#i need to see him old and grumpy and TIRED

[seumyo]

bakugou’s never been happier to do this alongside you.

The sound of Bakugou’s ringtone—specifically one for those calls—the kind that only came when villains decided to cause trouble at ungodly hours—jolted him awake on the second ring. The kind that meant neither of you were getting any more sleep.

He groaned loudly, his voice raspy from sleep. “Son of a—” He didn’t even finish the curse as he snatched his phone and squinted at the glowing screen. “What the hell is it this time?”

Beside him, you stirred, mumbling groggily as you pulled the blanket over your head. “Is it another one?” you asked sleepily, your voice muffled.

Bakugou ignored you for the moment, his phone pressed to his ear as the barking voice of the dispatcher filled the room. His brows furrowed deeper, his scowl turning deadly as he listened to the report. “Villains in the old district? At this hour? Those bastards don’t sleep or somethin’? Yeah, yeah—I got it. We’ll be there.”

He slammed the phone down on the bed, letting out a deep sigh as he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Goddamn it. I hate this stupid job.”

You let out a small laugh beneath the blanket. “Liar.”

Bakugou glared at the lump of fabric that was you—his partner. “What’d you just say?”

“You heard me,” you teased, peeking out just enough for him to see the drowsy smile on your face—which can barely be seen with the dim light of the moonlight outside the bedroom window. “You love this job, Kats. You’d combust without it.”

“Like hell I would,” he muttered, standing up and running a hand through his already messy hair. “I’m only outta bed ‘cause I don’t trust those extras not to screw up.”

“You’re up because you want to. Big difference.”

“Whatever.” Bakugou shot you a glance over his shoulder. “Hurry your ass up. Don’t got time for you to sit there all cozy like we ain’t got villains to blow up.”

You didn’t budge.

“Give me two minutes. I just need to—hey!”

Bakugou had moved without warning, stomping back to the bed and scooping you up in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised squeak as he effortlessly picked you up, blanket and all, and cradled you against his chest.

“Katsuki!” you protested, trying to wriggle free. “What are you doing?!”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, barely sparing you a glance as he carried you toward the door. “You’re slow as hell when you’re tired. This’ll save time.”

“You can’t just carry me every time we get called in!”

“Watch me.”

He stomped down the hallway, his bare feet thudding against the wooden floor, while his voice dipped into a string of curses. “Stupid villains. Stupid middle-of-the-night calls. Stupid hero work. I’m gonna blast whoever’s causing this into the next century.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter now, your head falling back against his shoulder. “You sound like a cranky old man.”

“Keep talkin’ and I’m droppin’ you,” Bakugou threatened. “Why the hell are you laughin’? Think this is funny?”

“Very. You’re like my happy pill.”

“Yeah? And you’re heavy,” he grumbled, though the way he carried you effortlessly said otherwise.

“Excuse me?!”

A corner of Bakugou’s mouth quirked up as he looked down at you, amusement flickering in his eyes despite his perpetual scowl. “I didn’t say nothin’. Quit wastin’ time.”

You smiled against his shoulder, listening to him grumble about this whole ordeal. He sounded pissed—like the world had wronged him personally by waking you two up—but you could see the truth in his actions. His grip was steady, his movements careful as he carried you to where your hero gear was waiting. It was such a Bakugou thing to do: grumble and complain, but still take care of you without hesitation.

By the time you make it to the gear room, Bakugou carefully sets you down on your feet. You wobbled slightly from the sudden shift, and Bakugou’s hand instinctively shot out to steady you.

“Oi, don’t fall on me now.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes before turning to grab your hero suit. “You’re way too grumpy for someone who just carried me all the way here. Admit it—you love being a hero.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You do, though,” you teased, already halfway into your gear. “I know you do.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his voice softened just enough to make you pause. “I wouldn’t do this job if it meant leavin’ you to deal with shit alone.”

You stilled, looking at him from the corner of your eye. He was standing by the doorway now, fully suited up and waiting for you, his face set in his usual determined scowl. But something about the way he looked at you, about the small, unspoken truths in his words, made your chest feel warm.

“Y’know, you’re so sweet to me at the most inconvenient times. Why can’t you say things like that when I don’t look like I’ve been ran over by a truck because I’m sleep deprived?”

“Die.”

“Is that your way of saying you love me too, Ka-tsu-ki?”

He scoffed. “Hurry up, dumbass. We’ve got work to do.”

“Ha! You didn’t deny it, so I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Shut up, you’re annonyin’.”

You smiled faintly, finishing the last of your preparations before walking over to him. “But you love me.”

“Of fucking course,” Bakugou said, opening the door and stepping out into the brisk night air. “Let’s go. Those idiots could only hold out for so long ‘cause they really had to call us in.”

You followed close behind, still smiling to yourself as you fell into step next to him. Despite his grumbles, despite the curses under his breath, Bakugou had never been happier. Because at the end of the day, no matter how ungodly the hour, you were always there—and as far as he was concerned, nothing else mattered.

Because he loves this job—especially when he’s doing it alongside you.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[thealmightytrashdump]

So I saw the re9 Wesker theory featuring this gif

And I could not help myself. I am in love with Peepaw Wesker.

I need to see him old and tired.

[moonpascaltoo]

theodore nott

MASTERLIST • SLYTHERIN BOYS • 07/24/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

theodore nott two

𑣲 the way i loved you I @angelfic

in which theodore nott will do anything to get you to go out with him, but you’re just as stubborn rejecting him

𑣲 lessons in love I @obsessedwithceleste

Ft. Enzo being bad at potions, the Ravenclaw common room door, and more than one accidental love confession.

𑣲 all’s fair in love and quidditch I @/obsessedwithceleste

All’s fair in love and quidditch. At least until Matteo’s poorly aimed bludger knocks you off of your broom.

𑣲 theodore nott and the fortress of trust issues I @/obsessedwithceleste

Theodore Nott had never been able to cast a patronus. In third year, when dementors were swarming the castle, of course he tried, but was never able to manage more than a whisp of soft silver. Come seventh year, he was painfully unsurprised when his efforts were once again lack luster. Turns out, with the right tutor, casting the formidable charm might not be as impossible as he thought.

𑣲 til it’s gone I @/obsessedwithceleste

It seemed like they’d always been there. An ever-growing thorn in Theodore’s side. He really didn’t realize what he’d had until it was gone.

𑣲 mother brother knows best I @/obsessedwithceleste

In which Theodore is no match for the sheer determination of a twelve year old fueled by sugar, pumpkin juice, and spite.

𑣲 fighting fate I @/obsessedwithceleste

soulmate!au in which everyone sees in black and white until they meet their soulmate. Bold of fate to assume it can tell you what to do.

𑣲 jealously I @ahqkas

an unexpected situation catches you off guard in the heart of florence and your boyfriend reveals a side of him you’ve never seen before

𑣲 practice makes it better I @/ahqkas

struggling with the local slang, you feel out of place until you meet theodore nott, the silent slytherin

𑣲 dealer I @/ahqkas

smoking had never interested you before but when the local dealer catches your eye, you might get the experience of a professional

𑣲 the odds of affection I deactivated account

where theodore is grumpy and quiet and when the slytherin’s take note of how he always gives reader forehead kisses, they’re rather shocked.

𑣲 fools I @luv4freddie

in which the only Hufflepuff friend in the group of slytherins develops a crush on Theodore Nott— something only fools do.

𑣲 shut up kiss me I @theostrophywife

𑣲 written in the stars I @/theostrophywife

𑣲 kiss with a fist I @/theostrophywife

𑣲 lovebites and potions I @caramelcal

𑣲 not even the addressee I @kaciebello

When Theodore's name gets misspelled he's not happy about it.

𑣲 the sirens task I @frost-queen

𑣲 the letter I @spectorgram

you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased.

𑣲 eyes wide open I @/spectorgram

you discover that there is so much more to theodore nott than you thought. 

𑣲 flustered and blushing I @amourane

in which you're a flustered mess around theo nott and he absolutely adores it.

𑣲 why can’t we love freely I @/amourane

you're tired of being a secret and it was time to let theo know.

𑣲 so this is love I @/amourane

there's a weird feeling that erupts in theo's chest whenever he looks at you and for the first time in his life his mind goes silent.

𑣲 down the rabbit hole I @/amourane

in which it's blatantly obvious that theodore nott has fallen down the rabbit hole of love.

𑣲 little dragon I @retrobutterflies

You are not a fan of one of his admirers and he thinks you are a pretty idiot.

𑣲 i think he knows I @dreamcubed

you had fancied the mysteriously quiet slytherin boy for as long as you could remember (since first year), and, quite frankly, your best friend was sick of you going on about it without ever making a move

𑣲 you need to calm down I @/dreamcubed

after returning to hogwarts for a subsidiary 8th year to make up for the loss of 7th year due to the war, you are a completely different person, and muggle-born-hating theo finds himself obsessed with you

𑣲 tired I @mrsmikaelsxn

you were theo's childhood best friend and he waits for a time when you will love him back

𑣲 try that again I @distantdarlings

Pansy finds out that a group of Gryffindor girls has had a lot to say about you and your relationship with Theodore Nott. They think you won’t do anything about it, but you prove them wrong.

𑣲 house pride I @/distantdarlings

Theo is pissed that you seem to be interested in other guys. The two of you are not officially dating so you find it ridiculous that you can't talk to whomever you want. You have feelings for Theo, though, and think it might be interesting to put his jealousy to the test.

𑣲 by the fireplace I @/distantdarlings

You have been an Animagus for around a year now. You have quite a knack for learning everything you need to know about it quickly and Professor McGonagall really likes you. However, a fellow classmate, Theodore Nott, does not like you. And you couldn't care less. Both of you are in for a surprise when you accidentally meet in the library.

𑣲 one star rating of dirty talking I @darkmagic-s

Sexting through note passing, one of Theodore's favourite ways to bother you.

𑣲 you understand I @lexamiele

Hogwarts students aren't exactly known for minding their own business. Thankfully, you and Theo speak a language they don't.

𑣲 august I @cassiopeiasdaughter

Theo asks you to be his fake-girlfriend but you understand the assignment a little too well.

𑣲 gold rush I @/cassiopeiasdaughter

loving Theo in secret was not something you had ever planned

𑣲 invisible string I @/cassiopeiasdaughter

you get married in the middle of the night during the war

𑣲 i could never not love you I @battinscn

theodore nott is a self sabotaging selfish bastard. he jumps to conclusions too quickly and is too hot headed for his own good. you never thought you would ever be one to experience it first hand. yet, despite it all, you could never find it in you to truly hate him.

𑣲 i hate you I @/battinscn

tate has a very special lucky broom he relies on for every match. when you accidentally step on it, he loses his temper.

𑣲 trust me I @/battinscn

theodore’s always had a hard time trusting other. but you would think being his girlfriend that he would have some faith in you. turns out you were terrible wrong and one day, you had finally reached your limit.

𑣲 missing you I @/battinscn

theodore’s job takes him away from you a lot and hi here understanding for the most part. but after countless broken promises, you had enough.

𑣲 his hufflepuff I @yoursecrett

You were known as the sweetest Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, from tutoring students to being Madam Pomfrey's helper, you were constantly busy you liked it that way... Theodore Nott - The Slytherin Prefect, you had caught his attention, and everyone knows Theodore Nott never gives up on something or someone he wants.

𑣲 sugar rose I @0luv9

Fool in love, bright like silver, shinning for everyone to see. Life has never been this good for Theo and he'll go out of his way to keep it that way. Or Theodore being utterly and unapologetically in love with you.

𑣲 between the shelves I @weasleyreidstyles

𑣲 blind date I @magiclostinfantasy

Y/N and Theo's friends set them up on a blind date, not knowing they've secretly been dating.

𑣲 karma I @wordsarelife

karma is the way you wear his jersey, making sure his team will lose the game

𑣲 moonlight and masks I @gemissleeping

Newly turned Death Eater Theodore Nott is tasked with hunting down Harry Potter and the Order Operative protecting him. Only to discover the person he hunts happens to be the one he loves.

𑣲 anything for you I @aemondsi

in a universe where voldemort won, you and theo risk everything.

𑣲 nonsense I @writingsbychlo

you got that holiday glee from your true love.

𑣲 secret notes I @sunshinelollipopsicle

theodore and you begin leaving notes for each other, you knowing it's him but him unaware it's you, and eventually, you agree to meet in person

𑣲 dreaming of saturn I @thestarsarebrightertonight

theodore nott seems so out of reach to most people yet you have him right in your arms

𑣲 cinnamon girl I @/thestarsarebrightertonight

everyone knows you have a crush on theo , even he knows! so when you randomly start avoiding him one day , theodore cant help but go crazy.

𑣲 seeker I @crimsntwlip

𑣲 clandestine I @puffleyia

Mattheo can not seem to place his finger on what exactly you have been keeping from him. He confides in his best friend, Theo, though he ends up cutting the conversation short due to some urgent matters. (aka, you)

𑣲 for the first time I @vintagebishx

in which, the usual womaniser finds himself in love with a girl who doesn’t even know his name…

𑣲 no smoke, only love in the air I @papercorgiworld

When the guys notice that you don’t like their smoking habit they quit, but dealing with the withdrawal has your boyfriend constantly needy for a kiss.

𑣲 pansys interrogation I @/papercorgiworld

Weird behaviour and rumours have Pansy asking questions and figuring out who the guys are crushing on.

𑣲 theo I @/papercorgiworld

The things Theodore Nott does for love.

𑣲 babysitting I @rainyreading

𑣲 the only heaven i’ll be sent to (is when i’m alone with you) I deactivated account

Best friends get dared to play seven minutes in heaven but they just sit and talk the whole time and somehow manage to admit their feelings for each other

𑣲 our secrets are buried I deactivated account

where they go on a double date with separate dates but they spend the whole time flirting with each other

[mrsbarnesblog]

personal pillow

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Reader

Summary: You confront avengers when they start teasing Bucky about being too soft.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: established relationship, avengers tease bucky, he's a grumpy old man, fluff

Author’s note: soft bucky is my everything, and I literally cannot imagine him acting another way.

Bucky Barnes wasn't the most affectionate and nice person on earth. Always grumpy and with an attitude, didn’t like physical touch, and hated being vulnerable and soft. However, when you were alone in your room, he was a completely different man. 

The only thing that he loved more than you, food, and old music was sleep. He hated it right after the Winter Soldier program was removed because of the violent and dark nightmares, but you were the solution to all of his problems. 

He loved sleeping with you. On you, to be exact. 

He accidentally discovered it once when he just threw himself onto your bed and somehow laid with his head on your stomach. 

You didn't know why your boyfriend liked it so much, but since that day he always ended up on your stomach, your boobs, or between your thighs with hands wrapped around your body, and it was almost impossible to drag him away. You always ran your fingers through his fluffy hair in soothing motions to ease the tension in his body, and it worked every single time. Bucky slept like a baby in your arms. 

Today he left early in the morning for training with Sam, but then he had a lot of paper work and something that needed to be done in the city, so you didn’t really talk to or see him. He only left a kiss on your forehead while you were still in bed and sent you a few messages throughout the day. 

It was your day off, and you didn’t feel like doing anything special or being productive. So you brought a fluffy comforter from your bed, a cup of hot chocolate, and sat in the common room to watch a movie on a big ass screen that Tony bought to show off.

When the film almost ended and you were already kind of sleepy, you heard firm footsteps from the hall. The tall and big body was standing in the doorframe, but you didn’t see your boyfriend’s face yet; it was pretty dark in the room.

“Hey, baby, how was your day?” You paused your movie and squinted to see Bucky. 

“Fucking amazing. A bunch of assholes and tons of reports that they sent me last minute.” He grumbled, coming closer to you. “Let’s go, I need my personal pillow or I won’t fall asleep.” 

You tried to hold back a laugh when you finally saw his face. Tired and frowned with pouty lips like a child. Bucky was painfully cute when he was a little bit mad and annoyed, and you didn’t want to do anything more than pinch his cheeks and kiss all of his face.

“You look so cute, gosh.” You smiled, biting your lip. “But I have only... fifteen minutes of my movie left, and I really want to finish it today. Do you want to lay on me here for now?” You opened the covers and pointed at your belly. 

Bucky stood there silently for a few seconds, still with a frown on his face.

“I don’t want these douchebags to see us here.”

“They won’t; Steve is on the mission, Natasha is already in her room, and Sam went on a date. C’mon, I’ll massage your head.” That was everything you needed to convince your boyfriend to give up. He took off his shoes and laid on top of you with his head on your stomach and hands around your waist. 

You covered your bodies with a duvet and stroked his hair, brushing it over and over again with your fingers. You felt that Bucky pulled up your shirt a little bit, and as soon as his cheek met with your warm skin, he heavily sighted, finally feeling safe and calm.

“That's okay, baby.” You cooed, massaging his scalp. “Do you want to talk about your day? What made you upset?” 

“No, just want to feel you, doll. Missed you so much.” He mumbled against your stomach and closed his eyes as your soft touches made his body almost melt into yours. 

“I missed you too. I’ll just finish my film and we’ll go to sleep, ‘kay?” Bucky just slightly nodded, already feeling too sleepy to actually say something. 

It didn’t take him too much time to fall asleep completely. Your gentle scratches and the way you rolled his hair around your finger, along with the muffled sound of the TV and soft cover on top of him, did their work, and Bucky was peacefully snoring on you in a span of a few seconds. 

You weren’t much better than him; your eyes started closing as soon as the credit scene began, and you didn’t have enough power in you to resist it, especially when a giant, hot human pillow was sleeping on top of you. 

So you just gave up. 

The first thing that you heard when you woke up was mumbled talk and laughter. Your eyes snapped open because your brain completely forgot that you, in fact, weren’t in your room or bed.

The common room was filled with almost everyone. For fuck’s sake, when was the last time you saw that many Avengers together in one room? And now all of them were sitting on the other couches and armchairs, looking at you and laughing. Well, they weren’t looking at you; they were looking at Bucky, who was still glued to your body. 

You quickly sat straight, now completely awake. The movements disturbed Bucky’s peaceful sleep, making him grumble and try to get you back under him.

“I didn’t know that Cyborgs could be so clingy.” The most annoying voice Bucky could’ve possibly heard in the morning filled his ears, and he lost every last piece of sleep in his body, sitting up on the couch. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Willson? All of you, in fact.” Bucky looked around the room, seeing Sam, Nat, Wanda, Tony, and Clint with shit-eating smirks on their faces; Thor, who looked just happy to be involved; and Steve and Bruce, who actually felt uncomfortable to be there.

“Sorry, Buck, they just...” Steve wanted to apologize but was disturbed by Tony.

“Sam just told all of us to come here a few minutes ago because he had something hilarious. And look! The strong and scary Winter Soldier is being a softie for his girlfriend.” Tony laughed, almost dropping his cup of coffee. You didn’t even expect that, but you felt a sudden wave of anger going through your body because you were already sick of everyone pushing Bucky’s buttons. 

“Or maybe all of you should just mind your own business? You both would actually know something about Bucky if you tried anything besides making fun of him or trying to get him angry. You don’t even understand how fucking hard it is for him to communicate after everything that happened, and all of you are getting on my nerves. Just a bunch of children, I swear.” You growled, standing up and grabbing Bucky’s hand to drag him away. 

Everyone was surprised by your words, and even Bucky looked at you with a weird expression on his face but still stood up, holding your hand. 

“Sweets, it’s just a joke—” Natasha started.

“No, it’s not. I love you, Nat, I really do, but it’s not funny.” You looked around the room. “Y’all probably don’t understand the effect that your words  have, but I see in private what none of you can. And when I tell you that your mockery and jokes make everything worse, I really mean it.” Bucky awkwardly shifted near you under all of the eyes that were glued to him. He felt exposed by the way everyone saw how he showed his affection to you and that he, in fact, was a really touchy and sensitive person. “C’mon, Buck, everything’s okay.” You looked back at him with your usual soft eyes, and his whole attention was now focused completely on you. 

Everyone saw how Bucky’s body language changed when you talked to him, and even if someone like Tony or Sam couldn’t admit it out loud, the thought of being too harsh on Bucky appeared in their heads. 

Without any further words, you lead your boyfriend out of the common room, leaving the Avengers in an awkward silence. 

The comfort of your and Bucky’s shared room made you deeply inhale as soon as the door was closed behind you two. Before you could even say something, two strong hands wrapped around you from the back, and Bucky buried his face into your neck.

“Thank you, doll.” Your hand reached behind you to gently stroke Bucky's hair. “You didn’t have to do it, really. I got used to their words.” He squeezed you tighter, pressing his chest into your back.

“That’s not okay, baby. I’m sick of that. You may not say it to me or even admit it to yourself, but I see that it hurts you.” You turned around in his hands, placing your own on both sides of his face. “But that’s okay that you want to cuddle, to sleep on me, to be held. Really. There is nothing wrong with it. I’m really honored to be the person who is allowed to see your soft side.”

“I love you. Fuck, I love you so much, doll, you can’t even fucking imagine,” Bucky whispered before leaning forward to kiss you.

“I love you, James.”

“Can we stay here today? I don’t really want to talk with anyone besides my sweet and protective girl.” You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his teasing tone. 

“Of course we can, Buck.” That was your last word before Bucky lifted you off the ground, put you on the soft blankets of your bed, and climbed on top of you, happily wrapping around your body and falling asleep. 

[logansbaby]

sub!old man logan oh my god.

brain is filled with so many thoughts right now. i cant even. im done.

LIKE!!!!! the man is old and tired and just needs to be taken care of completely <33 need to milk that man dry

nsfw & 18+ content below!

Just imagine having Logan completely at your mercy, moaning and groaning about how badly he needs you, needs you to do something and touch him.

He’s in pain so often now days, the ache in his bones so incredibly familiar, but when you touch him and take him to that place, he’s painless. It leaves his mind blank of everything, all his burdens and thoughts suddenly gone. And in its place, it’s just youyouyou and the mind blowing pleasure threatening to overtake him whenever you’re near.

You’ll be on your knees, refusing to actually take him in your mouth in favor of leaving pretty bruises across his hair-littered thighs. His slowed regeneration is a pain in the ass most days, but in times like this, when you leave your mark on him, he’s grateful. He’ll proudly wear the smatterings of purple because it means he’s still here, still with you.

His hips would keep jutting upwards, trying and failing to get his cock past the plush of your lips. You’d keep messing with him, enjoying the noises that fall from him when you lick at his thighs and bite on them meanly.

“Please—“ He’d huff out, metal shining between his knuckles when you suck the skin of his lower stomach. Your tongue would trace the veins there, following the path downwards.

“Patience, baby.” You hum, peppering wet, open mouthed kisses across the salt and pepper smattering of hair there.

Something about the reversal of roles, something about you calling him baby, always has vermillion flushing across his cheeks, chest, and stomach.

Nimble fingers slip from the grip on his hip and down to grip his cock loosely. You lazily stroke him, thumbing his head that leaks and bubbles with white. And oh, the teasing pace along with your tongue on his skin nearly sends him reeling, warmth pooling across his abdomen in warning.

Only when tears brim his eyes and his cock pulses and throbs, his body thrumming with an insatiable ache, would you finally slip his length past your lips.

The sigh of complete and utter relief he’d release would have your pussy clenching pathetically, slick seeping down your thighs. Something about seeing a man so incredibly gruff and grumpy all the time broken down to a moaning mess, desperate to orgasm, drove you crazy.

He’d be so whiny, trying to immediately push himself deeper down your throat, the heat and velvet of your mouth almost too much, but the bite of your nails digging into his thighs would have his movements stuttering.

You’d pull off, saliva connecting your swollen mouth to his slick tip and the picture of it all is filthy, dirty.

“Stay still or I’ll stop.” Even when you say it, you cant help licking up his shaft and kissing the veins there.

“Fuck, sorry. Just feels so good, so wet.” Logan moans, sweat shimmering across his skin under the moonlight from the window. “Need your mouth, please, honey.”

“I know, I know. Let me take care of you.” You whisper before wrapping your mouth around him once more, the heady taste of him dancing across your tastebuds.

And you do take care of him.

You tease him endlessly, working him up to the edge of an orgasm before ripping your touch away. Logan would be ruined, your name groaned from his lips as rough hands grip the sheets.

He would try so desperately to hold on because you feel so fucking good and he never wants this to end, never wants to leave the hold you have on him like this. Except, when you dip the tip of your tongue in his slit and swirl, he comes abruptly, filling your mouth with his warm release.

And you don’t even fret, instead cooing as you stroke him sensitive, suckling on his tip as his hips jolt from the overstimulation.

The night would continue like that— with you milking orgasms from Logan until the only thing he can remember is you.

[nymphoniah]

can I request old man Logan where he’s looking for his glasses and he finds the reader sitting in his seat wearing them & teasing him how can he see without them. Then something primal inside him overcomes him to put her in her place

I hope that’s not too silly of a request I just drool over old man Logan especially with his glasses

you know i’m no good | logan howlett

i love this old man… i need him like air!!! ackkkk </3. tysm for sending this request in, we all need a grumpy logan in our lives :3 also i just read the old man logan comics and lord!!! i absolutely need to write more of himmmm

pairing: old man!logan x younger!reader

content/tags: NSFW minors dni, 18+ only, implied age gap (reader is in their 20’s), soft dom!logan, afab!reader, boot riding, smut, daddy kink, swearing, pet names (princess, doll, etc), a little bit of dacryphilia, logan refers to himself as an old man, porn w a lil bit of plot if you squint, crybaby!reader

you absolutely love the way logan’s glasses hang off of his nose bridge—always making sure when you’re peppering his face in kisses, you kiss the little bump that accentuates his features.

logan was a little embarrassed at first, wearing his glasses around you. thought it made him look older, already felt senile just taking them out of the case.

“c’mon!” you tease, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose. “i like the way you look in them,” you push him further, toying with the frames of his glasses.

“i look older in ‘em,” he says, playing off your kind words, “never was a fan of wearing them in the first place,” logan continues to drone on.

“charles says otherwise,” you snap back, your fingers playing where his glasses sit on his ears, flipping the glasses slightly up and down off his nose bridge.

logan chuckles, allowing you to continue playing with his glasses. “fine, i’ll wear ‘em,” he obliges much quicker than you thought he would—god knows the man loves to put on a fight.

but for you? he’d fold instantly. that’s what you do to him, you’re his little soft spot.

“only ‘cause you like it, princess.”

so when time passes, and you start to see him wear his glasses less and less, you decide to mess around with him a bit—give him a little surprise!

now here you are, sat in his armchair with a small smirk forming at the corner of your lips. your legs crossed, eyes peering up at him, but this time—his glasses perched on your nose.

logan approaches you slowly, his footsteps heavy, his figure towering over yours. he’s just come home from work, dressed up in his black and white suit, his tie slightly undone. he looks especially tired, like he’s had a long day.

“you broke your promise,” you trail off quietly, losing your smugness as logan looks down at you, his eyes sullen. “forgot these at home,” you continue, pointing at the glasses.

you try to ease the tension in the air by cracking a joke. “bet you couldn’t even drive straight without these.”

your words draw no reaction from logan. it’s painfully obvious that he’s drained from the day, and has no patience for whatever you have planned.

“i don’t have time for this,” he shrugs you off, pulling at your arm to get you up on your feet, “get ‘outta my spot, need to have some fuckin’ peace for once”.

you hate when logan gets like this, refusing to let you know what’s occupying his thoughts, keeping you in the dark—pushing you away.

so being the stubborn girl you are, you stay limp, refusing to move from the armchair. “no.” you retort, voice low and quiet.

logan can obviously lift you out of the chair with no issues, no tugging on your wrists or anything of the sort. but he sees that you’re at least trying to ease him up, make him feel the tiniest bit better. so he bites.

“can’t hear ‘ya, princess” logan says, the timbre of his voice gravelly, his eyebrow now raised, watching for your next move.

“no.” you respond sternly, shifting your weight further into the leather, tugging your arm away from his grasp.

something inside logan snaps. maybe it’s just ‘cause he had a bad day at work, or perhaps he just got riled up, seeing you get all bratty with him. knowing him, it was probably a combination of the two.

“no?” he mocks, sounding bitter as he lets out a tsk. “wrong fuckin’ answer, sweetheart.”

and that’s when the mood changes. the tension is still there, but there’s a shift. you feel your stomach turn, in a weird, twisted way—aroused by the way logan looks down at you with displeasure.

“need me to put you in your place, huh?” logan spits out, grabbing you by the wrist, finally pulling you out of the armchair.

taking little effort, he makes you stumble to your knees, your palms hitting the ground of the hardwood floor. you’re kneeled in front of logan, feeling foolish, stupid for trying to pester him after a long day.

“m’sorry,” you mutter, eyes glued to the floor, his glasses sliding low on your nose.

logan perches down to your height, bending down so that he’s level to your ears. “it’s a bit too late for apologies now, doll,” he coos, cupping your face with one of his hands.

he squishes your cheeks together, making it so that you’re looking up at him now. his eyes are sullen, facial features stern, the bags under his eyes a bit darker than usual.

streams of sorry, sorry, sorry is all you can manage let out of your pretty little mouth. you feel so guilty, upsetting him. sure, you had no ill intentions, but you know you pushed him—you should’ve just gotten out of the stupid chair, could’ve avoided this stupid mess.

the thoughts continue to drill into your brain, the regret. your eyes start to get teary, you just can’t help it. after everything that logan’s done, all the shit he’s been through, you didn’t wanna add onto his problems, cause any unnecessary stress in his life.

“don’t cry, princess” he consoles you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. logan steadies himself back up, seating himself into the leather armchair where you once sat.

you shift around, slotting yourself between his legs, your pink, teary eyes looking up at him. “m’sorry still, didn’t wanna make you mad,” you sniffled out, taking off his glasses, placing them on the coffee table.

you leaned your head against his leg, your cheek nuzzling into the fabric of his slacks, your tears staining the pants a darker shade of black.

logan looked down at you, his tired eyes admiring the way you sat below him, practically worshiping him. “you’re just needy for your old man, hm?” he says, patting your head gently as you continue to weep.

“can’t help it, lo,” you murmur, tears becoming less frequent as he continues to tangle his fingers in your hair. “you’ve been gone a lot.”

your eyes fall down to his black leather dress shoes, the stitching of the shoes frayed, the material slightly worn at the edges. your fingertips play with the toe of his boots, trying to ground yourself.

“i know, i know, doll,” he replies, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek, his eyes catching the way you were staring intently at his shoes. “show me how much you missed me.”

your mind is still racing, trying to find a way to ease the pain you felt on your heart, the residing guilt you felt from earlier.

that’s ‘till you let your body think for itself, mindlessly hovering your clothed cunt on top of his boot. your breath stutters, trying to make sense of your actions, but it’s the last thing you wanna do.

all you want to do is turn your brain off—make sure that the pain goes away, that all your troubles could be temporarily solved.

“need this, need you,” you whine, placing yourself firmly on his boot, slowly grinding against him, pressing the temple of your head onto logan’s knee.

logan feels himself hardening at the sight of you getting off on him, his cock twitching as you paw at his slacks, your roaming hands finding their way to his crotch.

“fuck…” he hisses out, tilting his heels slightly upwards, making it so that the toe of his shoes angles right against your cunt. “my filthy girl just needed her old man to comfort her, yeah?”

you moan out in pleasure, your eyes shutting tight as you pace yourself, rutting against the rugged leather rhythmically. your cunt was leaking with your arousal, the excess slowly dripping down the sides of his shoes.

“missed you… so bad… d-daddy,” you cried out in between pants, your breath quivering, feeling the pressure in your core building up. “don’t know what i’d do… without ’ya…”

“you don’t need to worry about that, princess,” logan coos, “daddy’s right here,” he punctuates by nestling the toe of his shoe deeper inside your messy cunt.

“shut your pretty little brain off and keep riding me like that.”

[darnell-la]

𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗟𝗬 𝗠𝗜𝗫

pairing: dark!dom!Logan Howlett x non-mutant!fem!reader

warning: drugging, head butting, oral (fem receiving), nightmare fuck, woken from sleep, rough fuck, multiple orgasms, obsession, etc.

note: we can’t stop writing about this man. he’s everything we need.

please like, COMMENT, follow, reblog, and REQUEST us!

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits and memes of the people we write about!

————————————————————————

𝟯𝗥𝗗 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗣𝗢𝗩

“Maybe you’re just no one’s type anymore, sugar. That attitude doesn’t sit well on women like you,” Logan said across the bar after hearing y/n complain to Storm that it’s hard to find a person she’s interested in.

“Or maybe you can mind your business!?” Y/n turned to look his way with a yell. Storm slightly touched her back to calm her now. “No! — I’m tired of him talking. It’s not like you’re so sweet yourself!” Y/n said.

Logan looked at the frustrated young lady with a grin as he placed his cigar in his mouth. “Ain’t like your dick could stand up still either,” she said, making the people who were listening, laugh.

“Ahh, wouldn’t you like to know,” Logan said, unfazed by the small words she tried to use to hurt his feelings. “Actually, I wouldn’t, because even Jean didn’t want a piece of you. And that was when you were younger,” she said.

People were shocked at her words, still laughing but watching out how much. They knew mentioning Jane was a topic he hated hearing.

“Watch what you say. Just because you ain’t a mutant, don’t mean I won’t handle you,” Logan said. Of course, her heart rate raised, but she stood her ground as she got up from the bar seat.

“Try me,” she said, making the metal-boned man laugh as he approached her. He could see her chest rise, knowing she wanted nothing she challenged him to do.

Logan looked back at Storm who was shaking her head as she pointed at the shit glasses y/n had downed. A whole tray that hold at least fifteen was insane for a human.

Logan looked back at y/n understanding why she felt so much emotion tonight. Her eyes were glossy and she slightly swayed back and forth. She was definitely halfway to passing out.

Logan leaned forward, mouth slightly grazing Y/n’s ear. “Go to bed, sweet cheeks,” Logan said as his hot breath hit the side of her face before heading to his room.

It’s been a few weeks since the incident at the bar with Logan. Y/n decided to keep it cool for a while until no one expected anything.

“Logan, can you please get my phone from the living room while I cook, please?” Y/n asked. He sighed loudly, always grumpy about something as he got up and walked out of the kitchen.

Y/n quickly pulled two pills out of her pocket and dropped them into his full glass of liquor. She had gone through the pharmacy they had for mutants downstairs, and searched for something that would make him rethink what he said to her.

Y/n went to walk away until she stopped and thought of his constant bullying since she got here.

Y/n pulled two boxes from her other pocket, took every pill from their wrapper, and dumped them in his drink. “One for your lazy dick, and the other energy since I should go to sleep early,”

Y/n quickly through the trash in the bin before running back to continue cooking. “Almost done,” she smiled as he placed her phone down with a fake smile back.

“For a mutant, you sure do get tired walkin’ room to room,” y/n snickered as he downed his drink. If he looked at the glass, he would’ve noticed something off, but he didn’t think of it.

“Does liquor get old these days? Fuckin’ hell,” Logan spoke with a few coughs. Y/n did her best, to keep her laughing. He had no clue.

“Logan, relax!” Y/n heard Scott yell somewhere in the mansion. At first, she thought they were arguing again until something broke and Jane screamed. What the hell is going on?

Y/n quickly got up from her bed and ran out of her room, toward where ever they were. “Logan, relax! Y-You’re safe!” Jane spoke. She’s told y/n she had to use those words whenever he got out of control.

“What’s wrong?” Y/n asked as she stepped around the corner. Logan’s head instantly snapped towards her. “No,” Scott said, having a feeling what Logan was going to do.

“Y/n, stay back. H-He’s not doing well right-“ Jean spoke but got knocked out of the way by Logan running towards y/n. As well as Scott.

Y/n tried to run, but before she could turn all the way around, he grabbed her, quickly throwing her over his shoulders before running away.

“Hey! — Let me go, Logan! Stop it!” She yelled as he ran towards the front door. Where was he taking her? Why was he taking her? He almost made it out of the mansion with her in hand until Storm used the wind to drag y/n back.

Logan stumbled, realizing she wasn’t in his hold anymore. He turned around stepped forward followed after y/n was dragged back until he looked up to see the whole crew staring right back at him.

Logan let out a loud growl before running off and out into the darkness of night.

“What the fuck!” Y/n shouted as Storm lifted her up and Jean checked her for any bruises. “What the hell is his problem?” Y/n asked as Scott ran out of the house to see where Logan had run off.

“Motherfucker’s taking my bike!” Scott shouted. “We don’t know. He was sitting on the couch, eatin’ the rest of the food you cooked, as always, then — then he started switching,” Jean said.

“At first it was mild, but I noticed it first. He then asked where you were and if we thought you’d be asleep yet,” Storm said. “We said we didn’t know, and he instantly grew angry,” Jean said.

“Motherfucker got up to go to your room and I stopped him before he could,” Scott said as he ran back into the mansion. It was late and y/n was confused. What was happening?

Y/n’s currently in her room as the crew took the yet to go find Logan. Xavier came with them. He said, maybe if he got closer to Logan, he could ease into his mind.

The school has been out for a couple of weeks, so the kids are either with their parents or in buddy groups somewhere in instate.

This means y/n has the whole mansion to herself on one of the worst days possible. While an animal is loose. A wild animal.

Y/n thought if she closed her eyes and went to sleep, she wouldn’t stress as much, so that’s what she did. Now she’s deep in her sleep, dreaming about what she was trying to distract herself from. Logan.

Logan was chasing her through the long halls. Every door being locked and the hall getting longer was the most terrifying part of the nightmare.

He chased her for what felt like hours. Each time he spoke, it felt like he was closer.

“Don’t run” “Stay still” “Mhm — That’s it” “All that shit talkin’ and you’re cryin’. Pathetic,” he said with a chuckle following behind his voice.

“Please, someone help!” She yelled in her dreams as she felt his breath on her neck. She was caught. Logan grabbed y/n and dragged her to a room that would’ve been locked for her.

“You’re a fast one, but I’ve gotcha,” he growled low as he hovered over the girl, lips inches from hers. “Smellin’ so good for me. You’re such a tease,” Logan ripped her clothes off. They disappear into dust. She knew she had to be dreaming.

“Runnin’ from me, but you’re soaked. You’re a lair, baby,” he said as he slipped her panties off, sniffing them before placing them in his back pocket. “Now how about ya cum for me?”

Y/n woke up slowly, hearing a voice in her room. “Now how about ya cum for me?” She heard for the second time, but in between her legs. Y/n whined as she looked down, not knowing what was happening until she saw him.

Logan was in between her legs, sucking on her pussy like a starved man. “Logan!” She screamed, scared at first until her back arched from the full effect of his tongue all over and between her folds.

Logan watched her reaction as he ducked on her hard, eating her out rougher than before. He’s been at this for. Good thirsty minutes and still couldn’t get enough.

“Gimme another,” he said. “What? — I-I don’t- Fuck,” y/n’s eyes rolled back. He was working her just right. He knew he was. He’s been waiting all night. From when he was eating the rest of dinner, to when he hid in the woods, waiting for the crew to leave, to sneaking in her room, hoping not to wake her up too early.

“Give me a 6th one, heh? Then I’ll fill ya up,” Logan said as he slipped two fingers into her cunt, curling and pumping into her to force another one he so desperately wanted.

The instant pressure of his fingers sent y/n over the edge with a loud cry and shake. She came all over his face, wetting him like a waterpark.

“Fuuuck,” Logan groaned, feeling in heaven. “Can never get tired of that, princess,” Logan said as he crawled up and over her until he attacked his lips onto her, softly.

Y/n kissed back for a second, feeling too deep into the mood. She only lasted for a little bit after she woke up, but she was sure this was the best orgasm she’s ever had.

“Logan- Logan!” Y/n pushed at his chest, making him lean back. “W-We can’t. They’re looking for you and you’re — You’re here eating me out and making out with me and-“ y/n’s mind ran everywhere until he cut her off with a short kiss.

“It’s okay, sugar. I need them out of the house for what I’m about to do to you,” Logan said, confusing her. “Logan — You’re feeling this way because I drugged you,” y/n blurted out.

Logan forced over her as she slapped her hands over her face in embarrassment. “Saying that out loud makes me feel bad, but, yes. I put a whole box of energy pills and Viagra on your drink when you went and grabbed my phone — I-I’m sorry,” y/n genuinely apologizes.

She thought he was going to lash out before she heard him chuckle. That chuckle turned into a laugh as he leaned up off of the bed.

“Baby, I pieced that together when I was in the living room, eatin,” Logan said as y/n backed up against her headboard. “My plan was to go up to your room and confront you before fucking you into your mattress, but Scott stopped me,”

“Then I saw you come around the corner and thought I could fuck you into the dirty in the woods like the low and pathetic slut you are, but Scott stopped me again,”

“So I ran — I knew they’d come looking for me. I waited in the woods for nearly an hour. Cock throbbing. Balls waiting to empty. I wanted to jack one off right then, but I knew it wouldn’t have been enough,”

“Besides — I’d rather fill every whole you’ve got to satisfy my needs,” Logan said before lunging at y/n. Y/n screamed and fought, trying to get from under him, but there was no use. He was stronger and wild. He needed her now.

“Keep fightin, baby. Always seemed hot knowing you couldn’t overpower me, even if you tried,” he mocked as he ripped his jeans off of him, as well as his boxers.

“N-No, no, no! Logan, I-I’m not doing this. I’m not doing — That!” Y/n said after seeing his length. He was long. He was huge. Veins nearly covered the whole thing. His balls looked stiff and in need of release.

“You’re gonna take it. You brought this on yourself, princess,” Logan said as he ripped his shirt off. Y/n had just noticed she was fully naked. He had stripped her from her nightgown when she was sleeping.

“I-It was a mistake!” Y/n tried pushing back as he came in between her legs. “Was it though? I smell how wet you get around me every day. All that anger is just an excuse because you’re too bitchy to ask for my cock,” Logan looked directly into her eyes, just a few inches away.

“Well, you won’t have to ask anymore. I’ve got the picture from now on,” Logan forced his huge length inside of y/n, stretching her walls in an instant. She cried at the pain but moaned at the pleasure.

“Yeah,” he growled, teeth stuck together. “Gonna fuck you all fuckin’ night,” Logan’s hips began to move at an ungodly pace. The huge man leaned over y/n like an inhuman form. Deep down he was.

He placed her legs on his shoulders and pushed down into her like some duck doll he had ready in his room for him.

Her lower back was slightly in the air. She could him thrust into her fully. She was forced to watch him use her cunt like some movie.

“L-Logan,” y/n threw her head back as she came unexpectedly from the angle he had her in. “Look at that waterfall. So fuckin’ pretty,” Logan wished he could slurp her up, but he was too busy digging in her guts for more.

“You know — That comment about Jean back at the bar — It was unnecessary,” Logan began a conversation with y/n. She was so confused about how because she was struggling to keep her mind straight. Her head already seemed light.

“I should’ve dragged you to my room then, but I was calm. Noticed you had a few drinks. Drinks always make sluts act out,” he spat.

“Anyway — About Jean. Yeah, I lost feelings a while ago. You wanna know when? When you came along,” he admitted. “Those sexy jeans and top that hugged your body set me off, quick. Jean was outta there,”

“Then your personality. Sweet and precious but evil to people like me. People who’re assholes,” he leaned closer to her face. “But, you know what, baby? I think you like assholes. Just look at the way you take my cock. I’m basically bullying myself into you,”

He wasn’t wrong. Before y/n signed up to teach at the school slash mansion, she was always caught up with some deuce. She wouldn’t be lying if she said she felt a type of way around Logan after realizing how grumpy and mean he can get.

She didn’t realize at the time, but when he felt the need to let some steam loose earlier today, he asked, looking for y/n. Not Jean. His mind was all on y/n.

“Such a slut — You’re squeezing me,” he teased as he felt himself grow close. “Keep goin’ — I know you like this,” he said as y/n’s mouth parted. The groan leaving Logan’s mouth as he watched y/n cum on his cock for the second time tonight, sent him over the edge.

The man had no words. All he could do was groan and growl loudly as he pounded into her, watching the light leave her eyes. She was definitely done for tonight.

“Fuck!” He yelled, cum spilling into her throbbing cunt. Logan thrust slowly, watching their cum coat his cock. He knew after tonight, that he’d need her every night. He was going to make that happen whether her attitude matched his or not.

[sapphicmsmarvel]

azriel: mr grumpy and his miss sunshine

Notes: super domestic

god im so fucking single it actually fucking hurts

This man would prefer to never see people. 

He loves his family and you, those are the only people he needs. 

You however, are a little social butterfly. Everywhere you two go, someone knows you. When random people say ‘good morning’ to you, you smile brightly and respond enthusiastically in kind. Or, you’ll randomly just speak to a stranger and end up laughing with them. 

You do not see yourself this way but he does. And then everyone in the inner circle would make jokes about you talking to random people and how it stresses Rhysand out because he doesn’t want you kidnapped. 

“By no means are you ignorant to the world's threats, I just don’t trust people with my figurative baby sister.” He explained when you asked him if he thought you were stupid. 

He called you his sunrise, you were bright, warm, sweet, you gave him hope. Meanwhile, you called him a grumpy bat. Sometimes you called him a grumpy old bat. Depends on if his bones were creaking or not. 

You were a magnet for people. Randomly, people would say things to you. Or you’d offer to help people if they needed it (but only when you had one of the guys with you, you didn’t trust everyone easily). 

You made friends everywhere you went, he however, kinda just sat behind and watched you interact with people. Made sure people didn’t take advantage of your kind heart, and nobody was being a pig with you. 

Azriel loved how social you were, he also adored how introverted you were. 

For example, while out at Ritas, he’d watch you be chatty and then just slow down. He can see when you start to zone out when your social battery has completely run out. So he’ll always say that he’s tired and wants to go home so the blame doesn’t go to you because it makes you anxious and you’ll feel the need to apologize constantly. 

You two would hold hands coming home, bumping into each other and giggling. You may be socially burnt out, but you never felt that way with him. 

He loved the “after” part of a night out. Watching you wipe your makeup off delicately with cloth, then hop in the bath with him. You’d delicately wash his wings as he hates feeling like they’re dirty. You two scrub each other down. When he gets to washing your hair, he’s so incredibly gentle with his hands. The idea of even accidentally pulling your hair hurts him. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he massages your scalp. He’ll then massage your shoulders, causing your head to drop down, your chin against your chest causing your spine to slightly stretch out and release the tension from being social. 

After the bath, you'd do your skincare, he’d watch as you gently apply toner, serums and creams. Then you’d throw on his ratty tunic and a pair of oversized shorts. You’d sit your (fine) ass on the counter and pull his hands into your lap to apply creams on them. Because he insisted he wanted to take care of his hands more. 

Once you two ended up in bed, you’d turn on the lap by your bedside and begin to read your novel. He would write in a notebook. You suggested he try journaling when he talked about his thoughts overcrowding his brain. 

Eventually you two would settle down together, he would lay on his side, his arm around your waist pulling you to his chest. Your head on a pillow that holds both of your heads with his arm underneath it. He refused to let you sleep by the window because he wants to be able to protect you.

The window’s open, letting the cool night breeze in. The only sounds are your breathing and the drapes billowing. 

You felt content in your husband's arms. Knowing he may be a grumpy introverted bat, but he’s yours. He loves you as yourself. 

He’s your home.

[azrielstaylorsversion]

Unspoken fights

Azriel x reader

Feyre wonders why Azriel and his mate aren't speaking to each other. Rhys explains about there unusual communication habits and she feels the need to fix it.

There were still two empty seats around the dinner table. Everyone had started eating already, not wanting to wait another half hour for Azriel and Y/N.

It didn't take much longer before they came walking in. Feyre quickly noticed them walking a few feet apart from each other. At least not as close as they usually were with each other.

Y/N walked in front of Azriel, her face showing no sign of emotion. She walked straight for Cassian's seat instead of the two empty ones on the other side of the table.

Azriel sighed softly and took a seat in one of the empty seats, immediately filling his plate with food. He didn't even acknowledge his family.

"Move." Y/N ordered Cassian, leaving no room for any argument. To Feyre's surprise, Cassian listened and moved over to the seat next to Azriel, leaving Y/N to sit next to Mor.

Cassian turned to face Azriel. His mouth opened to say something, but Azriel cut him off before he even got the chance to. "Don't even start." he said to his brother, not bothering to look at him.

Feyre watched the mated couple with concern. They never acted like this. At least not to her knowledge.

Feyre reached for Rhys mentally. 'What is going on with them?'

Rhys also watched the two and sighed, shaking his head. 'Probably a disagreement. This never lasts long. They will make up and talk about it tonight and tomorrow it is as it never happened.'

Y/N had now started eating as well, ignoring Cassians pointed look for claiming his seat. Azriel on the other hand had stopped eating and was just staring at the wall with a grumpy face.

'Does this happen often?' Feyre questioned.

'Not really. Maybe once a year.' Rhys answered. 'They have their disagreements and differences, but they always talk about it immediately. They never let it get as far as... whatever this is.'

After dinner everyone went their own way. Except for Y/N, who decided to stay in the dinning room even when Azriel had left.

Feyre had seen Azriel glance at his mate for a moment, hesitating to walk towards her before he continued to walk out.

It was well past midnight when Feyre decided to get something to drink from the kitchen. She noticed the lights in the dining hall still being turned on.

Feyre poked her head inside, finding Y/N still in the same place she had last seen her. She was staring at the wall in front of her, an empty glass of wine on the table.

"Y/N?" Feyre said softly.

She almost jumped from the sound of her voice. "Oh, Feyre. Sorry I didn't see you there."

Feyre stood in the doorway. "Are you okay?" she asked her friend.

Y/N stayed silent for a short moment, her face filling with emotion. "Yes. Everything is okay."

Feyre could tell that the answer wasn't true.

"I actually wondered if I could stay here for the night?" she asked.

The question shocked Feyre a bit. As far as she knew, Y/N had never voluntarily slept away from home. Away from her mate.

"Yes, of course. But are you sure you don't want to go home?" she still decided to ask.

Y/N stood from her seat, making her way towards the door Feyre was standing.

"I'm sure. If you don't mind, I'll be going to my old room." she said, giving Feyre a tight mouthed smile and walking past her.

She obviously meant her and Az's old room. She always called it that.

Feyre decided to leave it for the night and return to her own mate, who was waiting for her upstairs.

The next morning Y/N ate breakfast with her, Rhys and Nyx. Her mood was definitely off.

She normally wasn't much of a talker, but now she was just quiet. She also looked extremely tired, as if she hadn't slept at all last night.

'Shouldn't they be back to normal by now?' Feyre asked Rhys mentally.

'Honestly, the fact that she even chose to sleep here last night does worry me.' Rhys told me.

Feyre debated saying something about it, but Rhys warned her before she had the chance. 'They'll be back to normal by tonight.' Rhys told her promising, even when he didn't sound so sure herself.

Y/N had disappeared during the day. Probably off to her normal duties.

Feyre felt surprised when she entered the River House in the afternoon and found Y/N sitting in the living room, with no sign of Azriel.

She greeted Feyre with a soft smile before sitting down on a chair by the fire.

"So did you do anything fun today?" she suddenly asked.

"I took a walk with Nyx and helped Rhys with work. Nothing more." Feyre asked with a smile. "What about you?" she asked with hesitation.

Y/N sighed, staying silent after. Then she just shrugged. "Not really. I just feel.. I don't know."

Feyre suddenly understood why she started a conversation. Y/N wanted distraction.

"It's okay to miss him. Even it's been a day." Feyre decided to tell her. Y/N just avoided her eyes at that.

She stayed silent for a good ten seconds.

"It's just so stupid." she said.

"What is stupid?" Feyre questioned.

"This whole pointless fight. I mean I started it. I got mad about something that wasn't even his fault. And I just wanted to be right so bad." she started speaking quickly. "And I made him feel so bad and I didn't even mean it like that. I just felt jealous. And now I ruined everything and-"

"Calm down a second. You're just spitting out your words at this point." Feyre chuckled. "Why were you jealous?"

Y/N stared into the crackling fire, hiding her face from Feyre. "A Fae woman stopped Azriel on our way to dinner to ask him something. She touched his arm." she told me. "And he immediately pulled away. He was just being polite by answering her. But I still got so mad and it was just stupid."

Feyre did understand her jealousy. She had experienced it with Rhys countless of times before.

"Even after being mated for decades I still sometimes get periods where my instincts are worse than normal. Just before we entered the River House I decided to ignore him. And just to prove a point I stayed away from him last night. But now I feel so guilty. And he's probably mad at me at this point." she sounded disappointed with herself.

Feyre moved over to her friend. "Of course he's not mad at you." Feyre told her reassuring. "It's Azriel. He loves you too much to be mad at you over this."

Y/N slowly moved her eyes to look at Feyre. She nodded to herself. "Yes. Yes, I hope so." she said. "But I haven't acted this childish in years. So I can understand if he were mad at me."

"Trust me, I would've had the same reaction as you." Feyre told her with a small laugh. "Why don't we ask Azriel to come here so you can explain it to him? I'll be here if you need me."

She nodded. "Yes. That'll probably be a good idea." she answered. "I'll see if I can get to him through the bond."

It didn't take very long before the front door of the River House opened and closed. The sound of it was soft, like someone who usually came in with no sound.

Azriel definitely let his presence be known by his footsteps, which were heavier than usual.

When Azriel entered the room, Y/N immediately stood from her seat.

"Az, I'm sor-"

"I'm so s-"

They both cut each other off.

Y/N stared at Azriel. "What do you need to be sorry for? It was me who did it." she took a step closer to her mate.

"Yes, but I still have to apologize for even letting that woman get close to me, I shouldn't have."

"No, you don't need to apologize for being kind towards a woman. I could see you pull away. And she only placed a hand on you. I am the one who should be sorry."

Azriel went quiet for a few seconds. Y/N stared at him with emotion in her eyes.

Who knew that the two of them had arguments like this. I was just sitting in a chair, watching them.

"This is so stupid." Azriel said.

A small smile formed on Y/N lips. "It is." she told him. "But I understand if you're mad at me."

"Of course I'm not mad at you. I did the same thing at the start of our relationship, remember? And that was before we were even mated. So I understand." he told her. "Come here." he opened his arms for her to walk in to.

I could hear Y/N whisper some things to her mate, but I soon felt like I was invading their privacy.

Azriel noticed my awkward look and smiled. He placed a hand on the small of Y/N's back. "Let's go home." he told her softly.

She nodded and let him lead her out of the room.

She threw a quick look over her shoulder, mouthing thank you to Feyre.

[and-claudia]

Yours (Paddy x reader) (Speak No Evil)

This is part one of a currently untitled mini series for Paddy from speak no evil (2024)

Warnings: Paddy (he is a warning himself), manipulation, age gap, drinking, infidelity, smut (with plot), unprotected sex, p in v, controlling relatives, fingering, multiple orgasms (i think that is it but if I missed one let me know)

This story will get dark. this is your warning, this part isn't really that dark and can be read as a stand-alone fic

summary: You are with your Aunt, Uncle and cousin on a small vacation in Italy where you befriend a couple and you take particular interest in Paddy

Word Count: 3700+

Taglist (Read the rules, follow them or I will remove your response)

When I met him in Italy, I was immediately drawn to him. He was like no man I had ever met before—exciting, inviting, and intoxicating. He was significantly older than me, but maybe that is what I needed. All the guys my age were the same, and none of them had the charm that Paddy did. But he was married, and I had tried my best to respect that. 

However, that all changed when he invited me out a few nights after meeting. We were at dinner, and I was sitting beside my aunt, one seat down and across from Paddy. Drinks had just been served when Paddy eyed my drink. 

“Water? Really? On vacation?” He asked, noticing my lack of alcoholic beverage. 

“Oh, she doesn’t drink.” Louise said for me, causing me to roll my eyes. 

“What, why not? Personal health? Religion?” Paddy asked, tilting his head, his blue eyes soft. 

I side eyed my aunt before sighing and looking back to Paddy, “They’ve never let me.” 

Paddy pulled back with a shocked face, “Oh, come on! You’re on vacation! You’re an adult! Indulge a little. I’ll tell you what, order whatever you want, it’s on me.” He said. 

I smiled at him, “I appreciate it, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” I said honestly. 

He laughed, looking down and shaking his head before looking back at me. “Let me help.” 

He then proceeded to ask me a list of questions about my preferences, like if I liked sweet or bitter things, do I like fruity things, what flavors I preferred etc. Once he was, he nodded. 

“Okay, I think I got it. Do you trust me?” He asked, and I nodded. 

Then he flagged down the waiter and secretly ordered my drink for me. I could feel my aunt looking at me in slight disbelief. But I didn’t care. She and my uncle drank wine all the time. I was old enough to drink, so why not? 

Eventually, the waiter brought my drink to me and I hesitantly took a drink as Paddy watched with anticipation. 

“So?” 

“That’s really good.” I said honestly. 

Paddy clapped his hands in a small personal celebration, “Perfect!” 

Dinner continued on with conversation among all of us. I finished my drink and began drinking my water again. I was listening to my Uncle drone on about something when I saw Paddy flag down our waiter again and point to me before sending me a small wink. I was brought another drink, which I happily accepted. By the time dinner concluded, I had downed 3, and I was feeling it, especially once I stood up. 

“How we feeling?” Paddy asked. 

“Great.” I said, giggling. 

“Ah, yes, a giggly drunk, much better than a grumpy one.” Paddy said to my aunt, who just gave a thin-lipped smile and nodded. 

“We should probably get going. It’s late.” She said waving me over to her. 

Even with my mind fuzzy, I knew there was no point in putting up a fight. 

“Actually,” Paddy’s voice made me pause, “Ciara and I were going to go to a club down the road after we put Ant to bed. We wanted to see if you, all three of you, wanted to join us. Just for a couple of hours, nothing crazy.” 

“Not tonight, we’re all pretty tired.” My uncle said. 

My aunt nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it’s late anyway. But thank you for the invite.” 

Paddy’s eyes fell on me, and he raised an eyebrow in question. The liquor flowing through me gave me the courage to look at my aunt and uncle before turning back to Paddy and Ciara. 

“I would love to.” I said, making Paddy smile. 

“Oh, Yn, come on, you don’t want to impose.” My aunt said, touching my shoulder, but I brushed her off. 

“She isn’t, I promise. I’ll keep an eye on her.” Ciara said, “Go on up and get changed. We’ll swing by and get you after Ant is in bed.” 

Reluctantly, I followed my aunt and uncle up to our room. When we got there, I went straight to my suitcase and dug out a specific dress. I pooped the tags off of it before going into the bathroom to change into it. It was definitely unlike anything I had ever worn before. I showed off all my best assets, and I looked hot. I touched up my makeup before walking out to change my shoes. 

“What on earth are you wearing?” My uncle asked from where he sat in his bed. 

“A dress.” I said bluntly, grabbing my shoes. 

“You’re not wearing that out. You look like a hooker.” He said but Louise put a hand on his arm. 

“Look, you can’t even insult your niece without her telling you what to do.” I said as I put on my shoes. 

“Yn, maybe you should stay in tonight. Meet some of the people your age here. I’m sure they’d go to the club with you.” Louise offered. 

“Why wait?” I said, but before they could say anything, there was a knock on the door. 

I opened it, and Paddy was standing there dressed nicer than he was at dinner. It was taking everything in me not to stare. 

“Ready?” He asked. 

“Yup!” I smiled. 

“Don’t worry, Ben, she’ll be returned in one piece!” He called into the room after I stepped out. He pulled the door shut, and we began walking down the hall. 

“So… change of plans… Ciara isn’t coming…” He said, watching to gauge my reaction. 

“Oh…” 

“Is that okay with you? I mean, if you’re at all uncomfortable, we don’t have to go.” 

“No, I still want to go. I think I’m losing my buzz, though.” I said with a small laugh. 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He said, offering me his arm. I took it, trying not to blush, “Let’s go.” 

Walking into the club, attached to his arm, just felt so right. It felt powerful. Paddy had an intimating aura about him that when people saw him they stepped out of his way. He walked us straight to the bar and ordered us some drinks. 

Before I knew it he and I were on the dance floor, his hands on my hips as we danced together. Our bodies were pressed against one another. The booze in my system was clouding my judgment. I knew this was wrong. I was grinding on a married man over twice my age. 

They called for the last call at the bar, and I drug Paddy back to it for us to get one more drink in. We both had a thin sheen of sweat covering our bodies as we waited for our drinks. There weren’t many seats so I was sitting while he stood right behind me, chest pressed against my back. 

“You look stunning, by the way.” He said over the music. 

“Thank you. You’re not too bad lookin’ yourself.” I shot back just as our drinks were set down. 

We drank them quickly before stumbling out and making our way back to the hotel. I was a complete stumbling, giggling mess, holding onto him for support so I wouldn’t fall. 

“Wait. I have a horrible idea.” I said. 

Paddy looked over at me, waiting for me to answer. 

“We should go jump in the pool,” I said, giggling. 

“I bet you won’t.” He said, challenging me. 

I wasted no time grabbing his hand and leading him over to the now-closed pool. I quickly took my heels off before walking over to the edge. With one last look over my shoulder at him, I jumped. When I resurfaced, he was laughing his ass off, clapping. 

“Well, come on! Your turn!” I said. 

He quickly slipped his own shoes off and took his watch off, setting them on one of the chairs before jumping in with me. He swam under the water and popped up right in front of me. His hands went to my hips once again as he pulled me flush against him. 

I was looking up at him, eyes fliting from his eyes to his lips and before I could process it he was leaning in. But I stopped him.

“Wait… what about Ciara?” I asked quietly. 

“It’s okay. That’s why she didn’t come tonight. She wanted me to have this tonight, to have you tonight.” 

That was all the convincing it took me to reach up and pull him down to meet my lips. He backed us up until my back hit the wall of the pool. His hands roamed my body, and one of mine was tangled in his hair. Things were heating up until we heard someone clear their throat. 

He slowly pulled away from me, and then we both turned to see one of the hotel workers standing there with their hands clasped in front of them. 

“I am sorry, but the pool is closed.” They said in a thick Italian accent. 

“Oh yes, sir. My apologies, you see, she fell in, and I had to save her… I was just making sure her airways were cleared.” Paddy said. 

The worker was clearly not amused by the jokes. 

 “We’ll get out right now.” Paddy said grabbing my hand as he led us to the stairs. 

We got out and collected our belongings, still laughing to ourselves until we were out of sight of the worker. Then, all hell broke loose as we began laughing fully. 

“He was so not impressed with your bullshit, Paddy.” I said, holding onto his arm with one hand while I carried my shoes in the other. 

“He’s just got a stick so far up his ass he doesn’t know what humor is anymore.” He replied. 

I grabbed him by the open collar of his shirt and pulled him to me and attached my lips to his once again. He aggressively pushed me against the wall, deepening the kiss. Slowly, his lips left mine and began making their way down the side of my neck. I tilted my head to the other side to give him better access to it. He was alternating between soft kisses and small bites. Then he bit down harder than he had been right on that sweet spot on my neck, and a small moan left my lip. He stayed there working on what would be a dark hickey come morning, but I couldn’t care. I would wear it with pride. 

Once he was done, he pulled away to admire his work. Then his lips were on mine again. My mind was wandering off to all the things I wanted him to do to me. His hand found my wrist and grabbed it. Then, he brought my hand down between us and placed it firmly against the growing bulge in his pants. 

“You see what you’re doing to me, baby? I want you so bad.” He said, pulling away and resting his forehead against mine. 

A small whimper left my mouth as he grinded against my hand. 

“Take me. Please, I’m yours, Paddy.” I said, kissing him again. 

He pulled away once again but then began leading me by the hand still on my wrist down the halls to his room. I hesitated as he went to open the door. 

“She’s not here. She’s across the hall with Ant in his room. Remember, she wanted me to have this.” He said, eyes dark with lust and his voice dropping low. 

I nodded at him to continue and he opened the door, leading me inside. He once we were inside he shut and lock the door behind him. I suddenly felt shy and was subconsciously pulling the bottom hem of my dress down in a futile attempt to cover myself up in front of him.

“Oh, baby, don’t hide.” Paddy said, walking over, grabbing gently by the hips and kissing me surprisingly softly compared to earlier. 

“I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never…” I sighed in embarrassment. 

“Oh, you’re a virgin?” He asked, eyebrows knitting together softly. 

I shook my head, “No… not technically…” I said.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything, we just go to bed.” He offered but I shook my head again. 

“I want to, trust I want you. I’ve just never orgasmed before with someone else…only myself.” I finally admitted, clearly nervous. 

“Do you doubt my ability to make you feel good, darling?” He asked, voice dropping low again. 

“No, I just worry somethings wrong with me.” I said truthfully. 

Paddy shook his head this time and began walking backwards, pulling me with by the hands still on my hips. He sat down on the edge of the bed and then guided me to straddle him. 

“We’re not leaving this room until I give you the most earth shattering orgasm I have ever given a woman. Understand?” 

I took in a sharp breath at the sudden commanding tone he took on, but nodded my head. 

“Use your words. I won’t remind you again.” “Yes, sir.” I said, voice already breathy from the way he was making me feel. 

“Good. Now, be a good girl and take this dress off for me. I want to see you, all of you.” He said. 

I stood from his lap and then reached behind me to unzip my dress. Once I had it unzipped I pulled it down off my body exposing my bare brests to him. He moaned at the sight of them but I kept going. Since it was a tighter dresser and was still wet from the pool, I had wiggle a bit to get it off my hips and over my ass, causing my tits to bounce with the movement which only spurred Paddy on. Once it was past my thighs, I was able to drop it and have it fall around my feet. Since I hadn’t worn any panties with the dress I was now standing completely bare in front of him as his eyes roamed over my body. 

“This whole time that’s all you had on? I could’ve been fucking you with my fingers this whole night…” He said, shaking his head. 

I bit my lip at his words. That would’ve been hot. 

“Oh, you like that idea… next time.” He said, making my stomach do a flip. Would there really be a next time? 

“Get over here, I need to see those tits up close.” He said. 

I stepped forward again and straddled his waist once more. His hands wasted no time going to my brests. He toyed with them roughly, rolling my hardening nipples between his rough, calloused hands.

“Fuck, these things looked great in that swimsuit you wore yesterday but nothing, nothing compares to them in the flesh.” He said, before dipping his head down and taking one of them in his mouth. 

His tongue swirled around my nipple before his teeth ever so subtlely grazed it. He didn’t actually bite down but it was enough to earn a moan from me. I was become desperate for some friction and I hadn’t even noticed that I was grinding down on his lap until he removed his mouth from my tit. 

“Ooh, someones eagar.” He said. 

Then, without warning, one his hands dipped between us and he ran his fingers through my folds, feel the wetness that had already began to pool. 

“Oh she’s very eager.” He said as one of his fingers just barley entered me before he removed his hand completely urning a whine from me. 

“Don’t whine, baby, Paddy is going to take good care of you.” He said, using his oter hand to pull me into a quick kiss. 

He then guided up off his lap to sit beside him before he stood up. 

“Fair is fair, darling.” He said as he began to remove his own clothes. 

He began with his shirt, which while he was extremely toned and very attractive physically, it wasn’t anything I hadn’t already seen laying out by the pool. Then he stepped forward towards me with his pelvis slightly forward. I couldn’t help myself from starring at the pitch that was clearly aching to be let out of the confines of his pants. 

“Go ahead, darling, you can do the honors.” He said. 

I slowly reached up and grabbed his belt before undoing it. My eyes met his as I looked up through my lashes and I undid his pants. Then my focus dropped back down as I grabbed the waist band of his boxers and his pants and pulled them gently, finally releasing his hard cock. I couldn’t help myself but stare at it and admire it for a moment. 

“Are you gonna stare at it all night, or do you want me to fuck you with it?” He asked, voice deep. 

I looked up at him once again through my lashes and went to nod my head but remembered his words from earlier. 

“I want you to fuck me with it.” I said making him smirk. 

“Then get up there.” He said, nodding the head board. 

I scooted up on the bed and he crawled over to me. His lips found mine and this time I allowed my hands to explore his body from his toned chest to his hair to his strong arms. Everything about him was intoxicating. It was like ever single on of my senses was completely consumed by him. 

He was using one hand to support his weight above me as his other travled down my body to my core. Once again, he ran his fingers through my folds then slipped one in. However this time he let it go in much further. Then he slipped another one in, working me open and stretching me out to prep me for his cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, can already feel how tight you are.” He said, against my lips. 

He kept pumping into with two fingers for awhile until he slipped a third one in which took my breath away. My moan was swallowed by his mouth as he fucked in and out of me with his thick fingers. 

When he finally pulled them out he pulled away from my lips and began cleaning his hand off with his mouth. “Taste like fuck heven, sweetheart.” He said, leanined back down to kiss me, allowing me to taste myself on his lips. 

He finally pulled away, leaving my lips swollen from the kiss.

“You on birth control?” He asked. 

I nodded, “Yeah.” “Good.” 

That was all the warning I got before he was sliding into me. The stretch was borderline painful in the best was possible. And the moan that I let out sounded like it was straight out of a porno. 

“Fuck, baby, you trying to wake up the whole damn hotel?” He teased. 

“I’m sorry.” I said, still out of breath. 

“No, let them hear you. Let them know you’re getting the best fucking you’ll ever have. Let them know you belong to me.” He said. 

My walls squeezed around him at his last words. 

“You like that? You want the world to know I fucked your brains out?” “Y-yes.” I managed to sigh. 

“Good.” 

And with that he began pounding into me at a brutal pace. He had grabbed one of my legs and hooked it over his hip, giving him the angle to hit so deep into me, I was sure my cervix would be bruised the next morning. 

He continued his pace, never letting up for a second, “You’re so fucking tight. Feels so good. No wonder no other man could make you come, they probably came within a minute of being in your perfect pussy.” 

He adjusted his angle ever so slightly and was hammering into that soft spongy spot that had me seeing stars. He must of seen my reaction to this new angle because he began getting cocky. 

“There it, that’s the sweet spot isn’t it? Those other men couldn’t reach if they tried. Your pussy was made for me and me only, sweetheart. You needed Paddy to fuck you. Only I can make you feel this good.” 

I could feel that familiar tension grownign deep in my stomach. It was a feeling I had only ever felt when it was me alone with my vibrator. It was building up faster than it ever had before. 

“Fuck, Paddy, I-” I couldn’t even finish my sentence before I was clamping hard around his dick as I came. 

Paddy was muttering curse through gritted teeth as I held him in a vice grip. Then, just as my orgasm was dropping of, he shifted he weight to one hand and brought the other one down to rub tight circles on my clit as he began thrusting into me once again. It was almost overstimmulating as I was rushing towards a second orgasm so quickly. I was reduced to a blubbering mess under him as he did exactly what he set out to do, fuck my brains out. 

I could feel the second orgasm soaring towards me, my hands were gripping the bedsheets in a deathgrip. I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence at this point. 

“You close baby?” Paddy asked. 

I managed to nod. 

“Go ahead, come for me one more time.” 

With that, my second orgasm his me like a wreaking ball, completely shattering the world around me. My walls squeezed him even tighter than before if that even possible. This time he fucked me through it chasing his own release before his rhythm faltered and he released thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside of me. He stayed like that releasing every last drop he had before slowly pulling out. 

He flopped beside me with a heavy sigh as I laid there catching my breath. I could feel the mixture of our releases seeping out of me but I honestly couldn’t care less about that. 

“How was that?” He asked. 

“Fucking perfect.” I said, eyes closed in pure bliss. 

I heard him let out a low chuckle before turning onto his side and pulling me to him so I was laying there with my back pressed against him. He held me close as we both enjoyed to stillness that had settled over the room. 

“You’re mine now, don’t forget it.” He whispered darkly in my ear. 

It sent a shiver down my spine in the best way possible. I turned around in his arms to look at him. I leaned in pressed a soft kiss to his lips before whispering back, “I’m yours.” 

taglist: @comicbookslut @dreamygirli3

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : LITTLE MUTANT: :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You are spending a peaceful afternoon with your four-year-old son, Tommy. While playing, you notice his toy plane suddenly floating in the air, revealing the first signs of his mutant abilities. Startled, you call Logan, who rushes back home. Together, you both watch as Tommy uses telekinesis to stack his building blocks, completely unaware of the gravity of what he's doing. Logan reassures you that, just like him, Tommy will learn to control his powers, and you both find comfort in knowing you'll handle it as a family.

Based on this request.

IT WAS A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON AT THE HOWLETT HOUSEHOLD, the kind of peaceful day that felt like a rare gem. Birds chirped outside the open window, sunlight streamed into the living room, and the air smelled of fresh laundry. The idyllic scene was only made more perfect by the sight of you and your four-year-old son, Tommy, curled up on the sofa together.

Tommy sat in your lap, giggling as you tickled his belly, his small fingers clutching a toy airplane. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes, the ones he’d inherited from his father, Logan. That same scruffy intensity, but softened by the innocence of a child.

"Mommy, fly!" Tommy exclaimed, holding the plane above his head and wiggling it through the air. "Look! I'm a pilot!"

"You sure are, sweetie," you said, grinning. "You're the best pilot I've ever seen. Where are you flying today, Captain Tommy?"

He squinted, thinking seriously about it for a moment. "To the moon! And then... and then to the jungle to find the lions!" His arms wobbled as he made dramatic sound effects, roaring for the lions.

"The moon and the jungle? Busy day!" You played along, tousling his messy hair. He was so full of energy and imagination that it felt like every day with him was an adventure.

Just as you leaned down to kiss his forehead, you noticed something odd. The plane in his hand seemed to... well, it seemed to be shaking.

No, not shaking. Floating. It was barely perceptible, but it was definitely hovering, just a few inches above his hand.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes, thinking maybe you were just tired. Four years of motherhood didn’t exactly do wonders for your sleep schedule. But when you looked again, the plane was still floating, a soft blue glow surrounding it like it was suspended by some invisible force.

"Uh, Tommy?" you said, trying to keep your voice calm. "How are you doing that, honey?"

Tommy, completely oblivious to the phenomenon, just giggled and shook the plane in the air again. "Doing what, Mommy?"

You felt your heart skip a beat. Oh boy. Logan was going to want to see this.

You carefully placed Tommy on the sofa and reached for your phone. Logan had gone out for one of his "I need some space to clear my head" walks in the woods behind the house, but it looked like he was about to get pulled back into dad duty.

You quickly dialed his number. It only took one ring before his gravelly voice answered, laced with that familiar grumpiness.

“Yeah honey?”

“Logan, you need to get back here. Now.”

There was a brief pause. “Why? What’s wrong? Is Tommy okay?”

“He’s... fine. Sort of. Just... hurry. I think something’s happening.”

“Be there in five.” You heard the rustle of leaves and the faint sound of him running before he hung up. Classic Logan. Always ready to bolt into action the second his family needed him.

You turned back to Tommy, who had abandoned his floating toy plane in favor of drawing on the wall with a crayon. Normally, that would’ve driven you crazy, but given the circumstances, a little crayon art felt like the least of your worries.

~

True to his word, Logan burst through the front door exactly five minutes later, his rugged frame filling the entryway. His flannel shirt was half unbuttoned, exposing his muscular chest, and his hair was as wild as ever. He looked like he’d sprinted the entire way back.

“Okay,” he grumbled, striding into the living room. “What’s going on?”

You pointed toward Tommy, who was now sitting on the floor, happily stacking his building blocks... without touching them. The blocks were arranging themselves in mid-air, each one glowing faintly, as if magnetically drawn into place.

“Logan...” you whispered, your eyes wide. “Our son is a mutant.”

Logan’s brow furrowed as he knelt down to Tommy’s level, watching intently. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just observing the floating blocks. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s got it.”

You knelt beside Logan, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think... do you think he knows what he’s doing?”

Tommy, blissfully unaware of the significance of his new abilities, just grinned up at the both of you. "Daddy, look! I'm a magician!"

Logan’s gruff expression softened, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, buddy. Looks like you are.”

You leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of Logan’s body next to yours as you whispered, “What do we do?”

Logan huffed a small laugh and shrugged, his usual stoicism breaking just a little. “Hell if I know. You think there’s a manual for this? He’s a kid. He’s got a mutation. We’ll figure it out.”

“But... what if he can’t control it? What if it gets worse?”

Logan glanced at you, his expression serious now, but not without comfort. “He’s our kid. We’re not gonna let him go through this alone. We’ll teach him, just like I was taught.”

You nodded, feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. If anyone could handle this, it was Logan. He’d been through enough in his own life to know what it was like to have powers he couldn’t control. And now, with Tommy showing signs of being a mutant, it felt like you were entering uncharted territory as parents.

Tommy, meanwhile, was completely absorbed in his floating blocks, giggling as they danced in the air. “Look, Mommy! I’m making a tower!”

“That’s... a very nice tower, sweetie,” you said, forcing a smile as you watched the blocks stack themselves higher and higher.

Logan chuckled softly and ruffled Tommy’s hair, his gruff exterior melting just a little more. “Hey, kiddo, maybe we should keep the floating stuff between us for now, huh? Don’t want to freak out the other kids at daycare.”

Tommy looked up at Logan with wide eyes, as if he was processing the most important secret of his life. He nodded seriously. “Okay, Daddy. I won’t tell. It’s our secret.”

Logan shot you a look, raising his eyebrow as if to say, *See? Easy.* You rolled your eyes and nudged him playfully.

“So, what now, oh wise and experienced mutant dad?” you teased, leaning your head against Logan’s shoulder.

He smirked, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Now? We teach him how to use those powers right. And maybe... we start bolting down the furniture.”

You laughed, feeling the tension finally break as Logan kissed the top of your head. It wasn’t exactly the parenting journey you’d imagined, but with Logan by your side, you knew you could handle anything. Even a four-year-old with telekinesis.

Tommy, now bored of his floating tower, climbed into Logan’s lap, resting his head on his father’s chest. “Daddy, can we play with the lions tomorrow?”

Logan smiled softly, stroking Tommy’s hair. “Yeah, buddy. We’ll play with the lions. But remember... no floating lions.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Tommy murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as he dozed off.

As you watched your little boy fall asleep in Logan’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of love for both of them. Your life might not have been normal by any stretch, but it was yours. And honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Guess we’ve got our hands full,” you whispered, resting your hand on Tommy’s small back.

Logan glanced down at you, that familiar glint of affection in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin’.”

And as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over your family, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe parenting a little mutant wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

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[darknight3904]

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘔𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘰. 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴, 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 (2017). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘕𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘴.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 4.1𝘬

𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Logan was always a mystery to you. His brooding nature and gruff voice reminded you of an old tomcat that used to live in the bushes of the school.

You remember the first time you met him, he had been smoking a cigar in his room unknowingly letting the smoke waft into your room across the hall. You had told him off, telling him he was a bad influence for the kids around him and he had shrugged you off and dismissed your worries for the youth.

"I don't see any kids around here right now."

"They're all over the place, Logan. This is a school."

Most of your relationship had been like that, friendly banter, the occasional fight over something stupid, but at the end of the day friends who could trust one another.

At some point, you had grown tired of your life at the school. Tired of teaching kids Geometry and running missions that grew staler each year. Eventually, you left, packed up your junky Chevy, and bid farewell to the aging Professor with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug.

Logan hadn't said much to you that day. Only that you ought to stay, something about the team still needing you.

"Thought you hated being an X-Man, Logan."

"I'll hate it a lot less if you stick around."

You drove south and found yourself in rural Pennsylvania. Perhaps it wasn't entirely legal, taking up residence in some old cabin that time had forgotten. Not that it mattered much since three years after leaving the school, Logan showed up at your door, pounding on the wood of your front door like the world was ending. All it took was one look at the unconscious professor in the backseat of some car Logan must've stolen for you to start packing your bags.

Now, you were sitting in Mexico, sweating your ass off daily, hoping that Charles would be alright and not kill you and Caliban while Logan was at work.

"He's late."

"Yes, Caliban, I can read the clock you know." You sigh

Logan was getting slower by the day. When he had showed up at your door four years ago you had barely recognized him. Sure, he was has muscle-filled and imposing as ever, but his face and hair had changed so much. Wrinkles and scars filled his handsome face and there was more grey than brown hair on his face and head.

"I need you."

His words echoed in your mind even now, a year later.

"What if he-"

"He's fine. He's just slow." You sigh trying to focus on the book in your lap. Caliban was such a worry wart.

"He's not. And neither are you. Both of you, there's something wrong." Caliban said, motioning to your exposed arms where your veins were purple and swollen, making your skin look hideous, "We should go to a doctor. They can-"

"Can we not have twenty minutes of peace?! If Charles isn't driving me insane with his babbling about Taco Bell, it's you with all your questions." You groan, slamming the book in your lap shut, "I am fine."

Logan's grumpy attitude had rubbed off on you it seemed. You left Caliban and locked yourself in the little bathroom you all shared.

The pale-skinned mutant was right. Something was wrong. With you, with Logan. Logan's seemingly invincible healing was failing him. As for you, your entire body had been crisis-crossed with your veins appearing like horrible bruises on your skin. In some places, like your hands they were even raised, pulsing painfully at times. Your face had been spared so far. You guessed that was due to the slow aging process you had been given as a part of your mutation. It was only a matter of time before your face suffered though, you were sure of it.

Not that it mattered though. You had given up looking pretty months ago. After you got settled in Mexico, you found yourself plagued with thoughts of Logan. Never in your life had you found yourself attracted to him, sure you were aware that he was good-looking, everyone was. The older teen girls at the school in particular would often giggle and whisper when he'd enter the room, then again he was always wearing those boot-cut jeans that made his legs look fabulous. Yet you had always been immune to that pretty face, content with simple friendship.

The first month after you finally fell into a groove with Logan, Charles, and Caliban had been tough, but after that? It was like you were losing your mind. Logan was consuming your thoughts. Even when you were at work, cleaning some shitty local motel, you thought of him. Anything would remind you of him, from empty booze bottles in the motel trash cans to a forgotten leather jacket a guest left in the closet.

Even at night, you weren't safe from him invading your thoughts. Some nights you'd wish for him to be holding you close, big arms cuddling you, keeping you safe. Some nights were less family-friendly and you'd picture him on top of you, wringing multiple orgasms out of you while he grunted about how good you felt.

The result of those thoughts? Each day when he'd return from driving that damn limo, you'd wait at the door like a trained dog, happy and excited to see him. You'd try to get him to talk about his night, what clients he drove, which were the craziest, who was loudest. Other times you'd cook a nice meal for him with whatever was sitting in the janky fridge Caliban had gotten up and running. Every once in a while, he'd even lay his head in your lap on the couch and let you weave your hands through his graying hair.

It had gone like that for about three months until one day he snapped.

"Don't you ever shut your damn mouth? Fuck all you do is talk! Can't you see I'm tired!? I don't need you interrogating me every time I come back here!"

You had taken his words harder than you expected and before you knew it, your veins were bruising and rising. Your own powers were turning on you, just like his were.

You hadn't bothered trying to pursue anything more from Logan since that day. You didn't bother with your appearance in front of him, why should you? He wasn't interested in you after all. Not to mention if he wasn't interested in you before, why would be be when your own veins were making you look like Grimace from McDonald's.

Now, you primarily had short conversations with him. Usually, they were about Charles and what meds he needed, and how much they were going to cost. Occasionally, the two of you'd sit with a bottle of booze and reminiscence over what your lives once were, as X-Men.

The sound of tires screeching had you exiting the bathroom. He might've been an asshole but you still cared about him.

Logan slowly walked in, a bit of a limp in his step from some fight he had gotten in the other day. He went right for the fridge where cold beers sat, ignoring Caliban's squawking.

"Goin' away for a bit." He said as he slumped into a kitchen chair, looking at you

"Where?' You asked curiously

"Booked a long ride. When I get back we're buying the Sunseeker." Logan said

"Who's the ride for?" You asked, curious as to who would book the world's grumpiest driver for a cross-country road trip

"Some rich lady," Logan replied, sipping on his beer.

He was definitely lying. You wanted to get out of Mexico, perhaps it was better like this. Logan would get the remaining cash and you'd finally get out of here.

"Here." Logan said, tossing the pills for Charles on the table, "Don't let him miss any doses."

Logan shuffles towards you and stops when you look up at him. Tired eyes meet your own.

"I'll be gone a few days, just a few. Then we're leavin', bub" He whispers

You nod and decide to indulge yourself by gently resting your ugly-looking hands on his chest that's covered with a white dress shirt.

Your heart skips a beat when he presses a quick kiss to your forehead before walking off to put Charles to bed. Logan's never done that before, usually, he'd reject any physical contact from you, even back in the day he was never into physical touches.

You watch as the limo disappears down the road, carrying Logan off to whatever mystery client he had, if he even had one.

"He'll be back." Caliban's voice calls, trying to assure you

"I know." You sigh

"Don't you have work?" He asked as you lay down on the couch.

"Day off. My bitch of a boss doesn't want to pay to have more than one housekeeper at the motel each day." You say

"Cheap bastard," Caliban says, shaking his head

You let out a snort of laughter.

"You're telling me. The other day he told me to reuse the garbage bags in the rooms, just to dump the trash into the outside dumpster."

"They'll be roaches everywhere." Caliban laughs

"Can't wait to clean those up too." You sigh closing your eyes

The screeching of metal wakes you up from your dreamless sleep. You slowly sit up, groaning when your arm begins to tingle, it must've fallen asleep somehow.

"It's her, she's here!"

"Professor, back to the tank." You groan at the old man, not wanting to listen to his blabbing. The dementia got worse each day.

"It's Laura!" He exclaims

You huff and slump backward into the couch. You loved the Professor but he was exhausting sometimes.

You quickly stand up and stop him from wheeling himself outside. The sound of a car door slamming has a cold sweat running down your back. Logan was gone, who could be outside? Whoever it was you prayed they were weak, you weren't even sure that you could use your powers, let alone fight someone with them.

"Stay, put. If something goes wrong, get back to the tank and lock the door." You command

"Laura," Charles says again, listening to you and remaining still

You step out into the hot sun, not expecting Caliban to be standing next to Logan. A blonde man with a metal hand and aviator glasses stands and asks about Charles. You look at the newcomer, trying to figure out what his deal was. He was human, even with failing powers, you and Logan were stronger, did he have a death wish?

"Whoo, look at that. Not one X-Man but two? The Wolverine and....I'm sorry sweetie what was your name again?" The man suddenly smiles, looking at you.

"Get out of here, asshole," Logan says, placing a hand on the blonde man's chest, preventing him from taking another step towards you

"Tell me, sweetie, do you know where the girl is? Wolverine here seems to have misplaced her." He asks

"There's no girl here." You answer

A loud shout startles you and a metal pipe whizzes past you and Logan to strike the intruder on the head.

Laura is an interesting character. You watch from afar as she shoves cereal in her mouth.

"What the fuck is this?" You ask Logan who doesn't have an answer for you.

The rumble of the train goes by and Charles calms the girl who jumps from her seat.

"Look, we're leaving. That guy who she knocked out, he knows everything about us. Get your stuff together." Logan says, handing a bag to you

You groan but listen and scamper off to your room. Your "room" was really just a small double bed surrounded by sheets Logan had strung up on strings after you said you needed more privacy from him and Caliban.

You shove clothes into the bag along with a couple of dusty books to keep you busy on the road. As much as you'd like to, you doubted Logan was going to let you drive at all.

Logan's deep voice shouts your name and you dash out to the kitchen to see Laura eating her food, unbothered. Her eyes glance at the outside world where you can see Logan shoving Charles' wheelchair into the trunk.

"What's happening?" You ask frantically, dropping your bag into the dirt, forgetting its importance.

"Get in." Logan commands

You quickly jump into the passenger seat, shoving the empty bottles of Jack Daniels aside. You'll have to yell at Logan for that later on. Drinking himself into a hole wasn't going to help whatever was happening to him.

The blonde man must have to do with the amount of trucks that are surrounding you all. Logan curses as he tries to maneuver the limo out of the smelting plant. Much to your dismay, you're quickly surrounded with nowhere to go. Charles murmurs about Laura again as Logan tells him to shut up.

If it were twenty years ago, you'd be able to make a path. Your powers had never been pretty but they were effective. If only you were able to use them now on all these men who were exiting these vehicles, they'd be nothing but blood stains in the dirt. Head popping was never pretty but it was efficient.

The blonde man is back and shouting in Spanish. You wonder what has become of Caliban as you glance at Logan whose mind is certainly racing, trying to create an escape for you all.

"Hey there, Sweetie." The blonde says leaning his elbow on the windowsill and leaning into the car, "Charles Xavier, America's most wanted octogenarian."

"I'm a nonagenarian actually." Charles quips back, proud of his old age.

"Logan." You whisper looking at him.

You're certain you can still use some bit of your powers. If Logan could cut just one of these men open, you'd be able to carve a way out of this situation. It'd be painful but you could do it. Maybe.

Logan lets out a growl and shoves his door open into one brute who steps too close to the limo. You jump out of your own door, hot on his heels as the blonde man keeps his men from gunning you both down.

You let out a loud shout of Logan's name when the men begin to beat him. One man comes up from behind you and pins you arms behind your back, he's stronger than your weak body and slams you face-first onto the hood of the limo.

"Find the girl."

The men spread out as you struggle in his hold. Logan's pinned down by the threat of at least 6 guns aimed at his face.

"Careful, Williams. You're gonna break her nose." The blonde man says looking at the way your face is harshly pushed into the metal of the car

"She deserves it. Mutant freak." The man above you, Williams, scoffs spitting down at you

"This mutant freak controls blood, you idiot. I don't wanna find out what she can do with it, do you?"

Williams looks down at you and you feel his spit trickle down your temple. He loosens his hold and lets you stand up, keeping his gun pointed at you.

The sound of gunfire breaks the tense stare-down you were having and your jaw nearly drops when you see Laura approach, a man's head in her arms.

Your jaw does drop when two silver claws appear and she begins to cut down the men. Logan tackles you to the ground and keeps you safe from the rain of bullets two men send at you.

"Get in the back with Charles, stay down." He orders, gritting his teeth as you hear the bullets pushing their way out of his skin.

Laura's feral screaming fills your ears along with the sound of flesh being cut through. The metallic scent of blood fills your nose as Logan pushes you into the limo.

"Logan I can help!" You shout

His only response is slamming the door in your face.

The limo is surely a sight as Logan speeds down the road. Charles' voice fills the silence as he talks to Laura about the X-Men. You look at Logan who looks, if it's even possible, angrier than he normally does.

"If you want me to apologize, I'm not going to. So stop pouting like a kid." You say, looking down at your blood-stained hands.

"M' not pouting. And what you did was dangerous." Logan says

"And what you did wasn't? I'm not a delicate flower, Logan. I don't need you hovering to keep me safe." You huff

"Yeah well when your brain blows up from that blood manipulation of yours, don't come crying to me," Logan grumbles

"Please, when that happens I'll die. No way for me to complain then." You scoff

Logan shakes his head and keeps his gaze on the road.

You want to slap him for his attitude. That or kiss him, you really can't tell. The angry protector vibe he had going on was as aggravating as it was attractive.

He was mad for what? You had saved him from getting an AR-15 getting unloaded into his chest. Sure, now your head was throbbing from the effort it had taken to use your powers. It wasn't even your own blood you had used, just some from a man on the ground, fashioning it into a simple tendril and impaling Logan's assailant through the chest.

"They're not normally like this." Charles whispers to Laura, "They work very well together. Good friends, sometimes I think they're more than that.

You groan at Charles' words. Something tells you you and Logan were going to be fighting a lot more now that you were trapped in a beat-up limo together.

"Don't tell her that." Logan chastizes

"Tell her what?" Charles asks innocently

"Made up fantasy shit," Logan replies

The casino Logan picks is a buzz with noise. You haven't been around this many people in years. It had a cold sweat breaking out on your skin. You wondered what was going through Charles' mind as he suddenly reached for your hand for assurance.

"You'll be alright. " You whisper to the old man who nods

A mannequin catches Laura's eye and Charles points out their lack of clothes.

You can't quite tell what's going through Logan's mind as he sits beside you on a soft sofa, waiting for Laura to come out of the dressing room. You can tell he's still upset from earlier when you used your powers to help him. You decide to throw him a bone as he taps his right foot with impatience.

"Sorry." You mumble

"What?" He asks

"I'm sorry." You say again quietly

"I can't hear you," Logan says turning your face to look at his, most likely so he can read your lips. What an old man.

"I said I was sorry. For earlier." You say, louder this time.

Behind Logan, you can see Charles inch his chair closer, hoping to eavesdrop on you and Logan.

Logan lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head. Your heart leaps to your throat when you hear the next words

"Don't worry bout' it, bub."

His big hand drops to your thigh and gently pats it assuringly.

"I would've done the same for you."

You place your own hand onto his and gently squeeze. His eyes meet yours and you swear they jump to your lips for a split second. You watch mesmerized as his tongue quickly appears to wet his lips before disappearing back into his mouth.

"Listen-"

Laura emerging from the dressing room breaks the trance he has on you and you jump up, fully flustered.

"Oh very nice." Charles coos at the little girl who is now in a unicorn shirt.

"Let's go." Logan gruffly says, brushing past you and towards the cash register.

You follow on Logan's heels as he limps to stand in line behind a little old lady. Laura and Charles are attempting to win at a claw machine that sits in the store a few feet behind you. Did Charles not see that the prize was poker chips? Laura wouldn't be able to do anything with the prize if they won. Whispers distract you from stopping the old man as he inserts money into the machine. Where did he even get the cash?

You glance to your right where three women stand. They're stylish, sleek, and vixenish with their tall heels, bodycon dresses, and sharp-winged eyeliner. You follow their pointed gaze to your own body and realize what they're giggling at. Your bruised arms, something you hadn't worried too much about before were drawing attention.

It wasn't just the women either, an older couple on your left are whispering as well.

"Oh my, what's happened to her?"

You feel a scowl pulling on your face, chasing away the good feeling Logan had left you with back in the dressing room.

You stomp over to a clothing rack filled with oversized hoodies. You snatch one off the hangers and walk back to Logan and shove it in his arms. He stumbles back a bit, not expecting you to be so harsh.

"I want this too." You demand before spinning on your heel to go find the nearest restroom.

Splashing cold water on your face is a luxury you had forgotten. Back in Mexico, the water in the pipes was always just a bit warm. Great for showers, but shitty for everything else.

You emerge from the bathroom to find your companions waiting for you. Logan tosses you your sweatshirt that stupidly says " I survived Oklahoma City Casino!".

If only you had picked out a plain one.

Logan hands you a key card to one room and then goes to open his own.

"Got a conjoining bathroom." He explains, "You and Laura can share that one."

You push the door open and are welcomed by the sight of an oversized king bed.

Laura immediately goes to the bathroom to open the doors that connect you to the Professor and Logan.

"Sit. Watch TV."

You hear Logan's stern voice speak to her. You can imagine his face as he says it. Stern, unmoving.

Logan limps into your room, shutting the bathroom door and sitting on the bed you're to share with the slightly feral child you've picked up.

Silence falls over you as you pretend to observe the ugly painting on the wall. You strained your ears trying to hear the TV next door. They'd done a good job soundproofing the rooms.

"What's wrong?" He huffs

"Nothing." You say, crossing the room to flop down on the big bed

"You've had a pissy look on your face since we left the dressing room." He points out, "More pissy than usual."

You roll your eyes but he can't see it since you've buried your face in the soft pillows.

You can tell Logan is still there, waiting for you to speak. You've got the feeling he's not going to leave you alone either, stubbornness was always a strong suit of his.

You flip yourself around and prop your head up on a pillow to look at him.

"Those women in the dresses and heels, they pissed me off." You admit

"What women?" Logan asks his face screwing up as he tries to recall who you were talking about, "There weren't any women."

"The one's in the tight dresses and heels." You say looking at him, not believing he hadn't noticed

Logan shakes his head again.

"It's my arms." You sigh, "I got comfortable in Mexico, you and Caliban never said anything about them. Not to mention Charles doesn't seem to care either."

You fiddle with a stray string that sticks out of the sleeve of your new sweatshirt. Machine-made stitching was always poor quality.

"I don't know what women you were seeing," Logan says, suddenly scooting up the bed and laying down beside you, "But I don't give a shit about what your arms look like."

"It's not just my arms, Logan." You softly breathe, thinking of the rest of you, marked with ugly bruises.

"Doesn't matter to me." He sighs with a wave of his hand

You feel tears pricking at your waterline and you willed them away. There wasn't even a reason to cry. He was just being nice, being a good friend.

"Are you crying?" Logan asks

"No." You lie

A warm tear slips down the side of your face and then all of a sudden they won't stop. You turn on your side and curl up into a fetal position. Maybe Logan will leave you alone now, he never liked dealing with his own feelings, let alone another person.

"Hey." He says, "Quit blubbering like some baby."

You're surprised when he suddenly scoops you up and places you in his lap. Big hands wipe at your tears and he hands you a tissue from the nightstand for your nose.

"Sorry." You sigh taking a deep breath to calm your nerves

Logan lets out a deep grunt and he lets his actions do his talking. One big hand rubs up and down your back to soothe you while the other is drawing circles on your knee.

"You shouldn't get so worked up about random people. Before you know it we'll be out on the Sunseeker, fishing and eating crab for dinner." Logan says

"Promise?" You ask

"Promise."

Part Two

[sxorpiomooon]

YOUR FS FEELINGS AFTER YOUR FIRST DATE - A PAC READING

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Pile 1-

I think pile 1's fs will meet them right after their breakup with someone or right after they had let go of something very big, something that no longer served them. Also the first thing I got was shutting down so they might be really tired when they first see or meet you and I also think it'll be late at night. I also think this late was very much delayed for some reason? It's almost as if accepting your fate like you try to avoid something so hard but can't stop it from happening so you just give in by the end. That's sort of the vibe for some reason? Lmaaao this is so funny bc right after the date they will immediately feel the need to rush things and they will be scared of rushing things too. This sort of reminds me of how people always say that the moment they met their fs they immediately knew and wanted to marry them that's the vibe. I see things going quickly too right after the first date, i see you guys going on alot of dates together I'm getting a vision of like a roller coaster date? Also you girlies are PRETTY PRETTY I had a vision of those trendy skirts and softy haha. This pile might have girlies with Libra placements I heard venus as well ANYWAYS I think your fs will immediately know it's like they will forget everything and now they are so hyped up to sum up the entire thing I heard "i belong"

Pile 2-

Hmmm I see a conflict here or two people meeting together after years? This kinda second chance romance type shit imma NGL. I also think that there is some history there as I said it might be you guys starting as enemies or simply second chance romance. Right after I wrote this my father started singing a song which basically translates to "don't leave me now" or abhi na jaao chord ke for those who want to give it a listen. Whatever it is oh y'all gonna have your LORES. Anyways I see two people legit being so grumpy on a date 😭😭 sipping their drinks this might be near water or a really pretty scenary I also hear beautiful instruments playing. Anyways all this won't last long bc I see and hear very warm laughter of both of you it's like you know in movies two people fighting something happens and they crack a laugh there's this eye contact and then one of them says or admits that "I missed you" THATS THHE VIBE OML. I see a familiar feeling that you have with an old friend. I heard "old habits die hard" out of nowhere. I also see you guys sort of making a note of learning from your past experiences to build a good solid future. This connection will be tested alot but I do see you guys being resilient. Honestly very beautiful vibe.

Pile 3-

HELL NAWWW LMAAAAAAAAAAAAO THID MAN WILL THINK THAT HE HAS TANKED THE DATE COMPLETELY DESTROYED OVER THIS HE WILL THINK THAT HE IS ABSOLUTELY DONE AND FINISHED AND THAT JE WILL NEVER GET THIS CHANCE AGAIN AND THAY JE IS A LOSER WHO FUCKED THIS CHANCE UP AND FUMBLED A BADDIE LMAAAAAAO. I see this man losing his shit legit whining wailing crying that he fucked up😭😭 I think he sort of a loser when it comes to communication. I jus see him shuttering n shit for those who are watching serendipity embrace(kdrama) the vibe is exactly like that second lead pt teacher lmao. I see him being so anxious after the first date bc he will think that he has tanked it. I think he might come across as someone who's very formal and has alot of attitude but in reality he will just not know how to talk😭 I don't even see him being able to gather the courage to hold eye contact with you. However, I do see something out of nowhere happening whether it will be him being able to meet you again or you texting him something good with happen and he will be very surprised to receive this chance or opportunity

Pile 4-

I don't see a very good vibe overall I won't lie. I see your fs being very confused with the entire date. I just think that things will perhaps not go well for this pile and I know exactly why it'll happen. One person will try to speed things up too much and it will scare the other person off. I just see one person trying to hurry everything up and it just being a big turn off for the other person. I think what this pile can try to do is perhaps not take things too fast and let the other person take their time as well. The more you try to speed things up the more it'll scare the other person off and it will end up in a disappointment. I'm sorry I couldn't give you much positive my pile 4<3

[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

[odoraful]

𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒

⟡ content: diluc/wanderer/childe x gn!reader; sfw; modern au; established relationship; fluff !! ⟡ a/n: i was scouring pinterest looking the most fitting inspo rooms for each of them hehe

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DILUC ⟡

Your shared home is an old-fashioned but charming house with a tiled roof and a brick archway leading to the entrance of the door. Diluc has a good eye for style — all the furniture pieces you select together are warm and elegant, perfectly matching with the vintage style home.

He’s a bit of a craftsman, and when you moved in he custom built bookshelves just for you. Your house has traces of Diluc’s handiwork: a wooden tissue box cover, tile coasters, a ceramic chess set.

Being a peak acts of service man, if he notices that there’s something inconveniencing you that can be mended, he’ll try to find a way to fix it. That wooden chair that wobbled yesterday when you sat down on it? The next day, it’s miraculously levelled. Always struggling to find your keys before you leave the house? There are now little hooks on the wall where you can easily hang them. He doesn’t make a huge show of it, but you’ll always kiss him on the cheek and say that you should repay him with something.

“There’s no need. Seeing you happy is more than enough for me.” He replies, running a hand through his hair, the tips of his ears turning red.

The house is IMPECCABLY cleaned — the chores are shared out between the two of you, and the both of you work like a well-oiled machine. He’ll insist that you shouldn’t carry anything too heavy though! He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself :(

One of the things that Diluc wouldn’t ever trade is getting the chance to cuddle with you in the evening on the couch. He’ll let you play with his hair and try out different styles, comforted by the feeling of your fingers running through it.

Sometimes, he’ll come home late from work tired and perhaps a bit grumpy, but the sight of you will change his mood completely.

At the sound of jangling keys and the front door creaking shut, you rush out of the bathroom and down the stairs. 

“(Y/N), I’m home!” You hear Diluc’s voice call out to you.

The day had felt far too long for him, and with far too many headaches for him to deal with. The only thing that he looked forward to at the end of it all was to see you again. 

Hearing the patter of your slippers, he looks up. It takes everything within him to keep composed at your appearance. Having just gotten out of a hot shower, your cheeks were tinted pink, hair still damp and slicked. Diluc’s eyes trailed to your clothes, a matching pair of flannel shirt and shorts. He loosens his tie, suddenly finding his breath stuck in his throat. It baffled him how gorgeous you were even in pyjamas.

Wordlessly, he reaches towards you. You look down at his hands and see as they fasten the remaining top two buttons of your sleeping shirt. In your hurry to greet him at the door, you forgot to dress properly. 

“I can’t believe I missed that...” You sheepishly say, observing his hands as they linger on your shirt. Your senses told you something was off.  “Did you have troubles at work today?”

The worry in your eyes melts his heart. Of course you were the one to peer through him and know exactly how he was feeling. 

“A few clientele at the bar today were-” He sighs, still fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt, recalling the events of the day, “-difficult to manage to say the least.” He lifts his head to meet his gaze. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” 

Your arms instinctually wrap around him and he collapses into them. Tightening your embrace, he rests his head on your shoulder.

“Diluc, I just took a shower.” You say with a light giggle, trying to pull your hair away from his face.

He feels your breath close to his ear and he wishes he could have recorded that laugh for himself to hear it over and over again. 

“I could tell.” He breathes deeply. “Is this a new shampoo?”

“Well yes, but what I meant from that is that my hair is still wet!”

You feel him smile against you. “It doesn’t bother me. Just a few more seconds, please. I need to recharge.” 

WANDERER ⟡

You share an apartment together since you travel to and from the same university. Although you’re studying different degrees and have different schedules, you’ll both make an effort to spend time together at home during the weekdays. 

You and Wanderer leave little notes cheering each other on and stick them to the walls or the fridge before you leave, or sneak them into pencil cases or onto laptop screens. He has a small box on his desk where he collects all your notes, neatly folding them up to preserve them.

Wanderer enjoys having the home quite minimalist. Just the essentials will do, but the two of you do splurge a bit more on your study space —  the comfiest chairs, wide desks, tactile keyboards — anything to liven up having to do assignments all the time.  

When you’re feeling too tired or distracted from your own studies, you’ll walk over to his desk and try to sit on his lap while he works. He’ll attempt to exert some self-control and reject your wishes, but eventually gives in after seeing your pout.

“Just because you’re distracted doesn’t give you any right to bother me.” He grumbles, resting his chin on your head.

He warns you that if you do decide to put plants in the house, you are responsible for them. Little do you know that he’s secretly also invested in their health. On mornings when you’re in a rush and forget to water them, he’ll spritz them with your spray bottle thinking to himself: If you died (Y/N) would be devastated, so don’t even think about it.

His favourite room is the bedroom. It’s a place for both of you to escape the stresses of being a student and relax together.

The alarm clock beeps and you wiggle in bed, reaching over a hand to quickly silence it. Bright sun filters in through the curtains, its light diffusing into the room. 

You force your eyes open and sit up, your body bent over like a crooked branch. Movement beside you pulls your attention as Wanderer shifts in his sleep. You can’t deny how pretty he looks even at rest. His long lashes fanned out under closed eyes, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each deep breath. His expression is that of pure peace. You know that’ll soon disappear when you both need to properly wake up and prepare for classes.

“Hey, it’s time to wake up,” you whisper, carefully coaxing him from slumber. 

Wanderer opens his bleary eyes ever so slightly, then immediately closes them. He mumbles something of refusal. You roll your eyes in resignation. When it comes to sleep, he acts like a child sometimes. You turn to get out of bed. 

Two arms wrap around your waist and yank you back. You stumble into the sheets with a yelp. Wanderer adjusts the blanket over you and pulls you closer to him with one hand. 

“Not yet.” His voice is low and scratchy, his words slurred. “Want more time in bed… with you.” 

You sigh softly, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair to detangle it. “You do this almost every morning. You’re never going to attend your lectures on time.”

He replies by nuzzling into your neck, and you hear nothing but his slow breaths. His peers would have sooner called identity fraud than believe the stony and scholarly Wanderer to be this clingy and affectionate in the morning. However, in the privacy of just you, it’s become easy for him to let down his guard. 

“Don’t try to get out of this by pretending to be asleep.” You say, deadpan.

There’s a stutter in his breathing as you catch his obvious charade. 

“Stop worrying. I’ll just watch the recording.” He finally responds. 

You realise in a fluster just how close your faces are, barely inches apart. As if sensing this, Wanderer opens his eyes once again, this time there’s a glint of mischief in them. 

He taps his forehead lightly against your own. “And besides, why would I want to spend my mornings in a noisy lecture hall when I can be with you in peace and quiet?”

CHILDE ⟡

You’ve been living together for a while now, and your home has transformed into what can only be described as organised chaos.

If Childe kept up with his interior designing eagerness, it would have been complete maximalism, but you were there to contain his excitement and still ensure your home was still practical. 

The two of you love collecting pillows, plushies and blankets, which adds even more to the cosiness! However, one day you tried to sit down on the couch and realised it was more pillows than actual seat space. In a fit of laughter, you and Childe ruled that you would rotate between different cushions every so often so you could get your couch back. 

Childe will still come home with flowers or sweets (sometimes both) as gifts for you on random nights. He’ll stand on the doorstep looking like a lovesick teenage boy asking his crush out on a date. Taking them from his hands, you’ll ask what the occasion is.

“Well, there isn’t a particular occasion.” He kisses you on the forehead. “Celebrating you should be an everyday thing.”

Board game nights are taken very seriously. You have a bookshelf filled with different types of them. Whether it’s a classic game of UNO or Jenga, or something a little more strategic, he's always hyper-competitive. You also have special punishments for if one of you loses, which are harmless but maybe a little embarrassing (One of his favourite punishments for you is ‘For the entire day tomorrow, Childe will only call (Y/N) by the cheesiest pet names’). 

MASSIVE kitchen since he loves to cook. He keeps a book of recipes from his mum and has since added new ones of his own that he has shared with you. 

“Could you come over here, baby?”

You follow your partner’s voice and the scent of something freshly baked into the kitchen.

Childe is standing behind the counter, his face in deep focus. He takes one of an array of heart-shaped biscuits and dips half of it in a bowl of chocolate before placing it on a lined baking sheet. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, exposing his forearms. His muscular build is sharply juxtaposed by the cream-coloured apron tied around himself, which has a little teddy bear embroidered in its centre. 

You approach the kitchen bench, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are they ready yet? Can I try one?” You eagerly ask. 

“Not quite, I need help dipping the rest of these into chocolate.” He stretches his arms out in front of him, shaking the tension out of them.

“That being said,” he grins, extending a hand towards you across the kitchen bench as an offer, “would you do me the honour of being my baking assistant for a little?” 

Chuckling at his dramatics, you delicately place your hand in his like royalty. “I’d be delighted to help.”  

Childe guides you to his side and helps you put on your apron. As he ties the strings together, he relays the instructions to you. 

“You just need to dip half of the biscuit into chocolate, and then add some sprinkles on top before it sets.” He tightens the bow around your waist to secure it.

How hard could that be? You think, nodding along to his words.

Demoing an example, Childe deftly coats half of the biscuit. Angling it just right, the chocolate drips off and evens itself out, leaving a perfect covered half. After placing it on the tray and adding the finishing touch of sprinkles, he gestures for you to try it yourself.

You confidently take one biscuit and dunk it. 

“Ah!” 

Underestimating its consistency, when you lift the biscuit, the chocolate slowly spreads onto the other half of the heart and drips onto your fingers. You quickly place it onto the baking sheet. Childe stifles his laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“My one looks so much worse compared to yours…” you mutter, licking your fingers to remove the evidence of your unsuccessful attempt. 

Seeing the frown on your face, he gently bumps your shoulder with his own in encouragement. “Don’t say that! I think your one has a lot more charm.” He says, adding the sprinkles onto your heart. “I’ll run some extra baking classes with you to build up your skills, how does that sound?”

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[glitterjay]

can u please please please write husbandgirldad!Jay x fem Reader (idol Jay) and he comes home after a long day of work and misses his wife

(smut)

⭒ husband!jay, idol!jay, wife!reader, married, they have 2 daughters, pet names, praising, soft dom jay, coming inside, there's some fluff, minors dni

⭒ c's note: i've become even more delulu because this man is soooo husband material 😞 i need him so bad its not even a joke anymore

⭒ taglist (open): @hollyoongs @fertilizedtoesw

please reblog if you like it! it helps me a lot

the idol life behind cameras was way harder than people imagined. the public eye does not see the amount of hard work and training idols have to go through every day to be able to give their audience an excellent performance. the support of fans is crucial for artists to be successful and so they had to fulfill things according to their preferences.

it was a big deal when jay wanted to put out in the light his relationship with you back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend, but it was a risk he was willing to take. to both of your surprises, the news didnt receive as much backlash as you expected, with some people saying jay was already an adult tat knew what he wanted, and it was his life to live anyway.

now you were openly his wife, and you and your two girl were known of. the only difference was that nobody knew who his wife or kids were. your relationship had been open ever since you were just dating, but for your privacy and now your girls' sake, jay never put your faces to the light.

he was preparing for a comeback, so he was hardly home during the day, and was only there at night to rest and then went back to work early in the morning. your two daughters said they missed their dad, and that they wanted to play with him and see him in person, not through facetime like they had grown used to for the past month. it was hard to tell them he was busy, but it was all you could say.

promotions would be over eventually, and he'd be back home for a while before the company decided to give him another comeback. it was tough to get used to at first, but the routine became a part of you.

-

it was already pretty late at night. your oldest daughter who was already 6 years old had gone to bed after a shower while you tried to comfort your crying 3 year old. she was a little irritated because she was tired, but she kept repeating the word "dada" over and over. it broke your heart, but it was too late to keep waiting, and she was evidentially falling asleep as the seconds passed.

as you tried to sing her to sleep, you heard the front door open. it had caused her to open her eyes again, and she started crying once more. you sighed and took her with you to the living room to greet your husband, who smiled as soon as he saw the both of you enter his field of vision.

"what is this little one doing awake?" he asked, taking the little girl from your arms to hold her in his. she quickly laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, it was as easy as that. she missed her dad and you couldnt blame her for it.

"she was being grumpy and stubborn. she wanted to wait for you and refused to sleep. our oldest princess couldnt make it, she went straight to bed on her own like a big girl."

jay laughed and kissed the little girl's temple, giving you a kiss on the lips after. "i'll put her to sleep with her sister and then we can catch up, mmkay?"

-

it was very sweet to see your busy husband make some time to see his daughters even if he was exhausted. he was leaning on the frame of their room's door staring at them with glistening eyes. it was the same look he had on his face when they were born. you would stay up for him and you would ask how things were going with his schedules, but it didnt last long most of the time. you were both tired, him from all the training, and you from doing everything around the house and taking care of the kids. being a mom is a full time job as well.

you waited for him in your shared bed, already getting comfortable as he changed his clothes. you laid on your side, your back facing his part of the bed, and you sighed. the day had seemed to be longer and more tiring than other, and you didnt think you'd stay awake much longer.

you felt the other side of the bed sink as jay laid down, quickly pressing his chest to your back, hugging you tightly and giving you kisses all over your neck and shoulders. you missed him. his scent, his voice, his touch. it didnt take much time for you to feel his hips moving under the covers, something rock solid poking your ass. jay was still incredibly close to you, and you could feel him breathing on your ear. his hands roamed your body, tickling your tummy as they passed by every inch of skin he could possibly touch. you closed your eyes and melted on his arms.

his hands found a stop on the hem of your sleeping shorts, sliding in past your panties as well to touch where you needed most. you let out a shaky gasp, throwing your head back to rest it on jay's body. he was still busy kissing all over your neck and shoulders, biting and licking as well. his hand was doing wonders to your clit and hole, it was a charm that was still there despite all this years.

in all honesty, jay missed all the intimacy you used to have as boyfriend and girlfriend, which was soon lost when his girls, who were his pride and joy, came into the world, and his busy schedules. the stress was starting to pile up on his shoulders, and there was nothing else he longed for more than having you all to himself like he used to.

he removed the covers that were covering both of you, and hovered over your body. he positioned himself between your legs, and stayed there for a good minute just admiring you. for some reason, his gaze made you feel intimidated, and you looked away. this caused him to reach for you face and force you to look up at him again. "is it just me, or do you look more stunning as the days go by?"

it was like your first time all over again. the sweet talk, the ghosting touches, the nervousness, the excitement that came with it, it was just beautiful. jay was quick to get his, and your lower half naked. his dick was free and for a moment your eyes almost popped out of their sockets. was he always this big?

he aligned his tip with your entrance and you saw him throw his head back at the contact. he was overly sensitive and he could've sworn the rest of his life flashed before his eyes. there was just something about you that made him go crazy in every sense, and not being able to have a moment like this in a long time had thrown him over the edge.

once he was fully in, he let you adjust for a few seconds. your walls were clenching hard on him, swallowing his cock entirely. he wanted to move, he wanted to thrust, he wanted to make you scream, but it wasnt the same as before. there were two girls soundly asleep in a room a few steps away. he had to go slow and plus, he wanted the moment to last as long as it could.

he was gentle, moving with a steady but not too fast pace. your hands held to his strong arms, which held your waist tightly. the ring on your hand was glowing and so was the one on his hand. it was a cute thing to see. jay could see the way his pace made your body move up and down and it was an amazing sight to watch.

"missed you so fuckin' much." he said between thrusts.

all you could do was groan and gasp in return. you were biting your lip to retrain your noises as much as you could. you knew that if you replied with words, your own voice would betray you, and jay would definitely make you moan out loud on purpose.

" 'm gonna make you mine again."

his words were not only directed at you, but at your pussy as well. his right hand left your waist to play with your clit, and you had to let go of his arms to cover your mouth. jay knew you were close by the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and how you body was starting to shake.

"fucking hell, you're so hot. cum for me, baby."

and right on command, you released on him, gasping for air as you tried to push him away with everything you had. it had been a long time since you came this hard, it was overwhelming to still have him inside you. to your dismay, he would keep going until he was done.

"hold on a little bit, honey. you're doing so well for me."

it was hard to hold in a scream, and jay was aware of it. the hand that was once playing with your bundle of nerves made its way to your face, where he inserted to fingers into your mouth.

"that a girl. stay busy, love. let me use you while i can."

with groans and low moans, he came inside you. the warm sensation made you have yet again another orgasm, and your sight became fuzzy. there was a ringing in your ears from the rush that died down quickly when you felt your husband kissing your thighs to soothe you up.

"im sorry for finishing inside like that," he said. "it just had been so long since i last did it.. three years to be exact."

you laughed it off with the last bit of energy you had left, and signed for him to get closer with your hand. you grabbed his face and kissed him passionately. "thankfully, i've been on the pill ever since."

"bummer, i wanted a third."

© glitterjay