black coffee and dry cereal.” He sets the newspaper aside, standing to help. “I’ll grab it.”

Laura lifts her head, eyeing the two of you with mild suspicion. “That’s… domestic.”

Logan huffs a soft laugh, opening the fridge. “You callin’ me soft, kid?”

She smirks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Just making an observation.”

You slide a bowl across to her. “Say thank you, or he’s never doing anything nice again.”

Logan snorts, pouring milk into your bowl first. “You sayin’ I’m not nice?”

Laura just raises a brow. “You’re nice in a grumpy, borderline-feral way, sure.”

You stifle a laugh, taking the milk carton from Logan to finish up Laura’s bowl. “Settle down, you two. It’s too early for bickering.”

Laura mumbles a reluctant, “Thanks,” before digging in.

Logan leans against the counter, sipping from a mug of coffee. For a moment, there’s a quiet ease in the room: Laura’s crunching cereal, you adding sugar to your cup, the morning sun filtering through the windows. No drama, no big conversations—just normal, daily life.

Finally, Laura sets her spoon down, glancing at Logan over the rim of her bowl. “So… you’re picking me up after I’m done, right?”

Logan nods. “Figured I’d swing by. Unless you’d rather walk?”

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s like a hundred degrees. I’ll take the ride.”

You snort into your coffee. “Told you that you shouldn’t wear all black if you’re worried about the heat, muñeca.”

Laura shoots you a light glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I like black.”

Logan smirks, finishing the last of his coffee. “Kinda partial to it myself.”

Laura gestures at both your outfits—yours is a faded tank top and shorts, Logan’s wearing his usual jeans and a T-shirt. “We need a family shopping trip, or something. This color scheme is depressing.”

You exchange a glance with Logan, both of you raising a brow.

“Look, we’re not exactly the pastel type,” you say, shrugging.

Laura just sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll be the fashion icon in this house.”

Logan folds his arms, feigning seriousness. “I can’t wait to see what horrors you drag us into.”

---

Not long after breakfast, you find yourself sorting through a pile of laundry in the living room, music playing softly from an old radio. Logan wanders in from the porch, running a hand through his hair.

“Got your towels on the line,” he says, plopping down on the couch. “They should be dry by lunch.”

You raise a brow, folding one of Laura’s T-shirts. “Look at you, all domesticated.”

He grunts. “I know how to hang a towel.”

“Sure you do,” you tease, giving him a sideways look. “Next step: vacuuming.”

He picks an invisible speck of lint off his jeans. “Don’t push it.”

You fight a grin, focusing back on the laundry. It’s quiet for a bit, just the low hum of the radio filling the space.

Eventually, Logan clears his throat. “I was thinkin’,” he starts, somewhat hesitant. “We could grill tonight. Might as well enjoy the weather before it gets too hot.”

You pause, glancing his way. “Sounds good. Laura’s meeting with her friends later, but she’ll be back for dinner. We can pick up some extra stuff at the store.”

Logan nods, draping an arm over the couch. His gaze lingers on you a moment, like he wants to say more but isn’t sure how. Then he just nods again, quietly content.

You manage a small smile, folding another shirt. “Guess we’re doin’ normal pretty well these days, huh?”

“Could get used to it,” he murmurs, voice low.

Your eyes meet for just a second, something unspoken passing between you. Then you clear your throat, toss the shirt aside, and stand up. “Well, if we’re grilling, we might need marinade, and we’re nearly out of vegetables. Let’s go before the midday rush.”

Logan pushes himself up. “You want me to drive?”

You think it over, shrug, and toss him the keys. “Sure. Just… try not to side-swipe every car you pass.”

He catches the keys effortlessly, rolling his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

“Says the guy who nearly took out a stop sign last week,” you retort, but there’s a teasing note in your voice.

He shakes his head, slipping on his boots. “You done with that laundry?”

“For now. Let’s leave it for Laura.”

Logan smirks. “Smart.”

---

Back from the store, groceries in tow, you find Laura sprawled on the couch, a book open on her lap. She looks up when you and Logan enter, arms loaded with bags.

“You got the stuff for the grill?” she asks, nose wrinkling. “Because all I see is lettuce.”

You frown, glancing down at your bags. “There’s more than lettuce, muñeca. Where’s the gratitude?”

She shrugs, turning a page. “Thanks, Mom.”

Logan sets his own bags on the counter with a grunt. “Everything else is in here, including that weird juice you like.”

Laura closes her book, swinging her legs off the couch. “You found it?”

He nods. “Took me five minutes to track it down, but yeah.”

A genuine smile creeps onto Laura’s face—rare, but it’s there. “Cool. Thanks.”

You give Logan a light nudge with your elbow, meeting his gaze and mouthing a silent “good job.” He just smirks, busies himself with unloading the groceries. For a fleeting moment, the three of you fill the small kitchen in quiet coordination—hands passing off produce, storing items in the pantry, the rustle of plastic bags and shuffle of feet the only sounds.

Eventually, Laura heads back to the couch, flipping open her textbook once more. You and Logan exchange a small, knowing look. No big conversation necessary—just an unspoken acknowledgment that this is how life is now: mostly ordinary, sometimes chaotic, but it works.

---

The storm rolls in fast, the Florida heat giving way to thick clouds and distant thunder. The air is dense with the smell of rain, the first few drops tapping against the windows as you toss a towel over the back of a chair.

“You get the towels inside?” you ask, glancing at Logan, who’s standing near the back door, watching the sky darken.

He grunts. “Got most of ‘em before the wind picked up. One got away.”

You arch a brow. “Got away?”

“Flew into the ocean.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “So much for that one.”

Outside, the wind picks up, bending the palm trees as the rain comes in steady now, streaking against the glass. Logan watches it for a moment longer before turning back to you. “Laura still at her friend’s?”

You nod, checking your phone. “She texted a little while ago. Said she’ll head back once the rain dies down.”

Logan doesn’t say anything, but you can tell he’s already debating whether or not to go pick her up himself. You shoot him a look before he can suggest it. “She’s fine.”

Logan rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, he moves toward the fridge, pulling out a beer. “You eaten yet?”

You smirk. “That your way of asking if I’m making dinner?”

He cracks the bottle open, leaning against the counter. “Just curious.”

You shake your head, pulling open a cabinet. “We got leftovers from last night, or you can figure it out yourself.”

Logan takes a swig, watching you for a beat. “You really gonna make me fend for myself?”

“You’re a grown man, Logan.” You grab a bag of chips, plopping onto the couch. “Figure it out.”

Logan makes a low noise in his throat—something between a scoff and a chuckle—but he doesn’t move right away. He just watches you, something unreadable in his expression. You pretend not to notice, flicking on the TV, scrolling through the channels.

The storm grows louder outside, wind rattling against the house. Logan finally moves, taking his beer with him as he drops onto the couch beside you. The cushions dip under his weight, the space between you smaller than it was a moment ago.

For a while, neither of you speak. The TV flickers with whatever show you landed on, voices blending with the steady hum of rain. It’s comfortable, easy—until you realize Logan isn’t really watching.

You glance at him. “You good?”

Logan exhales through his nose, gaze still on the screen but unfocused. “Yeah.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Liar.”

He smirks, finally looking at you. “You always call me out on my shit?”

“Only when it’s obvious.”

His smirk lingers for half a second before fading. He takes another drink, resting the bottle against his thigh. “Just been thinkin’.”

You hum, reaching for another chip. “That’s dangerous.”

Logan snorts, shaking his head. “Smartass.”

You grin, but the amusement doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Because you know whatever’s on his mind, it’s not light. Not casual. Logan doesn’t bring things up unless they’re already weighing him down.

You shift, turning to face him properly. “What’s up?”

Logan runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “This—” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “It’s been… good.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Okay…”

His jaw tightens slightly, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “I ain’t used to it.”

You hesitate, fingers curling slightly against your leg. “Used to what?”

Logan glances at you, then looks away. “Not havin’ to fight.”

The words sit heavy between you. The wind howls outside, the rain beating against the roof in steady waves.

You let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Logan’s fingers flex around his beer bottle. “Feels like any second now, it’s gonna get ripped out from under us.”

You study him, your stomach twisting at the quiet honesty in his voice. Logan isn’t afraid of a fight. But this? The lack of a fight? That’s unfamiliar territory.

You lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “If it does, we’ll deal with it.”

Logan huffs. “That easy, huh?”

“No,” you admit. “But I’m too tired to do anything else.”

He’s quiet for a beat, then, voice lower—“Tired of me?”

Your chest tightens. You turn your head, meeting his gaze. There’s no teasing in it, no smirk. Just something raw, something cautious. Like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’ll say next.

You shift closer without thinking. “No, Logan,” you say softly. “Not you.”

His eyes flicker—something unreadable passing through them. His hand twitches slightly, like he’s debating reaching for you but stops himself.

You study him for a second longer before deciding you’re done waiting.

You grab his collar and pull him into a kiss.

It’s not soft. Not hesitant. It’s rough, heated—like you’re trying to prove a point neither of you have the words for. Logan exhales sharply through his nose, startled but not resisting. His fingers find your waist, grip firm, steady.

You tilt your head, deepening it, nails curling against his shirt. Logan makes a low noise in his throat—a sound you feel more than hear.

The beer bottle hits the floor with a dull thud, forgotten.

He pulls you onto his lap, hands splayed against your back. The kiss turns almost desperate, years of tension unraveling all at once.

You break away just enough to catch your breath, forehead resting against his. His breathing is uneven, his grip still firm like he’s afraid you’ll pull away completely.

“Thought you were tired,” he mutters, voice rough.

You smirk, brushing your thumb over his jaw. “Of everything but this.”

His fingers flex against your waist. “You sure?”

You tilt his chin up slightly, making sure he’s looking at you when you answer. “Yeah, Logan. I’m sure.”

Something shifts in his expression—something quiet, something settled.

Then he kisses you again, and this time, neither of you hold back.

---

The storm had passed by the time you stirred awake, the humid Florida air creeping in through the open window, mixing with the scent of salt and something undeniably Logan.

You weren’t the type to linger in bed—never had been—but this morning was different. You could feel the warmth of him beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the weight of his arm draped loosely around your waist.

Your muscles ached—not in a bad way, but in the kind of way that made you very aware of what had happened last night.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.

No regrets.

But a whole lot of what now?

You shifted slightly, and Logan’s grip tightened just enough to keep you from moving too far. “Where d’you think you’re goin’?”

His voice was thick with sleep, rougher than usual.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you were awake.”

Logan huffed against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “Been awake. Just didn’t wanna move.”

You turned your head slightly, catching the lazy half-smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t peg you for the cuddling type.”

Logan grunted. “Ain’t cuddlin’. Just keepin’ you in place.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t try to move again. “Right.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound the distant crash of waves outside. Logan’s fingers traced absentminded patterns against your hip, his other arm still tucked beneath his head.

For a moment, it almost felt normal. Like you hadn’t spent months trying to ignore the inevitable.

Then Logan spoke.

“Not gonna lie,” he muttered. “Didn’t think this would happen.”

You arched a brow. “You doubting your own charm?”

He smirked, but there was something quieter beneath it. “Just figured you’d keep runnin’ circles around me first.”

You exhaled through your nose, dragging a hand down your face. “Jesus. I should’ve just left in the middle of the night and really kept you on your toes.”

Logan’s grip tightened slightly. “You wouldn’t.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because he was right.

Logan let out a slow breath, his thumb brushing against your side. “So what now?”

You thought about it. About the last few months, about the way you and Laura had built something here. About the way Logan had been circling your life since the moment he showed up, waiting, watching, never pushing—until last night.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan was quiet for a second, then, “good.”

You smirked. “That easy, huh?”

He huffed. “For once.”

The weight between you didn’t feel as heavy anymore. You weren’t thinking about the past, about the other Logans, about the lives you’d lost before. For once, you weren’t overthinking.

You glanced down at your left hand, the ring still on your finger. You twisted it around, feeling the weight of it—the warmth that had long since faded, but never really left.

Logan didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just watched, his jaw tight, his fingers flexing slightly against your hip like he wasn’t sure if he should reach for you or give you space.

You exhaled slowly. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you pulled the ring off.

The absence of it was immediate. Like a phantom limb, like something missing that had been part of you for longer than you could remember.

You held it between your fingers, staring at the small, worn band. The gold was a little dull, edges softened from years of wear, of fights, of moments that felt so distant now you weren’t sure if they were even real.

Logan stayed silent, watching.

You swallowed hard, bringing the ring up to your lips, pressing a kiss to the cool metal. A quiet farewell. A promise that none of it had been lost, that it still mattered.

Then, carefully, you set it down on the nightstand.

Logan exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly beside you. “You sure?”

You looked at him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes. Like he was bracing himself, waiting for you to regret it, waiting for you to pick it back up, waiting for you to tell him this was a mistake.

But it wasn’t.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. His palm was rough, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

“I’m sure,” you murmured.

Logan studied you for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if you meant it. Then, after a beat, his shoulders relaxed, just slightly. He turned his hand, squeezing yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Neither of you said anything after that.

Because for the first time in years, there was nothing left to say.

so i don't know if people caught it, but i thought i would just say it-the whole arc of logan was the fact that he always left his version of reader but this time he stayed. which is the reason he stayed in florida even when reader didn't want him there. i don't know if i made it obvious or not but i thought i would just put it out there

anyways, i hope this lived up to people's expectations :)

[zombaebitez]

can we get relationship hcs with abby but with a SOFT/SUB MASC??? the way that never existed is crazy

Abby Relationship Hcs Pt 2

abby anderson x sub masc reader

synopsis: modern relationships headcanons with a (sub) masculine reader in mind!

zom’s note: i wanted to write something like this so thank you for the ask.

word count: abt 750

warnings: nsfw content (own section after sfw! don’t like, don’t read), mentions of strapping, suggestive touching and/or eyeing, and suggestions of abby being mean.

SFW <3

ꕥ Abby loves, and I mean loves sharing clothes with you. Since both of you lean into a more masculine style, you'll often find some of your stuff missing, just to see Abby wearing it later in the day.

ꕥ Carabiners. Abby likes them mainly because they are so practical. She gets hers from some random hardware section in a store, but you are adamant about getting the cooler ones, because sure practical, but also a lesbian statement.

ꕥ Whenever you and Abby go to workout, you swear some guy or girl always tries to hit on y’all, but you use this as an excuse to show off your hot as fuck girlfriend, win win.

ꕥ Whenever you and Abby go out shopping, y’all always end up finding stuff for each other. Immediately looking for the other with a few hangers, saying, “Baby, you’d look hot in this… then I can borrow”, “Abby, oh em gee, try this on”, “Baby, look look!” It just goes back and forth, love bugs literally.

ꕥ Abby is a major pouter, and you just adore it. Sad? Pouting. Mad? Pouting. She wants something? Pouting. You totally tease her about it, even if you do the same thing too.

ꕥ You love getting your nails done in those simple short natural styles with fun designs. Abby definitely pays for you, and sometimes she gets a matching design or your initial with a simple top coat.

ꕥ Abby loves to be the big spoon because she likes caging you in. Arms wrapped around you, and a leg on top of your center. She claims that you are her personal body pillow.

ꕥ Abby loves when you run your hands over a part of her body idly. Just feeling the muscle twitch, or for comfort. Y’all are both all over each other.

ꕥ You two definitely, once dating for awhile, have promise rings. Definitely some sort of matching bands that are unique for the two of you. You both are always showing them off, saying you’re married.

ꕥ Abby loves to listen to you talk and talk, doesn’t care what it’s about, she just stares at you nodding and asking simple questions. Just thinking about how much she adores you.

ꕥ She loses her mind when she sees you in the sweats and a sports bra combo, won’t care if its for lounging or working out. She can’t look away, she swears you’re gonna make her crazy.

NSFW !!

ꕥ Abby has an obsession with using you, doesn’t matter in what ways. She’ll let you strap her, because you definitely know what to do, but she is obviously the one in control. Hands on your hips, controlling how hard or soft you go, and the pace. Either way, you end up more messed up than she does, begging for her to let you take care of her, or use you and stop teasing the both of you for so long.

ꕥ On that, Abby loves when you beg. It feels like an addiction at this point. Seeing you squirm, or a dazed out expression. Just babbling about how much you want her, how much you need her. She can listen forever, sometimes laughing at how pathetic you can get at times.

ꕥ She definitely eyes your waist whenever your shirt rides up, bottoms always sitting low and showing off whatever boxers or boyshorts you’re wearing. It gets her to thinking, and then that thinking leads to her spacing; even when your shirt rides back down. Doesn’t even feel the tiniest bit of shame when you catch her, and you end up getting a little shy under her gaze.

ꕥ Gets you to lay your back against her chest as y’all watch a show or just chilling and scrolling. She can’t control when her hand slips to rub random shapes onto your lower stomach or upper thigh. Those light touches, moving further down slowly but surely to where she wants to touch you most; gentle kisses being pressed to your skin. Abby loves the small reactions she gets when you notice what her intentions are.

ꕥ She always notices when you really try your best to impress her, or show her how good you are. Letting Abby touch you as she pleases, or using you for her own gain if that's what she desires. She’ll dumb you down with sweet talk, with a tinge of meanness just so you can pout about it. You both know that pouty attitude is gonna get fucked out of you later.

[zerotab]

does pizza tower fandom like the bobs. does anyone even care abt em outside of their cameo in the vigi fight plz say yesssss

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny Pt.6

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

Danny slumped over the table at the library. He’d feel embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the rest of the floor’s occupants. Around him, students were speed running through the five stages of grief like it was going out of style.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Same.” Danny replied, rolling his head to look at Tim. “I’m feeling like an academic victim instead of an academic weapon right now.”

“I should have stayed dropped out of school,” Tim grumbled.

Danny gasped theatrically. “And deprive the world of your awe-inspiring genius on…” Danny peered at Tim’s books and grinned. “On… the Krebs cycle? Seriously? They’re teaching that again?”

“I know! This is like, the third time.” Tim whined.

“At least you’ll be good at it, right?”

Tim scoffed. “I’m gonna drop out of college and become a stripper.”

“They do make bank,” Danny nodded. “But aren’t you like a millionaire or something?”

Tim brightened. “Oh, you’re right. I don’t need education! I’m filthy rich!”

Danny whacked Tim on the back of the head, laughing quietly.

“Whatever. Let’s go take a break. Snacks?”

“I literally don’t know how you eat so much.”

“Snacks have a separate stomach pouch. Normal food goes one place, junk food and desserts in another.” Danny retorted, quickly packing up his stuff. In reality, he didn’t need that much food. He’s half dead, after all. But food also converts to ectoplasm in his body, and ancients knows Danny needs all the energy he could get.

They made their way out of the campus library, passing stressed out looking students on their way to a taco truck.

“Does this even count as a snack?” Tim asked, amused. He tugged on his book bag, readjusting the vigilante pins on them.

“Is the sky even blue?” Danny snarked back, forking over the cash needed for the best fucking tacos on this side of Gotham. They sat on the benches, asking for an obscene amount of extra lime and cilantro before going to town.

“Holy shit, how many of those can you eat?”

“Dunno,” Danny mumbled though a mouthful or carne asada and pico de gallo. “Hungry.”

Tim snorted, pulling out his phone to scroll as he ate. A moment later, Tim showed Danny his screen.

“Hey, you live near here, right?”

Danny, cheeks bulging with food, peered at Tim’s phone and nodded.

“Oh, cool! Have you seen the green guy around?”

Danny squinted at Tim, tilting his head as he chewed.

“You know, the glowing green guy that’s been blowing up the Gotham Bay tag.”

Oh. Tim was talking about him, Danny!

Danny nodded. He quickly ate his food and wiped his mouth before replying. “Yeah, why?”

“Does he seriously just clean up the bay? Nothing else?”

Mildly offended for some reason, Danny shrugged. “I mean yeah? He doesn’t seem to pop up near any of the shady spots- oh, I saw him save someone from a mugging in front of my apartment once! But like, I think all he does is clean the bay. Which is good, because holy heck, that place is nastyyy.”

“Seriously?” Tim leaned in, looking super interested. “So he’s friendly?”

Danny raised a brow. “Yeah, he seemed pretty nice, I guess. Though, that’s not saying much considering your Rogues tend to be pretty chill when they’re not in the middle of a scheme.”

Tim snorted. “True that. You talked to him? When? Outside of his bay cleanings, right? I’ve noticed that he only talks to the Bats during those.”

Danny stared at Tim. “Tim… are you… stalking the guy?”

What Danny really wanted to say was: “Tim, are you stalking me?”

“I’m not stalking him!” At Danny’s suspicious glare, belied by his sauce stained mouth, Tim sighed. “Okay, maybe I am. But only some minor stalking!”

“Uh-huh.”

“But if you have, you think you could introduce us? Maybe he’d want to be friends?”

Was Tim asking Danny to introduce him to… Danny himself?

“Uh. Why do you even want to meet him?”

“Danny, he’s a glowing green guy that does community service for funsies. And he knows the Bats. That’s cool.”

“And here I thought you wouldn’t know cool if it smacked you in the face.” Danny teased. Well, whatever. He might as well do something nice for Tim. “Sure. I’ll text you when he pops up and see if he’s okay with meeting you.”

Tim grinned at him, a piece of cilantro stuck in his teeth. “Thanks!”

——

Danny made a duplicate of himself and went ghost. Danny and his duplicate looked at each other and sighed.

“We’ve done stupider things.”

“But we’re still not telling Jazz.”

“Agreed.”

Danny paused. Did he just make a deal with himself? No, he’s busy.

Doppelgänger Danny went invisible and left the apartment by going through a wall. Danny followed in a sedate pace, the normal way.

Outside, he pretended to catch sight of a suddenly visible Phantom. He’d heard the heartbeats outside his apartment ever since he got home all those days ago, and he’s pretty sure the vigilantes were watching his place ever since. Luckily, he made sure there weren’t any bugs or hidden cameras- Sam beat cautiousness into his head a while ago- before starting the plan.

One of those heartbeats sounded like Tim’s which left some… interesting connotations.

Danny sighed. Who was he kidding? Of course he’d be friends with a vigilante.

“Hey, Phantom!” Danny shouted, waving. Phantom floated over.

“Danny. Hi. Did you need something?”

“Oh, not really. My friend wanted to meet you, he’s a huuuuge fan. Think you’ve got time today?” Danny held up his phone.

Phantom hummed. “I can stay for a bit. Thirty minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll call him. His name is Tim, by the way. Thanks for taking the time to meet him!”

“No problem.”

Danny texted Tim, and minutely frowned as he picked up the sound of Tim’s ringtone. Shit, that pretty much confirmed his suspicions. He got a text back from Tim.

Timsy

[5 nin]

Nin

Nin

Nin

Min

Danny huffed an amused breath. “He’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Alright.”

Danny texted back an okay.

Five minutes later, a flushed and disheveled Tim peeled onto the street and right to the curb.

“Here!” He said as he tumbled out of the car.

“Damn, bro. You good?”

“Fine- oh my god, you’re the green guy!” Danny had to hand it to Tim. If he didn’t already figure out he was Red Robin, Danny would’ve believed the act. Holy shit, wait, he called his friend broke. Hah!

“It’s Phantom. Nice to meet you, Tom.”

A quick sliver of sullenness flashed over Tim’s face. “It- it’s Tim.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, human names sound so similar.” Danny leaned back and hid a grin as his doppelgänger messed with his friend.

“Oh, wow, you’re not human? What are you then?”

“Oh my god, Tim, you can’t just ask him what he is!” Danny scolded. These vigilantes were really similar.

“Sorry…” Tim apologized.

“It’s fine. To answer your question, I’m dead. Ghost.”

“Do you really pay taxes?”

Phantom tilted his head. “Yes, of course.” By the, Danny meant that he paid both human taxes and oversaw the Zone’s taxes. “You know that saying, something about never escaping from two things and that’s taxes and death? You can escape death- might come back a little wrong- but taxes are in the afterlife too.”

“Come back a little wrong?” Tim asked, eyes suddenly sharp.

“Come back a little,” Phantom gestured to himself. “Green. More emotive and prone to irritation.”

Tim stared.

——

“Jason, are you a ghost?” Dick, crouched on the top of Danny’s apartment building whispered.

Red Hood, crouched in the same area, stayed silent.

——

“How did you die?”

Phantom snarled and disappeared.

Tim whirled around, looking bewildered. Behind him, Danny struggled to stay calm.

“Where’d he go?”

“He probably didn’t want to hurt you.” Danny sighed.

“What? What did I do?”

“You asked him how he died. That’s like, the ultimate social taboo.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“It’s common sense, dude. Trauma like that has to be shared instead of asked about. Generally.” Danny sighed. “Come on, let’s get off the street and I’ll give you a crash course in manners.”

——

Bruce, upon hearing about the conversation, dove headfirst into researching the after life.

“No, go suck a goat’s genitals, Batsy, I am not helping you adopt a being of the infinite realms!” Constantine hung up on him.

“Hn.” Bruce will adopt the child and give him a home. It’s only a matter of when… and what inter-dimensional loopholes he could find and use in the relevant laws.

Jason was right behind him, because he was going to get answers, dammit.

[cruel-as-sin]

take the weight off his shoulders | logan howlett

pt. 2

↳ summary: you're a stripper and old man!logan comes into the club where you work- so you decide to show him a good time.

word count: 3k

song: older | isabel larosa

pairings: old man!logan x fem!stripper!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn w/o plot, prostitution/strip clubs, age gap (readers age is unspecified but she is an adult), praise kink, gentle sex, striptease and lapdance hehe, size difference, protected p in v, grinding, handjob, lingerie mentioned, the glasses stay on, practice safe sex everyone (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: ao3 saw this first and it took way too long for me to move it over to tumblr but. here it is lmao. as i said there old man logan does something CRAZY to me so it was only fitting i wrote about him, enjoy! also this is not proofread so apologies for any mistakes :’)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan's not sure why he goes into the club across the street.

Maybe he needs to feel young again. Maybe he's bored. Maybe the adamantium poisoning the rest of him has finally managed to get to his brain and turned his thoughts into some sort of horny, befuddled shit show.

Or maybe, just maybe, he really is just that fucking desperate.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It's past midnight when he walks through the door. You've been busy all night, but things are finally starting to wind down, the customers that frequent the small establishment slowly trickling out until only a few remain. None of them are your regulars, and given how empty the doorway has been, you're honestly considering calling it a night and going home early. The past few days have been hellish, full of people who didn't do a damn thing to turn you on, and you'd love nothing more than to sink into a warm, cozy bed and drift off to sleep. Tonight, you've been roaming the floor for the past hour without getting anything- everybody is either interested in another one of the workers or entirely fixated on the dancers.

It's not that you don't like your job- you do. Sure, being a stripper isn't the most flattering form of work, but the bills are paid. That's all that really counts these days. Your pride has long since been discarded in favor of earning hefty tips from the sleazy guys who are dumb enough to believe that you'd actually be into them. You put on a good show, of course, but if it weren't for the money? Not a fucking chance.

You like it that way. Hardly any of your clients go beyond the intimacy of a private dance, mainly because you don't let them, reserving that for your favorites. But you haven't met someone who turns you on in a long while, and without the occasional thrill of a real good time from a customer, you're starting to get bored. The days are blurring together, nothing separating the good days from the bad ones, if there even is such a thing anymore.

You're on your way to ask your boss if you can get off early when you hear the bell ring. You groan internally, realizing that you're the only one on the floor who isn't occupied, meaning if this client is interested, they're yours.

Damn it.

So much for an early night.

You're midway through praying to whatever God is out there that this client tips well when you turn and actually lay eyes on them. The moment you do, your mind goes blank, your prayers long forgotten as your thoughts become consumed by him.

He's older- much older. Pushing sixty, at least. It's not inherently a bad thing, but typically the older they are, the more entitled they become.

You're not usually into older men, finding them self-centered, greedy, unable to keep up with your desires; but you're not even ashamed to admit that this stranger could ask you to do just about anything and you'd probably agree in a heartbeat.

The man is tall, big, his muscular form obvious even underneath the suit and tie he wears. His salt and pepper hair is short, accompanied by a scruffy beard you're certain would feel like heaven against your thighs. His tie is loose, his top button undone, and he's got on a pair of dollar-store glasses that he hasn't even pulled the tag off of. There's a weight to him, an exhaustion that seems to have infiltrated the deepest parts of his soul, as if he's seen things you couldn't even begin to fathom- and yet, he's here, seeking some semblance of relief.

Lucky for him, you know exactly how to give it to him.

He looks around like he's lost, the colorful lights and sultry music overwhelming, the center stage where your coworkers get dollar bills thrown at their feet foreign to him. By the time you've made your way over, your legs moving of their own accord, he's turning to leave. "Hey." You call out, and he stops, turning back around to face you.

He's even bigger up close, and his eyes roam over your form almost shamefully before finally meeting your own. "I was just leaving." His voice is rough, a little scratchy, and while you're sure it's supposed to be intimidating, all it does is further fuel the heat pooling between your legs.

"So soon?" You look up at him with a doe-eyed gaze you're well aware makes men weak in the knees.

"I shouldn't be here." He says, but he doesn't walk away from you.

You move a little closer so your breath is fanning across his neck, your voice dripping with suggestion. "I could show you a good time."

"Listen, sweetheart, I've got-"

Sweetheart.

"Let me take care of you." You lean up to whisper in his ear. Your breath is hot against his skin, your mouth tantalizingly close, and you can feel the way he twitches slightly- an exercise of self-control.

A moment passes, two, and he lets out a long breath. "Fuck, darlin'." He reaches out, hesitant to touch, as if he's not sure how this works, doesn’t want to cross some invisible line he hasn’t learned exists. You take his hand, guiding it to your waist, reaching up to put one hand on the back of his neck. "You sure know how to get a guy wrapped around your finger."

In response, you give a coy smile, taking his tie in one hand and giving it a soft tug. He allows you to guide him, pulling him along by the tie you're sure he has a million ideas of what to do with.

You lead him into a private room, pulling the curtain closed behind you, letting his tie slip out of your grasp. His eyes dart around for a moment, but then you're in front of him again, reaching up and sliding his blazer off of his shoulders. You hang it up on the wall, then return, now slowly guiding him backwards and giving him a gentle shove into the leather chair near the wall. He raises an eyebrow as you circle him, leaning in from behind to whisper in his ear. "Just relax." You murmur, letting your lips graze his neck before pulling away. He leans back, eyes following your every move, a stare that feels like it could set you on fire.

You put on a good show for him- dancing, teasing, tantalizingly close, but never touching. Not yet. You can see the hunger in his gaze, the restraint it takes for him not to pull you down into his lap and keep you there. You give him a strip tease, taking off your bra and letting your breasts go free. His eyes roam over you, a murmured word, "Beautiful," leaving his lips, and that makes your already soaked panties drenched.

Then you give him a lap dance- and unlike most of the men you meet, he doesn't touch, doesn't paw at you. Instead he waits, lets you set the pace, doesn't do anything without your permission. Your hands go to his tie, undoing it at a speed you know is killing him, tossing it aside.

Finally, you rest yourself entirely on his lap, and whisper in his ear. "You can touch now, if you want to."

His hands immediately settle on your hips, like they belong there. You grind down against him, feeling him tense beneath you at the friction against his clothed cock. You repeat the motion, relishing in the groan it elicits from him. His grip on your hips tightens slightly, and he begins to guide your motions, pressing you down against his thigh in a way that makes you moan. It's a small, soft sound, but it still makes him smile. “Atta girl, that’s it.” He huffs approvingly. You keep going, feeling yourself almost get lost in the rhythmic movement before you come back to your senses.

Your hands move to the collar of his shirt, slowly beginning to undo the buttons, revealing his toned chest. You only get about halfway down before his hands are gripping your wrists, and your protest dies on your lips when he leans up and kisses you.

He tastes like cigar smoke and whiskey, a blend that should be uncomfortable but is somehow pleasant. His tongue slips into your mouth, tangling with yours as he pulls you closer. By the time he finally pulls away for air, you're dizzy, flushed.

A kiss- almost as personal as a name.

You've never met a man who could make you feel like this- and certainly not without getting all your clothes off first.

His words snap you out of your breathless haze. "Let me touch you, baby." His voice is both a plea and a demand, and who are you to deny him such a request?

A simple nod is all it takes before his hands are on you, roving over your breasts with an appreciative groan. You can't help the way your hips rock against him, and one of his hands goes down to your ass, encouraging you to grind against him again. His other hand rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, while his mouth leaves sloppy kisses along your neck, down to your breasts.

You bury your face in his neck, breathing him in. His head comes up from your chest to whisper in your ear as he keeps your hips moving back and forth, his other hand alternating between your breasts. His skin muffles your moans, but you know he won't let you hide those pretty sounds from him forever. "You're so perfect." His words don't exactly do you any favors in the 'keeping your composure' department. "Sweet, pretty thing like you..." He nips at your earlobe, making you gasp softly. "You got no idea what you do to me."

Those words snap you back a little, remind you of your promise to take care of him. You raise your head up, leaning back a little to meet his eyes. "Then show me." Your hands reach down towards his belt, and this time, he doesn't stop you. Instead, his gaze roams over you as you unbuckle it, slowly pull it out of the loops of his pants, toss it aside, letting it join the other discarded articles littering the floor. You undo the buttons, then pull his pants down.

Even through his boxers, you can clearly see the outline of his aching hardness. You gently take him in your palm, running your hand along him through the fabric, watching the way his eyes flutter. Then you adjust yourself so you're grinding on him again, thin layers of clothing the only thing separating the two of you.

You go on like that for a little while, keeping track of every little sound he makes, every hitch of his breath and shudder that goes through his body. Then you lean back, pulling his boxers down, freeing his cock from the confines of his clothing.

Immediately, your mouth waters. He's huge, the biggest you've ever seen, and you find yourself wondering if you even can take him.

You push that thought aside for now, swiping your thumb across his tip, smiling to yourself at the groan that leaves him. You repeat the motion, letting precum gather on your fingers as you begin to move your hand up and down, up and down. You start slow, stroking him gently, then gradually increase your pace. Midway through, you grab a condom with your other hand, keeping eye contact as you open the wrapper with your teeth. You roll it onto him in one smooth motion, earning a startled grunt. His head falls back, his breaths coming unevenly, and it takes him a while before he can manage a coherent sentence.

"Fuck, you treat every guy like this?" Even with all the energy he can muster, the words are still a little short.

Your smile widens, and you lean in to press a kiss against the vein of his throat. "Only the good ones."

His mouth opens, as if to argue with the notion that he's anything good, but your ever-faster movements silence any protests that could have come from him.

You can tell he's getting close, and you slow down, letting him breathe a little slower as you whisper a soft question. "Where do you want me? You want my mouth, you want-"

Your words are cut off by his hand cupping your clothed mound, a gasp escaping you. "I want this." His voice is rough, and this time, it's not a plea. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as you unconsciously begin to move against his hand, chasing any friction he can give you. "I think it's a little unfair, seeing how I'm all out in the open and you've still got these," His thumb hooks in the waistband of your panties. "Separating me from you, hmm?

You don't even answer, just raise your hips up slightly so he can tug your lingerie down your legs until it falls and hits the floor. Immediately, his gaze lands on your exposed cunt. "Jesus, you're soaked." He murmurs, running his fingers through your slick. You whine as he brushes against your clit, and he chuckles. "Need me that bad, huh?"

"Need you." You whine. You can tell he wants to take it slow, to tease you, and by god do you want to let him- but you're impatient, your own teasing having riled you up too much to do anything but fuck him. Luckily, he picks up on your silent request, raising your hips to hover above his cock. His gaze searches yours, waiting for permission, and you nod. "Fuck me." You say softly, and it takes everything in him not to come completely fucking undone at that sweet tone of voice.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he lowers you down onto him. It burns, in a delicious way you've come to love in your years here. Even with the sheer amount of wetness coming from you, it's still a struggle to make him fit- but he does. When you've finally sank all the way down onto his cock, he lets you breathe for a moment. "You can take it, baby." He murmurs reassuringly- a support and a chance for you to back out. You close your eyes, breathing in and out, resting your face in the crook of his neck again.

Then you start to move.

It takes him by surprise, and you like the grunt that comes from him. For someone of his age, you're sure not much can catch him off guard anymore, so that makes it all the better when you lean back to see the look on his face. He catches your small smirk and returns it with one of his own, letting you move yourself up and down, over and over. Your pace slowly increases as the two of you adjust, and the room is soon filled with soft noises and the sound of flesh against flesh.

It's slow, almost sensual, but despite the circumstances that should have you turning this in another direction, you like it. You feel that familiar coil building in your stomach, your soft whimpers turning to moans now.

"You gonna come for me, baby?"

All you can do is nod, and he rocks his hips up into yours. The way he fills you up is mind-numbing, until you can't think of anything else but him and how fucking good he's making you feel, how badly you need to come undone on his cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" Your voice takes on a sharp pitch as he thrusts up into you, and your vision goes white for a moment as your orgasm hits you, unending bliss shaking your whole body. He rides out your orgasm for as long as he can, but the tight feeling of your cunt clenching around him soon sends him over the edge too. You can feel him twitching inside you, only prolonging the aftershocks of your own pleasure.

Eventually, you both come down. You're breathing heavily, trying to scramble together any semblance of thought. He stands suddenly, picking you up like you weigh nothing and setting you down on the chair. His cock slips out of you at some point during the process, leaving you feeling empty. You sit there for a moment before opening your eyes, finding him pulling his pants up and buckling his belt. He meets your gaze with a hint of a fond smile, bending over to grab his tie.

You stand up to retrieve your own clothes, pulling them back on while he shoves his arms through the sleeves of his blazer and rifles through his pockets, eventually pulling out his wallet. "Um, how much do I owe you?"

He looks almost embarrassed, and you find it kind of adorable. You flash him a smile, saying words you never thought you'd dare to let pass your lips. "Nothing. It's on me."

Immediately, his eyebrow shoots up. "No, I can't... I can't let you do that, pretty girl."

You shake your head. "I insist. Nobody's ever fucked me like that, and certainly not any of my clients." You see the way your words boost his ego- good. He deserves it. "Besides, if you hadn't showed up, I'd have gone home anyway." You say nonchalantly, taking a few steps over to him. You reach up and put a finger to his lips before he can continue to argue. "It's on the house."

Although he still looks conflicted, he reluctantly nods. "Okay. Next time, then."

Next time.

You feel a thrill run through your body as he brings up the prospect of a next time, and your smile widens. "Next time." You affirm. You step back, letting him be on his way.

He moves towards the curtain, pausing before he goes. "See you around, sweetheart."

And just like that, he's gone.

But you don't miss him- because you know he'll be back.

So when you finally make it home and climb into bed after that warm shower, there's still a fond smile on your face as you drift off to sleep, dreaming of the weary stranger and his wonderful words.

[ch0llies]

EARNED IT | MATTHEW STURNIOLO. PT.5

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4

brothersbestfriend!matt x innocent!reader

You're an 18-year-old high school senior, the innocent little sister of Matt's best friend. Which means off-limits in every way. But 22-year-old college hockey player, Matt can't ignore the way you cling to him, asking dangerous questions with trusting eyes. You don't understand the fire you're playing with- but Matt does. And he's burning to teach you what happens when you get too close.

story warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap) p in v, virginity loss, squirting, creampie, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, corruption kink (if u squint), brothers best friend, getting caught, pet names (sweetheart, angel, my love), age gap (four years), etc. all characters are of age. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!

word count: 6k

ib: @ariestrxsh’s young god

“You’ve earned it now for sure, sweetheart. You ready?”

His words send a sharp thrill down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach at the sheer possession in his tone. His fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up further, forcing you to hold his gaze. His blue eyes are still dark, still hazy, but there’s something new simmering beneath the surface now- something wicked, something insatiable.

“Did you like that, angel?” His voice is rough, still laced with the remnants of his pleasure, but now there’s an edge to it- low and dangerous, laced with the promise of something more.

You don’t answer, but the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together instinctively, tells him everything he needs to know.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips as his grip shifts, fingers ghosting along your jaw before trailing lower, his knuckles grazing the rapid pulse at your throat. His touch is featherlight, teasing, as if testing just how much you can take.

“You’ve were so good for me,” he murmurs, his thumb swiping across your lower lip, pressing just enough to part your lips slightly. “I think it’s time I take care of you again, yeah?”

The anticipation coils tight in your stomach as he leans forward, his breath hot against your skin. His free hand slides down, fingertips skimming your arm before tracing over your waist, your hips, until he’s gripping you firmly, pulling you closer.

“You want that, don’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs, his lips brushing just below your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

Your body betrays you before you can even answer- your fingers gripping onto his thighs, your breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

Matt chuckles, low and knowing, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“That’s what I thought.”

His hands tighten, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulls you onto his lap in one swift motion, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands landing against his chest. His skin is still warm, his dick hard beneath your slick heat.

The way his gaze drags over you- slow, possessive, like he’s already imagining all the ways he’s about to ruin you makes your stomach flip.

His hands slide down, gripping your hips, holding you there like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you feel against him.

“You’re shaking,” he notes, voice dark with amusement. “What’s the matter, angel? Too much?”

You shake your head, but he tuts, tilting his head.

“No? Then why don’t you show me just how much you can take?”

The challenge hangs between you, thick with heat, and before you can second-guess yourself, your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you move- shifting against him, running your slick folds him. You don’t know why you’re doing it, but for whatever reason you had the painful urge to create friction between you and him.

Matt’s breath hisses through his teeth, his grip on your hips tightening like a warning.

“Careful, sweetheart, ” he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, rough with restraint. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

You don’t understand what he’s saying and your mind is too polluted with the feeling of him hard and warm against you so you shift again, just slightly, and that’s all it takes. Matt’s patience snaps.

A low growl rumbles from his chest, and before you can react, his hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he moves.

Your gasp barely has time to escape before you’re in the air, weightless for a moment as he lifts you with ease. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, legs dangling around his waist as he carries you, his grip firm and unyielding, his movements purposeful.

Your heart pounds, breath catching in your throat as he strides across your room.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” Matt murmurs against your ear, his voice deep and wrecked, laced with something raw, something possessive.

Your body shivers in response, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him, your nerves warring with your excitement.

You feel your cool silk sheets against your back as he lays you down, his weight following immediately after, pressing you into the mattress.

His hands roam, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of you beneath him. His blue eyes are dark, hooded, filled with something almost reverent as he takes you in- every curve, every inch of skin exposed to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing path down your side, his touch featherlight, making you shiver.

His lips find yours- soft at first, coaxing, but quickly turning hungry, desperate. He kisses you like he’s been starving, like he can’t get enough, his hands never still, never stopping.

“You sure about this?” he rasps against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot, uneven.

The concern in his voice tugs at something deep in your chest, and it only makes you fall harder.

You nod, biting your lip, eyes wide and full of trust as you whisper, “I want this. I want you.”

Matt groans, his hand slipping beneath your thigh, dragging it higher around his waist as his lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint, his self-control hanging by a thread.

But he won’t rush. Not with you. Not when he finally has you where he’s always wanted you- completely his.

And tonight that’s exactly what you’ll be.

Matt exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours for just a second as he gathers himself, as if grounding himself in this moment. His fingers trail lightly along your side, tracing the delicate curve of your waist, his touch so careful- like he’s handling something precious.

Because to him, you are.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, lower, laced with something almost tender. His fingertips ghost over your arm, your shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s okay, my love. You don’t have to pretend you’re not.”

Your breath hitches, and you nod, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as you try to steady yourself. He’s right- you are nervous. Your heart is racing, your stomach tight with anticipation, with the weight of everything this moment means. But you trust him.

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” you whisper softly, your voice a squeak. Your cheeks heat at the confession even though he already knows. It’s still embarrassing to you how inexperienced you sound, how vulnerable.

Matt groans, his hands flexing against your hips. “Fuck,” he breathes, shaking his head slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself in. “You have no idea how much that turns me on, do you?”

Your lips part, confused, and his gaze darkens, his fingers tilting your chin up.

“You’re so innocent,” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he can’t believe it, like it’s something he’s savoring. “So sweet. So fucking pure.”

His thumb brushes against your lower lip, dragging it down slightly, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours. “And you’re giving yourself to me,” he says, voice thick, reverent. “Letting me be your first.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the weight of his words, at the intensity in his gaze, like he’s memorizing every second of this, like this means just as much to him as it does to you.

“I want it to be you,” you whisper, your fingers curling around his wrist, holding onto him, grounding yourself in him. “I trust you, Matt.”

He groans again, low and wrecked, his restraint visibly unraveling at the edges. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

His lips trail lower, slow and deliberate, down your throat, to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. He takes his time, pressing soft, lingering kisses to every inch of exposed skin, his hands never rushing, never demanding.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he reassures you, his voice gentle but firm. “Just let me take care of you. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

His fingers slide down your sides, mapping out your body with reverence, learning you, memorizing you. He’s slow, patient, making sure you feel everything, making sure you have time to adjust, to breathe.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “So perfect.”

Matt hovers over you, his weight supported on his forearms as he strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers, his touch impossibly gentle. His blue eyes search yours, dark but soft, so full of something deep and unspoken.

“You’re absolutely sure?” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, but beneath it is a layer of concern, of restraint.

You nod, swallowing hard, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Matt exhales slowly, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “Okay, angel,” he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

His hand traces down your sides again, warm and steady, grounding you as he uses his other hand to position himself, swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds a few times, collecting your arousal that’s dripping onto your thighs.

You both moan at the contact, your eyes glued to his cock, his eyes glued to you. Every movement is unhurried and deliberate- like he’s savoring every second, like he’s making sure you’re ready.

But when he finally starts to push in, your breath catches- your entire body tensing at the unfamiliar stretch, the slow, burning pressure.

Matt freezes immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his forehead drops against yours. “Shit,” he breathes, voice tight. “You’re so -fuck- so tight, angel.”

A small whimper escapes you, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s more than you expected- it aches, a deep, overwhelming pressure that steals the breath from your lungs.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Matt-” Your voice wobbles and comes out small and uncertain. You knew he looked big, but you didn’t know it would feel this big.

His head snaps up, and the second he sees your expression, his entire demeanor shifts. His hands cup your face instantly, his thumbs wiping at the wetness gathering beneath your lashes.

“Hey, hey- sweetheart, it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, soothing. “I’ve got you. We don’t have to do this, okay? Just say the word, and we stop.”

You shake your head quickly, your fingers tightening around his biceps. “No- I want to,” you insist, though your voice is barely a whisper. “It just… it just hurts a little.”

Matt swallows hard, his restraint written all over his face, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push any further. Instead, he leans down, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he breathes against your mouth. “So good for me.”

His hands stroke your sides, slow and reassuring, easing the tension in your body. He kisses you again. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck- each one gentle, patient, as he gives you time to adjust.

“Just breathe for me,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “Relax, my love. Let me in.”

You take a shaky breath, trying to will your body to unclench, and slowly, bit by bit, the burn starts to fade. It’s still overwhelming, still a stretch, but the pain begins to dull, replaced by something warmer, something deeper.

Matt watches your face carefully, his fingers brushing soothing circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod hesitantly. “Yeah… better.”

He exhales in relief, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before he moves, just a little, just enough to make you gasp.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re taking me so well.”

You feel so impossibly full- stretched beyond anything you ever thought possible. It’s overwhelming, an ache that borders on too much, like your body is being split apart, struggling to take all of him.

A fresh wave of tears prick at your eyes, your breath coming in shaky, uneven gasps as you shift slightly, trying to adjust.

“Are you… are you all the way in?” you whisper, your voice small.

You prop yourself up on trembling elbows, forcing yourself to look down and the second your gaze lands between your bodies, your stomach drops.

He’s not even halfway there.

Your eyes widen, lips parting in silent disbelief, and when you snap your head up to meet his gaze, Matt is already watching you.

His blue eyes are dark, searching, laced with nothing but pure lust, his jaw tight as he takes in your expression.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low, strained, like he’s barely holding on.

You swallow thickly, your fingers clutching onto his arms, your entire body trembling beneath him.

“I…” You trail off, unable to form words, the realization hitting you like a freight train as you lay back down.

Matt exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

“We’ll go slow,” he murmurs. His hands stroke over your thighs, your waist, smoothing over your skin in silent reassurance. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

His lips brush against yours, soft and patient, as he whispers against your mouth. “Just breathe for me.”

And as he finally, finally sinks in all the way, filling you completely, his hands never stop touching you, never stop soothing you.

Matt stills the moment he’s fully inside you, his breath ragged, his arms nearly trembling as he holds himself still. His forehead presses against yours, and for a long moment, the only sound in the room is the shared rhythm of your breathing, the quiet hum of your bodies pressed so intimately together.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so good, angel- so warm, so tight.”

You whimper softly, still adjusting to the overwhelming fullness, the deep stretch that leaves you breathless. Your body is still tense, still unsure, but Matt doesn’t move, doesn’t rush, doesn’t do anything except hold you close, his lips brushing against your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his fingers tracing slow, comforting circles against your hip.

You nod hesitantly, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath your touch. “It’s… a lot,” you admit, your voice small, shaky.

Matt exhales sharply, his grip tightening like he’s barely holding himself together. “I know, my love,” he soothes, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “I know. Just breathe for me, yeah? Let your body relax.”

His hands continue moving- gliding up and down your sides, ghosting over your stomach, slipping beneath your thighs to pull you just a little closer. He kisses you again, deep and slow, his tongue tracing along your lower lip, distracting you, coaxing you into letting go of the last bit of tension.

And when you finally, finally exhale, your muscles softening beneath him, Matt groans, his jaw clenching.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s my good girl.”

He pulls out just an inch before easing back in, slow and careful, watching your face the entire time. You gasp, nails digging into his back, overwhelmed by the sensation, the way he fills you so completely, like he was made to fit against you, inside you.

Matt’s breathing is ragged now, his control visibly fraying, but he keeps his pace slow, keeps his movements gentle as he only pushes about and inch out and back into you. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw. “Taking me so well- being so good for me.”

Your body starts to adjust, the discomfort slowly fading, replaced by something warmer, something that makes your toes curl and your breath stutter. A soft moan escapes you, and Matt groans in response, his fingers tightening against your hips.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice rough, strained. “Feels better, doesn’t it?”

You nod breathlessly, your hands sliding up his arms, over his shoulders, clinging to him as the warmth between your legs grows, the pleasure building in slow, tantalizing waves.

“Please,” you whisper, not even sure what you’re begging for, only knowing that you don’t want him to stop, don’t want this moment to end.

Matt groans like the sound of your voice is his undoing. “Fuck,” he breathes, his movements still slow but deeper now, more deliberate. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

He presses his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that feels like a confession, like worship. Every roll of his hips is measured, controlled, like he’s savoring you, like he wants this to last forever.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, his voice thick with possession. “You know that, right?”

You shiver beneath him, nodding without hesitation. “Yes,” you whisper.

His lips curl into a smirk against your skin, and his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head.

“Good girl.”

And then he moves, slow and deep and perfect, and you finally, finally surrender completely.

Matt’s slow, controlled thrusts start to falter, his breathing growing heavier, more uneven. He’s been holding back, reining himself in, treating you like something fragile, something delicate. But the second you moan his name, the second your nails scrape down his back, something snaps inside him.

“Fuck-” he groans, his grip on your hips tightening. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. So perfect for me. I can’t hold back anymore. Tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?”

His pace picks up immediately, his movements more desperate, more intense. The deep, steady thrusts give way to something rougher, something needier, like he can’t get enough of you, like he needs to feel every inch of you wrapped around him.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” he growls against your ear, his voice dark, strained with pleasure. “Wanted me to ruin you?”

You whimper beneath him, barely able to form words, your body overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you now, by the way he’s making you feel.

He smirks against your neck, biting down just enough to make you gasp. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his lips tracing down your jaw. “Taking me so fucking well. Such a good girl for me.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body arching against him, craving more. He notices, of course he notices, and groans, one hand slipping between your bodies, fingers finding the most sensitive part of you.

“Fuck- listen to you,” he breathes, his fingers working you in slow, devastating circles. “So fucking needy for me. You like this, don’t you? Like being my good girl?”

You nod frantically, barely able to think straight, the pleasure building so fast it leaves you dizzy.

Matt chuckles, dark and satisfied, his other hand gripping your thigh, pulling your leg over his shoulder to take him even deeper.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his pace relentless now, his hips slamming into yours with every thrust. “God, you feel so fucking good. So perfect. All mine.”

You’re close- you can feel it, the pleasure coiling tight, ready to snap. Your hands grip his shoulders, your body trembling beneath him, and he notices that too.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna let me feel you fall apart on me?”

You nod, whimpering his name, and that’s all he needs.

His fingers move faster, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper, hitting that spot that makes you cry out, your entire body tightening around him.

“Come on,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “Be the good girl you know you are and cum for me.”

Everything shatters.

Pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling as you fall apart beneath him.

Matt groans, feeling your body tense and shudder around him as your climax washes over you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps, and he watches you unravel beneath him with a look of pure possession.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his fingers still working you through your high, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. “So fucking beautiful when you cum around me.”

But he isn’t done. Not even close.

His hips never stop moving, never stop thrusting deep into you, and the overstimulation has you whimpering, your body twitching as he keeps pushing you past your limit.

“Too much?” he teases, smirking against your neck as he rolls his hips just right, making your back arch off the bed. “You can take it, sweetheart. Just let me make you feel good.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, but the heat in your stomach is already building again, the sensitivity morphing into another wave of unbearable pleasure.

“You wanted me to make you feel good, didn’t you?” Matt growls, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open wider as he pounds into you with deep, bruising thrusts. “Wanted me to use this perfect untouched little body until you crumble?”

You can’t even answer, your words turning into breathless moans, and Matt groans, his pace rough and unrelenting.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, his head falling against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “So tight, so fucking perfect- God, I’m not gonna stop. Not until I’ve had my fill of you.”

He moves your other leg over his shoulder, sinking even deeper, and you cry out, your whole body jolting from the intensity of it.

“That’s it,” he praises, his hands roaming over your body, gripping your waist, your thighs, your breasts. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You’re already close again- your body hasn’t had time to recover, the pleasure slamming into you with relentless force.

“You gonna cum for me again?” Matt grits out, his voice wrecked, strained. “Come on, baby, give me another- wanna feel you squeeze me again.”

His fingers press harder, rubbing tight, devastating circles against your swollen clit, matching the deep, punishing rhythm of his hips. The pressure is unbearable, the heat coiling so tightly in your stomach that you can barely breathe.

“Matt-” you gasp, your entire body locking up, your back arching as white-hot pleasure rips through you.

But this time it’s different.

Your orgasm hits you like a fucking tidal wave, crashing into you with so much force that your vision blurs, your breath catches, your legs shake uncontrollably over his shoulders. A sharp, helpless cry rips from your throat as your body clenches so hard around him that he groans, his rhythm faltering.

A sudden rush of liquid spills between you, soaking the sheets, drenching his stomach, your thighs, everything.

For a split second, your mind goes blank.

Your body shudders violently, your chest heaving, your limbs weak, your head spinning.

Matt stills.

You’re panting, shaking, blinking up at him in shock, completely dazed, barely able to comprehend what just happened.

Matt exhales sharply, his jaw tightening, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls back slightly, looking down at the mess between you.

His lips part, his eyes darkening, and then he lets out a low, guttural groan.

“Holy fuck.”

Your face burns, your stomach twisting in embarrassment. You have no idea what just happened.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, mortified, trying to close your legs, trying to hide, but Matt’s hands clamp down on your thighs, spreading you open again.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, his voice low, feral, dripping with pure, unfiltered desire. His thumb swipes through the wetness, his breath shaky, his body tense.

“You just fucking squirted all over me,” he mutters, almost like he can’t believe it, like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

You let out a small, humiliated whimper, covering your face with your hands, but Matt just chuckles darkly, shaking his head.

“Sweetheart,” he purrs, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, caging you in. “You think I’d be anything other than completely fucking obsessed with this?”

Your eyes widen as he grinds against you again, still hard, still throbbing inside you.

“You’re gonna do that again,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking against your pulse, his hips pulling back only to slam into you again.

“And this time, I want you to scream my name when you do it.”

Matt doesn’t give you a second to recover- doesn’t give you time to process what just happened.

Before you can catch your breath, before you can even close your legs, he’s already moving again, thrusting deep into you, stretching you all over again, his hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go.

“Oh my god- Matt-” you gasp, your voice wrecked, shaking, your entire body still tingling from the last orgasm.

But Matt- Matt is relentless.

“That’s right, sweetheart, say my fuckin name,” he growls, snapping his hips forward, his pace turning brutal, needy, unforgiving. “You’re gonna give me another one. I know you can.”

His fingers slip between your bodies, rubbing tight, torturous circles over your clit again, zeroing in on your most sensitive spot.

You whimper, thrash, tremble, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming, too intense.

“Matt- I-” you choke out, your legs twitching, your thighs trying to squeeze together, but he doesn’t let you.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough, desperate, obsessed. “Let it happen. Let me see you cum all over me like that again.”

His pace grows punishing, his fingers unrelenting, and you can feel it building again.

The heat, the pressure, the sharp coil of pleasure tightening in your stomach so fast it nearly blinds you.

You try to fight it- try to pull away, the overstimulation too much, too intense.

But Matt doesn’t let you.

“Don’t you fucking run from it,” he growls, pinning you down, holding you still, his breath hot against your ear. “Be a good girl and fucking take it.”

That’s all it takes.

Your body seizes, your back arching off the bed, and then-

A sharp, helpless scream rips from your throat as another rush of liquid spills from you, gushing between your legs, soaking the sheets, drenching him all over again.

“Holy fuck-” Matt groans, his jaw clenching, his hips faltering as he watches it happen, as he feels it happen.

Your entire body shakes, your vision going white, your mind blanking completely as wave after wave of pleasure crashes into you.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls, his voice strained, wrecked, completely gone as he pounds into you one last time.

“Fuck- Y/N-”

.A deep, wrecked groan tears from his throat as he buries himself inside you, his entire body shuddering as he spills into you, his fingers gripping you like he never wants to let go.

For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the warm press of your bodies still tangled together as he pulls out.

Matt collapses against you, his lips brushing over your damp skin as he exhales shakily. “Fuck,” he mutters, still catching his breath. “You’re… unreal.”

You hum softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. But just when you think you’re done, Matt’s lips curl into a smirk against your skin.

“You didn’t think we were finished, did you?” he murmurs, his hands already sliding down your body, already spreading your legs apart again.

Your breath hitches. “Matt-”

But he’s already kissing down your body, already pressing his fingers against your still-sensitive core.

“You can give me one more,” he coaxes, his voice smooth, confident. “And then another. And then another.”

His blue eyes flicker up to yours, dark and filled with something insatiable.

“You’re mine for the night, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh. “And I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Within seconds he’s moving again, his hands pulling the teeshirt over his head and throwing it across the room, hands gripping your thighs and spreading you open beneath him. His blue eyes are dark, wild, still hungry as he drags his fingers down your oversensitive core, teasing, testing.

“You can give me more, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing. “I know you can.”

Your body jolts as his fingers slip between your folds, his touch slow but deliberate, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your already throbbing clit. A cry escapes your lips, your body twitching from the complete and utter overstimulation, but he just smirks, watching you squirm beneath him.

“Too much?” he teases, tilting his head as he leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “That’s what you said last time, too- and look at you now.”

His fingers push inside you, and you gasp, your nails digging into his arms as he starts pumping them at a devastating pace, curling them just right. His thumb continues rubbing tight circles against your clit, and the pleasure slams into you again, sharp and overwhelming.

“Matt- ” you cry out, but your words dissolve into breathless moans as he keeps working you, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Shh, my love,” he soothes, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open for him. “Just let me make you feel good again.”

His fingers work you faster, deeper, and you’re already spiraling, already teetering on the edge again, your body writhing beneath him. He watches your face, his lips curling into a smirk as he sees the way your eyes squeeze shut, the way your mouth parts in desperate pleasure.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Cum for me again, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”

It crashes over you so fast you barely have time to prepare- your 5th orgasm of the night tearing through you, your entire body seizing up as you cry out his name, your hands clutching onto him like he’s the only thing grounding you.

Matt groans, feeling the way you clench around his fingers, the way your body trembles from the sheer force of it. He keeps his movements steady, dragging out your pleasure until you’re twitching from the overstimulation, whimpering against his shoulder.

“God damn,” he breathes, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw. “So fucking good for me. So fucking perfect.”

But he’s not done. Before you can even process what’s happening, he’s gripping your hips and flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling you up onto your hands and knees. Your breath catches, your body still trembling, but Matt’s hands are firm, steady, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

“You can give me one more,” he murmurs, his hands smoothing over your hips before gripping them tight. “Just one more, baby.”

He pushes inside you in one slow, deep thrust, and the stretch makes you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets as he fills you up completely.

“Fuck,” Matt groans, his hands tightening on your waist. “You’re still so fucking tight. How are you still this tight?”

He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in, and you let out a strangled moan, your back arching as he sets a brutal, relentless pace.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he growls, his fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you harder and unbelievably faster and deeper, like he’s finally letting himself go. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His hands slide up your back, one gripping the back of your neck, the other slipping between your legs, rubbing rough, desperate circles against your puffy and abused clit. Your body jolts at the contact, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach again, and Matt groans at the way you squeeze around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate. “One more. Come with me this time.”

You’re so close, the pleasure slamming into you so hard it leaves you breathless. Matt’s grip tightens, his movements growing frantic, and his voice is wrecked as he whispers,

“You’re mine, baby. All fucking mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice, the way he’s taking you, claiming you—it sends lightning through your veins, the coil in your stomach tightening dangerously fast.

“Matty- ” you choke out, your nails digging into his back, your body clenching around him, and he feels it, notices it, because his thrusts somehow become even harder, faster and deeper.

“That’s it, sweetheart, don’t hold back,” he groans, his thumb slipping between you, pressing even rougher circles against your swollen clit. “You’re gonna come for me again. I can feel it.”

His free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider for him, letting him sink in even deeper, hitting that spot that has you seeing stars.

It’s too much.

Your whole body locks up, your mouth falling open as a strangled, wrecked cry rips from your throat. Your orgasm slams into you, wave after violent wave, and you can’t stop it-

The release pours out of you, drenching the sheets, soaking him, the mess between you completely obscene.

Matt loses it.

“Holy fucking shit-” he groans loudly, his hips slamming into you one last time, his entire body tensing hard as he buries himself deep inside you.

His release spills into you again, hot and endless, mixing with yours, his grip on you tightening, his body shuddering from the sheer force of it.

Matt finally pulls out, groaning softly as he watches his release spill out of you, dripping onto the already ruined sheets beneath you. He lets out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, looking down at the complete mess you both made. “We absolutely destroyed these sheets.”

You let out a whimper, covering your face with your hands, still dazed, still trembling from everything that just happened.

Matt grins, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against your temple before rolling off the bed.

“Stay there,” he murmurs, pulling the soaking wet sheets off the mattress in one swift motion. The fabric lands on the floor with a heavy thud, and he’s already reaching for fresh ones, moving quickly, effortlessly, like he’s done this before.

Your face burns at the thought.

Matt glances over his shoulder at you, smirking, noticing your expression.

“Don’t go getting all shy on me now, baby,” he teases, snapping the new sheet over the mattress, smoothing it out with practiced ease. “Not after you just squirted all over me, what? Three times?”

You groan, burying your face in a pillow as he lets out a low, satisfied laugh.

“Adorable,” he muses, tossing the ruined sheets into the corner before climbing back into bed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms.

“All set, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair, grinning as he wraps himself around you again. “Now get over here and let me hold you.”

And even as exhaustion starts to take over, his grip never loosens- his body never stops pressing against yours, holding you close like he never wants to let go.

Matt groans softly, still catching his breath, his arms wrapped securely around you. His body is warm, his skin slick with sweat, but neither of you move for a long moment, both too blissed out, too exhausted.

You’re still blushing furiously, the aftermath of everything settling in.

But there’s one thing you can’t quite wrap your head around.

You shift slightly, looking up at him with wide, confused eyes, your fingers playing with the hem of the blanket.

“Matt…” you murmur, your voice small.

He hums in response, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip.

You hesitate before finally asking, genuine confusion in your tone,

“…What happened to me… when I… you know?”

Matt stills.

His lips twitch, and he lifts his head slightly, brows raising as he looks at you, almost like he didn’t hear you right.

“You mean… when you came?” he asks carefully, watching your expression.

You chew on your lip, your cheeks burning, your body curling in on itself slightly.

“I- I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling incredibly shy. “I just… it felt really good but then- then it was like…a lot.”

Matt’s eyes darken, his grip tightening slightly on your hip as he exhales through his nose, clearly holding back a smirk.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, amusement lacing his voice. “You really don’t know?”

You shake your head quickly, suddenly mortified.

Matt grins, propping himself up on his elbow, gazing down at you like he’s completely enamored.

“Baby,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back, his thumb stroking your cheek. “You squirted. Like I said”

You blink.

Your brows furrow, and you shift under the blanket, pulling it closer around you, feeling smaller, embarrassed.

“I- what?”

Matt chuckles, clearly loving this.

“You know…” he smirks, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “When a girl gets so worked up, so completely lost in pleasure that she-”

He gestures vaguely to the soaked sheets on the floor.

You follow his gaze- and suddenly, realization dawns.

Your eyes widen, your face going completely red, and you whip your head back to him, absolutely mortified.

“MATT!” you squeak, hiding your face in your hands.

He laughs, genuinely laughs, shaking his head as he pulls your hands away, his grip gentle but firm.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Don’t get all embarrassed. That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You groan, your cheeks burning, trying to turn away from him, but he won’t let you.

“Sweetheart,” he purrs, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him.

His blue eyes are dark, filled with something warm, something possessive.

“You have no idea how much that turned me on,” he murmurs. “How fucking good you looked when you let go like that.”

Your stomach flutters violently, and you bury your face in his chest, whining softly.

Matt just laughs again, wrapping his arms tighter around you, completely obsessed with your innocence, your sweetness.

Then he shifts.

You blink up at him, bleary-eyed, as he carefully untangles himself from you and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?” you murmur sleepily, frowning as you reach for him.

Matt chuckles, shaking his head as he stands. “Relax, sweetheart. I just need to clean you up.”

That wakes you up a little more.

You sit up, your brow furrowing in confusion. “You need to… what?”

Matt glances at you over his shoulder, smirking. “Clean you up,” he repeats simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He grabs a clean rag from the dresser and disappears into the bathroom.

You sit there, stunned, your legs still weak and trembling as you try to process the situation. He’s… he’s going to clean you up?

You don’t have time to overthink it before Matt is back, damp rag in hand, his expression calm and casual- like he hasn’t just spent the past however long wrecking you completely.

But then he kneels back onto the bed, his large hands gripping your thighs, and you suddenly feel very small, very exposed.

“Matt-” you start, but he just smirks, shaking his head as he spreads your legs apart again.

“Sweetheart,” he tuts, his voice low, teasing. “I just made you cum like six times. You can’t be all shy and shit now.”

Your entire face burns, your thighs instinctively trying to press back together, but Matt just grips them firmly, keeping you open for him.

“Matthew!” you squeak, but then you see it.

Your gaze drops, and your breath catches as you notice the mess between your legs- his cum, mixed with yours, spilling out of you, slick and warm against your thighs.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, absolutely mortified.

Matt chuckles, his eyes darkening as he watches your reaction. “It’s normal, angel,” he reassures you, his thumb stroking your inner thigh.

You look back up at him, eyes wide. “You’re not… grossed out?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No, sweetheart. If anything…” He leans in slightly, his gaze flickering downward, his jaw clenching. “I’m almost getting hard again just looking at it.”

Your face somehow turns even redder.

“Oh my gosh,” you whimper, covering your face with your hands as you flop back against the pillows, absolutely overwhelmed.

Matt just chuckles again, his smirk unmistakably smug as he brings the warm rag between your legs and starting to clean you up, his touch gentle, careful.

But even as he moves with patience, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, and the way he looks at you makes you wonder just how much rest you’re actually going to get tonight.

After he finishes cleaning you up, Matt tosses the rag aside and looks down at you, his blue eyes softer now, filled with something warm, something that makes your stomach flutter. He brushes a hand over your thigh, his fingers tracing gentle, soothing circles.

“You sore?” he asks, his voice low, genuinely concerned.

You shift slightly, feeling the lingering ache between your legs, and nod. “Yeah… it hurts down here.”

Matt exhales, running a hand through his hair before he moves, standing just long enough to walk around the bed before slipping under the covers on the other side. He pats the mattress beside him.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, inviting.

You hesitate only for a second before scooting over, letting him pull you into his arms. His warmth surrounds you instantly, his body solid and comforting, his scent still intoxicating- like musk and something undeniably him.

His chin rests lightly atop your head, and he sighs, his hands lazily tracing up and down your back, grounding you both in the quiet afterglow.

“How was it?” he asks after a moment, his voice rumbling against your skin. “Your first time?”

You let out a soft giggle, nuzzling closer against his chest. “It was really good,” you admit, your voice muffled against his skin. “But… I don’t really know what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Matt chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you came six times, I’d say it was pretty damn good, sweetheart.”

“Is that normal?” Your cheeks flush, and you bite your lip, hiding your face against him.

He laughs again, clearly amused. “No. Not usually. But that’s a good thing,”

“Matt?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

“Mm?”

You shift, rolling over so you can face him. He tilts his head slightly, his brows raising at your expression.

“How many people have you done it with?” you ask, your gaze flickering downward, suddenly shy.

Matt blinks, visibly caught off guard. His mouth opens, then closes, and for the first time since the night started, he looks almost… awkward.

“Uh…” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why?”

You shrug, still not looking at him, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” you mumble, your voice suddenly small. “I was just… wondering.”

Matt watches you for a long moment, and then realization dawns. His lips twitch slightly, and he tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.

You immediately look down, avoiding his eyes entirely, and he exhales sharply, his smirk growing.

“Oh, you are,” he murmurs, his fingers tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes flicker with something playful, something teasing. “That’s adorable.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands, but Matt just chuckles, prying them away and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, “I don’t care about anyone before you. The only person I’m thinking about right now- the only person I want- is you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, and you finally look up at him, your lips parting slightly. His expression softens, and his thumb strokes over your cheek, his gaze filled with something deeper, something more sincere.

“Okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Okay.”

Matt grins, clearly satisfied, and pulls you back against his chest, his arms tightening around you.

“Good,” he says, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “Because I plan on keeping you all to myself.”

Matt tilts your chin up again, his blue eyes flickering between yours, his gaze deep, searching. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his breath warm as he leans in.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not like before- not rushed or desperate. This kiss is slow, deep, intimate. His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your stomach flip, makes your body melt into his touch. His hands cradle your face like you’re something precious, his fingers tracing soft patterns along your jaw, down your neck.

You sigh into his mouth, your arms looping around his shoulders, pulling him closer. The heat between you starts to build again, your bodies pressing together under the covers, the slow drag of his lips against yours turning into something more heated, more urgent.

Matt groans softly, tilting your head back further as his tongue brushes against yours, deepening the kiss. His hands wander lower, slipping beneath the blanket, gripping your waist as he shifts, rolling you onto your back.

He hovers over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips trailing down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice husky, wrecked, “I can’t get enough of you.”

He starts to crawl over you, his knee parting your thighs, his hands framing your face as his lips find yours again, this time more desperate, more claiming-

BANG.

The bedroom door swings open so suddenly it slams against the wall.

“Hey, Y/N, I was a fucking hour into the drive when I realized I forgot my wallet, do you know where I-”

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

You freeze. Matt freezes.

Your brother stands in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, taking in the scene in front of him:

Matt completely naked and hovering over you, your legs tangled together under the covers, both of you breathless, flushed, naked, and clearly caught in the middle of something.

Your brother’s face twists in absolute horror, his expression shifting from shock to pure rage in a matter of seconds. His jaw clenches, his fists tighten, and then-

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he bellows, his voice shaking the walls.

The room goes still.

Your stomach drops.

Matt’s chest rises and falls slowly, his body tense, frozen, unreadable.

Your eyes snap to his, wide, panicked, pleading.

Matt just meets your gaze, steady and sure, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.

Neither of you move.

Neither of you speak.

There’s not much you could say anyways.

What is there to do when you’re caught with one man who was off limits?

EPILOGUE OUT NOW!

MASTERLIST

a/n: and with that, the earned it series has come to an end 🫡 thank you for all the love on this series. YOU ARE ALL INCREDIBLE!! you literally give me motivation to write. so thank you. i know i left on another cliffhanger…. sorry not sorry. the original draft of this chapter was actually like 8k words and included what happened after the brother walked in but i decided that I kinda wanna leave it up to the readers mind. yall get to decide what happens after this! (maybe I’ll put out an epilogue or smth idk) BUT THANK YOU AGAIN SO MUCH!!! SO MUCH LOVE!!!

-c🧡

for @mattsobvimyfav as always, i love you. thank you for being you. you are my sunshine.

tags: @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 @user1smvtysturniolo @briisturniolo @sturniololuvz @hesvoid34 @butterflytsblog @mommymomm @mattsbunnyxx @blushsturns @i8kth @annalisesturnioloxo @kenziesturniolo54 @ribread03 @sturnl0ve @grace-sturniolo12 @sophsturns @mattsturnfx @lilyloveschris @milo-the-dog @riggysworld @scrumptiouskoalabasement @tenaciousearthquakeperson @sturnlovematt22 @seros-girl @sofsturnz689 @sturniololuvz @eeyoresturnz

[malereadermaniac]

Barack bunny pt 2 - Male Reader x Pro-hero's as generals (+bonuses)

This was requested by @jojorefrence23 ! Thought it was such a good sequel idea! word count: 4.6k (loooooong) Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI Characters: Enji, Fatgum, Aizawa, Dabi, Shigi, Shinso + Tamaki, Mirio, Shindo Top!Characters x Bottom!Reader

Inevitably, your reputation as your division's barrack bunny had reached other divisions which weren't lucky enough to be blessed by your presence

Most lieutenants had also heard of you, and news of you had travelled to even some generals

Some were more interested than others, surprisingly few were concerned about your more energetic hobbies - especially as you were a man getting it on with other guys in your devision and not a female cadet; their rules weren't exactly updated to ban gay relationships too!

And so, other people began to talk to you, your presence more known than ever before - most of the guys who were already trying to get with you livid at this

General Aizawa (EraserHead)

Even the most reserved of the generals had become interested in you, the man being called 'eraserhead' behind his back due to the blank expression on his face at all times

To be fair, the man has to manage a bunch of knucklehead young men without getting any ass - so when you basically show up on a platter, it's hard for him not to test the waters

Aizawa already had a softspot for you, as you were one of the less rowdy ones in the bunch - always chipper but never annoying, and always happy to help whenever the overworked general needed it

So once the two of you were all alone in his office as you helped him out with whatever he needed, your trusted general decided to get a little more personal with you

Conversation swept you both up and you two ended up talking until late into the night - Aizawa even comfortable enough to talk about his daughter with you; DILF? Smash.

One thing led to another and the man was holding your waist and your cheek with his slender, rough hands as he kissed you - his tongue completely dominating yours

A few moments later, you were bent over his desk, getting fucked like a cheap slut. Aizawa holding both of your arms back only with one of his hands, the other on the small of your back as his cock fills you up

Your General's whole office had been christened with your moans that night - the muscular man standing naked above you as he came on your face with a horny look in his eyes, holding you in his strong arms as he fucks you against all 4 walls of his office

It's easier to just say that you were very tired the next morning at attention

But ever since then, you were even more Aizawa's favourite

The man did everything in his power (which he had quite a bit of) to keep you away from your other escapades - bakugou being one of the many which would cuss out the general behind his back foe this

The fucking didn't stop either

I mean, the man was constantly stressed and sexually frustrated, and you were young and horny as fuck 24/7

Aizawa's favourite thing to do was call you into his office a few hours after training, watching you walk into his office with a smile and pep in your step always made him feel at ease

The sexy general would then gesture towards his crotch with his head and eyes, those sunken, sexy eyes of his

Within the next minuet, you're under Aizawa's desk, his cock slipped out out of his cammo cargoes, half of his veiny, thick dick down your throat and your hand wrapped around whatever you couldn't get in

And while the situation only really pleasured your general, you couldn't help but feel incredibly turned on by the sight above you - Aizawa moaning and grunnting, his long, muscular arms hanging down his sides as his chin is tilted up to show his sexy stubble, his sexy eyes looking down at you with a look than sends shivers down your spine

The man also always sports a black, tight tanktop every time he's in his office - a comfort thing - and fucking hell does he look delicious with his muscles popping out of that top, sweat clearly dampening the material as he pants and moans from your mouth

But don't think the man stops there, Aizawa is more than happy to return the favour after you'd pleasure him so, so nicely - so for another hour or two you're usually stuck in his office; his veiny fingers inside of you as your usually reserved general laps at your twitching cock, you cumming on his face and hair everytime as if on a schedule, the action followed up by a couple rounds of his cock re-arranging your guts

Late Night talking is very common with you two - like with most of your other partners, they feel comfortable around you - you two chat about life and other things, Aizawa feels at home with you

The man knew he was in deep shit when he caught himself fantasising about you meeting Eri back home...

General Taishiro (Fatgum)

Easily the most popular and well liked general in your entire unit - earning a nickname from the troops to show how friendly he was with you guys

Fatgum - as the blonde, muscular man was still somehow in shape despite eating like he'd been starved for days at every single meal time

Taishiro is a very attractive man, and so he was very used to women and men pouncing on him and offering themselves to him whenever they built up the courage - and that's exactly what he expected you to do

You may as well be walking around with a scarlet letter on you, because litterally everyone you talked to knew about how you get down and dirty - so of fucking course your favourite general had to know too!

However, when you didn't pounce on General Taishiro, and instead barely gave him a second look, that's when the man became interested - predicable really

All of the troops in your unit loved this man, and you did too, and that's exactly why you barely gave your general a second look

You didn't want to ruin your friendship with him or his view of you, or even his relationship with your fellow troops (some of whom would threaten to fight the man)

But your views on the matter definitely changed one night, when Taishiro 'accidentally' bumped into you

It was just after training, you had just showered after having a little fun with Kirishima and weren't looking when you turned the corner to leave the shower room

That's when your face smashed into not a hard, cold wall, but instead the warm, soft, bare chest of your general

You apologised but the general took the opportunity to strike up conversation - knowing very well that he was fully nude except for a very small towel around his hips, his muscular body on full display

But the blonde actually couldn't believe it when your eyes didn't stray from his even once the whole conversation - he couldn't say the same about his, your nude body looked like it was made for him

The man even thought he'd heard wrong, that you weren't the barrack bunny everyone claimed you were

However the hickeys covering your neck and the lovebites on your shoulders and nipples blew that thought away

It took you by surprise when Taishiro's attitude slightly changed, his tone more dominant - but what the general actually said was what caught you by surprise

"Come take a shower with me"

No question mark at the end or anything, it was more like an order

The next thing led to another and the two of you were passionately making out in a shower stall, your general much taller than you as he held his huge, manly hand around your waist and gently caressing your cheek with his thumb

Taishiro was literally taking your breath away, all that could be heard in the shower room was a small stream of water from the shower and you sexy, breathy pants as the general you viewed as a friendly guy was holding you up in his massive arms with ease and eating you out in his arms!

Fuck the man knew what to do to turn you on!

The poor water bill that night must of been through the roof because you and your sexy, manly general didn't stop fucking until the sun came up - amd for most of the night he held you up in his arms! Strong ass man I tell you!

His loads filled you up to brim after just a 3 rounds - those rounds having lasted an hour each!!!

So to call it a night, Taishiro decided to gently finger his thick cum out of you- making you cum in the process and giving the blonde general an incredible image to think about whenever he has some alone time...

'Wait... why was General Taishiro showering in the common showers when he has his own??'

Your relationship didn't stop there either! Your friendly general joining the group of men that were wrapped around your finger

But man were the others livid, because the blonde made sure everyone knew he was now also up in your guts at least twice a week by making sure to sit next to you every meal time

The blonde would eat his food with the generals even quicker than normal, pop some gum in and come and wiggle hid way right next to you, his muscular arms dropped around you as he gives smug looks to the other troops

His office had become the usual place for you two as well - the snacks in his mini-fridge coming in handy when you're exhausted and hungry from fucking like animals

His favourite thing to do is to eat you out on his desk, his long, warm tongue doing things to you you'd never experienced - his favourite part being you grabbing his sexy blonde hair once you get oh so close to cumming

But Taishiro wasn't opposed to 'quietly' (loud as fuck) have sex in your bed with the others

You really woke up a smug part of him, one that wants to show you off, show off how only his big, veiny, uncut cock makes you moan like a bitch in heat

General Todoroki (Enji)

The highest ranking general which all of the troops barely ever saw - even his sons rarely saw him unless they were reporting their weekly tasks

Strict and no-bullshit is how most people described General Todoroki - and definitely unopposed to nepotism; his sons were both in higher ranks just cause!

But another way his underlings would describe him is sexually frustrated

The man was divorced and hadn't gotten a piece of ANYTHING in at least a year - so when your activities were reported to him by a worried little troop, his ears perked up

You were scared shitless the whole day after being called to his office for 8pm - but your guys and even Shoto assured you it was going to be nothing bad

But your heart certainly sank when you walked into that office and saw the chief general sitting in his chair with his huge arms crossed across his beefy chest and a look on his face that could only be described as a scowl

When General Enji started with "I've heard of you and your... relations" my god were you actually shaking

But you didn't expect him to cut you a deal

"I won't pass the concern on... as long as you can please me well enough"

And the rest was history

As you'd expect, after having earth-shattering sex on both behalf - Enji becoming addicted to your tight body and sexy features after being celibate for so long - you two continued having 'meetings' every few weeks whenever the chief called you to his office

And the man is just as anyone would think he is in bed - a fucking sadistic dom!

Enji loved having you service him below his desk, chocking on his thick cock and trying to stifle your sounds, gripping his thick, muscular thighs when someone walks into his office to talk about something

If you even make a sound which Enji has to make an excuse for, as soon whoever was bothering Enji leaves, you get pulled up into the huge General's lap and get spanked so, so much

The sadist makes you count his slaps out loud, his massive, rough hands leaving bright red marks on your ass to adorn his love bites from previously eating you out

Enji likes to see you cry - not in a horrible way, but either due to your gag reflex, his spanking, or from the sheer amount of pleasure you were being subjected to

Unlike the other guys who have fallen for you, Enji doesn't get jealous of the others - the General knows that he's at the top of the hierarchy and that you are pretty much at his beck and call, the others don't have that power over you

Oh and the man really eats up the whole power synamic - practically ripping his cargoes at the seam with his boner whenever you calm him 'sir'or 'general'

If there's one thing the man doesn't like, it's that his sons are getting a piece of you too - he feels a little weird about it, but he mainly feels a carnal need to posses you in that respect; if he sees Shoto talking to you woth that lovestruck look in his eyes, expect a 'meeting' later that day

Oh and another thing General Enji fucking loves is after he cums inside of you; you on his lap lazily leaning against his desk, regaining your composure, his huge dick still stretching you as his cum leaks from your hole, and my god your much smaller, fucking spent cock, semi-flaccid just resting on your stomach.... it makes the man want another round instantly

Lieutenant Shigiraki (Defo OOC)

Another kinda reserved guy in your course - but once you break down his walls, Shigi is really just a sweet guy

The two of you became quite friendly after you managed to get him to talk - and you kinda gathered that he's never really had any friends (other than Lieutenant Todoroki)

And you can tell this because after only a few conversations with the Lieutenant, he was oversharing so, so much about his life

How he's never really had friends, how he's never even kissed anyone because he's insecure about his dry skin and because he thinks he's ugly

And when you comfort him and assure him that he's quite attractive, you realised that Shigi hasn't ever even experienced a compliment before - HOW SAD WAS THID GUYS LIFE??

And again, you could tell this because the man got a VERY obvious boner when you complimented him.....

It became very obvious that Shigiraki had developed a crush on you very quickly, the man looking for you every second of the day and spending time around you - not even talking! Just hanging

And my lord when he found out from Dabi about your reputation. Shigiraki literally went full on emo, he got mad at you whenever you tried to talk to you and all!

It was only when you waited for him outside of his room that he HAD to talk to you

And even then, he didn't talk! He listened to your demands of asking what was wrong, but halfway through, your words were falling on dead ears as he became captivated by your looks - your body looking incredible in your unit's pyjamas

Shigiraki then cutting you off after not being able to deal with his achingly hard cock anymore, his rough yet warm hands grabbing your face and his lips crashing against yours

For an inexperienced guy, Shigiraki was a fucking good kisser

The cliche struggling to open the door and get inside the room while stripping occurred as the two of you didn't break the kiss - and again, for a fucking virgin Shigiraki was incredible

People had been missing out! The man was well endowed with a horse cock on him! Long but not too thick as to break you, veiny and white with a cute pink, uncut tip - guessing he'd learnt how to expertly use it and his hands for a matter of fact from all the porn he told you he watches (romantic gay porn mind you)

Guess Internet access after 9pm was a bonus from being a lieutenant

Anyways, after your first sexual affair with the stereotypical 'I like my white boys malnourished' lieutenant, the two of you continued what you had going on

Shigiraki fucking loved the way you looked in any of the provided uniform - the pyjamas, the cargoes, the tank tops; all of it just made you look so hot to him

Also, for a lieutenant, the man surely liked to be dominated a little (guess that's why he's in the army!)

Shigiraki fucking loved it when you held his hands above his head and rode him to high-heaven, moving down to kiss him and his neck as you listen to his slutty moans

His hands just felt right around your hips, their dry exterior a nice contrast to your sweaty and hot skin

And my god does this masochist fucking LOVE IT when you tug so harshly on his hair when he's fucking tou missonary and you're about to cum hard - the man spending at least an hour a day looking at the sexy scratch marks adorning his surprisingly muscular back

Like everyone else smitten with you, Shigi also fucking hated that any other man was blessed with your touch and your taste or even just your pressance and breath - but Shigiraki was like actually going crazy over it, visibly jealous and possessive over you whenever another guys tried to talk to you when he was with you

Many guys have talked about it and even put the fact that their all fucking you aside to try and deal with the way Shigi was behaving - 6 of them having a 'chat' with him, which you had to deal with the consequences of and scold them all

But you can't get mad at your lieutenants possessiveness, he's just too cute and smitten for you!

Lieutenant Todoroki (Dabi)

By far one of the sexiest men in your unit, a man who came to the army straight after college and never left - his literal battle scars as proof of that

Dabi was one of the first few that you had caught the eye of - and since his literal father was in charge, he'd had quite a few partners in his time in the army, so the rugged man decided to try his luck with you

And boy oh boy! Did he manage to rizz you the fuck up! The taller man having you up against a wall within seconds of chatting with you, his knee rubbing your crotch gently doing 'the thing'

Basically, you were making out with one of your lieutenant only a week or two into your service - the muscular, dominant man roaming his hands all over your body in order to feel you and get to know you even better

Dabi was instantly addicted to your taste, your warmth, the sounds you would make as he hugs your waist and kisses you deeper turning the man on even more

And wow, history was made when the two of you managed to break off of each other enough to get to Dabi's private room

That man fucked you to heaven and back TWICE - you're pretty sure your whole unit somehow heard you from across the dorms!

And ever since then, the two of you have kept each other entertained when in need of it - you visit Dabi's room very frequently

The lieutenant just can't get enough of you, he's fucked so many people before but the way your tight ass just sucks his veiny cock in gets him going!

Dabi's also very confident in his relationship with you (whatever that relationship may be) cause he doesn't not give a fuck if other guys try to assert their dominance around you and him, Dabi just chuckles when other guys flirt or talk to you cause he knows that you and him are like a puzzle - the way his hips lock against the smooth of your ass in Doggy, the was his dick fills you up just right, the way his rough, scarred hands spank you and grip your skin; all of him just fits with all of you.

The thing that gets under Dabi's skin is that his younger brother gets to see and feel you in the way he does - he teases Todoroki endlessly about how much better of a time you have with Dabi rather than with him, or that he's sorry to his little bro but you're just insatiable around Dabi!

You inly intervene when you see it happen (but you can't really complain, it gets Todoroki really fired up the next time you two fuck)

Dabi's biggest thing is showing off his power/status by doing shit with you in front of other troops - it just turns the lieutenant on so, so much to know: a) how embarrassed yet very turned on you're getting and, b) how the others can't really say or do much about it unless they want to get written up by Dabi! They're just sentenced to the punishment of watching your body get fondled, your neck kissed and your dick and ass played with right in front of them

Fingering you is another huge thing for Dabi - 69-ing is literally his favourite foreplay with you because he gets to feel your wet, warm, tight throat around his big dick and to also see your tight hole clench around his fingers as he laps at it from time to time~

Dabi is surprisingly good at aftercare too! If you'd ask him if he was your boyfriend, he'd laugh in your face - but Dabi takes care of you and keeps you close as if you're a married couple!

The man likes to hold you close, the two of you bare-chested in some oversized sweats just breathing in each other's scents in a comfortable silence - a few sweet nothings being whispered from time to time

Shinso Hitoshi

This poor man joined the army as an escape - a place where he could make some friends and chill, a daily routine but with no life struggles

That was until he got roped into your whirlwind of a life!

It wasn't your fault that it happened, Shinso was to blame for letting himself into temptation and kissing you after months of sexual and romantic tension building up within your friendship

The two of you were close, Shinso a little more closed off, but happy to listen to your hyperactive rambling - but once the sunken eyed man kissed you one night, shit really changed

Shinso wasn't a virgin, but he'd never had actually good sex, so his mind was fucking blown when he came within minuets - feeling like an orgasm from his hand x10!

After you two fucked, Shinso was on you like a bee to a flower, literally inseparable

The man was either always touching you or near you and whenever the two of you could get it on, he would make SURE that you did

And because you were Shinso's first real partner, the man did start to confuse sex for romance - but he of course knew of your free-spirited nature and never ask you out...

The sex was great though, and he would stay haply with that, hearing your sexy moans in his ear along with his name in your whiny voice was enough for now

You had to show Shinso quite a few things, like how to finger you and how to pump his hips just right to make you weak, he was so cute, playing attention for how to make you feel amazing

And holy shit was this man's mind BLOWN when you sucked him off - his dick n balls hanging out of his unzipped camo cargoes, his muscles sweating against his white tank top just moaning as he looked down on you slobbering on his dick

He's also pretty good around others, well at least he seems to be

Shinso is too reserved to try to be possessive over you around other guys, but man, does he freak out on the inside!

Shinso will be internally screaming and thinking of beating whoever is touching you so sexually tf up! But he'd feel too embarrassed to ever mention it to you! Settling on covering you in more of his lovebites than usual...

Shinso is another man who just looks fucking stunning in army uniform, he used to work out a lot as he wouldn't hang out with people that much - and it fucking shows!

His muscular arms and fucking TONED abs look so good in his white tank, his stature just oozing SEX

And those combat boots.... Once Shinso starts to get more comfortable when having sex with you - he uses them boots real good.

His arms crossed against his chest ad he sits on a chair in an empty room, you on your knees below him as he rubs your dick harshly with his boots, cooing at you as a wet stain forms on your crotch from your pre~

Short bonuses!:

Tamaki Amajiki

Another super shy and reclusive guy, he only really joined the army for Mirio but meeting you was an added bonus!

You two don't fuck as much as Tamaki insist on hanging out - his face always dusted with a faint blush whenever he's around you

But when you two fuck, my god is it incredible - the man is shockingly good with his hands but he gets tired after only one round! But you can't complain, he's just so cute, snuggling into your naked body

And good lord, the way that his uniform is so oversized on him... it just makes you want to mentally undress him every time you see him

Mirio Togata

Another man who was built for the army - holy fuck does Mirio look so GOOD in an army uniform

The man works out constantly, his body like that of a god - his back and arms fucking huge, his abs like a washing board and his thighs deliciously suffocating (the uniform just extenuating his sexy features)

The two of you started fucking as a way to release stress, offering your help to a stressed looking Mirio led to your throat being stuffed with his cock and your nose with his pubes - and then later on your poor back arching to its limits as he wraps his huge hands around your waist and pushes you down to his bed as he drills his huge cock inside of you

Yes the man is a gentle giant when you two aren't shagging, but call an ambulance for yourself when you are - this man likes to rough you tf up

Yo Shindo

This man joined the army to try and feel powerful - he's so clearly insecure, so he tries to be the tough guy in your troop, always working out and always a dick to everyone

The two of you had your first encounter in the communal showers, the man had you on your knees real quick, his cum covering your face, your tongue cleaning his dick off

Shindo also really likes to flex while fucking your throat or ass, showing off his buldging muscles and hairy pits in his army tanktop feeds his ego and turns you on...

[kithtaehyung]

holiday (3tan special) | myg

title: holiday  pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) | broken (pt. 2) | lollipop rating/genre: pg (18+) ; fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au, holiday au summary: from what you can gather, holiday gift exchanges are supposed to be pretty straightforward. but this one quickly escalates. because no one can follow directions. note: this is all thanks to the person that suggested a 3tan crew secret santa! they don’t do actual secret santa, but they do host a gift exchange. so enjoy this speedily but still tenderly written holiday special! i wanted to get it posted asap so that we could all have it during the holiday season. hope it helps lifting spirits in any way<3  warnings: yoongi looks like sin, but reader does too🤭, kissing, no one follows directions, but especially jimin, hella kissing, no fr jimin is chaos incarnate, sibling holiday woes, tense situations, tender moments, gift exchanges, dialogue heavy i’m so sorry, also not too edited i'm sorry again sdfkljdskl. reader is adorable y'all i wanna cry, 3tan crew being wholesome af drop date: december 27th, 2024, 8:37pm est word count: 8.1k bc i love y’all???

-

-

“Wait… I’m in this, too?” 

Your brother winces while checking his phone, probably also seeing the texts that Jimin sent to a freshly created group chat. “Tae and Chim roped us in this time. But it’s cool if you don’t wanna.” 

As you both don work attire in your foyer, you shake your head, one hand firm on your bag strap, “I don’t even know how they work.”

“I think we random draw names. Then just give a gift to whoever we get.” 

Seeing the names and numbers in here, you’re already running through a lot of possibilities. Maybe too many possibilities. But you don’t wanna make things more complicated or awkward, so you quickly concede, “I mean.. I’m down if you are.”

“I guess it’s cool.”

Head lowered, you notice that your brother’s shoes are the ones you gave him for his birthday a couple years ago. Because those days are the only ones you both celebrate every passing run of three hundred and sixty-five. “At least we’re doing something this year.” 

He chuckles to his feet. “Two years in a row.” 

Your sad laugh tumbles and rolls next to his. “Wild.” 

“Hey.” When he pauses, it’s to wait for you to look up. “If you ever wanna talk about it, we can.” 

There are a lot of times in which you dismiss your brother. Because it’s just what siblings do. 

This time is not one of them. 

“Same,” you offer, the weight of the world dragging your smile down. 

He gives you a hug, and you feel the luxury press of his suit as you lean in with scrunched brows. 

Two years in a row. 

Maybe things do suck less with time. 

When you both head out the door to your cars, you wonder if your brother knows how much you appreciate him and his friends for including you in things. Even if you don’t show it as much as you need to. 

Guess this time of year is a good place to start. 

Work drags in the wake of oncoming holiday. 

But you’re learning to appreciate the decorations around the office, including the little cards that coworkers have given you at your desk—despite your many protests that they didn’t have to. 

When you look up, you start to notice other things. Like the way people smile just a little more. Or the way peppermint and cider waft around the building, smelling of sweet instead of spice. 

You wonder if Jungkook has decorated the studio, too. Or if he recruited everyone else to help with decorations, which means that Yoongi and the guys had to fuss with lights and whatever else people spend money on.  

Laughing to your many stacks of papers and documents, you start daydreaming of what it would be like to decorate the house.

Would you and your brother do it someday? You do admit that it’s kinda nice to look around the neighborhood. And when you went into the mountains last year, you concede that the surrounding town decor was pretty inviting. 

Maybe your house would be a little brighter on the inside too if you both just…

You get a notification on your phone. When the screen brightens, you see that it’s for the app that shuffles you all for the gift exchange. 

You have no fucking clue what you’re doing.

But here goes.

Opening and hoping you get someone that’s easy to please, you stare at your device and blink a few very hard times. 

And after every time, you still get a name that has your heart quickening faster than reindeer working overtime. It’s reindeer, right? You think that’s cor—

“You okay?” 

Snapping your head up, you notice that one of your coworkers stopped mid-stride to check on you. Staring at his candy cane tie, you try not to be distracted as you slightly cringe, 

“What do I get a guy for the holidays?”

“Friend or lover?” 

Well, that was not what you expected to hear! 

When your jaw unhinges, you’re quick to snap it back into place. “Umm.” 

“Oh, this is juicy,” he perks up, quickly settling into a nearby chair and resting a strong chin in his hand. “Tell me more, I got time.” 

Laughing, you shake your head while pretending to type on your computer. “Nothing to tell.” 

“That means you got a whole lot.” His eyes are way too shiny right now! “But alright, I’m gonna assume both. In which case, I suggest something nice.” 

“Something nice?” 

“You know, like. Nice nice.” 

“It’s for a gift exchange, though,” you slump, hands stopping on the keys. Looking at his whole holiday ensemble, you divulge, “The money limit’s definitely not enough for nice nice.” 

“Then fuck the limit?” 

Your answer is more of a sound than a word. 

But he does get you to consider, even if just for a little bit. “Maybe…” 

“Fuck the limit,” he advises again. “He’s gonna dig that. Especially since everyone will see it.”

Your face falls from the snowy sky. “Everyone?” 

“Uhh, yeah? You said gift exchange, right? Everyone sees what everyone gets.” 

“Oh. Right,” you pretend to agree to your computer. Because no, you actually didn’t know that. “Guess it’s been awhile.” 

“Well, that’s what makes it fun! Good luck.”  

While you would normally agree, you have a whole hoard of conflicting feelings. Because while seeing Yoongi’s name on your screen is enough to get you giddy as hell, you know there’s a couple people that may not share the same sentiments. Especially if you gift him something nice nice. 

In front of everybody.

However… 

As your striped and jingling coworker strides away with a hum, you drum your fingers on your minimally decorated desk. 

Maybe there is a way you can finess this. 

After a few weeks, the day has come for not just one exchange, but two—your friends also decided to have your own. Because it’s the easiest format, you convinced them with logic, seeing their shock at you being the one to suggest the exchange in the first place. 

When they asked if you were sure, you assured them that it was okay. And the way they all brightened told you that you made a sound decision. Even if they still seemed hesitant, you know it’s because… 

You’ve never done this. 

So as you observe everyone in your bare living room, you start to see how their presence alone illuminates the space, with gifts in shine and glitter painting the area in holiday colors. 

This is nice. 

“So… Uhh.” You clear your throat, watching everyone look at you at the head of your coffee table. “How do we do this?” 

They all laugh before Taehyung explains, “So one of us goes first and says who we got before giving the gift—you can sit, you know.” 

In the midst of more teasing, you settle onto the floor while exclaiming, “I’m nervous, okay! This is really new to me.” 

“You have a gift to give, right?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Then you’re already doing great,” Reia assures, and you’re even more excited to give yours away. Because you drew her name. 

But before you can say that, Taehyung continues, “So after someone gets their gift, they announce who they picked, and so on.” 

“Pretty straightforward,” you observe. “I wanna go first!” 

Dom cackles, “You just wanna get it out of the way.” 

“And?” you question, grinning when you shoot up and grab your very amateurishly wrapped bag. “Okay, okay, I got…”

“This is adorable,” Yuri cuts in, and everyone’s agreement makes you suddenly shy. 

“No! Don’t make fun.” 

“We aren’t!” Taehyung reaches out to rub your leg. “Promise. Who’d you get?” 

“I got… Reia!” You exclaim, raising your bag a bit as she yells with everyone. The sudden raise of noise gets you a little shocked, but hyped nonetheless. And maybe a bit nervous that your gift won’t live up to the excitement. “Sorry about the wrapping job.” 

“What are you talking about, this is so good,” Reia soothes, smiling wide as she delicately takes out the folded paper. “Wow, the wrapping is nice?” 

Dom chimes in as she leans in, “Yeah, this is too good. Did you watch videos?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Everyone laughs again as you keep your nose held high. Because sucky or not, you were not gonna half-ass your first ever gift exchange. With seasoned people, at that. No way. 

When Reia opens the gift you carefully picked while perusing through a local music store, you watch with the anticipation of a small child, eyes wide and waiting. Hoping that the best outcome is the real outcome. 

And when she quietly yells behind her hand, everyone cheers while asking what she got. When she turns the package around, they cheer even more, because it’s a guitar pick set in her favorite colors. And one that you knew was so, very much her. 

She stands up immediately and opens her arms for a hug, and you blink before getting lovingly crushed. 

“Thank you,” she whispers in your ear. “This is more than great.” 

“Of course, babe,” you murmur back, feeling her jean jacket under your palms and a beating in your chest. “Thank you, too.” 

The rest of the exchange goes off without a hitch, with you cheering with everyone and understanding the cues more and more. Everyone’s gifts are wonderful, and Yuri’s the last to go out of the five of you. 

And she got your name. 

You figured giving the gift would be the hardest part. 

But somehow, this part is a lot harder. 

Braving it anyway—because there’s ironically no time like the present—you carefully unwrap the thin package and stare at what’s inside. 

It’s a photocard. But the picture is of the five of you, one that Taehyung took with his long ass arms while the four of you huddled behind him with drinks in hand. Around its edges are stickers, hearts and stars and cute little animals. 

And it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Yuri rushes over to ask if you don’t like it. 

“This is the best thing ever,” you choke out, and she smiles before laughing and tearing up, too. “I love us.” 

“We’re the best, duh.” 

“Got that right,” Dom adds to the air while Reia and Taehyung start cleaning up the wrapping scraps. “You like your first gift exchange?”

“I should’ve joined y’all sooner.” 

“Joined us?” Taehyung looks up from the ground. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh. I figured you guys do this every year.” 

Tae looks at Yuri, who then looks at you again before very seriously admitting, “We’ve never done this, either. Not with each other.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” She taps the back of your now most precious, most coveted photocard ever. “We didn’t even think about it since you wouldn’t be there.” 

Smiling at your prized possession, you vow, 

“I’ll be here now.” 

Regarding all of them, you start to decorate your place in your mind. Seeing where all the lights go. Where all the little trinkets hang, or whatever. You don’t quite know how this goes just yet, but you do know there’s trees involved. So that’s gonna be figured out in a year’s time. 

“I’m not missing this again.” 

With bellies full of laughter and a little bit of cider, you and your friends head over to Jimin’s cul-de-sac. 

Dom took the wheel this time, so you get to stare out the passenger side window, eyes reflecting golds and colors as you take in the surrounding lights. 

Were they always this pretty? You don’t remember being so taken by electricity and staggering electric bills, especially the houses that go all out and cover every nook of their yard in lights. 

But it’s a spectacle on every corner and street, and Jimin’s little half circle of houses keeps the holiday illumination alive. 

“Uhh, I think we can park down there,” you point, noticing there’s some space a little bit beyond the street. It’s alarmingly next to where Yoongi had to park once, and you cherish that memory with stars in your eyes. 

“Everyone have their gifts?” 

“Tae, if anyone lost theirs on the way here, we have other issues.” 

It’s a quick walk to Jimin’s, and the music around the house gets louder as you approach his entrance. There are people already set up in his open garage playing what you assume are card games, and everyone greets your group as you pop in to say hi. 

“Hey!” Namjoon calls. “Y’all are late! Everyone’s inside.” 

“We had our own party first,” you call out, struggling with your gift bags and food tray. “Can someone—”

Before you finish your ask, you smell nice cologne and feel a big presence at your side. 

When you look to see who’s assisting, you slow in your motions before uttering a small,

“Thank you.” 

Jungkook slightly smiles as he grabs your last bag. “Your perfume’s nice,” he compliments behind tousled bangs. Which makes you blink because that comment is more than hard to come by from him. 

So you can only grin. “Just got it,” you explain as you follow your friends inside the house. “It’s a dupe, can you believe it?” 

“Damn! It’s a good one.” 

“I know,” you agree, very proud of your find. Taking the gift bags from his hands, you tilt your head. “Can you bring the tray to the kitchen?” 

“On it.” 

When you make your way to your friends at the front area, they all eye you with concern. But you wave it off and shrug off your coat to hang on the loan coat hanger—earning teasing and whistles.   

“Shut up,” you groan, laughing with everyone before straightening the reason for the noises. It’s a dress you’ve been eyeing specifically for holiday parties. Because as soon as you started to shop for your gift exchanges, that quickly spiraled into shopping for outfits to wear to them. Did your coworker spook you into looking good because it was a public event? Maybe. Absolutely. 

So you shopped around before finding a dress that even you knew you looked good in. And the past couple weeks were the longest stretches ever because of your anticipation to wear it again. 

As you and your newest fit walk into the kitchen, you start to greet everyone, giving them hugs and smiling bright at their compliments. Because you feel good. You feel nice. Maybe you’re just drinking the holiday cheer and letting it consume you but you don’t care because it’s fun this time. This isn’t like any other year, and it’s wonderful. 

But then. 

Even the most wonderful moments have to come to a halt. 

And yours crash when you see Yoongi. 

Leaned back on one of the kitchen counters, his body appears relaxed in another damn black button-up, telltale silver chain hanging from a neck you wanna devour in front of the whole house. 

He was already annoying last year. But this time, his hair’s longer, and made up with just the right amount of disarray and a little bit even tucked behind his ear.

Fuck, this is so much worse! 

If he wasn’t so attractive and magnetizing, you’d have way less than ninety-nine problems. It would be a lot closer to zero. 

But you make your way over to him anyway, because of course you would. Of course he knew you would, too. 

“Hi,” you greet him, hands tingling with the desire to cup his beautiful chin and yank him in for a kiss. 

But he greets you back while giving you a hug, not without giving you a very obvious once-over. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers in your ear before pulling away, which can only make you babble out, 

“What?” 

He grins wide. “You look nice.” 

Oh. Oh, he really did say that. Why are you surprised? Why are you always surprised? But you have to stay poised so you stick with a neutral, 

“So do you.” 

“Thanks,” he says with a sly curve, still leaning back on the counter with a drink in hand. “Say something else.” 

“Goodbye forever,” is what you go with, back heating with his staccato laughs following your speedy retreat. 

No, no, no. He cannot notice how excited you are to give him his gift. Your bubbling excitement needs to be projected elsewhere. Because you know you picked perfect. It’s something you know he’d appreciate. 

But he cannot have his ego inflated anymore or else the house would float to the sky. 

But fucking hell, he looks damn good and he knows it. 

After an hour or so of socializing and keeping to your little friend circle, Jimin gets everyone together in the big living room to do the exchange. 

“Okay! One, two… Okay, we’re all here, so. Who’s gonna start?” 

When someone calls his name, the man grins and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m host.” 

“So shouldn’t you be the one to start?” 

“My house, my rules!” Jimin argues with zest, pointing to the guy that dared to challenge him, “So you go first.” 

And that man just so happens to secretly be yours. 

Shouts erupt around the living room, and you can mostly hear Hoseok and Seokjin since they’re closest,

“Go, Yoong!” 

“Ah, Yoongi’s first for a change.” 

Secretly and not so secretly, you’re hoping and wishing that he pulled your name. But the odds of that would be pretty slim if you pulled him, even though it was an even chance across the board. 

But as he gets up from the arm of Jimin’s couch holding a small gift bag, you determine that maybe it’s best if he didn’t pull your name. Because you already had trouble opening Yuri’s gift. How the hell would you control yourself opening his? 

“K, uhh. I got…” 

Wait, he’s looking towards you from across the room.

Shit. Is it happening?

You? 

“Taehyung.” 

A pang of disappointment and relief shoots through your veins, even when you shout with everyone while watching Tae smile from his place right next to you.

Yoongi walks right up to your seats, which are really some extra fold-out chairs by Jimin’s decorated tree. And he smells so good. Why do you have to be close to him again? 

But this moment is about Taehyung, so you watch as he opens the gift. When there’s a small box inside the bag, he opens that to reveal a nice, slim… wallet? 

Wait, is that leather? 

Your mouth drops as everyone’s up and raising questions already, and you can clearly hear Jungkook and your brother protest the highest,  

“Wait, huh?” 

“We set a limit for a reason!” 

Yoongi’s hands stay in his pockets when he refutes, “It was on sale.” 

“Nah, he’s lying!” 

Taehyung doesn’t know what to say, so when he looks at you, it takes all your strength to encourage him neutrally, 

“It’s so you! Deserved.” 

Yoongi looks at you before asking your friend, “Is it okay?” 

“It’s perfect,” Taehyung says, full of gratefulness. “I’m just shocked.” 

Jimin and Shiv chuckle from one of the couches, 

“Oh? He’s never shocked.” 

“This is new.” 

Yoongi smiles as Tae gets up to hug him, and you’re immediately okay not being the one receiving anything right now. 

Because you don’t need anything from him. 

All you want is his happiness. 

Once the initial gift is given, everyone goes down the line. And you’re feeling a little lighter after knowing who Yoongi got. Also, you feel less and less awkward about your gift, since the chaos of Yoongi’s was only the beginning.

Because when Taehyung gifts your brother a chain, everyone’s up and yelling again while your sibling is shocked to hell. 

On one end of the living room, Namjoon shakes his grinning head while Jungkook throws his back, 

“Alright, there needs to be a penalty for the most expensive gift.” 

“We obviously didn’t give a shit about the limit.” 

Everyone’s laughter fills the house, even drowning out the faint holiday music floating from the surround speakers. 

Immediately clipping on his necklace, your brother shouts, “Am I the only one that stuck to what we agreed on?” 

“Sucks for who got yours then.” 

Everyone starts laughing or reprimanding Yoongi for saying that—you with a cackle included. 

But then your brother busts out a fucking watch for Shiv and everyone goes bananas. 

At this point, Taehyung’s fully laughing behind his fingers on his forehead, and Jimin collapses on a gawking Yoongi when Shiv quite literally jumps up. 

“What the hell? Dude, I can’t take this.” 

“Yes, you can! And you will.” 

Fingers are pointing in every direction while people are calling each other liars, and your brother laughs on like a gremlin.

But it’s all so adorable that your heart is squeezing. Shiv’s damn near tearing up. “I’ve been eyeing this one for forever.” 

“I know! You wouldn’t stop running your damn mouth about that thing.” Your older sibling claps him on the shoulder. “You can shut up now,” he says with a grin, and Shiv gives him a big hug. 

“Thanks, man.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

Shiv’s turn. And everyone is waiting for what he decided to gift. 

Turns out he keeps the shenanigans going by gifting Jungkook a luxury tie set.

The blond’s jaw drops as he stares hard at the package. Looking up quick, he has to ask for sure, “A set, dude?” 

“It was on sale!” 

“Again?”

“Are we all gonna say the same lie?” 

Everyone can’t hide their amusement, with creased eyes and fake annoyance in every seat. Jungkook can’t believe his luck, since he’s been telling himself to get dress clothes forever but hasn’t gotten around to it.

“You gotta dress like a man now, kid,” Shiv tells him with a bright smile. “There’s a lot coming now that you’re making it.”

A light bulb softly glows when you realize that Yoongi might need to do the same. Trying not to look obvious, you peek in his direction. 

As he stares at the floor, you already know he’s mulling over the same thoughts. 

But it’s Jungkook’s turn now, and you still haven’t gotten a gift yet. 

So you’re waiting with all the air in your lungs. 

As the blond teases his pick, the studio boys are quick to handle him as Yoongi only huffs.

“I got… I got… I got, I got, I got, I got—”

“Kook, just say it.”

“Always like this.”

“Jimin!”

Your heart beats again as the host pops up from his couch, everyone cheering as Kook meets him in the center. Around you, speculation from your friends mixed with a little laughter spikes,

“He probably stuck to the limit.”

“Definitely.”

“Jimin’s gonna be the only one left with—”

Cackles and screams rip as Jimin kicks his head back in laughter, because in his hands is a sleek white box that everyone recognizes. 

This man got Jimin designer shades.

Your cheeks hurt as you react with everyone, giddy and bubbly with how absolutely ridiculous this whole night has gone. Everyone accusing each other of cheating, while all the while every single gift has been over the top.

You really don’t feel bad about revealing your gift anymore. Quite honestly, you almost feel more bad about it not being enough.

No. It’s enough.

Yours is the best and you stick to that.  

Jimin takes the sunglasses out of the box and protective pouch, slipping them on and modeling immediately.  

Oh’s and ah’s echo before his friends inflate his ego,

“Damn, you sure you aren’t a model?” 

“You’re one step away.” 

“He really is.” 

He looks great and he knows it. And he carefully puts them back in their packaging before giving Jungkook a hug. They exchange conversation, and you can feel the latter’s smile as he laughs before sitting down. 

Suddenly, you have the strongest intuition that you’re next. On Jimin’s turn. He’s getting out a very nice bag from behind a couch and your brain is firing off. 

“Okay! The best gift is going to…”

You were right. He calls your name.

Smiling, you shakily stand as Jimin approaches, a twinkling look in those features glowing in incandescent lights. 

Eyes on you. Many eyes. 

A little overwhelmed, you thank him before sitting down. Because it’s much easier to do this while on a solid, structured surface. 

“Hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Best gift? What could Jimin possibly mean by—

Your scream shoots out as you clamp the bag shut because no fucking way you saw what you just saw in there. 

Jimin’s laughing his ass off but it’s not funny. 

“Jimin, what the fuck!” Now you know how Shiv felt and he is absolutely valid for his reaction. “I can’t accept this.” 

People are concerned around you, and you quickly think they may have the wrong idea.

“What did he get?” 

“What’s in there?”

Quelling some thoughts, you explain, “It’s a box.” 

“Okay?” 

You just gotta say it. They’re all gonna know as soon as you take it out anyway. So you breathe out,

“…It’s Dior.” 

It’s the loudest it’s been all night, even though your friends are completely speechless. All the guys are up in arms and Jia’s scream for penalty can be heard through the chaos,

“What!” 

“Where’s my Dior?” 

“What the fuck?” 

“Jimin…” 

“Okay, that is way over limit! That’s cheating!” 

“Penalty!” 

Jimin’s sneaky smile as he turns around doesn’t help, “You know I get everything for less.” 

“So?”

“Still, what the hell, man!”

You know Jimin works there. You do. But this is still making your limbs jelly and you can’t even speak. 

There’s no way Dior is passed around at every gift exchange. 

“You deserve it. For dealing with him.” He looks at your brother, but the look in his eyes is too sparkly to be completely truthful. Does he mean Yoongi? Or is he being serious? 

Of course, your sibling throws out a droning, “Wow.” 

After lots of shaky unboxing, you reveal a stunning bracelet, your friends bending down around you to gawk at how brilliant it is. Dancing in your fingers, this piece shimmers and gleams, and every single person is quiet. 

Guilt. You feel guilt. 

And you can’t even look at the reason why.

“Whatever you’re feeling, don’t. It’s okay.” 

You’re tearing up because it’s way too nice. Which proves worse because you also feel bad for crying for the sole fact that Yoongi’s watching. You don’t want him to get the wrong idea. 

You get up to hug him. “I… This is really nice, Jimin. Thank you.” 

“Stop by the store sometime,” he offers with a smile. “Maybe I can slip more in your purse.” 

“Easy,” your brother eyes him. 

“So are we all getting fancy gifts or what?” 

“Nope! Ran out of my discount, sorry.” 

“Wow.” 

When you finally glance around, everyone’s either a mix of shock and awe, visibly confused, or just jealous and wondering what the hell just happened. 

Meanwhile. 

Yoongi straight up looks like he’s holding his tongue. 

And you suddenly feel really bad. 

Hopefully giving him his gift will make up for what just happened. Even though you’re going after the hardest hitter of the damn night, this one’s special. 

But who are you kidding? People are definitely gonna talk in private about Jimin’s little gift. 

So now you have to try and mend this while acting like Yoongi’s just your brother’s friend. Cool. Awesome. 

“So...”

Just try your goddamned best. 

“Yoongi is mine.”

…Wait.

Your secret looks your way immediately while everyone snaps their heads to him.

What the fuck did you say?

Wait wait wait wait what did you fucking say?

Flapping your arms, you reach for words while everyone starts teasing, “Oh, god. I mean—I have Yoongi—I mean, wow. Hold on.”

Fucking fuck fuck, he’s grinning.

Thank the lord above for someone cheekily asking,

“First time at a gift exchange?”

You look away from the laughs while trying to compose your grin of embarrassment. Get it the fuck together, this is peak time to get it right.

“God. Okay.” You look down at your bag. All of its carefully folded and primped paper, the delicate folding inside. “For the gift exchange,” you clarify with a forced firm tone, “I got Yoongi.” 

You feel Dom try her damned best to hide her laugh. And you know for damn sure Jimin and Taehyung are thoroughly amused right now. 

All the oh’s sounding off in the living room are already enough to set your ears smoking. Your brother’s voice can be heard, but you know that’s for a specific reason. 

Everything had to be carefully calculated, after all. 

You walk up to him, and you cannot—absolutely cannot—look too long at the way he’s looking up at you. Him sitting in any capacity is enough to drive you up a wall, but now? When he looks so freshly fitted and prepping to tease you about all this later? You can barely think straight. 

“I don’t think I can beat Jimin’s gift,” you sigh to his curious eyes. “But it’s a little too late to change.”

His smile turns so soft. He shouldn’t be the one comforting you right now when you probably broke a little of his heart. “It’s all good.”

Keep going. 

Cleaning your clogged throat, you brave the crowd and breathe before starting again, “Anyway. This is kinda from both of us, but I picked it because I have better taste.”

“Hey, what the hell?” 

Ignoring your brother’s protest, you watch as Yoongi softly opens the gift before pulling out a basketball jersey. 

Of his favorite player. 

“Holy shit.” 

Shouts start erupting behind your back as you laugh, your sneaky gift joining the rest of them. 

“Hello? That’s way too much!” 

“That’s over the limit for sure.” 

You wave your hands frantically among their teasing arguments, and your brother chimes in on your side. “I didn’t know what to get!” 

“So you got a real jersey?” 

“Relax, y’all. It’s from both of us.” 

“Wait, which one’s Lillard again?” 

“Damian,” Yoongi softly says in awe. “How’d you know?” 

You can only blink, smiling faltering by the slightest amount.

Fuck, he’s gonna be cheeky right now? Knowing you know and exactly how you know? Cuddled up with him in his bed as he shows you highlight reels and tells you the guy’s whole story and that he happens to be a rapper, too? 

Looking back towards your brother, you explain, “Well... He gave me a list. And I just picked off vibes.” 

Yoongi’s eyes sparkle so much when he grins. “Good choice,” he compliments with creased eyes. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” You say back with a little too high of a pitch. “But tell him he still owes you a gift. This doesn’t count for him.” 

“Uhh, it sure as fuck does!” 

Yoongi breaks eye contact to shout behind you, “Didn’t you already tell me you got me something?” 

“Yeah, it was that!” 

“What a lie,” Yoongi says through a smile.

“Yeah, I did,” your brother surrenders. “The shoes are in my bag. Okay, next!” 

Hilariously, two pairs of people end up getting each other. Yuri’s older sister Jia got Seokjin, who also drew her name—to the slight angst of your brother, you imagine. 

And Hoseok ends up getting Namjoon. Which turns out being twice as funny because they both got each other the same pair of earphones. You can’t breathe with how hard you cackle with everyone, and your heart skips when you catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s eyes across the room.

By the end of the exchange, everyone’s bellies and cheeks sting from laughter, and every eye in sight has twinkles embedded inside.

Throughout the night, everyone starts branching off into different groups. You and your friends talk in the kitchen, and both in and out of the house, there’s groups of games and conversations. 

The holiday decorations everywhere shine bright. Enveloped in the music, you keep looking at the lights, feeling happy but a little bittersweet. 

You really wanna set the record straight with Yoongi. You had no damn clue that Jimin was gonna give something like that, much less in front of everyone. 

The fact that you haven’t been in the same room for a bit makes it worse. What could he be thinking right now? You can’t tell because he’s nowhere in sight. 

Screw it. You’re gonna at least text him. There’s no way you can survive the night if you’re gonna plague your own head without checking in with him. 

Fishing out your phone, you sidestep away for a second to type something quick. 

You [10:38pm]: i know it’s not dior.. but hope you like your gift :’)) 

Yoongi [10:38pm]: You know I do. It’s perfect, doll. 

Well. He texted back super quick.

Maybe he’s really okay? Maybe he and Jimin already talked it through? 

Then again.. Yoongi didn’t look happy at all during the big reveal. To the point where he was actively showing emotions you rarely get to see.

But if he says he likes his gift, that’s a good sign. 

You [10:42pm]: i can’t believe jimin did that

Yoongi [10:42pm]: That was bold. 

You [10:42pm]: seriously!!! 

Hmm. So he didn’t know. That’s even more surprising than him knowing, now that you think about it. 

You’re called over to get another round of food, and you turn down the initial invite but stay around as they get more to eat. 

When you see a tray that smells way too good, you do break and get a piece anyways. 

“Yeah, those are amazing,” Yuri chirps. “Shiv made those.”

“Really?” Dom grabs a couple pieces. “Lemme try these then.”

“You’re gonna want more.” 

As you find a place outside to eat, you stand next to the heater while conversing with Taehyung. It’s adorable how you can tell how excited he is about his gift, turning it in his hand before pocketing the leather again. 

“It’s so nice,” you compliment. 

“He knows how to pick, I guess,” Tae smiles, looking at you and making you shy. Because hello? There’s no way he’s gonna be bringing that up tonight. 

When you silently mouth for him to shut up, he grins like a madman. Glancing down at your hands, he suddenly asks, “Are you gonna put that down?”

“No,” you say with a tiny pang of guilt. “Afraid not.”

“Mm.” 

Your phone buzzes again, and you’re thankful for the interruption.

Yoongi [11:09pm]: Guess I have to do better😔

Instantly, you take that gratefulness back.

You [11:09pm]: NO!! you don’t have to worry about me at all

Yoongi [11:10pm]: I can’t lose to you

You [11:10pm]: trust me, i just… 

You think about sending the other text or not. But you do anyway. 

Taehyung sees the look in your faraway face, but doesn’t comment as you peer down again. 

You [11:11pm]: i just wanna see you happy

That’s all you want. If he’s happy, you’re happy. So it sucks to have part of the night come as quite the shock. 

Interestingly enough, though.. Someone else in the house should also be pretty upset about your gift, and you haven’t seen Jimin cornered by him yet. 

Unless your brother is just deciding to be courteous and beat his ass after everyone leaves. 

Yoongi [11:13pm]: Then come over here

You’re not gonna argue with that. 

So when your friends finish their plates, you suggest you all head into the garage. It’s already rowdy before you open the door, so the sounds get booming loud when you all enter. 

Looks like everyone is blowing their money on other things tonight, too. The gifts were the nice part of the party; now everyone is fiending to take everyone’s cash.

“Damn, Yoongi’s clearing me out.”

“Told you not to go all in.”

“He did.”

As the cold weather rolls in, you watch as the games go on, with heaters humming with energy and your brother’s friends radiating competition. 

No wonder Yoongi wanted you in here.

He’s on a damn roll.

As everyone groans after another win, Namjoon and your brother are in tatters, 

“Yoong, what the fuck!”

“You hiding cards in those sleeves?”

“I told you!” Yoongi boasts, “Don’t get too cocky.”

“Says him.”

“Cocky, my ass.” 

When you laugh, you earn a tiny glimpse of his eyes. But as his vision falls to your hands, you’re quick to look away, out into the night to look at all the lights instead.

Shit.

After some time passes, you find yourself alone on a balcony. Yet again. Cold wind blows through your coat, chilling you but making you feel alive. Too alive in this moment. Too aware.

The holidays aren’t so bad this time around. But you do need to set this one thing straight before things go a little sideways with Yoongi. 

If he’s upset, you don’t want him to be. Even if he doesn’t say it, you want him to know you’re considering his feelings. There’s some things you just can’t control.

So you wait for Jimin, telling him earlier to meet you up here for the best chance at privacy.

When you hear the door opening, you see him come through, hair lifting in the breeze and his lips in a slight curve. 

Get right to it. “Jimin, I—”

“Isn’t it so nice tonight?” 

Stopping, you settle into a smile, watching him walk up to stand next to you before you both look into the night. The neighborhood glows beneath your feet, and everyone in the backyard mingles while puffs of air leave their lips. 

“It really is,” you say with a smile, clutching the gift bag in cold fingers. Because you haven’t let go of it ever since it was given to you—it’s way too expensive. You’ve been guarding it all night. 

Which is why you need to hand it back to the one who gave it to you. “We haven’t done something like this before, so.. It’s a nice change of pace.” 

Jimin turns before realizing something. “Oh. I meant the weather.” 

Embarrassed, you let out a laugh while his eyes crease. “Ah. That, too.” 

“Got deep real fast.” 

“Jimin!” 

Both of you puff out laughter as you look down, just in time to see someone gazing right up at you. Someone that makes your heart squeeze on sight. 

Oh, shit. Is he gonna get the wrong idea again? 

You need to do this quick. Yoongi can’t be let down more than once tonight. 

Sighing, you start to hold up the bag again. “Thank you—”

“He’s lucky you came around when you did.” 

“Huh?” 

Jimin leans on the railing before eyeing you with a smile. “You don’t even know, do you.” 

“I don’t…” When you look below, Yoongi’s not looking anymore. And you panic. “Jimin, thank you. But I seriously can’t take this.” 

Why does he look so calm? Why does he keep acting like this isn’t a big deal? “You can.” 

“No, really. I—” 

“I may have gone too far this time.” 

Your eyes still as you breathe out a confused, “...What?” 

Jimin’s face is dusted with peach in the cold, and you get a good view of his jawline as he peers down below with a regretful curve. “I kinda tricked him,” he admits. “Into picking your gift for the exchange.” 

The shock you feel prevents you from even blinking. How the hell can this get even more overwhelming? “What do you mean?” 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I got some good discounts.” Jimin turns around to lean against the railing. “So I thought it would be fun to rope him into getting you something.” 

When he laughs to the chilly night sky, you don’t join him—the shock is preventing you from doing anything. 

“Didn’t think he’d pick a whole bracelet, though. Made for one hell of a gift exchange pick.” He looks at you at a tilt. “You like it, right?” 

Even if Yoongi was the one to pick out the jewelry, Jimin still had to purchase the damn thing. And even with his discount, it’s still expensive as hell. It has to be. You haven’t let go of the bag once because you don’t want to lose it. “But you still had to pay,” you blurt out. “I’ll find a way to pay you back if you aren’t gonna take it.”

“I didn’t pay for it, either.” 

Your heart stops. 

Full on halts. 

When he turns his head, he looks toward the sky in thought. “Well, I did secretly pay the exchange limit. But..” He straightens before staring back at your absolute silence, dropping the biggest surprise of the whole night,

“Yoongi paid the difference.”

The sudden sob that leaves your throat startles him immediately, and he rushes forward to put hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—”

The sound of a door slides open, and you turn to see your favorite, favorite, favorite person walking through. You must look like a wreck but you don’t care, don’t care, don’t care. 

“I’ll leave you both to it then,” Jimin says to your watery eyes before squeezing, heading out to give you both the quiet space you need. 

But Yoongi clutches his arm as he walks by, and you hold your breath as he stares him in the eye, voice burning with a steady glow,

“Don’t pull that shit again.” 

“I know,” Jimin agrees without pause. “I owe you one.” 

“No one comes up here then.” Yoongi releases him slow. “Until I come back down.” 

The host of the night shares a quick hand clutch before assuring, “You got it.” 

Bag clutched tight in your hands, you watch in wonder as Yoongi approaches you with a quiet determination. His presence alone makes your heart beat warm and soft, but you cannot stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. 

All you can ask as he gets close is a wondrous, “Why..?”

“He’s a very persuasive salesman.” When you wipe your eyes, he helps with a little look of tenderness. Though there’s still some frustration evident in his features. “But I didn’t know it would be for tonight.”

“Oh, shit,” you sigh. “Why did he do that?” 

“I’m not sure.” Yoongi holds your chin, rubbing your frosty cheek with a handworking thumb. “Taehyung didn’t know he’d do it, either.” 

“Tae knew, too?” 

“Yeah. He thought I had it, not Chim.” He sighs to the side, hair lifting slightly in the breeze. “I almost stood up when you screamed.” 

Your heart shrugs off some chill. “Really?” 

Yoongi nods before looking up with scrunched brows. “It took all of me to keep my ass down. Honestly, I’m still pissed the fuck off.” 

You believe that. One hundred percent, you believe that. Because you’ve never seen him talk to Jimin like that before tonight. 

Reaching to cradle one of his cheeks, you feel how cold he is before whispering to soothe, “Tell me how you wanted it to go.” 

When Yoongi looks at you, your lips curve into a small smile. Peppered with a bit of your tears and willingness to make him feel better. 

He softly grips your hand on his face before turning to kiss your fingers. Voice low, he reveals, “I was gonna take you straight to dinner. After you got off work one day.” Another set of kisses makes your fingers both hot and cold. “Then I would’ve faked needing something from the studio. And you would’ve gotten it there.” 

“Oh…” You blink as your vision blurs. “That’s…” 

“Among other things.” 

At his suggestive look, you playfully pat his jacket. But your heart starts leaking from your eyes.  

Because you just want it all to be out already. Just everything. Everything, everything, everything, you’re so tired of keeping it under wraps. 

“What’s wrong, doll.”

“Nothing,” you sob. “I’m just… I didn’t know, and… This is a lot.” 

You’re overflowing with emotions. From all the experiences you’ve had tonight to this very moment, everything has been wonderful and magical and there’s nothing quite like this feeling. But you’re also so embarrassed because he definitely brought out much bigger guns than you did. 

Sniffling into his jacket, you whisper, “Thank you… You got me something timeless. This is so much cooler than my gift.” 

“No! Yours is great, are you kidding me?” 

“It’s a jersey… That’s much less cool.” 

“Mm... You also called me yours.” When you freeze completely, Yoongi's shoulders bob with his pride. “Gotta say, that was the highlight of the night."

“Oh, shut up!" When you groan into his clothes, you feel him laughing through his chest. And it's one of your favorite feelings in the world.

Shoulders slumped, you heavily yearn,

“I want it all out now. Everything.” You squeeze him closer. Closer, closer, closer. “I want everyone to know it was from you.” 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, though you do feel his heart beat a little faster. When he finally answers, you close your eyes. “I know I said this last time, but.. Next year. For sure.” 

“Can we decorate, too?” 

Yoongi looks into your starry eyes. “You wanna?” When your nod is quick, he laughs. “Guess I don’t have a real choice then, huh?” 

“Nu uh.” You squeal as he hauls you into a full kiss, squeezing you in his arms and more tears out of your eyes. “Wait!” 

When he tilts his head, you grin at his adorable quirk. “Let’s do it anyway.” 

“Huh?”

Holding up the bag, you cheekily suggest, “Everything you said. Let’s do it.” Biting your lip and feeling the chill on your ears, you finish, “There’s a new place I wanna try with you anyways.” 

Yoongi just stares, smile unsure but huffing amusement from his nose. “You sure?” 

“Duh! And I’ll act even more surprised, just for you.” 

Your giggling is purely born from excitement. Because you can’t wait to take him somewhere you know he’ll enjoy, too. And you get to see the studio? It’s gonna be a fantastic—

You’re brought into a tight hug before your thoughts finish. The bag between you crumples a tad, but you’re more focused on the way your head is moved for a soul-tying kiss. 

Warmth and gold and sparkles burst from your chest as you’re completely taken by Yoongi’s lips, and you start to feel your house inside change. It’s festive. It’s decorated. It’s made just for you and him. 

You've never been one for this season. But getting to spend it with Yoongi two years in a row? It's becoming one of your favorite times of the year.

“I just…” he murmurs to your features before gripping you close. “Thanks, babe.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his handsome features. “Once you give it to me for real, I’m gonna wear it everywhere.” 

“Please do. Get my money’s worth.” 

When you both laugh, your affection leaves in puffs of white. And you give him a more tender kiss than the first. 

You feel so at home it hurts. But it hurts because your heart is so full you can’t fit it all. All the love for everyone that fills that hole in your life that you and your brother have had for years. 

You’re gonna tell him one day. And it’s gonna rip you apart. 

But you hope everything will be okay. This time next year, all of you will be okay. More than okay. 

When you lean in close, you whisper something you’ve never really said to anyone. But you’re gonna try to start, even if you aren’t quite familiar with it yet. It’s a good year to start, start, start. 

“Happy holidays, Yoongi.”

His lips spread slow before giving one more kiss to your chilly nose. And every anxious feeling floats away in the frosty breeze.

“Happy holidays, doll.”

-

-

fin. :)

-

so... how did it go! | join the server! | join the taglist!

a/n: happy holidays, merry christmas, happy new year to everyone that celebrates! just wanted to get this one out for the ones needing a little bit of cheer around this time. we learn quite a bit about some of the crew's backstories and where they work now, huh. is this a pocket universe, too? who really knows! but it all flew out of my fingers as soon as we got the suggestion, so thank you again to that anon message! a/n 2: thank you to everyone that's stuck with me and 3tan this year. it's been a rough one, but i also wanted to post this one to let you all know i'm still here. 3tan will forever stay with me, and i have not ever forgotten it. not one day goes by where i don't think about it, or y'all, or them. trust me. also, stay on the lookout for some physical copy interest checks! we are getting closer and closer to 3tan copies being A Real Thing! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt.7 - march 20 2025

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10 wordcount: 2637

You woke up with a pounding headache and a vague sense of unease. The events of last night blurred together. You groaned, burying your face in the pillow as your phone buzzed on the bedside table.

Max: “Bet Lando broke his personal record for post-win hookups last night. What’s the count? 10? 15?”

You stared at the screen, your stomach tightening. A sharp pang of something you couldn’t name struck you. You knew exactly how many girls Lando had kissed the previous night—just one. You.

After a moment, you typed back.

You: “Dunno, wasn’t keeping tabs. Ask him yourself.”

Max’s response came almost immediately.

Max: “You’re supposed to be the reliable one. Useless.”

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand again. Squinting, you grabbed it and opened the message.

Lando: Hope your head’s not as bad as mine.

You stared at the screen, debating how to respond. Did he mean the hangover or… something else? Finally, you typed back something neutral.

You: I’m surviving. You?

His reply came almost instantly.

Lando: Barely. Who thought tequila was a good idea?

You smiled faintly, Lando seemed determined to brush past it, that had worked well for you the last time. 

-

Later that afternoon, your phone buzzed again.

Max: Lando just arrived back in Monaco, he’s still kinda off. Thought winning the first race would’ve had him buzzing. The break up must’ve done a bigger number on him that I thought. You good though?

You frowned, rereading the message. Lando had seemed fine—at least, before the kiss.

Shaking the thought away, you quickly texted Max back.

You: Yeah, I’m fine. He probably just overdid it. You know how he gets after races.

Max responded almost immediately:

Max: Yeah, maybe. I told him to chill, but you know him. Anyway, see you later

-

The morning after your return, Dylan surprised you by showing up at your apartment with coffee.

“I figured you’d need this,” he said, handing over your favorite latte as he kissed your cheek.

You smiled, grateful for the gesture, definitely feeling the jetlag. Thought I’d come by and steal you for breakfast.”

The idea was sweet, and you agreed, letting him whisk you away to your favorite café. Over avocado toast and coffee refills, Dylan asked about the party.

“So, big celebration for Lando’s win?” Dylan asked, his tone casual as he leaned back in his chair, stirring his coffee idly. 

“Yeah, it was...” You hesitated, thinking back to the night. The flashing lights, the laughter, the heat of Lando’s breath on your skin. “...eventful.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow. “Eventful how?”

You felt your stomach tighten. This was it. Do you tell him about the kiss? Would he care? Should he care? “Lando broke up with Magui,” you said instead, your voice steady.

His brows shot up, but there was no real surprise in his expression. “Well, that doesn’t shock me. Those two were always cold.”

“Yeah... and, um, he—he kissed me at the party.” You blurted it out before you could overthink it. It hung in the air between you, and you couldn’t read Dylan’s face.

He didn’t react the way you expected. Instead of anger or jealousy, he just nodded, as if you’d told him Lando tried a new hairstyle. “That doesn’t surprise me either.”

“What?” you said, your voice louder than you intended.

Dylan shrugged. “I mean, it’s Lando.”

His reaction knocked the breath out of you. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on.” He smiled, as if you were being naive. “He’s been protective of you since day one. You’re basically his second shadow. I’ve always just... figured that was part of the deal with being with you.”

You stared at him, feeling a strange mix of confusion and irritation. Part of the deal? That didn’t sound like love or care—it sounded indifferent. “So... you’re not mad?”

Dylan reached across the table and took your hand. “No, I’m not mad. I trust you. Lando’s just—Lando. He does what he wants, but I know you’re with me.”

His grip was warm, his smile steady, but something about it annoyed you. You pulled your hand away to sip your coffee, pretending to study the foam swirl at the top.

His nonchalance sent a flicker of irritation through you. Shouldn’t he care more about this? Shouldn’t it bother him that Lando had kissed you? Should it bother him?

-

You didn’t travel to the next weekend’s race in China, having to catch up on work instead. Max’s texts, however, kept you in the loop.

Max: Your boy’s back to his old ways. Can’t keep up with how many girls he’s talking to tonight.

Your chest tightened as you read the message. You could practically hear Max’s laughter through the text. It didn’t take much to imagine Lando at another party, charming his way through a crowd.

You: That didn’t take long.

Max: What did you expect? It’s Lando.

You weren’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, but before you could process any further or reply, your phone buzzed again.

Lando: Missing you this race weekend x

— February 17, 2016

It was past curfew at the team hotel, where you and Lando were staying for a karting tournament. The day’s races had gone well, and tomorrow was the final race day. It was a rare occasion Max hadn’t qualified for the tournament, leaving you with two instead of the usual three. You sat on the edge of Lando’s bed, the faint buzz from the drinks some of the guys had smuggled in during the team dinner making the room feel warmer than it was.

Lando leaned back against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. He fiddled with the string of his hoodie, but you caught him glancing at you every so often, like he was debating saying something.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Can I ask you something?” he began, his voice careful.

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “When you start like that, it’s usually something weird.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, it’s not weird. Just... you know, the last time we talked about that guy—your first time—how’s that going?”

You blinked, caught off guard. You had hoped the subject would never come up again, but you knew he was just trying to be a good friend. “Oh. Um...We broke up.” You shrugged, looking down at your hands, it hadn’t been a serious relationship, so you weren’t too upset about it. ‘’So, no improvements?’’ Lando grinned. You groaned in response. “I mean, it wasn’t terrible or anything. Just... I don’t know. Everyone makes it sound like it’s supposed to be this big deal, right? Like fireworks and angels singing.” 

“And it wasn’t?” he asked, clearly amused.

You let out a dry laugh. “It was... fine. But it didn’t really feel amazing, you know? I thought maybe something was wrong with me.”

His brows furrowed, and he shifted to face you fully. “Trust me, It’s not you,” he said firmly. 

“Yeah, well, maybe he just wasn’t great at it,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. But the words hung there, more truthful than you intended.

He smirked, but there was an undercurrent of something serious in his expression. “It should be good for both people.”

The comment made your stomach twist, the way he said it—so genuine, so matter-of-fact—caught you off guard. You glanced up, meeting his gaze for a split second, as you turned the tables. “And how would you know?” you asked, aiming for teasing but faltering at the end.

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Because I’ve done it,” he answered casually, his tone steady but quiet.

The casualness of his answer shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. You blinked, your stomach flipping unexpectedly. “Oh,” was all you managed to say.

Your mind raced. Of course, he had. You weren’t sure why you were even surprised—Lando had always been good-looking and charismatic in a way that drew people to him effortlessly. You pictured the last girl you’d seen him with, a petite brunette with long legs and perfect skin. She’d had her arm slung around his neck at a karting party a few months ago, whispering in his ear as he’d grinned down at her.

The thought sent a strange pang through your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been good with her. Of course, he had. Lando wasn’t the kind of guy who’d fumble through anything.

“Does that bother you?” he asked, breaking the silence, his voice a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

“What?” you said quickly looking up, your cheeks heating. “No. Why would it?”

He shrugged, his eyes scanning your face. “I don’t know. You’re just... quiet.”

You shook your head, brushing it off. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Was it fireworks and angels singing?” you quickly recollected yourself, teasing, though your curiosity was genuine.

Lando let out a low laugh, his cheeks darkening slightly. “Not exactly. The first time, I was so nervous I could barely think straight. The second time was better, but it’s not just about that. It’s better when you actually care about the person. When it’s not just... random.”

His words settled over you, heavy with meaning. For a moment, you wondered if he was talking about someone specific, but you didn’t dare ask.

Lando tilted his head, his expression thoughtful.  “Like, yeah, it depends on the person, but… when it’s good, it’s like everything just clicks. You’re not overthinking or second-guessing—it just… works.” he continued, leaning back against the headboard.

You nodded slowly, trying to picture what he meant. “Must be nice,” you murmured. “To actually enjoy it.”

Lando’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “You will,” he said quietly. “With the right person.”

The way he said it made your chest tighten, and you found yourself holding your breath. His eyes lingered on yours, the space between you suddenly feeling charged.

Lando tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “Did he make you feel comfortable?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly.

You blinked at the sudden shift, your heart skipping at his seriousness. “Uh… I guess? I mean, he wasn’t… mean or anything, but he didn’t really ask me what I wanted either.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, just barely, but he stayed silent for a beat too long before saying, “You shouldn’t have to guess. He should’ve cared enough to ask, to, like… figure it out with you.”

You bit your lip, his words sinking in more than you wanted to admit.

He leaned forward slightly. “Look, I’m not saying this to be weird, but... you should figure out what you like. What makes you feel good. What… turns you on.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your cheeks flush. “That’s… easy for you to say,” you muttered, focusing on the thread in your sweatshirt.

“I’m serious,” he pressed, his tone a little gentler. 

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for a brief, charged moment. He wasn’t teasing or trying to make you feel awkward; he genuinely meant it.

“Anyway,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You should really find someone who knows what they’re doing next time. No more amateurs.”

You laughed, grateful for the change in tone. “I’ll keep that in mind, Norris.”

“Good,” he said, grinning.

Lando leaned back on his elbows, a lazy smirk on his face. “Alright, real talk,” he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Did he even go down on you?”

You froze, his question catching you completely off guard. “Lando!” you hissed, your face heating up as you looked around the empty room, as if someone might overhear.

“What?” he said, shrugging like it was the most casual thing in the world. “It’s a legit question.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words. “No, he didn’t,” you finally muttered, crossing your arms defensively.

He made a face, somewhere between disbelief and disappointment. “Figures. Most guys don’t know what they’re doing.” He tilted his head, studying you. “You should find someone who actually gives a shit about making it good for you.”

You looked away, your stomach flipping at the casual confidence in his tone. Images of him with other girls flitted through your mind—hearing the rumors, catching glimpses of the way they looked at him. He probably was good, wasn’t he?

“Well,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “maybe I just need someone to teach me what’s supposed to be good.”

His smirk widened, but there was something softer beneath it now. “Maybe. Or maybe you just need to stop settling for guys who don’t try.”

For the rest of the night, you stayed up talking about everything and nothing. But as you finally drifted off to sleep in the makeshift bed you’d built on his floor, his words replayed in your mind, accompanied by flashes of Lando smiling at some girl, his hands on her waist, his lips on hers. And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, the thought made your stomach flip.

-

The next evening, the team dinner spilled over into a small party, celebrating the final race day. You’d been nursing a couple of drinks, the warm buzz loosening your usual reservations. Somewhere along the way, you found yourself talking to a racer from a rival team, he had placed second, behind Lando. He was charming enough, leaning in a little closer with every laugh, his hand brushing yours as you spoke.

Maybe it was the leftover thoughts from your conversation with Lando the night before, or maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins, but when the guy leaned in, you didn’t stop him. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, and then more confident as you responded.

Before the kiss could deepen, though, a familiar hand landed lightly on your shoulder. “Not him,” Lando’s voice murmured in your ear, firm but calm.

You blinked, pulling back from the karter and turning to face Lando. He stood there, his expression unreadable but his eyes unwavering. “Come on,” he added, his tone softer now. “Let’s get you some air.”

You didn’t protest. Maybe it was the slight pull of his hand on your arm or the way his gaze seemed to cut through the haze of the evening, but you let him guide you out of the room.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered once you were in the quieter hallway, the cool air sobering you slightly. The one time Max wasn’t there, Lando had to act as the protective brother.

Lando raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving into a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t I?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“No,” Lando admitted, leaning casually against the wall. “But not good enough”

You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes—half teasing, half serious—made your resolve falter.

He chuckled softly, tilting his head toward the vending machine down the hall. “C’mon, Let’s get you some water before you start thinking about kissing any more idiots tonight.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head as you followed him. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Lando just shrugged, his grin growing. “That’s why you keep me around.”

-

WN: almost a SMAU with all the texts 🤪🤪 oop sorry in 2016 Lando wasn’t mkarting anymore but minor detail for the story lol, just couldn’t have her be in formula 4 or something. Also let me know if you think it’s going too slow, but actually, too late, shits going down in the next chapter and I think it’s going to be 10 chapters, eventhough I’m going to miss this story a lot so maybe I’ll make it longer if I think of more storyline. Took a bit long this time, so trying to upload tomorrow to make up for it! Suggestions about anything are always welcome 💕💕 Hope i didnt forget anyone for the taglist, let me know if i did

tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05@lex2205 @il0vereadingstuff @martygraciesversion381 @joannaln4 @obxstiles@chaoswithus@motorsportloverf1 @therovanperaastonmartini@acesofspadess @widow-cevans @irisesinthegarden

[redstarwriting]

bestie

spider squad x black cat!fem!reader

request?: yes

request: “hi! okay i love your works and my brains been rotting thinking abt this lol. i was wondering if i could request a black cat variant! reader that somehow (idk how sorry ), she's apart of the spider-society? Given that black cats backstory isn't all that nice, maybe she has a deal W miguel to let her stay if she makes sure she uses her skills to help the society instead of stealing? and how the squad(miles, gwen, pav, hobie) meet her in the society?”

requested by: anon​

word count: 2.1k

genre: platonic and chaotic LMAO

Warnings: language, stealing, bad Spanish, slight Gwen crush if you squint but also like not really

A/N: STOP I LOVE WRITING PLATONIC AND CHAOTIC THINGS!! i did change up the prompt a bit as they didn’t meet her in spider society necessarily (even though the did, they just didn’t know it lol) i hope you enjoy this anon! also if anyone wants to knows some of the specific songs that gave me black cat 2099 vibes lemme know 👀 i’ll make a post

pt ii - becoming hobie’s bestie

───────────────────────────────────

Gwen, Miles, Pavitr, and Hobie were called to “the principal’s office” as they started calling it. So here they are, in front of Miguel, waiting to be reprimanded for something they did. “I have a mission for the three of you,” he says, pointing to Miles, Gwen, and Pav. “Hobie, you’re not needed.”

“Like ‘ell I’m not,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Miguel subtly smiles to himself. Reverse psychology. Works every time.

“Wait, what?” Miles asks, eyes wide. “You aren’t gonna yell at us for existing?” Gwen asks, equally as surprised. Miguel rolls his eyes. “For existing? When have I ever…” he trails off as Pav, Hobie, and Gwen point at Miles. 

And Miles points at himself. 

“Dios mío,” Miguel mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m not doing that. This time.”

“What’s the mission then? Are we going somewhere new? Oh! Can I bring back a souvenir?” Pavitr asks, excitedly. “No, but I’m sure you’ll end up with some sort of souvenir regardless,” Miguel grumbles, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “Well, what do you mean by that?” Gwen asks and Miguel types into his computer. A picture of a girl pops up on the screen. “I need you to bring me her.”

“Uhhh what? You want us to bring you a… civilian?” Miles asks, and Miguel nods. “She’ll respond to you all better. You’re the same age,” Miguel says, and they all glance at each other. “Can you not be secretive for like, a couple of seconds? Is she an anomaly?”

“No, Gwen. Just bring her to Spider Society, please. She’s from this universe, so I’m just sending you to where I need you to go,” Miguel says, opening a portal for them to go through. They all glance at each other before Gwen shrugs, walking through the portal. Miles and Pav follow her, and Hobie rolls his eyes following the three of them. They find themselves… at a show? They’re on top of the catwalk in a stadium show, looking down at the audience. “What the hell?” Gwen mumbles and Hobie is intrigued when he sees the instruments on the stage. “Now why did he send us to a concert?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. Right at that moment, the lights go down and everyone starts to scream. “So, you think she’s in the crowd? How are we supposed to find someone in all of these people?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. “I can do it, easily,” Pav says, and Miles and Gwen give him a Look™. “What?! It’s simple you just look for her face! Miguel showed us a picture of her.”

“Aye, ‘e’s right. Found her,” Hobie says, and they all look at him. He’s pointing, and they follow his finger. “SHE’S THE SINGER?!” Gwen yells as the music starts. “Yeah. Guess we gotta wait for the set to finish,” Hobie says, shrugging and sitting on the catwalk, “Gettin’ a free show outta this shit at least.”

“Oh, please, every show you’ve ever been to has been free,” Gwen says, sitting next to him, taking her mask off. Hobie, Pav, and Miles all follow suit. “What does Miguel want with a singer?”

“I like her outfit,” Pav says, ignoring Miles’ question and sitting next to Gwen. Miles quickly slips between Pav and Gwen, shooing him away slightly. “Not my style. Lyrics ain’t bad,” Hobie says, leaning back and observing the performance, “She can sing, I’ll give ‘er ‘at.”

“I fuck with it. Lyrics speak to me,” Gwen says, and Pav nods. “She seems angry.”

“Yeah, that’s why I can respect what she’s doin’. Threatenin’ and angry music is cool,” Hobie says, bobbing his head up and down. Gwen nods. “Okay, guys, seriously, what does Miguel want with a singer?”

“Maybe she’s a scientist or something? Miguel needs her help?” Gwen suggests, and Miles shakes his head. “Nah, I feel like he’d just meet with her then.”

“He did mention she was close to our age, though. And her songs make it sound like she has an issue with authority,” Pav mentions, and Hobie nods. “I fuck with ‘er.” They all look at him. “Oh, I get it. She’s Hobie’s age,” Gwen says, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “What does ‘at ‘ave to do with anythin’?”

“You two are the same age, both have a problem with authority… whatever she is, she needs someone she can relate to to actually come with us,” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “Guess ‘at makes sense.” The four of them continue watching the concert. Even though it isn’t necessarily punk music, Hobie loves the lyrics. And Gwen loves all of the songs because she understands the lyrics more than the other guys. Miles is enjoying it because Gwen is enjoying it, and Pav is enjoying it because other people are enjoying it. However, neither of them would probably listen to this after this mission. When you’re nearing the end, Miles slips his mask back on. “Alright, everyone. What’s the plan?”

“We need to get backstage,” Gwen says, slipping her mask on as well. “‘ave a gander down there,” Hobie says, pointing at some marks on the stage. “What’s that?” Pav asks. “Pyrotechnics. When they go off, we go in,” Hobie says, and they all nod. “Hope they’re big enough that no one sees us,” Gwen mumbles and Hobie scoffs. “Gwendy, it’s a stadium show. It’s ‘bout to be big,” he says. The four of them prepare, running along the catwalk and getting ready to web back to where you would disappear to. Sure enough, the pyrotechnics go off and Hobie was right. They’re big. It gives them the advantage as they slip undetected backstage. They hide high up, watching as you run offstage after your encore. They silently follow you to your dressing room and Miles points at an air vent. Gwen nods, quietly yanking it off of its hinges. She crawls inside, taking a glance to make sure you’re still clothed, and then motions for the boys to follow.

Meanwhile, you’re wiping your makeup off, sipping on some water to soothe your throat from your performance. You walk away from the giant mirror to go grab a snack in the corner of the room when, suddenly, you feel like someone is watching you. You subtly unsheathe your hairbrush, which doubles as a dagger. Just in case. You take a deep breath, turning around, and throwing it. Miles leaps out of the way, and the other three’s eyes are wide. The accuracy with that throw was a little too good. “None of you are Miguel,” you say, on edge still. “Ay, don’t compare me to that bloody bloke. I’d rather die than be called ‘im,” Hobie says, and you give him an amused look. “I can arrange that,” you say, and Gwen clears her throat. “I just wanted to say your concert was like, totally, awesome.”

“Aw, thanks! Did you pay to watch?” you ask and she looks around. “Well uh… I, um—” She gets cut off by your laugh. “I’m kidding. I don’t give a fuck if you didn’t. In fact, I would prefer you didn’t,” you explain. “Oh! Then no. Too cool to pay, you know?” Gwen rambles and Miles turns his head to her, giving her a look that translates into ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ You chuckle. “Why are you four here, then? Señor O’Hara miss me?” you take a bite of the snack you picked, leaning against the wall. “How do you know Miguel?” Pav asks and you snort. “Long story. Oh! He finally find out I took something from him?” you ask, tossing your food to the side and crossing your arms. “I… we actually don’t know. He just said we had to bring you back to—”

“Wait he’s actually inviting me into his super secret spider society?” you ask, a look of excitement spreading across your face. “Uh. Yes?” Miles says, and you squeal. “This is so exciting! My first time being invited, okay, great, hold on,” you say, quickly running off and behind the changing room divider. “Uh… you’re just gonna come with us?” Gwen asks, and you yell a quick ‘yep!’ They all look at each other and shrug. “No offense, sweet’eart, but I thought it woulda been ‘arder to convince ya. Wasn’t aware bein’ invited by a stuck-up wanker like ‘im was all it would take,” Hobie says, and they hear a giggle from behind the screen. “Oh this isn’t my first time in his little fanclub,” you step out from behind the divider, garnishing an all-black catsuit with shiny black gloves coming to claws at the fingers. A small eye mask adorns your face, and you smirk. “It’s just the first time he’ll know I’m there.”

“Holy shit, no way! You’re Black Cat!” Gwen says, and you do a little curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance officially, Gwen Stacy,” you say, and her eyes get big. “How did you know—”

“Like I said. Not my first time there. Surprising since you all have that spidey sense or whatever, but guess I’m just that good,” you say, pulling out a dimension-hopping watch. “When did you—”

“Do I have to say I’ve been to your Spidertopia already again? Come on, I’m sure your pendejo of a boss is waiting for us,” you grin, and Hobie shakes his head. “Not my boss. I like you, though. Gettin’ fuck the establishment vibes,” he says, and you wink at him. “Thanks, Hobie Brown. Appreciate it. Also, Pavitr, you need to tell me what your haircare routine is,” you walk through the portal, and the four of them follow after you. Sure enough, you step out of the portal and stand right in front of Miguel’s desk. “Hello there, Spider-Boy,” you say, and he sighs. “(Y/n). Give me the device back. Now.”

“I’m good, actually. Been having too much fun with it,” you say, placing it on your wrist. He mutters something in Spanish as the four of them appear behind you. “Wait, if you’re Black Cat, why are you like… a superstar?” Miles asks, taking his mask off. “Was told at a young age to never settle for second best. So, I never did. Also if you want to steal from the big leagues, you have to be in with the big leagues,” you say, shrugging. “Damn, she is… so cool,” Gwen whispers. “We have an agreement, (Y/n),” MIguel says and you groan. “Miguel! Big guy, amigo, can I call you that?”

“No.”

“Don’t care, when have I ever stuck with an agreement?” you ask and he frowns. “This is all because you want to be able to come here whenever you want, isn’t it?” he asks and you grin. “You’re so smart, bestie,” you say and he groans. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. So can I come here and not have to worry about multiple spiders biting me all at once?” you ask, and he sighs. “Yes.”

“YE—”

“BUT!”

“Fuck, there’s a but,” you groan, as he continues talking, “No. Stealing.” You feign offense. “What makes you think I would ever steal something from here?” He points to your wrist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This was gifted to me.”

“By who.”

“Myself.”

“Esta maldita chica,” he mumbles, and you grin. “Well, thank you so much for approving my breaking and entering of your little arachnid club. I’ll be sure to return everything I’ve taken in hopes that you would notice I wanted to be invited,” you grin, and he clenches his jaw. “You step one toe out of line—”

“I woooon’t! Promise! Before I return everything though, I kinda have a heist planned in Earth-42,” you shrug, pulling up a portal. “I’ll tell Miles you said hi, Miles,” you give him a smirk, but before disappearing into the portal, you hear Miguel. “When you’re done come back here. I actually might be able to use you for something.”

You smile at him. “Say less, Spider-Man.” Then, you disappear. “We’re about to see a lot more of her, aren’t we?” Miles asks, and Miguel sighs and nods. “Dude! She is so cool!” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “She don’t take shit from no one. Respectable.”

“She’s funny! And she was able to shut you down, Miguel, that never happens,” Pav says, laughing a bit. “She seems kinda crazy,” Miles says.”

“What, like we aren’t?” Gwen retaliates and he shrugs. “I am perfectly sane! Most of the time…”

Miguel runs his hand through his hair in frustration as the four of them continue discussing you while walking out of the room.

He was not looking forward to the friendship the five of you were about to form.

───────────────────────────────────

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. ii

hi. this is max's lawyer speaking. please don't get mad at her for this part. she asked me to let you know that she loves you all and hopes that you trust her. sincerely, jimmy mcgill

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you're pregnant with joel miller's kid. he's dating someone else. you deal with it.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy stuff like nausea (none of the v word, y'all are safe with me), ultrasound scene set in a hospital, anxiety and guilt surrounding pregnancy, description of body change/growth, brief and i mean brief discussion of abortion, joel is dating someone who isn't reader, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), reader has no physical description save for hair, cursing, genderless use of buddy when referring to baby, joel kisses someone who is not his partner, mention of alcohol, disturbing & semi-graphic nightmare about being involved in car accident, reader has a panic attack, discussion of dead parents, fluff and the beginnings of angst DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there's ever anything you feel i've missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 9.2k

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

“I know, I know,” Joel holds a palm up, “it’s nine thirty. I know. But I had to lug all this wood over here, and it – You okay?”

You realize when he pauses that you’re gaping at him, wide-eyed and frozen in place behind your front door. Your jaw hinges shut, a gulp like carpet burn down your throat. You didn’t hear a word he just said.

How does he know? He can’t possibly. Did he sense it, from two lawns away? Dream about the binding of cells, the furnace left lit in your body from that night? The embers still floating, just waiting to catch to life again?

Did he do the fucking math, the way you probably should’ve? How does he fucking know?

The minute the question leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Joel’s eyebrows drop. “How did I know what, kid? That you need new closets? Like you ain’t been nipping my ear about ‘em for weeks?”

Your eyes unlock from his and shift to the slats of wood leaning against the balustrade. The toolbox hanging from his fist. The worn jeans and the white dust marks on his thighs. He doesn’t fucking know, you idiot.

Joel steps forward. Takes your wrist. One grounding, steady hand around your thrashing pulse. “You’re freaking me out. What the hell’s –?”

“Nothing,” you chirp, remembering. The closet. The deal. The fucking – the deal. You withdraw your arm. Hidden up your sleeve, quickly slipping out of his grasp, is the news that his life is about to change forever.

Maybe. You don’t fucking know.

“No,” you continue, blinking the burn of sunlight from your vision, “I just – I forgot. Sorry. Come in. Sorry.”

“Quit sayin’ sorry,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. He lifts a foot and hovers it over the threshold, hesitating. Like the first step across a minefield; instinct telling him to tread carefully.

And you swear an oath to yourself, swear it on your own life: if he doesn’t put the heel of his boot in your hallway, if he turns around right now whether because his instinct is razor sharp, or because he forgot his lucky screwdriver, or purely because he needs to take a fucking leak before he gets started – you will never tell him. He will never know.

If his intuition is that good, he’ll turn around and never show up on your porch again. If he has any sense, he’ll forget any of this ever happened. Deal off.

“How’s the stomach?” Joel asks, sole still three inches from wood.

“What?” you bleat, your heel knocking against the bottom stair. It’s a little more panicked than you intended.

“Yesterday,” a crease forms between his brows, “you said you had a weird stomach. That any better?”

Oh, you think, and as you open your mouth to reply, his foot hits the ground. No answer needed. He was coming in whether you tried to deter him or not.

“Oh, yeah. It’s – Well, it’s better than it was. I think I worked it out,” you grimace, tongue curling under the tinge of anxiety and – well. “Thanks,” you add, noticing the brisk cut of your replies.

The heavy thud of his footsteps follows you upstairs, blunt on the carpet as you lead him up. Joel sets the toolbox down and casts your room a quick glance, snapping back to you as soon as you notice him.

You tug on the corner of the bedsheets, a heat bubbling beneath your cheeks. Something shy and self-conscious, all of a sudden. The reality that you don’t feel close enough to this man to share the anatomy of your room with him, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you are, now and forever, bound by the anatomy of something a little more significant than dirty laundry and dusty wardrobes.

A little closer than most humans get, let’s say.

“You want a coffee or something?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning back against the window sill.

“You havin’ one?”

“Sure. Wait – actually –” Can you have coffee whilst pregnant? A woman at work quit it altogether when she fell pregnant with her son. Fuck. “I’m – No. I’m good. But let me go make you one.”

Joel shakes his head, amused. Screwdriver burrowing into a door hinge already. He flashes you a tickled grin. “I’m good just now, kid. Wait until you’re makin’ one. Thanks.”

You lift a shoulder. “Welcome.”

His eyes flit from the twist of silver to your hunched shoulders, your arms crossed protectively over your chest. “You gonna stand there ‘n watch me all day? You my foreman now?”

“Sure,” you reply, and he laughs. You sniff, twisting your foot into the carpet. The plastic test itches against your skin; you can feel the two lines ripping into your wrist like tiny burns. “I can go, if you want.”

His lip turns, musing. A quick flick of his jaw. “You’re good company, all in all.”

Metal clanking against metal; fingers knuckle-deep in the toolbox. You can hear the harsh sound across your body, like the point of screws and bite of rust are actually scoring your skin. The groan of a near-fifty-year-old man rising to rip a decades-old door from its home. The creak of wood as it splits.

Everything so heightened that it’s actually painful.

Joel straightens up and pauses, turning his screwdriver between his fingers. “Are we –? We’re good, right?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You’d tell me if things were weird?”

“Why would things be weird?”

His answer scrawls itself across his face. Your response scoffs from your lips.

“I just,” Joel sighs, “I feel like something might be off with ya. Maybe you just ain’t feelin’ too hot. But you’re quiet.”

“Quiet,” you whisper, palms locking heavily against your biceps. More defensive than convincing.

“Yeah. You usually annoy the hell outta me.”

Over your shoulder, Alice Brown waddles down her driveway, eyeing her flowerbeds. She pauses when Diane’s station wagon pulls up across the street; stands motionless as she watches the round figure climb out and totter to her own front door.

“Just – not in a very annoying mood, I guess,” you offer, staring at the white head of hair fluttering in the breeze. The glint of a trowel in her hand.

Joel’s chin lifts. He studies you, tongue tracing the ridges of his teeth. And then he’s nearing you, turning until you’re shoulder to shoulder, two silhouettes stood against the bright square of blue sky inside your window frame. His arms crossed; his stare fixed.

The words begin to boil in your stomach. Violent bubbles against the wall of your midriff. Rising like steam, fading into nothingness over your tongue, the sting of heat where your voice won’t collect them.

Joel moves from foot to foot. It feels like some kind of merry dance, some choreographed moment between you – like a skit in a comedy show. I know something you don’t know.

“What happened – at the wedding,” he murmurs, addressing the polished gold of your bedframe.

Some small sound passes your lips. An affirmative. You’re on the same page.

“We didn’t use – you know. And with you not feelin’ well, it’s…” A deep breath. Chest full of a ghostly bravery. And then he asks, “Are you –?”

Silence swallows the end of his question whole. You didn’t need it, anyway. The stiffness of his frame, his stare shooting straight ahead. The lack of oxygen between you – both holding your breath for fear that something might tear loose from your lungs. He knows. He knows he knows he knows.

You gulp. “…If I was?”

His head cranes upwards, focusing on the cracked plaster of your ceiling. The realization slowly trickling down over his skin. It hasn’t seeped through, hasn’t bled into his brain yet. “Then,” another breath, “then it’d be a conversation…” His voice is halved, split somewhere between knowing and – what is it? Hoping?

Your eyes slip over to the worn sleeve of his T-shirt, stretched around the swell of his bicep; scaling up to his shoulder, the tight set of his jaw. He’s so much taller, he’s so much older. There’s so much life lived and so many lessons learned behind his eyes that you wonder how much the news I’m pregnant would actually crack him.

Your eyes meet. You whisper, “Then – talk,” and his expression softens.

He blinks away whatever’s left of his trying, his polite attempts to skirt around it. He sheds probably a good three decades – turns back into some doe-eyed boy, wonderstruck and terrified. His voice is quiet, and at the same time, the heaviest with emotion you’ve ever heard it. “Are you?” he asks, and immediately, he blurs behind a wall of tears.

Your sentence gets caught in your teeth. It made no sense to begin with. Tangled between your molars, latching at the back of your tongue. Your hand slowly pulls free from your sleeve, the little white test between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes instantly drop, staring at the pale stick with a fraught expression you understand to mean the message has finally reached his brain. The same words now ringing between his ears: She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant. I got her pregnant.

You hold the test out, quivering in the daylight. He takes it in his thumbs, instantly soothing its tremble. Everything muted, every movement steady and considered. And suddenly the sight of that positive test feels less scary, in his hands. Feels like a smaller problem, if that were ever possible.

And he says nothing, and it’s almost unbearable to watch the shape of his lips thin, the shadow beneath his brows darken. Agonizing to stand here and wonder what the next words over his tongue will be.

He stares at it a moment longer. You count the beats of your pulse in your throat. You wrap your arms tighter around your body, holding your skeleton together.

Joel’s lips part. Your breath freezes. Whatever he says, you don’t want to miss a syllable.

“Are you –” he blinks, “– are you feelin’ okay?”

You stare blankly. His eyes finally lift.

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Your head jerks. “I’m – I’m fine. I mean, I’m fucking shocked.”

He nods. “How long have you known?”

“Took that right before you showed up,” you say, eyes diving to his hands. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

He’s still switching between you and the test. Checking those two lines are still there, as if they might fade to nothing, and then checking you’re still there – as if you might, too. Might be swept off if he’s not keeping an eye on you.

His face pales. He sinks back against the window ledge. “Jesus,” he breathes, a hand down the scruff of his chin.

And it feels like relief, like a mirror sat before you, presenting the honest truth: you’re fucked, and Joel thinks so, too. It embeds the shock into the cushion of your brain, the weight of it absorbed and laid bare for every particle in your body to pay it a visit. What the fuck do we do now?

“Yeah,” you sniff, “Jesus.”

But then his arm wraps around your shoulder, reminding you you’re still solid. Still whole. He holds you to his side, and when you turn into him, he takes you in the other and pulls you flat against his chest. His lips to your hair. His breathing slowing yours.

“We’re gonna work it out,” he says into your hair. “We’re gonna – Jesus, I did not expect…We are goin’ to be fine, alright? You are goin’ to be fine.”

You’re nodding, the prickle of tears flooding across your eyes again. They’re doing nothing, his words – blunt against your skin and insignificant to the fear swelling around your heart – but it feels better to be afraid with someone. Feels better to hold onto something stronger, something bigger, while you feel yourself beginning to shrink.

“What do we do?” you ask into his shirt.

Joel loosens his grip, pulls away until you’re staring at one another. “What do you wanna do?”

“I don’t…” Your head’s shaking, lips moving quicker than your voice will offer the words over. “I don’t think I want to get rid of it.”

He nods, a hand coming up to hold your cheek. “Alright. Then you don’t have to. You don’t gotta do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with.”

“But,” you sniff, guiltily averting his gaze, “this fucks everything up. Everything’s about to change.”

Joel takes a long, slow breath. “It complicates some things, that’s for sure.” He looks out to the street; Alice Brown now hauling weeds from the edge of her lawn. In his exhale, he breathes a name.

“V…What?”

He looks down. Eyes dance around your damp cheeks. “Vanessa,” he says, clearer now.

“Vanessa?”

A nod. His nose wriggles with an awkward sniff. You push off from his chest.

“Who the hell is Vanessa?”

Joel lets you go; lets you step back. He watches as you brace yourself against the ledge. Runs a hand through his hair while he fixes the right order of words. He’s thinking. Carefully.

Too fucking carefully. He’s taking too long.

“Joel. Who’s Vanessa?”

“She’s…” He sighs. “She’s my ex. From Tommy’s wedding. Vanessa Hart.”

Your jaw slackens. The purple dress. The hair like silk, a halo around her head where the light kissed her perfectly. Her plump lips; the way her head tipped back to laugh. The amount of air you felt her take up the second you laid eyes on her, the second you saw her, arm on top of Joel’s.

“Vanessa,” you whisper, your eyes descending his frame. The memory feels menacing now: her sweet giggle a sneering cackle, and you’ve no idea why. The bulky jewels around her neck, her clawed fingers on his arm.

Joel’s hand sits inches from yours on the wooden sill. Alice is walking back inside.

“We, uh…we swapped numbers the morning after the wedding, at breakfast. I didn’t think much of it, but we’ve seen each other a couple times since.”

This isn’t the time for another it’s a date, it’s not a date argument. What the fuck does he mean by –

“Seen each other?”

“Mhm.” He owes you better than that. He reckons so, too. “Dates,” he clarifies. “We’ve been on a couple dates.”

“Oh.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. Plummets, dragging with it your breath and your nerve and any other words you can think of. Your chest gnaws at the edges of the cavity left behind. It hurts. It stings.

Though you’ve no right for it to hurt or sting: as far as you were concerned, as far as you think Joel was concerned, that night was a one-off. It meant as little as the alcohol draining from your glasses, the vacant buzz of love and hope loose in the air. Equally as intoxicating as each other.

Cataclysmic, for the first little while. So heavily awkward that you would wait to watch Joel head out in the morning, clear of your path, before you’d set off for work. It felt like the aftermath of some natural disaster – the cleanup of debris and mistake.

But oh, it feels like a punch to the gut. Low, unexpected; a foul move by someone who never meant to hurt or not hurt you. Someone ignorant to every move he made, right up to this moment.

Your arms wrap around your body again, as though tending to the bruise left by the sucker punch shaped something like that tall woman named Vanessa.

Joel scratches the back of his neck. “We were…we were seein’ about starting things up again. Me ‘n her.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got you. That’s – I mean, I’m – I’m sorry, Joel, I –”

“Woah, woah,” he’s stepping forward now, “hey, no. No way. This wasn’t you. Well, shoot – it kinda was you. But it was just as much me, right?”

You smile, your face back in the safe hold of his hands. Tears roll down your cheeks, collecting in the corners of your mouth. His thumbs swipe them away.

“This was just as much me,” he repeats, voice soft and soothing.

“But, you know – if you wanted to – just ‘cause I don’t want to get – so if you didn’t wanna have to – that’d be okay, you know that, right?”

His head snaps back, brows low. It’s the first time he looks like his cool has broken all morning. It’s the first time he looks…downright offended. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, and then, “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I just – I know this ain’t ideal. It’s even worse if you’re tryna make it work with Vanessa. So if you felt like it was too much, then…”

Joel shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, edged with some kind of groan. “Stop talking, right now. Stop. You gotta take a deep breath, alright? I’m here, ‘n I mean I’m here. We’re in this together. I am not running out on you.”

“Joel –”

What was a mere crack in his cool before, rips through it now like lightning spreading across the sky. He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping between his teeth. “If you think I would leave you right now, to deal with this on your own –”

“I don’t,” you tell him, his vexation powering your sudden animation. You wipe your tears away, shaking your head. “I’m just saying, it’s a fucking lot. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’m giving you an out, man.”

“I am not interested in taking it. Enough. Conversation over.”

“And what about Vanessa?”

“What about her?” he asks, the question dripping in something akin to anger. He catches himself, draws it back in. “She’ll just – We’ll talk, I’ll explain it. The hell else can we do? One thing at a time, okay?”

“Right,” you nod, “okay. One thing at a time.”

“Let’s just build these damn wardrobes. I sure as hell didn’t lug all that timber over here to not do ‘em.”

“Okay,” you repeat, making for the door.

“Ah.” He clicks, and you turn back. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“To get the timber.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, pointing to your bed. “Sit down. Relax. You ain’t getting a damn thing.”

Joel calls it a day at six o’clock.

The skeleton of the closet is up: a smooth, tan frame lining one wall of your room. Much bigger, much sturdier than its predecessor.

You’re in the same spot he left you in: lying across your bed, admiring his handiwork. He’s good at what he does. You told him twice, and the two of you almost heaved both times. Compliments aren’t something you’re used to handing one another.

He left, maybe, three hours ago. Said he had to shower; said he’d be back first thing to finish the job. You sat up to see him out, got struck by a wave of nausea so bad that you fell back to the bed with one hand on your stomach and the other over your lips, and Joel had insisted – demanded – that you stay where you were.

I’ll be back later to check on ya, he assured, setting a glass of water at your bedside. And then he told you to call him if you felt even remotely off – sick, or panicked, or had a tickle in your throat that you couldn’t clear – and that’s when the two of you realized that you don’t even have one another’s numbers.

And you laughed, the both of you; laughed at the absurdity of you carrying his child when you don’t even carry his contact details in your phone. Laughed at how quickly everything has turned one hundred and eighty degrees in the few hours since you woke up. It felt like some form of release, the only way to clear the blockage of tension in both your throats. So, you laughed, until you felt sick again, and Joel swept the hair from your shoulders to cool you down.

The attentiveness is…new. It’s interesting. It’s kind, in the same way that being told to say hi to whoever your grandma is talking to in the grocery store, is kind. Sweet, the same way that answering the door on Halloween to a bunch of kids you don’t know from a street you don’t recognize the name of, is sweet.

Whatever. It’s fucking weird, alright?

You’ve never seen this side of Joel. You didn’t know or even think, in your wildest dreams, that he existed. Let’s face it: you two have spent the entirety of your inhabitance next door to one another, antagonizing each other. Your favorite hobby has always been pissing Joel off – teasing him for having backache, seeing how far down his porch you can launch his newspaper and he’ll still go get it. Playing the same kind of music you heard him playing on his guitar that one time, full-volume from your kitchen window just to fuck with him.

And, likewise: his favorite hobby has always been…well, ignoring you. Doing everything he can not to engage. If it weren’t for that fucking cat lady and her jittery green Chevrolet, none of this would’ve ever happened. She was a catalyst where one was neither needed nor wanted. You would’ve gone about your life, pinning your underwear only slightly more carefully to your clothesline, and Joel would’ve gone about his, doing – whatever the fuck he does.

Sure, it’s weird. But it’s nice. It’s nice to have him on your side, turning to check on you rather than snap at you for something. Nice to have him talk – actual, rounded words in place of grumbles and mumbles and groans and sighs. Nice to hang out with him and watch him work and ask questions about screws and power tools and pretend to be interested just to distract from the weight of queasiness in your stomach.

Your hands trail down, cupping around your navel. Your stomach still feels like your stomach: still soft, still spongey under your touch. If not for the two more tests you’d taken this afternoon, perched on the bathroom counter waiting for Joel to unstick his gaze from his watch and announce, That’s three minutes – both also positive, by the way – you’d have no fucking clue.

You hold the bottom half of your tummy, fingers rubbing gently over the skin that will soon enough grow and swell and protect.

“Hey,” you whisper, staring at the stationary ceiling fan overhead. A pause. An awkward inhale. “…hey, little buddy. I don’t – know you very well, yet. I figure you can’t even fucking hear me, but whatever. Just wanted to say hi. I’m – Ew, no. I’m not Mom, yet. What the fuck. I don’t know who I am right now, so just…maybe go easy on me until I figure that part out. And after, too. Alright? Are we…we cool?

“You can’t tell me, I know. I just have to assume we’re cool. Okay. Well. Keep growin’. Keep…doing your thing. You’re doing great. We’re doing – we’re doing alright.

“Good job, kid. Good job.”

Joel tells Vanessa two days later. She takes it…about as well as you might hope.

He says they talked for four hours. Three cups of coffee and a drive to Taco Bell later, she agreed to meet you. Properly. Not across the cluttered dancefloor of Tommy’s wedding.

She –? Is – is that a good idea?

I don’t know, kid. It’s the best I’ve got.

Meet me? Like, come kick my ass for sleeping with her boyfriend?

Joel had sighed and deadened his eyes on yours. Not her boyfriend, he corrected, passing you a sweater folded a little slapdash for your liking, and wasn’t her boyfriend when we slept together.

You shook the sweater straight again and fixed his work, muttering to yourself that at least he’s a better builder than he is a folder.

Joel heard you, and let it go. Passed you another – unfolded – sweater to sit in your wardrobe. Let’s just see how it goes, alright?

Alright.

We’re really trying this again. It’s only been a couple weeks.

Okay.

And neither of us have had much luck in that department since we broke it off, y’know?

Joel. I said okay.

He held your gaze a moment too long. Okay.

You’re on your porch when he strolls over, wrist blocking the six o’clock sun from his eyes. Newspaper in his fist, wind licking the corners. “Forget somethin’ today?” he asks, meeting you at the top of the steps.

“Came out to get it,” you brace yourself on the railing, “felt sick. This is me workin’ up to it.”

“You want me to toss it back onto my lawn so you can go fetch me it?”

You smile, eyes screwing shut. “Was coming over to ask what time for tomorrow.”

The reminder snaps him from his happy daydream. He says, “I was comin’ to ask you the same thing. Seven work?”

“Seven’s good. Are we getting food?”

“You wanna get food? I figured maybe you wouldn’t be up for it, what with the, uh…” Joel gestures to your hunched position, your head low between your shoulders, your deep, deliberate breaths.

“Maybe just drinks,” you utter, gulping back the sharp taste of bile.

He nods. “Drinks it is. You okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks. See you guys at seven.”

Four minutes early, there’s a knock at your door. You pull it open, and there they are. Picture-perfect, like they might be posing for a holiday card. A bottle in his arm, a bunch of flowers in hers. A timid but genial smile between her cheeks, a twinkle in her eye. That same circle of shining light around her head, brunette tresses curled into bouncing waves.

“Howdy,” Joel says, stepping into the space you create. He dips his head, kisses your cheek, whispers a brief, Y’okay? in your ear. You nod quickly, gently shifting him out of the way.

Vanessa lingers for a moment in the doorway. She glances from Joel to you again, blinking in the porch light. Her pale skin lit in an ethereal glow. She’s prettier up close.

Joel addresses you, hand brushing the small of your back, “…this is Vanessa.”

“Hi,” she says, and pushes the flowers towards you – a small bouquet of gypsophila and eucalyptus. Bright, polite. Each sprig laden with the burden of appearing simpatico, but important. Meaningful, in the airiest sense of the word. “Hi,” again.

“Hi,” you echo, and then feel stupid for having nothing more to offer. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, hot on your shoulder.

But Vanessa takes the weight from your chest. “It’s nice to meet you – officially. I saw you at Tommy and Maria’s wedding. You looked so beautiful.”

“Thanks,” springs from your tongue sooner than the rest of the sentence. Your brain scrams to find more words. “You looked – you looked great, too. Do you wanna –? I mean – Sorry. Come in. Obviously.”

She clicks over the threshold, her pale dress floating into your hallway like she’s part of a dream. She’s just as beautiful in this light, relaxed form – pastel blue and the glimmer of golden jewelry – as she was in the sleeker, more dramatic form you saw her in before. An aura about her which captures and tends to your attention. Intense, captivating, but not intimidating.

You usher them to the living room, offer them a space on the couch while you take Vanessa’s flowers to the kitchen. Joel follows you through, sets the bottle on the counter.

“Nonalcoholic,” he says, unscrewing the cap.

Your eyebrows jump. “Great. Thanks.”

“She’s nervous,” he murmurs, leaning in. “I know you are, too. Y’all are similar like that.”

You slot the stems into a vase of water one by one, carefully organizing a display. “She seems sweet,” you assure him. “She shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Neither should you.”

“Is this…totally weird for you?”

Joel breathes in deep, filling three glasses. “Yeah,” he says, eyes never lifting from the sparkling peach.

“Sorry.”

He angles his jaw. “Stop sayin’ you're sorry. I’ll kick your ass.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, eyes lifting only to his elbows. “Sorry.”

He scoffs, swiping the glasses and stepping back to let you out first.

“I’m trying not to make it weird,” you offer, slipping by.

“I don’t want you to try anything.” He kicks your ankle lightly and follows you back into the living room.

Vanessa sits forward and clasps her hands around her knee when you sit back down, shifting as though to reach for you before she stops herself. “How are you feeling? Joel said you’re a little…worse for wear, right now.”

“I’ve been better,” you say, smiling. “Just morning sickness. Which lasts – all day.”

She nods sympathetically. “My sister had it rough with her first. I actually…” She twists around, reaches for her purse, fishes out an orange packet. “I brought you some ginger tea. Kate told me it helped her a lot, so.”

She holds it out in almost trembling fingers. Likewise, you steady yours to take it from her, thanking her with a shy nod of the head. “That’s so kind,” you reply quietly, eyes darting to Joel. He’s staring at the pack in your hands, watching as you turn it over to read the back.

“And – listen,” Vanessa continues, the acceptance of her offering clearly fueling her assuredness, “I don’t want anything to be weird – between you and I, between you and Joel. I know this situation is…new. It’s, um…”

“It’s kinda weird,” you say, humoring. “It’s okay. I know.”

She breathes a relieved laugh. “It is. Thank God you said it.” She glances back at Joel, who smiles at her, slips his hand onto her knee. “But I guess,” a deep breath, “I guess it is what it is. And we’re all adults, you know? We can make it work, right?”

Your head switches rapidly between nodding enthusiastically and shaking enthusiastically. “Yeah. Yes. No, absolutely. And, you know, me and Joel – there isn’t – we’re not at all…”

“Oh,” she bats the idea away, “I know. I know that. He told me everything. It’s – You know, it’s just a timing thing.”

Joel’s staring down at his hand locked around her leg. Unblinking. Unmoving. His expression doesn’t shift until the two of you settle back into your seats; until Vanessa asks if he’d mind making you a cup of ginger tea.

You barely notice his absence, the way she takes you up in conversation. Like twirling you off in some kind of dance, each sentence strung safely to the next. There are no lulls, no awkward pauses. She asks about work, asks about your family. She tells you stories about her niece, who’s three now, and compares how you’re feeling to how she remembers her sister feeling.

Then her work, and the IT guy her friend hooked up with, and her class at the gym which she’s trying to convince Joel to come along to, and Kate’s hot yoga class every Thursday night, and the new sushi place which just opened downtown and You gotta try it some day; the nigiri is divine.

And you nod along, and you laugh at her anecdotes and tell your own, and Joel tells her to tell you about the jazz band who were playing at the restaurant they visited a couple weeks ago, and you offer to top her drink up and she says she’ll do it herself and she leaves you and Joel alone for the first time all evening, and – it’s weird.

Because – behind the veil of conversation you’re doing your best to uphold, sits an image of this very night – only, in Joel’s house. In Joel’s house, on Joel’s couch, drinking nonalcoholic wine with Joel’s brother. Joel and Vanessa leant against one another on one couch, Tommy and Maria on the other.

You can’t help it – you’re wondering what Maria thinks of Vanessa. How long they knew each other, if at all, before the breakup. Whether they hung out, whether they discussed sushi and yoga, or the housing market, or their Miller boyfriends and their annoying Miller habits.

Maria would’ve liked her, you think. Would’ve found her as lovely as you do. And the idea, the image of them giggling together at family parties and being Tommy’s Maria and Joel’s Vanessa – presses a firm, bullying finger into the bruise you thought had faded some from the other day.

And once they’re gone, once you’re left alone again – lying in still silence, closed in on yourself by the thick darkness of your room, nothing but you and your thoughts and your unborn child for company – it slips out.

“Fuck her, right?” You hold your hands out, addressing your stomach. “She was so fucking nice. Did you like her? Fuck me, I liked her. I hope they break up.”

And then, realizing who you’re talking to: “No. Sorry, baby, no. I don’t hope they break up. I want your dad to be really happy. But – Goddamn. She was so sweet. I thought she was gonna slap me, and she just – she brought ginger tea! Fuck. They look good together, don’t they?”

It’s just hormones. Just the emotional trip that is being four weeks pregnant. Everybody feels like this when they fall pregnant – sensitive, vulnerable, clingy. Right? Right?

Your words sit stagnant in midair. You swear you can see them, heavy and intruding. Awkwardly lingering someplace they don’t belong. Because none of it even matters – the hormones, the emotions. The weird knot burning a hole in your chest, shaped like a clenched fist, knuckles branded by the heat of longing. It can’t matter.

You’re where you are, he’s where he is. A pillow in your arm, Vanessa in his. Feet apart, bricks and mortar and something like twenty years and two dates too late separating you.

Both staring up at the ceiling, wondering who the other’s thinking of.

“At eight weeks, your baby is roughly the size of a raspberry.”

Your knee bounces, breath coming and going in shaky ripples. The rubber sole of your shoe cries against the sterilized hospital floor. Your chest hums anxiously and your throat catches when you swallow and are the lights too bright? The room too hot? You’re sweating. Why are you sweating? Can you breathe right now?

Joel nudges your arm and your eyes roll to the pamphlet in his hand, his finger tracing the words. “C’mon,” he utters, leaning in, “how can anything the size of a raspberry be scary?”

You squint under fluorescent white. “A raspberry that grows into the size of a watermelon, can break my ribs, make me throw up, make me lose hair, and then tear my vagina apart on its way out? That’s pretty scary.”

He smirks. “Not to me it ain’t. My vagina stays perfectly intact the entire time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you reply, whacking him.

He laughs, swatting your palm away, keeping ahold of your fingers inside his own. “Speaking of – we gotta talk.” He elbows you, waiting until you’re looking again to speak. “We gotta cut the language.”

“Cut the language?”

“Uhuh. Rein it in. And by we, I mean you.”

“Uh,” you scoff, “I don’t think so. When you do the growing, then you can rein your own swearing in. Leave me alone, asshole.”

“Charming,” Joel says. “You know the baby can hear you? You want it to come out swearin’ like a trooper?”

You grin, tipping your head to him. “If it comes out and says anything, we’re rich. So – yeah. Let it.”

He opens his mouth to reply when a nurse emerges from a nearby room and calls your name.

“You’re up, kid,” Joel says, standing beside you.

You turn back, speaking before your brain settles on words. “I’m scared.”

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand. He squeezes it gently, uses the other to keep you facing him. “This is the easy part, right? We’re just going to meet them.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, and wander over to meet the nurse. Joel’s hand a vice grip around yours.

She leads you into a similarly washed-out clinic room, only slightly dimmer with the lights turned out, and yanks a roll of paper across the bed. Tapping it twice, she smiles. “Hop up, darlin’.”

You settle into the crinkly paper, leaning back until you’re blinking up at the speckled ceiling. Another door opens and a woman in a white coat floats in, and you swear that if it weren’t for Joel’s Evenin’, ma’am when she greets the two of you, you’d believe she were a figment of your imagination. Another character in this fucking insane dream.

“Not often I do these past five o’clock,” she says, clicking her mouse and typing on her keyboard and fixing a hair grip back into her bun. Casual. It’s not even a thing to her, introducing parents and children. She does this all fucking day.

Joel tosses half a glance to you and then realizes you’re not currently in the room. He pinches your hand again. It grounds you for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat, “work commitment. I couldn’t get away any earlier, so we’re havin’ to do this a little late.”

“What do you do?” she asks, staring at her screen. Her glossy brown eyes and rich, dark skin.

“I’m a contractor,” Joel replies, thumb stroking your shoulder.

Something bubbles in your stomach, something akin to jealousy, an urgency to tell her that right now, in this room, he’s mine. No more questions. Something which quickly dissipates when you remind yourself to quit being fucking ridiculous and that right now, in this room, he’s someone else’s, and the thumb on your shoulder is merely to hold you back from fleeing. Nothing more.

The sonographer nods. Her name badge reads Freya. Pretty name. Stop picturing what your kid would look like as a Freya. You are not naming them after the first sonographer you meet.

“Shouldn’t be too long, then y’all can get home for the night. You live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes’ drive. Not far, are we?” Joel asks you.

Your eyes shoot down to his. “No,” you push your cheeks up, telling Freya, “not far.”

She flattens her lips against one another, lending you a sympathetic smile. “You got nothing to worry about, honey. Promise. Gel might be a little cold, that’s about as scary as this gets. We’re just gonna make sure everything’s looking good, check your dates, check your measurements. You’re doing great.”

“You hear that?” Joel murmurs, settling down into the chair by your side. His hand hasn’t left yours. His voice is low, meant just for you, when he repeats, “You’re doin’ great.”

You huff a laugh, some nervous release from your lungs.

Freya smiles, face lit by the faint glow of the screen in front of her. “We ready?”

You roll the hem of your tee up when she motions, bunching it under the wire of your bra. She squeezes a bottle over your stomach, which tenses solid when the frozen bite of gel curls right below your belly button. Freya smiles apologetically when you wince. Told you, she murmurs, and your breath escapes in a slightly more comfortable laugh. Lighter, easier. Scariest part over.

She presses the probe to your skin and spreads the gel, coating the bottom of your tummy in a slippery slick which tickles with each inch she covers. Two buttons pressed, and a dark image appears on a screen opposite you.

A gray fan, speckled like the ceiling above your head. Dark, black shapes growing and shrinking at the turn of Freya’s wrist. She pauses, two blobs onscreen: the larger, black, round, home to a smaller, misshapen one. Flecked with white and silver and moving slowly, gently, but – right there.

“Mom, Dad,” she grins, “meet your baby.”

You and Joel move forward at the same time, drawn closer to the crunchy image as if by some kind of natural magnetism. Eyes never blinking, lips agape. The shapes flutter, the smaller dipping in and out of view.

“You see right here, right in the center?” A white cross appears over the blob’s middle. “That little movement? The kinda – pulsing?”

You each nod. Your nails dig so deep into Joel’s hand that you risk drawing blood.

“That’s the heart. Ticking away.”

“The heart?” you ask, watching the rhythmic flicker in the center of the screen.

“Yep. Perfect, too.”

She hits another key and suddenly the room is filled with a muffled thudding; a steady, energetic pulse in your ears. It matches the movements onscreen, the tiny throb of the baby’s chest, the shape of your womb moving like waves before you.

And suddenly, it's real – all of it: the screen and the room and the sonographer and you, and Joel’s hand encasing yours, holding your knuckles to his lips, and –

And the heartbeat. Right there, right in front of you. Shy, probably as nervous as you are to introduce themselves. Feeling your eyes on them, curled up somewhere safe inside you. Right there.

You turn to Joel, and his illuminated face is staring straight at the screen. Eyes soaked with tears, blinking as they form, cheeks dappled with wet. He draws his eyes from his child only to look back at you, only to mirror your stunned smile, your disbelieving laugh, more tears dripping down into his beard. He sits up, presses his damp lips firmly to your forehead.

Freya mutes the heartbeat, pauses the scan where the image is clearest, and sits back. “I’ll give you guys a moment to yourselves,” she says, wheeling back in her chair. “Take all the time you need. I’m right outside.”

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles for the both of you, sweeping hair from your face.

The door closes on your little bubble – you, Joel, and the grainy image of your baby. The evidence that – yeah, that night happened, and yeah, you’re forever changed because of it. The evidence that you’re about to become a mom, for real, no matter how much the thought makes you feel like your stomach is kicking around at your ankles.

And the evidence that, no matter how scared you might be, how unprepared and unworthy you feel – you fucking adore that little blob already.

Love it as much as Joel does, stood over you, kissing your hair and whispering words you’re only half-listening to. A quiet thank you, a shaky I can’t believe it. Something about showing his brother. And when you look up at him, blinking at one another, inches apart – he takes your jaw in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Different. Softer. No want laced through. No urgency. Nothing needed, nor requested, that isn’t already right here in this little bubble of yours.

He kisses you slowly, eyes closed, holding you until you pull away for breath. His nose bumps against yours and you laugh, heads together, eyes low.

“Still scared?” he whispers.

“Terrified,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” he says, and kisses you again.

You lean back against the bed, relief settling your bones and soothing your heartbeat. The notion washes over you that, if you could, you’d stay in this room forever. Staring at the screen, holding Joel’s hand. Whispering fears into his mouth and letting him swallow them in a kiss.

He hands you some paper towel and helps you drag it across your stomach, your eyes still fixed on the little shape opposite. He hooks his chin over your head – the fresh, woody smell of his cologne infiltrating your lungs and throwing you under the haze of something you’re not quite sure how to define.

“Duck,” he says, voice vibrating into your skull.

“Huh?”

“Start saying duck. Make the baby think we’re saying that, then you can say –” he lowers his voice, “– fuck, all you want.”

“The hell would I have to say duck for?”

Joel stands upright and shrugs. “I don’t know. Think of somethin’. A nickname, maybe.”

“Duck?”

He nods plainly, glancing over to the screen.

The pillow beneath your head sighs as you turn from Joel back to the ultrasound. “Baby Duck,” you offer, and he smiles.

Smiles in a way you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile. Eyes glistening, cheeks swollen. Something innocent and earnest about it. Something pure.

He agrees. “Baby Duck it is.”

Joel insists that you spend the night at his place.

“It’s been a big day,” he reasons, fixing the bed in his guestroom. “Just – let me run around after you for a little bit.”

You fight your corner as much as you can be bothered – I gotta maintain my independence, I’m gonna be a single mom soon enough, you know – but, truthfully, you’ll take any excuse to have him rush around at your beck and call. Some days you open your mouth and he hears the wet click of saliva between your lips, and grabs a glass of water for you before you’ve even voiced the request.

He orders takeout, settles shoulder-to-shoulder with you on the couch, and lets you pick whichever movie you feel like putting him through until the food’s gone, he’s out of beer, and you’ve abandoned Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles for an argument about the best part of pizza.

You don’t like the crust?

Nope.

What fuckin’ age are you?

If it ain’t stuffed, it’s just not worth it.

At eleven, you bid him goodnight and wander upstairs, falling into a sea of navy-blue sheets to be delivered to sleep by the serene silence of Joel’s home. It takes no time for your eyes to flutter closed, the soft sheen of moonlight painted across the wall, sweeping from your view to be replaced in a whir by –

Lights. Overhead and all around and so bright and so close that you swear they’re etched on the inside of your eyelids.

You’re in the backseat, watching them soar by in blurs of white and red and amber and green, and your pulse is rattling through your veins and throbbing between your temples and you can’t focus on any one object for longer than three seconds, before your eyes roll and your head dizzies.

A word, slung from your lips in a half-wakened attempt to stop it. A word you barely recognize at first, don’t understand the meaning of. It’s been years. Why now? Mom.

You’re not sure why, or who you’re even reaching out to. There are two figures in the front seats, heads facing forward. She’s not turning around. She’s not even fucking moving, not reacting to the speed or the lights or your voice. Mom.

You scream it, the syllable ripping violently from your throat, and your tiny fingers reach for her swirls of hair. You pause, staring at the chipped polish on your stubby, kiddy nails. Mom, I’m scared.

The distorted blast of a horn scoops the car up in one motion, hurtling over itself along the freeway. You’re thrown to the roof of the car, plummet back down to your seat; the seatbelt throttles you, rips a burn deep into the skin of your neck. Back up again; your head hits the spongey roof of the car. Your stomach somersaults.

Mom, please, you wail, swiping for her hand. It’s lying limp by her thigh, dark droplets on her wrist. Mom Mom please Mom I’m scared Mom please I’m so scared I –

“Baby.”

His voice is low, earthy. It chews apart the high-pitched squeal of brakes and screaming. The glass smashing. The metal crunching.

You lift from the bed like it’s ice water, gasping when you finally surface back on Earth. Your chest heaves, it’s not sucking in enough breath; you can’t breathe you can’t breathe you can’t fucking breathe.

Joel whips the cover from your legs and you roll from the mattress, feet planting on the floor. You bend forward to grip onto the sheets, a choking rising up your throat, closer and closer until it tugs on your tongue.

“Icantbreathe,” you pant.

Joel’s body curves around yours. “You’re alright,” he’s telling you – urging you; one hand between your shoulder blades, the other holding your wrist for fear you might collapse. “I’m here, you’re okay. You’re at my place, you’re safe, but, kid – I need you to slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

You work your breathing to the strokes of his hand up and down your spine: in out in out in and out and in and out and in, and out, and in, and…out…and in…and…out.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. You’re good, baby, I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

In – and out. In – and out again.

The room slowly desaturates back into boring, moonlit blue. Feeling sputters back into your hands, clawing at the sheets once the sharpness dissolves. The cotton pets back, smooth under your quivering touch. Your lips stop tingling, your ears stop ringing. One after another, until your blood settles back to a steady stream and you straighten up.

“Can you sit down for me?”

“No,” you whimper, and Joel nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’m gonna get you a drink, that okay?”

You grab his T-shirt. “No. Don’t leave me. Please. Sorry.”

He cups your frozen cheeks. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Just downstairs. You can come.”

He settles you at his kitchen table and shuffles over to the cupboards, rubbing his eyes. You feel the heat of embarrassment and guilt, watching as he settles down with a groan minutes later.

“Ginger,” he tells you, voice rounded by his mug, sliding one of your own over to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble, lifting it with two hands. The smell sharp, cutting up the remnants of gasoline and smoke.

“Many times do I gotta say it?” he asks dryly. “Quit sayin’ you’re sorry.”

You gulp nervously. “You got work in the morning. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“And if I hadn’t let you keep me up watchin’ chick flicks, I’d be rested. That’s something I can deal with later. I got you to worry about right now.”

You shake your head; the ceramic hits the table with a sharp thud. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well,” Joel sniffs, “you’re carrying my child. I’ll always worry about you.”

You sit back, the curve of the chair cradling, your heart beating lamely against the wood. Joel’s jaw rests in the cushion of his palm, staring back at you.

“What time is it?” you ask, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Three. Take a sip.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sip.”

You obey, lifting the tea and swallowing harshly.

He watches every move, every shift reflected in his dark eyes, decorated by a tense, stony expression. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Never,” you say. “This never happens.”

Joel cranes his jaw, cracks his neck. “Alright,” he sighs, “that’s okay. Breathe again. You’re doing fine.”

But you don’t feel fine. The dregs of panic sizzle into something thicker, hotter. Anger. Frustration. “Why the fuck is this happening?” you hiss, fingers prodding into your eye sockets. “What the f–?”

“Easy. I don’t know. Hormones? Stress?”

“You sound like my fucking doctor.”

Joel smiles. Amusement, before concern wipes over it again. “Let’s just give it some time to pass, okay?”

You nod, hanging over your drink, the silhouette of your reflection staring back at you. The steam snakes up, seeping into your skin, bubbling under the surface. Wiping clean any memory of freeway or nail polish, like coating over a bathroom mirror. The shapes still visible behind, but blurred. Gone.

“How’s Vanessa?” you ask, an attempt to distract yourself.

Joel adjusts a little awkwardly in his chair. “She’s good. She loved the scan photo. Showed it to her sister. They’re sure it’s a boy.”

“Ha. Joel Jr.”

“Joel Jr.,” he agrees, and then attempts to distract himself. “So,” he says, “Allandale.”

“Mhm?”

“Wonder if I ever saw your mom or dad. When I was there visitin’ Sam.”

You shrug. “Doubt it. I mean, they always lived right next to the elementary school, if that helps. My mom was a first-grade teacher. The two of us used to walk there ‘n back together, every day.”

“First grade, huh? Best one.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and she was the best of the best. She used to go all out for her kids; used to go to Michaels and get all this crafty stuff so they could spend all afternoon making little houses or zoos, or – whatever she could think of. And she’d always keep some aside, bring some home for me to make one, too. One time, she came home with all this blue tissue paper and little foam fish, and we made an aquarium together.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Joel says.

“Yeah,” you say again, nodding eagerly. “She was so cool. And fun, y’know? I just remember her being so much fun. I always felt safe with her, felt loved. I actually used to think she hung the sun every morning, just for me.” You take a deep breath, replacing it with a broken sigh.

“What about your dad? What was he like?”

You frown. “He was…fine. Real quiet, reserved. A little grumpy, I guess. I always got the idea he couldn’t be bothered with me, young as I was. Always wanted to be left alone. I think my mom overcompensated a lot.”

Something flashes across Joel’s face that seems to say he knows – or, at least, he understands. Almost imperceptible, a quick flicker of annoyance. “You miss her?” he asks, switching back.

“My mom?” You almost laugh, gripping onto your mug. Staring at the slow swirl of ginger. A shrug which presents more like a flinch; an animal swatting a fly away. “I miss those parts, when I think of them. The aquarium, the walking to school. Miss the memories. But I don’t think I knew her well enough or long enough to miss her.

“I’ve lived way longer without her than I ever had her. Done everything without her, like –” gesturing down, “– this. But, sometimes…sometimes, I bundle the sheets up behind my back in bed, and I pretend it’s her. Pretend I have a mom, and she’s cuddling me to sleep. I dunno. Maybe that’s what missing her feels like.”

Joel soaks in every word you say, letting the shape of each one settle on the table between you before he speaks again. Letting them be spoken into the dead of night, collected by no one, and letting them fade into silence. Secrets sweeping off into starlight. Nothing you would admit in the daytime.

“What was her name?” he asks, voice timid and gentle in the dark kitchen.

You almost choke on your tea. “Shoot – I’m sorry. That was a lot. Sorry. She, uh – Her name?”

It brings the first genuine smile to your lips; the memory of your mom now clear behind your eyes. Her round cheeks, her fluttering earrings. The deep, dark curls of her hair, thick ringlets twisting and lighting in the sun. The gap between her front teeth, the purse of her lips as she kissed your cheeks, your hands, your tummy.

Her name like a melody in your head; a safe word, a calming mantra when the world becomes too noisy, too saturated, too sharp to bear. Two syllables. Two little beats, like a piece of her still lives in the sound of her name.

“Sarah,” you tell Joel. “Her name was Sarah.”

[mywritersmind]

SAVIOR - LN4

pt.2

summary : Y/n’s favorite place has quickly become her and Lando’s shared hallway. They grow closer and finally make it to the fresh air.

OG SUMMARY (When y/n’s absent neighbor shows up, causing her great annoyance with smoke and repetitive beeping, she marches over to tell the man off but is met with a handsome face and strong hands that are in distress.)

listen up : no warnings!! y/n is clueless abt f1. lando is silly. i’m craving strawberries now.

word count : 1878

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I haul my five grocery bags into the elevator, struggling to keep them all off the ground. I sigh when I finally still in the metal box, i’ve carried these at least two blocks and one had broken on the way.

The doors are about to close but a hand slides in between them, making them automatically open for him.

Hello my hot mysterious neighbor.

He looks relieved he made it, “Y/n!” He says cheerfully, like we’ve known each other for ages. It’s been a couple weeks since I slammed on his door and stomped through his kitchen.

The other side of the hallway had been quiet until last night when I heard keys rattling and the door opening. I can’t help but wonder what he does that keeps him from home so often.

“Lando, Hi!” I smile back as he slides beside me and presses our floor.

“You need help?” He eyes the bags as I bite my lip, not wanting to bother him. I don’t have the time to respond because he takes three bags out of my hands like it’s nothing.

“Thank you.” I sigh, “I’ve been struggling for like two blocks.” He laughs a bit with me as the numbers get higher and higher.

“I’m happy to help.” We finally reach our floor, Lando watches me go first and walk to my door, unlocking it and walking in.

Lando follows hesitantly, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Thank you again! I put myself in a bit of a bind when I decided that my friends need fifteen types of salami and cheese.” I place the bags on the counter, Lando following.

I push back my hair and suddenly wish I had cleaned up a bit more. My friends are coming over tonight and I had decided to push back my cleaning. Looking around at the clothes and old popcorn bowls scattered around makes me want to slap myself.

“Really, I like to lend a hand! I never get to be neighborly.” He shrugs.

“What do you do for work? If you don’t mind me asking?” I start placing the cold items in the freezer.

He leans against the counter, his arms holding him up and looking alarmingly fit, “Uh… You ever follow Formula 1?”

I nod, “Kinda? I used to love it!” My mom and I would watch every sunday but I stopped in college so I don’t know any of the current grid, “So you work in the sport! That’s cool, pretty hands on?” I ask as he laughs a bit, looking awkward.

“Yeah, I work with the cars.” He looks around my place a bit, “So, why does one need this much food? I’m judging or anything it’s just… You don’t seem like the type to need a jumbo sized pretzel bag.”

I smile and snatch the bag from him, “I could definitely eat all of this by the way! But I'm having a bit of a party tonight. If anything’s too loud just let me know! It’s just old friends from college- actually.” I look up at him, a boost of confidence appearing in me, “You could join us. If you’re not busy.”

It suddenly sounds like a ridiculously stupid idea. I turn back to the fridge, placing a bottle of lemonade in it and cringing.

“I would love to.” I let out a sigh of relief, “But I've got plans…” I frown and turn back to him, finally putting away the last of my groceries.

“Aw.”

“It’s really nice of you to invite me.” I smile, a bit sad and confused why I'm disappointed. I mean I barely know the man. “What do you do for work?”

I lean against the counter so I'm across from him, “I’m a writer. Journalism right now but I really want to take a more bookish route…”

He genuinely looks so intrigued, more interested than anyone else who I've told I write articles about neighborhood drama.

He checks his watch, which I'm now realizing is incredibly expensive, and swears, “I gotta go. Have fun with your party tonight.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I definitely do have fun. My friends and I eat, drink, and play board games just like we’re back in dorms. I’m seeing my last and closest friend off when Lando comes up the hallway, As my friend's eyes go wide when she sees him, I shake my head.

“Goodbye!” I push her out of my apartment, “Love you!”

“Yeah love you too! Text me!” She walks past Lando, nodding at him before she turns behind his back and mouths ‘he’s hot’.

I roll my eyes at her, a smile still on my face as Lando looks at me. He’s in a full suit, holding his blazer in his hand.

“Fun time then?” God he’s hot!

“Absolutely!” I giggle, a bit tipsy, “How about you then?” I eye his suit.

“As good as I could make it.”

I slap my hand over my mouth, “God you aren’t coming from a funeral then, are you?”

He laughs at this, “No! No. A work banquet thing.”

I giggle a bit as he turns to his door, “Hey!” I say without thinking, “Would you want to come in? I have wine.”

He’s sitting on my couch thirty minutes later, a glass deep and talking about where he’s traveled too.

“That’s my dream!” I say, my feet tucked under myself as I tilt my head on the couch cushions, “Traveling. I mean- You’ve been everywhere!”

He shrugs, sipping his wine, his tie undone and shoes off, “It’s amazing but I'm not there for long so I don’t usually get to sightsee much. Honestly the most interesting thing that’s happened to me recently is this pretty girl came to save my baking disaster.”

I hum to his words, blushing a bit, “Sounds like a hero if i’ve ever heard one.” We both go silent, taking pieces of my leftover charcuterie board. “Should I start watching F1?”

“No!” He says it so quick that i’m taken aback.

“No?”

He laughs a bit, shaking it off, “It’s boring. I can’t have someone else in my life talk about it.”

I spin my wine around in the glass, “So I'm someone in your life now?”

He smirks, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

I pretend to contemplate this, “I’ve never had a friend who hasn’t gone to the strawberry market with me.”

He makes an odd face, “So we must go then.”

I sigh, “If you want to be my friend…”

The corner of his mouth pulls, “Tomorrow at 9?”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He’s at my door at 9:12. Thank god he’s late because I hop over to the door, pulling on my shoe and pulling down my jean skirt.

I open the door and stand up straight, smiling breathlessly. He, of course, looks perfect in jeans and an olive green shirt, “Morning.”

“Ready to taste the best strawberries you’ve ever had?” I grab my bag and keys.

“So ready.”

We make it to the market just on time. It’s my favorite neighborhood gem. Every Sunday people gather with strawberries. There are big and small, some covered in chocolate and some in honey.

I buy a box of chocolate ones, well Lando does. He insists that he still owes me. Handing one to Lando with an extra fork, he bites into it, his eyes roll, “Fucking hell.” I nod, excited that he likes them as much as I do.

“My favorite treat! Something you can’t burn your house down with.” I eye him and he eyes me right back. Being with Lando is like a breath of fresh air. I’ve never been so confident in my social skills.

He laughs with a shop owner as he buys his pack of plain strawberries. He's so nice and just listens politely as the woman goes on and on about her childhood on a strawberry farm.

He gives her a bigger bill than necessary and as she insists it’s too much, he just shakes his head and continues walking.

We settle at a park bench nearby, tasting all the pieces we’ve bought, “This is genuinely phenomenal.” He says while eating another, “How’d you find this place?”

“Had to write about something local and had total writers block… I was walking around one day and just sort of stumbled upon it.”

He smiles, I really like this smile. “You seem like the type to just stumble upon a strawberry market.”

I laugh, covering my mouth, “What does that even mean?”

“You’re just so…” His hands make these weird gestures, his fingers moving around as he laughs and gives up, “It just fits.”

I smile, meeting his eyes. They're so nice, a mix of blue and green. His gaze washes over me and I feel the need to smile even more.

“You’ve got nice eyes.” My stomach twists as he says it so calmly, “Real pretty.” I feel a blush on my cheeks and I turn away from him, looking at the park near us and being startled by the child looking up at us.

Lando follows my gaze, mumbling softly, “Shit.”

“Hi.” The kid says awestruck, I look to Lando who’s smiling and sitting up straighter. “Um- Are you Lando Norris?”

Lando scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah I am! What's your name?”

“W-William!” He says, swallowing and pulling a pen from behind his back, “Could you sign this?” I glance to what looks like his mother, she’s watching him with a smile.

Lando simply nods and takes the cap from his head, its bright orange. He signs his name and messes up the kid's hair, “Thanks a lot! My friends’ll never believe it!” The boy squeals and runs back to his mom who waves slightly and takes the boy's hand.

I raise a brow at Lando, still confused, “I’m sorry…” He looks embarrassed but I don’t even know what for.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t tell me the whole truth in what your job is?”

His cheeks get a bit red, “I do work with the cars… Just really close. Like I’m in them. One specifically.”

I nod, “Yours?”

“Mine.” He crosses his arms, his lips in a thin line, “I drive for McLaren.” I breathe out.

“Oh.” I can’t help but think I have a type because I grew up with Jenson Button posters on my wall.

He runs a hand through his curls, “I don’t usually get recognized around here- Thought we would be okay.”

“We are okay!” I reassure him, realizing he’s actually embarrassed, “That was sweet.”

He looks up hopefully, “You think? I’m sorry for lying- I just really liked that you didn’t know who I am or what I do.”

“Well, I sort of still don't. I know your full name now, that’s about it.” He smiles at this, I bite into another strawberry.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

He is yet to say something I'm not shocked at.

“Yeah.” I nod, smiling at him as he grins, “I’d really like that. Don’t you have to race soon though…? Singapore, isn’t it?”

The smirk that pulls at his lips is just plain mischievous, “I never said the date would be here.”

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 7)

summary: you and hugh navigate the new aspects of your relationship while filming continues, and it includes consistent gym sessions. meanwhile, someone from your past reaches out to you. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: bit of angst / smut (18+), implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), brief insecurity and mention of age gap, smut (public sex - in the gym oops!, unprotected p in v, oral - m receiving) no use of y/n. word count: 3.7k a/n: and we're back with these two in the gym! i just love writing hugh in the gym as it's the only way i can live out my fantasies of ever meeting him in the gym myself lol. hope y'all enjoy - we're gonna slowly transition into some angst... so stay tuned! this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part. - next part.

You’re looking down at your phone, staring at the picture Hugh posted last night of the both of you. You can see the comments and have read quite a handful already. You know what to expect, but it still doesn’t lessen the hurt that you feel in the pit of your stomach when you glance over the negative comments. 

And most, if not all, mention the age gap. It had never been an issue to either of you, but now that other people have taken notice, you can’t help but wonder if Hugh thinks the same. 

He’s calling out to you, a bag slung over his shoulder as he’s dressed in a navy blue tank top and shorts. You’re both scheduled to meet with Ryan and Shawn at the gym for a quick session before filming continues tomorrow. You had jumped at the chance to join them, yearning to be at the gym and get a good workout in. 

“Hey, you ready to go?” he asks, extending a hand out for you to take. 

You nod and take his hand, dressed in a pair of leggings and one of his t-shirts. You lace your fingers with his instantly, following him out of the hotel room and towards the hotel’s gym. Your mind weighs heavily on the comments you read earlier, glancing over in his direction to see if maybe he’s seen the comments too. 

But if it bothers him, he doesn’t show it. 

Hugh smiles down at you, releasing your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to his side. He presses a soft kiss on your temple and holds you close to him, hand running along your arm. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

You bite your lower lip, smiling to yourself. It just feels like everything that had been bothering you that morning disappears at his words, at the look on his face. 

“I love you too,” you reply, leaning up to kiss his cheek. 

“You doing okay?” Hugh asks. 

You nod, though you know that he would be able to see right through you. When you both stop at the doors of the hotel gym, he brings a hand up to rest on your cheek. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Just thinking, that’s all.” 

“About last night? About what I said?”

You shake your head immediately. “No, no. Not that. Just–” you sigh. “I saw the comments on the picture and I know what to expect, but it doesn’t mean that it hurts any less. Reading what they have to say about this, about us… I know it shouldn’t matter, but it does.”

Hugh nods in understanding, sighing quietly. He’s learned to drown out the comments, to pay no attention to it, but he’d be lying if he said that there are times where it still gets to him. He wishes he can shield you from it, to protect you from all the bad in the world, but he knows that isn’t possible. He just hopes that it doesn’t deter you from this, from him. 

“Does our age gap bother you?” you blurt out. 

Hugh’s eyes furrow in confusion and he shakes his head. “No, it never did.” he brushes his thumb across your cheek before he drops his hand back to his side. “Does it– Does it bother you?”

“No,” you answer instantly. “I just saw some comments and–”

“Baby,” Hugh sighs quietly. “There will always be comments about this, about you and me… But I promise that it doesn’t mean a thing to me. All that matters is that you’re here with me,” he says softly. “You’re all that matters.” 

You sigh and nod in agreement. “I know… And I know that this is the price you have to pay for being in the public eye. I’ll try to ignore all the outside noise.” 

“What you’re feeling though is valid, baby.” Hugh reassures. “I just want you to know that I love you, that isn’t going to change.” 

“I love you too, you whisper, standing on your toes to peck his lips. “We should probably head inside. I’m sure Shawn and Ryan are already waiting for you.” 

Hugh nods. “We’ll talk more later, okay? And if you need someone to spot you, you know who to ask.” 

You smile. “Yeah, my training partner,” you wink.

“Damn right,” Hugh grins. 

—

Luckily, your trainer had sent you a workout routine while you’ve been gone. Hugh had gone off to workout with Shawn and Ryan at the other end of the gym and just like always, your eyes drift over to him repeatedly when he begins to curl the dumbbells, his biceps flexing. 

You had just finished your dynamic stretching when you take note of the heavy bag at the corner of the room. You smile to yourself in excitement and begin to wrap your hands and then sliding on your boxing gloves. Your music is blasting in your ears and it provides just enough of a distraction that you remain focused solely on the bag in front of you. 

With every exhale, you deliver a quick jab and cross to the bag, staying light on your feet. 

Hugh’s eyes immediately move over to you, eyes widening at the sight of you. He had no idea that you could move around the way you do and hit the bag like you are doing now. There’s something in the way you move, the way you hit the bag with precision that makes Hugh excited. Seeing you like this in a completely different element in the gym turns him on and he tries not to think about taking you in the bathroom and–

“Hugh, you’re up,” Shawn says, pointing towards the bench. 

“Oh,” Ryan grins. “Someone’s a little distracted,” he winks. “You never told us she could box.”

“I actually didn’t know,” Hugh mumbles. “She never told me.” He moves to lie back on the bench, head lifting just slightly to look at you. You had taken a break, eyes locking with his and you grin. It takes everything in Hugh to not just end the workout early and take you back to the room. 

“She’s actually pretty good,” Shawn points out with a chuckle. “Now, come on and finish your set, Hugh.” 

You take a long break to watch Hugh continue to press the weight above his chest. You bite your lower lip, eyes taking in his frame and his muscles flexing with each movement. You hear the timer go off, indicating that your rest is over. You wait until he sits up, eyes once more locking onto yours and he winks. 

God, he’s thinking the same thing you are. 

Turning back around, you continue to finish the rest of your round with punches and hooks, not realizing how much you need to hit something to get rid of the lingering thoughts that remain. 

When the final round is over, you see Hugh approach you, already drenched in sweat. He rests his hand on your lower back, gently pressing a kiss on your temple as he whispers quietly. 

“You continue to surprise me, baby.” 

“Yeah?” you ask, turning to look up at him. 

“You never told me that you could… do that,” he says, pointing to your gloves and then the heavy bag. “Since when?” 

You let out a quiet laugh and remove the gloves, setting it back in your bag as you move a hand to rest on his chest. “Been doing it for a few years now,” you answer. 

“You’re good,” Hugh’s voice lowers, eyes gazing at your entire frame. “You look good doing it too.”

You feel the heat in your cheeks as you bite your lower lip. “Been staring at me, huh?” 

“You’re distracting,” he grins. “Thought we already established this.”

You roll your eyes playfully and lean up to press your lips lightly on his. “Could say the same about you. I just want to bite down on these arms,” you tease, hand moving from his chest to run along his bicep. 

Hugh flexes instinctively, hearing you let out a quiet gasp. He smiles to himself as his hand on your lower back lowers until it rests innocently on your backside. “You still have the rest of your workout to do?” he asks, eyes darkening with lust and want. 

“Yeah,” you reply, biting your lower lip. “That was just my warmup and–”

“Take a long rest with me?” he interrupts. 

“Shawn and Ryan are literally waiting for you, baby.”

“They can wait,” Hugh says, head dipping lower until he brushes his lips across the side of your neck. “Or they can just continue the workout without me. I don’t need to workout. I’m already fit for the role and–”

“Okay,” you interrupt. “Should we go back to the room or–”

“Bathroom.” 

“The bathroom? Wait, are you serious?” 

Hugh nods and brings you flush against his front so that you could feel the bulge beneath his shorts. “Very serious, baby. I need you now,” he whispers. 

You nod quickly and then pull away only briefly to unravel the hand wraps, setting it back into your duffle bag. “I’ll meet you in there then.” 

Hugh smiles and leans down to peck your lips. “See you in a bit, baby.” 

You quickly hurry to the bathroom down the hall, stepping inside as you bite your lower lip. It’s small, but spacious enough that Hugh wouldn’t feel too cramped. 

Hugh then turns to Shawn and Ryan who are both looking at him with a knowing grin. “Yeah, yeah, we got it. Just keep it down,” Ryan chuckles. 

“Just continue the workout without me and if you guys finish before–” 

“Before you do,” Ryan winks. “Don’t worry, Hugh. We’ll probably leave after this set.”

Hugh nods, “Thanks, mate. I’ll catch up with you guys later.” Then, he turns on his heel and makes his way down the hallway. He knocks on the door and sees you open it. He grins to himself and steps inside, an arm snaking around your waist immediately as he shuts the door and locks it behind him. 

“Hi,” you giggle, arms moving to wrap around his shoulders. “Missed you.”

“Hi, baby,” he grins, leaning down and beginning to pepper kisses along your jawline and down the side of your neck. Hugh’s hands move down to grasp your backside in his large hands, squeezing each cheek as he brings you flush against him. “Missed you. Need you,” he mumbles. 

“You got me,” you whisper, letting out a quiet whimper as you feel his hardened length press further against your midsection. Gently, you rest your hands on his chest and push him away from you. He furrows a brow at you, back resting against the wall. He’s about to say something, about to ask if you’re okay, but you drop to your knees in front of him. “Let me take care of you.”

“Baby, you don’t have to,” he mumbles. His eyes flutter when you bring your hands to tug down his shorts and boxers, letting the articles of clothing pool at his ankles. Hugh lets out a sigh of relief and he reaches down to grasp his base, tugging on it a few times before he feels your lips wrap around his tip. “Fuck,” he whispers. 

You slowly push his hand away and replace it with your own as you suck the head of his length, feeling the taste of his precome on your tongue. You feel his large hand rest on the back of your head, urging you to take more of him. You happily oblige, lowering yourself to take more of his throbbing length into your mouth. You can taste his sweat and precome mixing in with your saliva as you begin to bob your head. 

“Baby,” Hugh whimpers, trying to pull you away from him. “I won’t be able to last long if you keep– Ah, fuck me,” he groans, feeling you take him whole. The tip of his length hits the back of your throat and he hears you gag quietly against him.

You then pull away from him, smiling up in his direction. Your hand slowly strokes the base of his manhood, lips brushing against his swollen tip. 

“Alright, baby,” Hugh groans, gently lifting you to your feet. He brings you to stand in front of the mirror above the sink as he moves behind you. You rest your hands on the edge of the sink as Hugh kicks your legs apart and roughly tugs your leggings and panties down your legs. Gently, he rests a hand on your lower back and sees your slickened sex. He lines himself up at your opening and slowly thrusts inside, your walls warm and tight encompassing him inch and by inch. 

You try to hold back your moan, trying to remain quiet as your hands grip the edge of the sink tightly. Hugh grips your hips, pulling you back onto him as he groans to himself. You always feel so good around him; he doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of this, of you. 

When he fills you to the hilt, Hugh gently pulls you to stand upright against him. He brings his arm around your waist, hand sliding up your abdomen as he reaches up to grip your breast into the pit of his palm. 

“Hugh,” you moan, biting your lower lip to keep the noise down. Hugh makes it difficult, his hips snapping against yours from behind followed by his hand kneading your breast. It’s a mixture of sensations and his free hand comes down between your legs, fingers finding your bundle of nerves. 

“Hugh, oh god, I–” he delivers a sharp thrust, which elicits a loud moan to leave your lips. He smirks to himself, hand moving from your breast to cover your mouth. Hugh’s lips hover near your ear, grunting quietly against you.

“Shh, baby,” he groans. “Don’t want anyone to hear us…”

“Fuck me,” you moan against his hand, gently biting down on him to keep yourself quiet. 

“I am, baby,” Hugh growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his other hand quickens its movements on your clit, rubbing you in circles. He feels your body begin to tremble against him, your walls quivering around his length. He knows you’re close and so, he quickens the pace of his thrusts. While he was trying to keep you quiet, his movements make it very clear and very obvious what you’re both doing in the bathroom. 

His skin slaps against yours and he can hear the loud squelching with each thrust. You’re so wet that it dampens the hair at his base. The sounds are so obscene that anyone in the gym can hear exactly what’s going on; he just hopes that Shawn and Ryan had left and no one was in the gym except for the both of you.

“Hugh!” you matter against his hand, moving your own to reach down to grip his forearm. You push back against him, feeling the tip of his manhood kiss your cervix. It’s enough to push you over the edge, your body shaking against him. 

Hugh doesn’t last long as he usually does after you reach your orgasm because he delivers another couple of thrusts before he releases deep inside of you. He drops his hands to your hips, holding you flush against him as his eyes flutter closed. Hugh rests his forehead against the back of your shoulder, chest heaving as he pants heavily. 

“God, I love you so much,” he whispers. 

You smile, involuntarily squeezing your walls around him before you feel him pull out. You slowly turn in his arms and bring your hands to his cheeks, lightly pecking his lips. “I think I’m spent,” you laugh quietly. 

“I’d say it was a good gym session, what do you think?” Hugh’s eyes lower down to your legs, seeing his release slowly drip down and out of you. He watches you reach down to gather his release on your fingertips, bringing it to your lips and sucking the remnants of it. 

You grin up at him, eyes gazing into his. “Yummy.”

Hugh growls. “You’re naughty.”

“Only you can bring out this side of me,” you admit. 

“Good,” Hugh smirks. “Only me.” 

“We should head back to the hotel room and clean up,” you smile. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. But I’m not done with you yet, baby.” 

—

Throughout the week, you continue to come to set with Hugh. Each night, you spend a good hour editing the pictures you’ve taken for the day. You find a good routine with your schedule, even going so far as to scheduling a few engagement photoshoots. 

You continue to go to the gym with Hugh and most of the time, you’re both distracted by each other that it feels like neither of you get anything done. 

And as the weeks go by, Hugh continues to take more and more pictures of you and the both of you together. The comments about the age gap still exist, but they lessen overtime when his fans see how happy Hugh is. You’ve also learned how to pay no attention to the comments either.

The love you have for Hugh only gets stronger as each day passes. Hugh takes every chance he gets to tell you that he loves you, that he’s crazy about you and you never have to wonder how he’s feeling about you, or about this relationship. Since you’ve been with him, you find that Hugh has shown you a love that you deserve, a relationship that’s healthy. 

There’s a weeklong break that the cast and crew get before continuing to film and you take this time to spend as much uninterrupted time as you can with Hugh. Now that your relationship with him is out in the open, you no longer need to hide it and it feels so freeing to be able to hold his hand in public, kiss his cheek or give him a hug without worrying about getting caught. 

You finally feel like things are falling into place, like you’re finally finding your way back to yourself. 

Hugh’s in the shower when your phone rings. You reach for it and don’t bother to look at the contact number before answering. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, sweetheart.” 

Your heart drops and you pull the phone from your ear to see the contact number listed. It’s an unknown caller, which makes sense because you had originally blocked his number from your phone after the breakup. 

“Jack, what are you–”

“I miss you,” he interrupts. “I see that you’ve moved on pretty quickly after our relationship. Are you happy?” 

You stand up and move outside to the balcony, leaning against the railing as you fidget with your fingers. “You shouldn’t be calling me.” 

“I shouldn’t have ended things,” he sighs from the other end of the call. “I’ve done a lot of thinking and–”

“No,” you interrupt. “You don’t get to come back into my life and say all these things.” You’re so focused on the call that you don’t hear Hugh step out with you.

He can see how tense you are, how your body is beginning to tremble with unshed tears. You’re beginning to fidget and pace back and forth, so he reaches out gently to rest a hand on your lower back. When you turn around to face him, he notices the look and expression you have. You’re visibly upset, tears beginning to trickle down your cheeks, and your breathing picks up. 

“Who is it?” he mouths.

“Don’t call me again,” you say to the person on the other end. “I mean it.” 

Ending the call, you toss your phone onto the small table and immediately wrap your arms around Hugh. Once you feel his strong arms envelope you, you begin to cry silently into his chest. He rubs your back, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Baby, what’s going on?” Hugh whispers. 

You shake your head, just wanting to hold onto him and forget the conversation you just had with your ex-boyfriend. The same ex-boyfriend who you had a toxic relationship with. The same ex-boyfriend who you had given up everything for and didn’t get anything in return. 

“Jack– He–” you pull back, hiccuping in between sobs. “He called me and–”

Hugh’s brows lift upwards as he reaches up to wipe your tears away. “What– What did he say?” 

You can’t even bring yourself up to say it. Instead, you just shake your head and look up at him. “Can we stay in today? I’m sorry. I know that we had plans…”

“Whatever you want, baby,” Hugh interrupts. “Come on.” He brings you back inside the room and lies down on the bed, pulling you immediately into his arms. “Whenever you’re ready, we can talk about it. I’m here to listen.” 

“I told him that I’m happy with you, that I’m in love and–” you bite your lower lip, clutching Hugh so tightly that you’re afraid to let go. “He just said some hurtful things and maybe– Maybe it’s true, but I just…” 

Hugh tightens his jaw. He feels frustrated and angry for you, that this man still had the audacity to come back into your life and treat you the way he does. He reaches down and cups your cheek, gently pecking your lips. “Hey,” he whispers. “They’re not true. Whatever he said, they aren’t true.” 

“He’s here,” you blurt out. “Maybe I should go back home. Back to New York, and–”

“No.” Hugh interjects. “You’re staying right here with me. With Shawn, with Ryan.” 

“But–”

“No,” Hugh repeats. “I’m not going to let this man think he has this much control over you, d’ya hear me, baby?”

“Hugh–”

Hugh shakes his head. “He doesn’t get to hurt you again. I’m not gonna let him. You’re with me, baby.” 

You don’t respond, your mind already drifting to the things that Jack said. You hate that he has so much authority over you, how one simple conversation can flip a switch in you. You look up at Hugh, taking note of the seriousness in his features, the concern in his eyes. You love him so much, you truly do, but maybe Jack’s right. Maybe Hugh does deserve better than you would ever be able to give him. 

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf

@needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom

@sue8724 - @squishyfruitloop - @sylviavf - @emotrash1 - @dissentientss

@sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay - @itsallyscorner - @haytchee

@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you - @definitely-not-chill

[cruel-as-sin]

baby, am i your little secret? | logan howlett

pt. 1

↳ summary: well, logan did promise you he’d come again… but this time, you bring him home, and he’s going to take care of you

word count: 3.2k

song: older | isabel larosa

pairings: old man!logan x fem!stripper!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn w/ very light plot, prostitution/strip clubs, age gap (readers age is unspecified but she is an adult), lingerie mentioned, size difference, oral (f!recieving), protected p in v, multiple orgasms (reader), praise kink, gentle sex, pet names (sweetheart, baby), aftercare, a little bit of fluff at the end, readers roommate makes a brief appearance, no use of y/n, mention/implication of a gun, the glasses still stay on, practice safe sex everyone (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: woah i was not planning on writing a second part or expecting the first one to get as much love as it got… thank you so much to everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged! i’ll probably write at least one more part to this at some point but for now, enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan tried to tell himself he shouldn’t go back, he really did.

He’s no good for people like you- sweet, gentle things. He’s no good for anyone.

But despite all the things he tells himself, he still ends up across the street from that damned club, feet carrying him against his better judgement, right up to your door.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It’s been a little over three weeks since the best fuck you’ve ever had stepped through your door.

You wondered if he really did plan on coming back. Maybe he was just offering a next time to be polite? But every time you remember the way he looked at you, his promise to return, the words he whispered in your ear, you disregard that theory.

He’s coming back- you know it. You just don’t know when.

Your ears perk up when you hear the bell, as they have every time it’s rung since you last saw him- but it’s not him. It never is, and the little ding that used to bring you hope now feels like it’s just taunting you.

So you continue on with your work, trying to forget about him, until that one fateful night when he finally shows.

It’s ten minutes before close when he comes in, a wary gaze searching the room behind those same cheap glasses. His eyes land on you, and you’re approaching him before you even process it, his mere presence magnetic.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says as you walk over.

“Hi.” You reach out and put a hand on his arm. “Coming back for more, hm?”

“You left quite an impression.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. “Can I have another night with you, pretty girl?”

You glance at the clock. Shit. Barely enough time for a dance- maybe. Or…

“Not here.”

His brow furrows in confusion, and you continue.

“This is very unprofessional of me.” You say in a soft, shameful tone that you know makes even the strongest men helpless. “But… I want to take you home.”

Despite the doe eyes you’re giving him, you do mean it- more than you’re letting on. Something feels special about him, like he’s more than just a customer passing through.

But you keep your cards close to your chest as you wait with baited breath for him to accept or decline your offer.

“Alright, pretty girl.” He says with a faint smile. “Lead the way.”

You finish closing up for the night, grabbing your clothes and throwing them on over your work outfit to protect you from the cold. He lingers there as you go, trying to ignore the curious glances from your coworkers.

“If we’re gonna do this, though, I’m gonna need to know your name.” You say casually, glancing back at him.

He contemplates for a moment, seeming to almost say something else before the word leaves his lips. “Logan.” Despite his near misstep, you believe him.

“Logan.” You repeat the name, then give him yours. When he says it back to you, you love the way it rolls off his tongue.

“You sure you’re alright going home with a stranger?” You tease.

“You’re no stranger, sweetheart.” His words make you smile, and you bring him out the back door to your car, a cautious eye on the parking lot as you do.

It’s not Logan you’re worried about. No, if that were the case, you wouldn’t have even considered bringing him home. It’s the others that frequent the establishment, your regulars who get a little too handsy, the extra bold ones that like to linger by the exit long after you close. But none of them are here tonight- it’s just you and him.

The drive back to your apartment is quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional small chatter. When you arrive, you take the elevator up to your floor, pulling out your keys.

You fumble with your keys when you reach the door that signifies you and your roommate’s shared living space, eventually managing to get the door open. “Shoes go right there.” You gesture to a shoe rack next to the entryway, kicking off your own shoes as you struggle to pull the key out of the lock. You hang up your keys and watch him put up his blazer before you finally shut the door behind you.

He’s on you the moment the door closes, but you halt him with a gentle press against his chest. “Hang on. I need to tell my roommate that I’m gonna be busy.” You make sure he sees the glint in your eyes as you walk down the hall, opening the door to your room first.

He steps inside, his eyes roaming around before falling back on you. “Don’t keep me waitin’ too long, sweetheart.”

“I’ll just be a second.” You say with a smile, pulling the door closed before heading across the hall and knocking on your roommate’s door.

After a moment, you hear a brief “Yeah?” from the other side.

You open the door just a crack, poking your head in. Cas, your roommate, pauses the game on their computer and pulls their headphones off, spinning around in their chair to talk to you. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“I’m just letting you know I have company.” You say casually. “So I might be busy for the rest of the night.”

“Oh, yeah, mhm.” Cas says, pretending to be surprised by this revelation. “Is this normal company, or ‘I cover my ears and pray to god my noise cancelling headphones work while someone fucks your brains out’ company?”

You roll your eyes. “Hey, who said I was the one getting my brains fucked out instead of the other way around?”

To that, they just raise an eyebrow, as if to say really?

“Whatever.” You say, unable to hide the smile forming on your face.

“Mhm.” It’s more drawn out this time, punctuated by a tiny knowing smile. “Is this company of yours spending the night?”

“Hopefully. I don’t know.” You say with a shrug. “If you see a stranger in the kitchen, don’t shoot him.” Your tone is lighthearted, but you do mean it- you know Cas gets nervous around intruders, and your gaze flickers just briefly to the locked safe in the corner.

They nod. “No shooting your newest boytoy. Got it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, beginning to pull the door closed. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Night!” They call after you. “And remember, be safe-”

You close the door before they get to finish, laughing softly to yourself before returning to your own room.

You step inside, finding Logan sitting on the edge of your bed, illuminated by the soft light of the lamp on your nightstand. He stands when he sees you, walking over to you as you close the door.

“Hey.” You say softly, looking up at him, taking in his face.

To see a man, even an attractive one, at work is one thing. But here, in your home, your sanctuary, it feels different. Almost… open. Vulnerable. You find yourself noticing details you hadn’t picked up on before- the lines of his face, the way his hardened demeanor seems to become just a little gentler every time he looks at you.

"Hey." He replies in a quiet tone. Even now, outside of your domain, he looks for your guidance, waits for you to take the lead.

You lean in to kiss him- softer, gentler, slower than the last time, savoring the taste of whiskey on his tongue. Your hands trail up his chest, to the collar of his shirt, the edges of his tie. You begin to undo it, pulling apart the knot before his hands come up to grasp yours, stopping you halfway through.

He breaks the kiss to murmur in your ear. “I’m takin’ care of you tonight.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the suggestion. “You don’t have to-” You finish undoing his tie, pulling it away and letting it fall to the floor.

“I want to.” He cuts you off, his tone firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Please.” His voice lowers. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

You meet his gaze for a moment, a little stunned to see that he truly does want to make you feel good. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised- it’s Logan, after all- but still, after most of the men you meet treating your pleasure as an afterthought, the idea alone that he wants tonight to be about you has arousal soaking through your panties.

Nodding, you lower your hands from his collar. “Okay.” You say softly.

He kisses you again, arms wrapping around you and lifting you up. Your legs lock around his waist as he carries you over to the bed, your tongue sliding across his own. He breaks the kiss for a moment to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth meets yours once more.

He lays you down on the bed, his hands moving to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra and pulling it off of you. He kisses a path down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, lips trailing down to your chest. He alternates between sucking on your nipples and kneading your breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back with a soft moan.

He kisses down your chest, large hands spreading your thighs open as he pulls your pants down. He nips at your thighs, earning a surprised gasp. He slowly pulls your lingerie aside, revealing your soaking cunt. He inhales slowly, trying to collect himself as he pulls your underwear the rest of the way off and out of his way.

He pushes his glasses up just a little before he leans in and licks a long stripe up your cunt. He groans against your pussy, sending vibrations shooting up through your core.

"Taste so sweet." He mumbles against you before diving in.

His tongue works magic- and you were right, his beard does feel heavenly against your thighs.

And oh, he takes his time with you. He takes his sweet, sweet fucking time with you.

You don't know how long it's been, nor do you think you care. You’re on cloud nine, feeling too good to even care about your orgasm while simultaneously needing it more than you’ve ever needed anything. Logan knows just how to please you, his tongue delving into your folds, worshipping you.

“Logan,” you eventually manage to whine, “Please.”

You meet his eyes, and he pulls away just enough to answer you. “You need me to make you cum, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically, and that’s all the signal he needs. He dives back in, zeroing in on your clit and sucking in a way that has your peak rapidly approaching within seconds.

You unravel, not even bothering to try to quiet your moans (you're pretty sure it would be futile, anyway). Your eyes squeeze shut, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you, flooding through every part of your body as you reach your high. He keeps his mouth on you the whole time, riding out your orgasm until you begin to come down. His hands rest on your thighs, his steady grip grounding you, keeping your entire being from being washed away by the seemingly unending bliss.

When you can finally breathe again, you open your eyes to find him raising his head, his eyes meeting your own.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe, letting out a small laugh.

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk. “Yeah?”

His beard glistens with your slick, and the sight makes you sit up a little, getting a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him up towards you. You kiss him hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue, once again reaching for the collar of his shirt. You unbutton it fully this time, eager to feel his muscular chest and disappointed to find an undershirt beneath.

He pulls away from the kiss. “Let me.” He takes off his shirt, letting you run your hands up and down his torso as he unbuckles his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion. You feel your pussy clenching at the sight of his cock, hard and aching for you.

You sit up a little further, wanting to return the favor, but he gently pushes you back down. “Another time, sweetheart.” He says in response to the pout on your face, pulling a condom out of his back pocket before pushing his pants off the bed. “I said I’d take care of you, remember?”

You watch as he rolls on the condom, mesmerized by the sight of his veiny hands wrapping around his thick cock. “I’m pretty sure you just did.” You protest, any further arguments cut off by a whine as he brushes his tip against your folds.

He chuckles, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

He pushes into you slowly, moving inch by inch until he’s filling you completely. He starts to move, pulling most of the way out before thrusting back in, setting a slow but powerful rhythm that has high pitched whines leaving your lips within moments.

“Christ, you’re fuckin’ desperate.” He says, eyes locked on the place where your bodies meet. “Look at you, just suckin’ me in. You like that, huh? You like being filled up by my cock?”

You’re too cock drunk to manage anything other than a “uh-huh” that turns to a whine as he thrusts harder.

“You’re doin’ so good, taking me so well.” He praises, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

He continues to murmur in your ear, your moans and his words a sweet chorus of bliss. You feel his hand slip between your thighs and rub at your clit, and your second orgasm hits you hard and fast with a scream of his name. Your vision goes white, the feeling of him thrusting sharply into all the right places taking over all your senses. You can faintly hear him talking you through it, his voice ragged as he approaches his own orgasm.

“Good girl, that’s it; good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is low in your ear, his breath stuttering as he cums with a loud groan, thrusting through both your peaks, your name leaving his lips.

You feel almost like you’re floating, the pleasure nearing the line of overwhelming. You're only brought back down by the feeling of him slipping out of you, the gentle kisses he leaves along your face- but even then, you don’t open your eyes, still trying to breathe as your pussy pulses with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You hear him get up, hear his footsteps fading away, the bedroom door closing behind him. A pang of hurt goes through you- you didn’t think he’d be the type to just leave. You can’t bring yourself to get up, too exhausted to move, so you just lay there, beginning to drift off. Then you feel a pair of strong arms wrapping around you, lifting you up against his chest and carrying you down the hallway.

You stir, looking up to find Logan half dressed, in only his undershirt and pants. His eyes meet yours, a faint smile forming on his face.

You want to ask where he’s taking you, but your question is quickly answered when he pushes open the door to the bathroom. He gently sets you down in the tub, the warm water enveloping you and making you even sleepier.

“You want me to help you clean up, or would you prefer to do it yourself?” His tone is gentle but firm, making it clear that your well-being is not up for negotiation.

“I can do it.” You force your limbs to move, reaching for a washcloth.

He nods. “I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

You don’t question where he’s going, solely focused on the task at hand, lest the heaviness in your eyes claim you before you’re finished.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned yourself up and wrapped a towel around your waist, feeling at least a little more awake. He gives a gentle knock at the door, and when you murmur a soft, “Come in,” he enters.

His expression turns to one of slight concern when he sees you. You are, admittedly, leaning on the counter for support- it’s not your fault your legs feel like jelly.

You don’t have to ask; you barely even have to look his way before he’s scooping you into his arms again, taking you back to your room. For a moment you wonder how he knew no one would be in the hallway, but you’re too worn out to care.

The soft feeling of your sheets has you practically melting into your bed when he lays you down. You’re almost out the moment your head hits the pillow, but Logan’s voice keeps you awake.

“Here.”

He holds out a glass of ice water and a string cheese.

“Figured you didn’t want to eat much this late, but I thought I’d get you something.”

The action is simple, but sweet. You reach out, taking both items from him and sipping the water as you tear open the string cheese. He lingers near the bed as you finish them both off, a careful gaze trained on you, ensuring you’re okay.

When you’re done, he takes the empty cup and wrapper from you, throwing the wrapper in the trash and setting the glass on your nightstand. At your request, he heads over to your dresser, and you direct him to a plainer pair of underwear, a comfy tank top, and your favorite pair of sleep shorts. He brings them over, taking the towel and folding it over the top of your desk chair as you change into your PJs.

You crawl under your covers, curling up in preparation for the rest your body desperately craves. Logan approaches the bed, smiling to himself as you mumble something half-coherent- a goodnight of some sort, at least, that was your intention. He pulls up the edge of your covers, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before he retreats again.

His voice has a softer edge to it when he steps away, turning out your lamp as he goes. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Where are you going?” You murmur, already half asleep, eyes lidded, but still reaching for him.

His brow furrows slightly. “Goin’ home. Figured you didn’t want-”

“Do you want to leave?” You ask, sitting up slightly. Your eyes can be heavy all they like, but you’ll be damned if you let him just walk away again.

He hesitates, lips caught in the beginnings of a no before he corrects himself. “I don’t want to intrude-”

You shush him. “None of that. C’mere.”

He protests no further, rising from where he’d leaned down to pick up the rest of his discarded clothes. He makes his way over to the bed, ditching his work pants in favor of just his boxers before cautiously settling in beside you.

You find yourself drawn to him, hesitantly reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. When he turns to you, you scoot a little closer. After a moment, he shifts to face you, allowing you to nestle yourself within his arms. He pulls you close, his body warm against your skin, his arms wrapping tightly around you. His breath hits your neck, and you close your eyes, letting the smell of smoke and aftershave lull you to sleep.

tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @namikyento @gewrgia-black @r0ttedcherubim

[mxltifxnd0m]

boyfriend headcanons ⟡ s. winchester

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x gn! reader

word count: 1.2K

warnings: no use of 'y/n', fluff, a smidge of angst in the beginning, some suggestive content, no smut, lowercase intended

a/n: i will make a dean version and probs a pt. 2 for sammy if I come up with some more headcanons! also did not expect this to be as long as it became lol

please enjoy and reblog and comment! i love hearing your thoughts.

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

⟡ some fears before dating you

before you got into a relationship with sam, he was very hesitant about dating or liking anyone romantically (he knows that he doesn’t have the best track record with love) 

but when you came into his life, you broke down those barriers (without him realizing it), and he became more accepting of his feelings for you (even if it scared him shitless) 

you had to drill into his head that whatever happened to you would never be his fault bc you knew he’d drown in his guilt if you got hurt or worse. it took time for him to accept that something would happen to you that it wasn’t his fault 

okay, now onto the more happy stuff (sorry didn’t mean to start with the more heavy stuff, lol) 

⟡ the actual headcanons 

he’s the best partner ever!! 

sam has a big heart and holds a lot of love for you, and though he can be hesitant to say the words for fear of jinxing the relationship (he’s superstitious about it), he shows how much he loves you through his actions! 

he would have a mix of all of the love languages (obviously, everyone shows a mix of them), but his top three would definitely be quality time, acts of service, and physical touch 

⟡ physical touch 

i think that early seasons sam would be much more tactical with his touch and showing you physical affection 

would use any and every excuse in the handbook to touch you in some way. resting a hand on your shoulder, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear or forehead, etc. 

but post szn 5 and 12 sam, he would shy away from it at first, and you would totally understand and let him take the approach first, never initiating it until he feels like he can handle it 

but this goes hand in hand with PDA  in any szn, he’s not big on PDA he’s okay with hand-holding and pecks on the lips, temple, or cheeks but not overt displays of affection but behind closed doors, it's free reign for him  aside from the PDA 

he LOVES getting his hair played with  like without a shadow of a doubt, i know in my heart of hearts that sam winchester is a fiend for getting his hair played with 

is a cuddle bug  doesn’t matter if it’s sweltering hot; he loves to have you in his arms no matter what secretly loves when it gets cold, you seek him out for warmth (he’s like a space heater from how much he radiates heat) 

FOREHEAD AND NECK KISSES!! (and lots of them) LOVES kissing you  there will be times when sam wants to make out with you in the back of the Impala. either to piss off dean or because you get no privacy in the motel room, you’re sharing with his brother. 

is the best hugger ever. it’s almost criminal how his arms can wrap around you and engulf your body and instill a feeling of safety in you, like no one could hurt you while you were in sam’s arms.

⟡ acts of service

as i’ve stated above, sam doesn’t express his love through words, but he does show it through his actions 

he knows all of your fav movies, flowers, music, snacks, how you like your coffee/tea, etc 

he actively listens to you and keeps track of the things you mention (he has them written down or in a note on his phone) and just pulls this information out when he needs it

will do things if asked of him by you without question (but within reason, lmao) 

(this also translates into fun times in the bedroom, LMAO)

don't know if this counts as an act of service, but sam loves putting things on the top self on purpose (to see you struggle a bit bc he thinks your pout is so adorable), but so you can ask him to get something for you, and does so with a smile on his face 

⟡ quality time

would use any excuse to spend time with you 

doesn’t matter if he just came back from a hunt and is exhausted; he would sit down and listen to you talk about what you had just read or what movie you watched while he was on a hunt 

will actively plan dates with you on hunts if he has downtime, which would most of the time be in the car with Dean and asking him for help or input  "they'll like whatever you plan for them. now, for the love of god, please shut up!" (sam had been pestering dean most of the car ride home about where to take you on the first date and was fed up with his little brother)

having movie nights!

spending time in either his or your room reading or just basking in the presence of each other, content with sitting in silence, grounding him with your touch as you guys fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

late-night conversations in bed! more often than not, your pillow talk with sam would turn into very late-night conversations and sometimes even turning into early-morning chats.

⟡ protective

this is a given, but sam is so protective of you that it can be a problem at times

He doesn’t mean to be overbearing, but his mind is an overactive one and can be a little (a lot) protective of you 

I think if you were a hunter, he’d be such a worrywart because he knows what this life does to someone and kinda hates that you are one (even if this is how you guys met in the first place lol) 

but it’s the same if you’re not a hunter because he’d be paranoid that a monster would be out to get you if they knew you were even associated with him or his brother 

he’d take so many precautions: teaching you the basics of hunting (but making you promise that you won’t go out and hunt), teaching you self-defense, gifting you an anti-possession charm (or going with you if you want the tattoo), painting demon traps under your rugs, salting windows, and maybe even convincing you to move into the bunker with him 

⟡ some random ones 

wearing his clothes his chest warms and his heartbeats faster each time he sees you wear something of his he does go a little feral when he sees you wear nothing underneath his clothes unfiltered sassy sam before the two of you started to date, you would catch glimpses of sassy sam when he would banter with dean but when you started to dish out some of your quips in the conversation and being a smartass to him that's when the sassy man apocalypse hit him, and it snowballed into him out-sassing you sometimes when the two of you could get into a back-and-forth

teases you about your height  it doesn't matter if you're an inch shorter or a foot shorter than him; he can and will tease you about your height it brings him much amusement when you snap back with jokes of your own or when you blush when you don't have a snappy retort (yes, it means he has a size kink, but shhh, no one is supposed to know)

[the-houserat]

St. James Infirmary (pt. 1)

Summary: Y/N is in an accident

Notes: This fic is based loosely on a song cover by Hugh Laurie with the same title

Word count: 2.9k

You wake up so early in the morning that not even the sun is there to greet you. As a doctor this is your duty; While everyone else is asleep, you're awake giving others a chance at a new tomorrow.

You are a longtime employee at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, however for the past 6 months you've been recruited by Dr. Gregory House to join his Department of Diagnostics Medicine.

These mornings before the hospital have become so routine that you unconsciously start your day and are only brought back by the closing of your car door. You instantly flip through the radio stations after turning on the ignition before settling on blues to accompany your morning commute. You follow your regular route, stopping and turning at all the usual places. Right after you stop at a red light ,10 minutes away from your destination, you hear a song you enjoy come on. You lean down to turn the volume knob to the right and then lean back slightly in your chair as the melody relaxes you and drowns out the worries clouding your busy mind.

Your attention is directed back up to the changing colors of the red light to green. You press your foot onto the accelerator and ease into a comfortable speed. Before you're able to fully leave the intersection, however, a semi truck rams into the back of your car.

You feel nothing.

Time slows, but hours pass like minutes.

—

Dr. Lisa Cuddy sits at her desk filing paperwork. Her telephone rings. She swiftly answers, rubbing her temples at the sudden intrusion to her work. Her face falls when she hears the doctor on the other end of the line's words.

She tentatively grabs her pager to request Dr. House's presence in her office. Quite a while later, he hobbles in while speaking with his head positioned downward and his usual frown, “What is it now, Cuddy? You've already interrupted my nap twice.”

“Greg…” She says softly before being cut off by him.

He rests his weight on his cane as he places his opposite hand on his waist, falsely showing interest. “Come on now I've got patients to attend to,” he says pointing towards a nonexistent watch on his wrist.

She raises an eyebrow at him before stating, “Thought you were napping.”

He moves closer to her desk while explaining, “I said you interrupted me doing so twice. It's quite presumptuous of you to assume this was a third time.”

As much as Cuddy would love to shoot a witty remark back, more pressing matters are at hand. She shifts slightly in her seat and places her hands together, bracing herself to deliver the news as calmly as possible, “Y/N has been in a wreck and has been sent to St. James Infirmary. Police found their employee I.D. and called to let us know.”

House unexpectedly laughs before rubbing his chin and shaking his head.

“I'm not joking, House.” She says.

He pauses, shocked, before silently pulling himself together, “What's the damage?”

Cuddy looks at him with concern in her eyes, “They didn't say.”

He furrows his brows in annoyance at her vague statement, “What do you mean ‘they didn't say’? You called me to your office to tell me my employee is in the hospital and you aren't able to tell me what's wrong with them?”

“I can't tell you something I don't know, House. If you care so much, why don't you go visit them?” She retorts.

A flicker of annoyance with a hint of worry quickly flashes across his face. “And do what? There's no patient over there, just an idiot who probably thought it was okay to cross a red light and get themselves run over,” he says, attempting to feign indifference.

Cuddy leans back in her chair as she crosses her arms, “If you really think they're capable of such a mistake, why are they on your team?”

“Not many people are as smart as them, but everybody is an idiot.” All Cuddy does is nod her head with narrowing eyes, but House takes it as a threat. “They're my employee, an asset to the team, and they're not more important than any of the other people on it. Which reminds me, which one of them gets to deal with their patients?”

Cuddy lightly presses her lips into a smirk as she says, “That would be you.”

“Of course it is,” he sighs. He doesn't protest his departure any longer, though. He just needed a way to make it seem like he didn't want to see you, like it wasn't his first instinct, like he cares… because he doesn't.

House doesn't give a fuck about anyone else but himself.

At least, that's what you originally thought…

He turns around to exit Cuddy's office before she asks, “Leaving for the day?” He simply nods and continues to leave.

—

Memories of the accident flood your unconscious mind and seep into your dreams. Shards of glass surround you in scenes you won't remember when you wake. Your eyes jolt open as you feel a sudden stab in your arm.

As the world around you comes into focus, the image of your boss standing above you twirling a pen comes into view. “Rise and shine.” He says louder than you wish he had.

You groggily sit up, rubbing your head and putting the puzzle in front of you together. “I'm not in a coma, House, no need to poke me awake.”

House stills his twirling of the pen to point it at you, “Can never be too sure, Y/N.”

“Thanks for the advice, I'll be sure to keep it in mind for my future coma.” You look around trying to place where you are as House vigorously shakes the pen.

He goes to write something down, but no ink leaves the pen. “You're at St. James Infirmary- stupid pen.” He shakes the pen again and attempts to write once more before throwing it away. “You don't remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” You ask, “The hospital or the pen?”

“You can answer for both if it makes you happy.” He answers sarcastically as he goes to sit down in the chair to the left of your bed.

You rub your head as you're about to answer, just to realize the butterfly needle stuck into the vein of your hand is connected to an IV drip. As you attempt to run that hand through your hair, it catches on the wings of the needle. “Ow-” you yelp at the pain, “It's not like the first thing I do after a wreck is ask where I am. I assumed you of all people would know pain meds come first.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused by both your jab at him, as well as your struggle with your hair. “Now that you have your pain meds, would you care to recount the events that led to this? Unless, of course, you forgot that too.”

As House's icy blue eyes stare at you, you begin to feel small and self conscious. You have tiny scrapes on your face, likely due to shattered glass, and your hair is just a mess. The more you try to detangle it, the worse it gets, and the dark circles under your eyes from your late night shifts at the hospital further accentuate your disastrous state.

Why do you care what he thinks of you right now? Why is your mind swarming with anxiety about what you look like in front of him? You are in a hospital, and you still care about physical appearances?

He stands up which draws your attention back to his tall frame and away from your racing thoughts. You watch as he limps over to the side of your bed and sits down. You wonder what he's doing as you stare at the back of his head as he looks away from you. That is, until you feel another poke to your skin.

“What the hell House?!” You question

“You were quiet,” he answers “It was only appropriate to make sure you were still alive.”

“Are you sure I'm alive? Because this is pretty close to what I imagine hell is like.”

“Weird. I imagined more hookers,” he quips. He reaches the back of his hand to your forehead, the contact unexpectedly making your cheeks flush. “You're warm enough for life as far as I can tell.” His hand lingers there for a moment longer than what's usual for taking someone's temperature and he looks at you with an unreadable expression. He removes his hand, but not his gaze. He scans your body as you continue to struggle with your hair.

A man wearing hospital scrubs walks in after lightly knocking. He seems to be in his mid 20's with a muscular physique. Blonde, mid length hair frames his face. He enters holding a clipboard. After looking at it for a moment, he looks at you, “Y/N L/N?”

“That’s me,” you say smiling politely.

House raises himself off your bed after the intrusion and stands to face the both of you. The blonde man checks the monitor with your vitals.

“Do you perhaps have a working pen?” House abruptly asks. The man nods and hands him one from his pocket. He notices the tangled mess you've created in your hair and offers his help. You happily accept, glad to have someone assist you. He untangles your hair, his touch a gentle balance between delicate and focused. “I need to get a little closer, is that okay?” He asks. You nod your head.

While he meticulously works, House carries an even more sour expression than usual. He stomps his cane on the ground to bring attention back to him before clearing his throat, “Well, doc, I'm waiting to hear what's wrong with your patient.” He continues, “Unless you'd prefer it if I left so you can have sex with them instead.”

The man pulls away from you at his snarky comment, “Excuse me?”

“Just asking a question.” House responds before sitting back down in his chair.

You look at House before turning back to the man, “Could you give us a moment?”

The man gets up, but before leaving he turns around and says, “I'm the nurse by the way.”

He leaves and you immediately turn to the older man next to you angrily, “What the hell?”

“I know right, “ he says with both hands resting on his cane, “A male nurse? Feminism's come a long way.”

You pinch your nose bridge. “House, why are you here?”

“To brighten your day,” He replies snarkily.

Silence awkwardly fills the room after that last remark.Your gaze drifts away from him, guided by both your anger for him and shame for yourself.

Your anger prompted by House's behavior, and the shame brought on by your reaction to it. You know how he is. You have been working with this man for six months and his deportment has yet to change; This is how he always is. However, something in you had slight hope that it would somehow shift- that these circumstances would solidify every word unspoken in your stolen glances.

While lost in your own thoughts, you don't even notice him come to sit next to you. He lightly shakes your shoulder, “Stop dozing off before you make me accidentally call a code blue.”

You look back at him with your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, “Are you my doctor now, house?”

“No. I'm not here as your doctor,” your gaze softens at his reply. He's concerned about you, that must mean- “I'm here as someone annoyed at you for getting run over by a truck.”

Oh.

Your wishful thinking was quickly shoved away by the continuation of his sentence. You know you should've expected as much from him, but the way he so quickly threw away any notion of genuine care for you left a sour expression on your face. Here you sit having practically tasted death and yet he still refuses to crack away this miserable wall between you.

He notices the look on your face and actively disregards it. “You should stand up,” he says.

“House, I'm tired,” you reply in a harsh tone as you turn your head away from him.

“I didn’t ask you if you were tired, I asked you to stand up. I'd like to check if you have a back injury. It's important to see if it's just a regular ol’ aspirin fixer upper or a spinal cord injury that could lead you paralyzed,” He lightly guides your face back to look at him.“I don't think these idiots could tell the difference between a headache and a gunshot wound.”

You swat away his hands, annoyed at his tiny hint of warmth after his previously cold comment . “You didn't ask me anything, you demanded. I'm serious, House, I'm fucking tired.”

He raises his hands in defeat. “Well, let's not get into semantics. And you can't go to sleep until I've made sure you didn't mess up your spine in the crash.” He stands up with one hand resting on his cane and the other urging you to follow him in rising off the hospital bed, “Now stop being difficult and just stand up, because I've got better things to do than worry about you.”

“Then leave.” The words leave your mouth as soon as he says that last sentence. You didn't even have time to register your own words before understanding his. He's only here to make sure you can still work after all of this is said and done; He only cares about how well his diagnostics team is working on patients, not about the members themselves. Everything people said about him that you had refused to accept is true: He's a narcissistic asshole who can't bother to care about anyone else but himself.

“Don't be an idiot,” he says with a laugh of disbelief.

You glare at him, “I'm serious. You have better things to do, so leave. I didn't ask you to come here and I sure as hell didn't ask you to worry about me.”

“If I didn't care, I wouldn't have come here.” he sighs and for a moment it feels like you see that wall come down, “You're a part of my team.”

Your voice is quiet, but stable, “I almost died…and you can't even find the decency to be nice to me. You still feel the need to add a belittling quip at the end of every somewhat kind comment.” You turn your head away from him and face forward in your bed as you lay back onto the cheap hospital pillow, “You have better things to do, House, so go do them.”

He stares at you for a moment, taken aback by your words. His gaze softens before swiftly transitioning into a stormy rebuttal. He snaps, irritation coating his voice, “What the hell did you want from me? A warm hug and comforting words? This is me you're talking to! The nicest I've been to you since you started working for me was 3 months ago when I let you have the rest of the coffee- And that was because I'd had 2 espressos from the cafeteria!”

Your composed stature remained, as each of his words brought back the feeling of glass in your skin. They pierced through you like a needle through cloth. “I don't know what I was expecting, House.”

He continues to berate you almost as if attempting to prove his own point, “You can pray that someday I'll wake up and be a nicer person, but that's not what you're getting today. All you're getting is the usual cold, miserable bastard who's only here to ensure that you're only dealing with minor back pain and not a spinal cord injury that could leave you paralyzed.” He scoffs, clinging to his distant demeanor as he pulls the pen he received from the nurse earlier and a piece of paper from his pocket. He writes down what seems to be a sentence, but at his reveal it turns out to be a singular word: pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.

All you could give him was a near scowl.

“Do you recognize this disease? This is actually a fictitious disease made to mock medical names, however it's now deemed as the longest word in the English dictionary.” He says while holding the card to face him, “Funny how people just make things up. Much like you are now,”

You relax your shoulders and breathe, shaking off your emotions, “I don't want to do this right now, House. I'm mourning the fact that for a second I truly believed death was knocking on my door; I appreciate you feigning interest in my well-being, but I assure you that I am fine and I don't need your care right now for a case that you have no interest in. Go save some poor patient who's dying of some rare condition that no one can figure out and leave the simple car crash to idiots.”

House's eyes narrow slightly, his jaw clenching as he thinks of how to respond. For a brief moment, it looks like he's about to reach out to you, but his cold facade returns almost as quickly as it left. He steps back away from you and takes a deep breath, followed by his exit.