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goldenroutledge · 2 days ago

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if tomorrow never comes

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, i just have a lot on my plate. ❜. based on this request.

summary: in which you and carlos drift apart and the tension boils over on your anniversary.

a/n: i’m having so much fun writing these requests! thank you to everyone requesting :)

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“When do you think you can be here, Carlos?”

His voice is tight on the other end of the line, knowing that you won’t like the answer. “An hour. Ninety minutes tops.”

You want to scream out and repeat his answer back to him so loudly that he can hear from the balcony of your shared apartment. It’ll let all of Monaco know how ridiculous he sounds. The flight attendant’s presence at the other end of the cabin helps you keep your composure. “And you’re sure that’s it? One hour?”

“Yes cariño, I promise.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m annoyed with you.”

“Can’t help it.” Carlos smiles cheekily, you can hear it in his voice. You can’t help but roll your eyes, feeling that he’s not taking you seriously. Postponing time spent together, sometimes venturing into canceling dates altogether, was becoming too frequent for your liking. But patience had to be your strong suit dating Carlos. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” You end the call abruptly, leaving him to a last minute business meeting while you’re sitting here, awaiting your boyfriend on the private jet he has abandoned. Then again it would only be considered abandoned had he shown up on time to begin with.

He’d returned home from training yesterday exhausted as ever, yet reassured you with the promise that you two would spend a few days on a quiet getaway for your anniversary. Just the two of you, alone together. A trip you’d been planning for weeks now, with the need to make it an anniversary you’d always remember. If getting away was what it took to get Carlos to relax again, to be with you free of any distractions from work, you’d do that.

Carlos regards his career with a dedicated spirit, diligently organizing his schedule to make sure nothing falls between the cracks. His training, his sponsorships, his future at Williams… As badly as he feels to leave you waiting, duty calls. A last minute Zoom meeting with a new sponsor held him back at the apartment for longer than he anticipated. While most people have already resigned themselves to the fact that they can’t have it all, Carlos Sainz is not most people. He’ll either have everything, or die trying. It’s one of the many traits you love about him. Your heart aches at the thought of it being what tears you apart.

“Champagne?” The flight attendant offers you the drink, one of two that was meant for your celebratory toast with Carlos to kick off your anniversary trip.

“Thank you, it’s been a long day.” The flight attendant gives you a sympathetic smile, watching you down the drink with no effort. If this keeps up, it’ll be a long weekend too.

–

Once Carlos finally joins you on the plane, his ask for forgiveness is difficult to deny. He brought you a bouquet of flowers so large they took up their own seat on the plane, and he hadn’t stopped showering you with love since he arrived. Something about making up for lost time, he’d mumbled into your ear when you questioned his overwhelming affection. The colors of the flowers tied in beautifully with your outfit; Carlos was sure to capture it with a few photographs.

His attention to detail was another thing that you loved about him, it drew you in everytime. When you’re together like this, free of the outside noise, you wish it could last forever. Always on the other end of the phone or outside the airplane window is something ready to whisk him away. Ideally, an anniversary spent with him would consist of a lazy morning making breakfast together, simply basking in each other’s company.

His company was hard to enjoy when you were barely experiencing it, now sitting alone at your anniversary dinner hours later. Your mood turned sour when Carlos excused himself to take a call, walking away from the table before you had a chance to express your distaste. The tension that had been simmering between you two was bound to bubble over once again as Carlos returned to your table with a guilty look, phone to his ear as he ended his call with his cousin/manager.

You didn’t bother to look up, taking your anger out on your meal instead, poking and prodding the food with your silverware. It was a delicious meal that did nothing to deserve a brutal assault by fork and knife, ruining its picturesque presentation.

“Mi amor, I’m sorry.”

“Did you know that the more you say those words, the more they lose their significance each time?”

He sighs, running a stressed hand through his dark hair. “You know the kind of pressure that I’m under right now, cariño. How much this year has worn on me in general. Please, I just need you to be a little more-”

“Understanding? Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.” You cut him off harshly, and the look you give him across the table is worth flinching from.

“You have. And I feel terrible, but it won’t last forever.” He attempts to soothe your worries, reaching for your hand. You don’t accept or deny his touch, you’re just still. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“You’re right, Carlos. It won’t last forever. You’ll make sure of it.”

“What do you mean by that? You think we’re going to break up?”

“I’m saying that if you don’t make time to nurture our relationship, there won’t be a relationship left! I’ve been here, Carlos. For you, for us, while juggling my own life and career, so don’t tell me it’s impossible. There was a time when you balanced it all before, when you weren’t working yourself to the bone because you decided you have something more to prove to the world.”

“I’m trying to balance everything, but it’s not always going to be smooth sailing. You know it’s not easy.”

“I know it’s not. I don’t need it to be, but I miss the days when you felt like our relationship was worth making time for. When I wasn’t the last of your priorities.”

“Maybe I miss the days when you understood that I’m not always going to be available for you 24/7.” Carlos rants, feeling defensive at how this time, the gloves are off, you’re finally letting Carlos feel the weight of the burden you’ve been carrying– loving enough for the two of you. Your pounding heart reminds you that it’s impossible to carry on like this. Something has to give. “Do you realize how much time I’m spending away from training to be with you? Is that not making time for our relationship?”

Tears prick your eyes in frustration, the air suddenly feeling warmer than before. Your nervous system begs you to get out of there, to leave the conversation before either of you say something you’ll regret. If it hasn’t been said already. “You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t even need any of this! I just want you! I remember the days when that wasn’t too much to ask for.”

Your hand has long dropped his, and Carlos’ eyes widen in panic as he watches you move out of your chair. “Amor, stay. Please, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Confliction moves through you like a strike of lightning, torn between staying to talk it through or taking a moment of space, after pouring out the feelings you’d spent so much time locking away. The last straw is when your waiter approaches your table, holding a small cake in his hands. On the top of it is a picture of you and Carlos together on your first anniversary, more content and in love than ever. A candle burns on the cake and wax melts down the sides, resembling the tears that wish to fall. Carlos’ eyes plead with guilt, begging you to stay and forget. Smile and pretend that right now, you’re still that happy couple printed on the cake.

Instead, you throw your napkin to your plate. “I need some air.”

–

Carlos watches you go, he doesn’t stop you. A timeout will do you both some good right now. He tries to tell himself that it’s not that bad. Couples fight. But he sits there, sullen, knowing that he’s fucked up this time. His heart burns as he stares at the picture of you two on the cake. It’s unbearable, and that little surprise he orchestrated now feels like a pointed joke at his expense. He blows out the candle and the light goes out. But closing his eyes won’t help his fear of the dark. Even he can’t run from this.

He finds you outside of the restaurant, sitting on a bench, staring down into the renewing waters of the fountain. It’s mesmerizing, the way you can drown in the sight and get lost in the calming sound. He slides his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, mi amor. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I just have a lot on my plate. But that’s no excuse to put our relationship on the backburner. I’m so, so sorry.” Carlos presses a chaste kiss to your temple, and feels comforted by how you subtly lean into his space. It’s a step. “I love you, and I’m going to listen to you. I want to make this better because there’s not a life for me without you in it. I need you, cariño. I want to be with you, always.”

“I’ve felt so disconnected from you lately and being here on our anniversary, reminded of all the happier times we’ve shared, I just… that scares me. I’m scared we won’t get back there if there’s any more distance between us.”

“I should’ve seen it sooner. The truth is, I am able to do what I do because you’re always there. You support me when things are up, when they’re down. When I lost my seat, when I got sick with appendicitis, when I won races… you’re there for it all. I took you for granted thinking that I could give everything I have to my career, when it’s you who deserves it.”

“You do give it everything, but I think you’ve lost sight of things a little bit. Usually you give me everything you have too, I mean the little cake with us on it… I love that you did that for me, Carlos. I’m only so upset because I love you too.”

Those words haven’t stopped echoing in his mind. He swears he’ll engrave them into his brain forever, as long as you’re happy. “Maybe I have been overcompensating a little bit, feeling pressure to make things perfect in my career. The year has been difficult, but I couldn’t have gotten through without you.”

You kiss his cheek, warming up to his affectionate words. He’s sincere, he truly means them. “You’re more than enough, Carlos. Just the way you are. Weathering the storm isn’t always easy but there’s nobody else I’d rather be with either.”

“Can we start over?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

“I have an idea. Should I throw my phone into the fountain, cariño? You’ll have my undivided attention for days.”

“Tempting, but no. Keep your phone dry, my love. Would you be opposed to going back to the villa? Enjoying the rest of the night in?”

Carlos wiggles his brows, as he recognizes that familiar glint in your eyes. One that shimmers with hope and longing. “We do have a pretty sweet cake being boxed up as we speak.”

“Maybe we can light the candle again? I promise I won’t leave the room this time.” Your hearts soar at the thought of blowing out your candle together, hands held as you make a new promise to each other. The past years together have been bliss and the rainbows have always shined through the cloudy skies. The next years together, you will wish for the same and even more.

“Anything for you, cariño. Happy Anniversary.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving you with no choice but to cup his jaw and bring your lips to his. The cool breeze outside is no match for either of you– you’ve got your love to keep you warm.

“Happy Anniversary, Carlos.”

💌: thanks for reading! reblogs & comments are very much appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

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Give and Take 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Steve Rogers

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Steve and Charity

Summary: the women's shelter harbours a particularly suspicious character.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Hey, Steve,” Leanne greets him as the door blows shut behind him. The unusually windy day has him out of sorts. “Breezy out, huh?”

“Yeah,” he does his best to tidy his hair. So much for that new pomade. He straightens the lapels of his jacket his tie swept over his shoulder. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Right on time.” She assures him.

The door opens and blows back on its hinges. Steve turns as a flurry gusts in around the figure. Charity trips through and barely saves the box in her arms from overturning. Steve is quick to steady it, his skin tingling as he touches her tweed sleeves. She smiles at him with a thanks.

“I’ve got some surprises,” she announces over his head, “it’s why I’m behind.”

She’s breathless. He is too. He stays close. Do something, Rogers. She’s right there.

“Can I help?” He asks.

She bats her eyes at him and her full cheeks get rounder, “sure can. You're such a doll.”

She hands him the box and he takes it without falter. It’s heavy but he won’t let her see that. He peeks at the hastily closed flaps, he can see something peeking in the small space between the cardboard.

“There’s more in my car,” she says. “Lea, you mind if I leave my bag with you while I get the stuff?”

“Sure thing,” the receptionist replies.

Everyone likes Charity. She’s a bright spot even when times are tough. At the shelter, almost every day is rough. Of course, they don’t have to be there but they choose to be. Those who come seeking help don’t have that choice.

Steve watches her swirl out and stares dumbly after her. Her beret is crooked, the bow of her blouse is half out over her jacket, and her pleated skirt catches the wind dangerous. Her full calves and the bottom of her thighs peek out at him with the rise in her hem.

“What’s in it, then?” Leanne asks.

Steve turns and clears his throat. He comes forward and leans the box on the corner of the desk. He squints as he pulls back a flap. He hums as he reaches in.

“Tampons,” he takes a package out.

Leanne laughs. Steve is slightly embarrassed but why should he be? Women need those things and that’s what they do here. Give women what they need.

Charity returns again. She has a whole wagon of boxes behind her. She bounces in proudly.

“Forgot I still had this thing in my car,” she beams.

“I could’ve helped,” Steve snaps out of his daze and shoves the package back in the box.

“Oh, no, all good.”

“Where’d you get all this?” Leanne wonders as she taps the box with her pen.

“Work! We did a promotional deal with a pharmacy and I was talking to the local owner. He donated all this back stock.” She explains bright, “just took a bit of convincing!”

Steve hesitates. He could be convinced to give her anything. Still, the suggestion makes him uneasy. What did she do?

“We can do some care boxes,” she declares. “I got some stuff to put it all in too.”

“Oh, right, well, everyone else is serving dinner,” Leanne clucks.

“I can help,” Steve offers.

“Sure,” Charity agrees. “Is the back room free?”

“Yeah, movie night’s in the rec room so just don’t go in there.” Leanne girds.

Charity goes to drag the wagon forward but Steve blocks her. He sets the box of tampons on top.

“Let me,” he insists.

“Oh, Steve, thanks.”

She remembers his name! His hand grazes hers as he takes the handle and she brushes by him. Her perfume, a discount brand that smells like cherry, wafts from her. He follows her through the heavy door she unlocks with the code and down the hall.

They get everything into the backroom, slightly crowded by the shelves of toilet paper and cleaner. She tuts and looks around. “Hope you don’t mind working on the floor.” She’s happy enough to get down on her knees as she takes a box from the wagon. “I got some zip-up pouches. That way they can keep using them after.”

She takes out one of the floral plastic pouches. He wonders if this was actually all given to her. He’d give her most anything but would a corporate shill really succumb to her so easy?

He starts moving the boxes off the wagon then folds it up out of the way. He kneels down with her, padding him knees on his coat. He’s too boney to be on the floor.

“Thank you for helping,” she says. “So, tampons, pads, lip balm, vaseline, lotion, body and face, soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste,” she goes down a pretty extensive list as she packs the first kit. “And I even got some chocolate truffles as a treat!”

“Wow, that’s quite a haul,” he says and takes a striped pouch.

“Oh, and there’s kids’ stuff especially for the youngins,” she says, “they get a puppy or kitten keychain too.”

“So you... what do you do for work?” He asks, even though he knows.

“I do communications. Mostly promotional events and all that.” She shifts onto her butt. Her hips look even wider as her skirt fans around her bent legs. “Boring. I’d love to work here full-time but a girls’ gotta pay the rent.”

“Right,” he nods thoughtfully as he takes a tub of lip balm.

“And you...?” She peeks up at him, “oh don’t forget, there’s little slots to tuck the small stuff.” She shows him the inside of a pouch.

“Um, if you think your work is boring, mine’s... dull. Museum. I do tours mostly.” He answers.

He likes his job but he’s used to people teasing. Well, he gets to look at art and cool relics and talk about it whenever someone happens by. He likes the renaissance ones with the fuller figures, they remind him of her.

“No way! That’s so cool. Do you have anything about Letizia Borgia? I read an article the other day.”

“Some, mostly artists but we have some papal stuff too,” his pulse evens out a bit. It’s easy to talk about his expertise.

“And the Medicis?” She wonders.

“I thought you were in communications,” he teases.

She laughs and it blooms in his cheeks like fire. “Between everything, I do find some time for hobbies. Though I might lose a bit of sleep.”

He chuckles, a little more tension slaking away. This isn’t as scary as he imagined. He’ll have something to report to the discord at least.

“Ha, yeah, tell me about it,” he grins.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #watchers anonymous #mcu #marvel #give and take #captain america #avengers

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ihavesimpedovermanyfictionalmen · 3 days ago

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Quiet Mornings

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀᴜꜱᴛɪɴ ʙᴜᴛʟᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: fluff... i think that's it

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏ/ɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴜꜱᴛɪɴ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ

A/N - been gone for a little too long, came up with this at literally 3 this morning so boom here ya go

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。 °。°。°。°。°。°。°。゜。°。°。

- The smell of fresh coffee fills the apartment as Y/N sits at the kitchen counter, her legs tucked beneath her, wearing one of Austin's oversized hoodies. She’s hunched over a notebook, scribbling ideas, but her eyes keep drifting toward the window, where soft sunlight spills into the room, making everything glow. There’s a peaceful silence in the air—just the soft hum of the coffee machine and the occasional rustle of pages.

Austin stands by the stove, flipping pancakes, humming a tune. She watches him with a small smile, the sight of him so domestic and natural it tugs at her heart.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she teases, resting her chin on her palm.

He smirks without looking up. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Like what?”

He flips a pancake onto a plate, turning to lean on the counter across from her. “Like how I’m a terrible liar. I’ve burned pancakes twice already, but I’ll do anything to see you smile.”

Her laughter bubbles up, and he watches her, his grin softening. In that moment, he knows: this is everything he’s ever wanted.

Y/N takes a moment, her smile lingering, before she reaches for her cup of coffee. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she says with a playful wink, and he chuckles.

“Lucky?” Austin gives a feigned look of hurt. “I thought we were past calling me cute.”

Y/N snorts. “Okay, fine. You're charming then.”

“Better,” he says, his eyes sparkling. Y/N shakes her head, returning her attention to her notebook while Austin returns his to his attempt at cooking.

Every so often, though, his gaze drifts toward Y/N—he can’t help it. Seeing her like this, calm, at ease, makes his chest warm.

She catches him looking and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I didn’t know you could look so... I don’t know, cute, while being all serious and deep in thought.”

Y/N snorts again and rolls her eyes, but there’s a light in her gaze. “What’s so cute about me staring at a notebook?”

“Everything. You just—” He shrugs with a playful grin, “I don’t know, you make thinking look like a sport or something.”

Her lips twitch upward. “I can’t believe you,” she mutters, shaking her head, but it’s clear she’s holding back a smile.

Austin walks over to the counter with another plate of pancakes and sets it down in front of her. “Eat up. You’re probably going to need the energy if you’re planning on solving all of the world’s problems today.”

She eyes the stack, then looks back at him. “I should be working, not eating pancakes.”

“Trust me,” he says, nudging her gently, “world problems will wait. Pancakes won’t.”

She picks up a fork, cutting into the pancakes slowly, savoring each bite. They sit in comfortable silence, both of them enjoying the stillness, the unspoken connection between them stronger than ever.

After a few moments, Y/N looks up, her voice softer than before. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a morning like this. Where everything just feels... okay.”

Austin’s expression softens, and he leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “Yeah?”

She nods. “My mornings are usually all chaos. Trying to get everything done, rushing through everything. But this... this is nice.”

He smiles, a little wistfully. “You deserve nice.”

Y/N looks at him for a long moment, her fork still in her hand. She’s not sure what to say, but the words come anyway. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Austin.”

His smile widens, and he walks around the counter to stand in front of her, taking her hand in his. He looks down at her, his eyes filled with quiet certainty. “You don’t have to do anything. Just be you.”

She’s quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. “I think I’m still learning how to just be me.”

Austin gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering. “You’re doing great.”

They share a moment of quiet understanding, the soft hum of the world outside their little bubble blending with the sounds of their connection. Austin’s hand moves to gently caress her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin.

“Want me to make you more pancakes?” he asks, his tone playful, breaking the silence without disrupting the moment.

“Maybe later,” she replies, her voice soft. “I’m kind of enjoying just being here with you.”

Austin smiles, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

She looks up at him, her eyes bright. “I know.”

He goes back to the stove, humming as he cracks a couple of eggs into the pan. His gaze drifts off, completely lost in the quiet, peaceful moment between them.

Y/N notices the soft smile still lingering on his face and can’t help but laugh. “Hey, Austin?”

“Hm?” he hums back, completely distracted.

“Your eggs.”

He pauses, the smile faltering slightly, and then his eyes widen as he turns to the stove. “Oh shi—”

The eggs are burning, the pan letting out a faint sizzle as the smell of overcooked eggs fills the room. Y/N bursts out laughing, covering her mouth as she giggles.

Austin sighs dramatically but can’t hide the playful grin creeping onto his face. “I swear, I’ll get this cooking thing down one of these days.”

Y/N chuckles. “Well, I’m definitely enjoying the process... just not the burnt eggs.”

Austin shrugs, his grin softening as he walks over to her. “Guess I’ll have to try again. But at least I’ve still got you.”

She leans in and kisses his cheek, her eyes soft. “You’ve always had me, Austin. Even if the eggs don’t come out perfect.”

With that, they both laugh again, the kitchen filled with warmth, the perfect chaos of their quiet mornings.

#austin butler #austin butler fandom #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #female insert #x reader

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guapitas · 3 days ago

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The Unwinding (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Chapter Five: The Alaskan Bull Worm

Chapters: one, two, three, four

Rated: Mature

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Navigating tea leaf readings with a mildly upset Draco Malfoy, and attempting to repair that little bridge. (See the overarching summary for the future of this fic, here.)

Warnings: Language probably?

A/N: Writing is just a tad difficult when you're hit with holiday seasons, a crippling fever, then the hell-bent desire to do nothing but read back to back (': thank you for everyone's patience, should you still be interested in this fic (: <3 we push through it!

You haven’t slept in days.

Which, okay, is a bit of an exaggeration– but it feels true. Like some psychological thriller, you’re constantly rescreening the events of that night in the infirmary, tossing and turning over them in your bed for an entire weekend.

What if you had said something differently? Used a different approach, or tone, even? Could you have done anything to achieve a more ideal outcome– whatever that would have been? It’s tortuous. You finally think you’ve driven yourself loony when you can’t even bring yourself to leave your room, too busy contemplating the odds of running into Draco. And, Merlin, the thought of Divination class alone is enough to knock your lungs out of rhythm.

On the bright side, there’s a single piece of good news, and it greets you in the moment that you step foot in the classroom— the widest smile on Cedric’s face.

“I’m back,” he says, singsongy when you get close, as if you hadn’t just seen him a couple days ago. Regardless, you cheer with him, offering yays towards him and Marla when you reach your chair. The upgrade from bedrest is exciting enough, but the interaction doesn’t give you an adequate amount of time to prep or stall, before you have no choice but to actually look at where you’re sitting– and who you’re sitting next to.

Draco’s no different than he’s ever been, writing something down on parchment and exhibiting no physical proof that he’s even aware of your presence. A fucking stone could fly through the window and you think he still would not let it disturb him. And, for the sake of social awareness, you have to pry your eyes away before it becomes weird.

This is perhaps the one instance that you need Professor Thyme to begin the class immediately, and of course, it’s the one time she isn’t. Instead, you’re forced to fumble around with your things and sit real stiff, too self-conscious to even make conversation with your friends. You’d probably nitpick your afterthought words more than Draco would, but you won’t take the chance.

After about eight good seconds of an attempt to build your mental fortitude and ignore, you just can’t help it– you should say something… shouldn’t you? This is your semester-long partner, someone you’ve actually been establishing solid rapport with…You have to reach out.

…Oh, but you can’t! Literally, your mouth is not cooperating with your brain and you refuse to even open it, because you fear whichever words might tumble out against your will. Maybe if you could just apologize, or try to explain whatever distress and ultimately heroic attitude you were undergoing that night– maybe then, you wouldn’t spend this entire class period overthinking every damn breath.

But just when you consider the possibility of glancing at him again– which could eventually lead to the formation of sentences– Thyme’s voice pulls you in. “Evening, everyone, evening!”

Mini textbooks soar their way over to each table as she throws herself and her students into the lesson, and once they settle, teacups on saucers follow in suit. Tea leaf readings, you presume, before you’re confirmed by the guidebook in front of you.

“Tasseography!” White chalk spells it out on the board behind her. “For today’s new adventure, you’ll read each other’s fortunes in the cups that sit before you.”

And— yeah, sure, of course you will.

She gives you the breakdown, about drinking the tea and setting the leaves at the bottom, documenting your findings— the works. With how thick the guide is, entailing an overwhelming amount of symbols and what they may mean, the assignment should be easy. Unfortunately for you, however, your partner is Draco Malfoy— particularly, a Draco Malfoy that isn’t very pleased with you at the moment.

Tea has never quite been your favorite. It has its moments, but there are certainly plenty of ways to make bad tea, and the one in your hand might as well be the worst of all. This isn’t the fault of the tea itself— in actuality, it’s devastatingly average— but you don’t think you’ve consumed anything any slower than this. There can’t be more than a few spoonfuls of liquid alone, but damn it, the lengths you’ll go to prolong the inevitable.

You’re left to your own advances, and Draco has probably finished his cup, ready to swap, but you don’t know for sure— you still haven’t looked in his direction again. What should take you maybe two minutes flat is instead pushed into five— seven if you’re patient— until there’s nothing left but the mushy leaves. They drain out at the bottom and begin to take shape with each other…Maybe you could pretend to keep drinking?

Ah, to hell with it. You lock eyes with Thyme and have no choice but to bite the bullet before causing a scene. He’s already looking at you when you finally turn to face him, expression entirely blank.

“Are you quite done?” His eyes aren’t exactly holding you hostage, but the emotionless phase is. The friendship you had been chipping at wasn’t all in your head, was it? Sure, a couple of conversations and a class-mandated assignment aren’t the most ideal indicators of companionship, but you enjoyed that time together. You had fun. Hadn’t he?

“With…”

“With the tea.” He nudges the cup with his own grounds over to your side of the table.

“Right,” you say, and oblige his implications. In the process of an exchange, you brush up against the cool skin of his thumb. The glasses are so small in any average hands such as yours, let alone Draco’s. He can’t even try to fit two fingers into the handle, so he cradles the other side and lets it swirl.

Unable to resist the nerves in your chest, you blurt, “I wanted to say sorry… for the other night.”

The contents of your cup have captured his interest far more than your words, it seems. He’s so calm that you think he may have not heard you, but he eventually shrugs a shoulder. “What for? It won’t change anything.”

“I happen to quite like Div,” you say, simply put, “and I don’t want to hate my partner. Believe it or not, I would prefer being friends.”

And, finally, something other than an unbelievable amount of impartiality graces his face. It takes a moment to decipher, but you settle on bemusement– then the smallest twitch of his mouth. “Friendship is rather optimistic.” Something about the lift of his eyebrows when he darts his gaze sideways has you cracking a smile. “But I can be civil, I suppose.”

“Brilliant.” A weight suddenly lifts itself from your shoulders, unclouding your mind for the first time in what feels like forever. “Now, on with it. What are my leaves telling you?”

Draco sits up a little straighter than before, adjusting as he raises the cup to his level. The mini inspection is brief, and in time, he notes, “You’ve got a spiral in yours, spinning counterclockwise. It’s… introspection. It’s asking you to slow down and reflect.”

It’s asking you? Oh, he must be taunting– he didn’t even look at the guidebook! And to be so certain… so succinct…

You peek over to confirm his findings. “And what if it were spinning clockwise instead?”

“You’re aware, I’m sure, that there are quite a myriad of ways to analyse divination results– where the spiral is, what surrounds it, its size…” he rambles on with a sigh, head gently lulling alongside the dramatics.

“I’m aware.”

“So something like a clockwise spiral could otherwise refer to growth, or a journey. Moving forward. It’s subjective, vague enough to be personalized to the individual. But that isn’t the fortune for you today– you’re being guided to look inwards.”

Is this Thyme, disguised as Draco, giving you a read? The theory is quickly dispelled by the tapping of her boots coming from the back of the classroom. She waves and twirls around the massive, silky drapes that frame the great window. Huh. So your eyes don’t deceive you– this is Draco.

“You knew all of this? Off the top of your head?”

He shrugs, and fucking smirks, smug as hell, despite whatever composure he’s been trying to upkeep. “One of us should be knowledgeable on the subject, don’t you agree?”

“Alright, show-off, don’t get too excited now. It’s my turn, and, honestly, I think you’ve managed to defy all laws of tea leaf readings, because I swear on my life…” You peer down into the teacup of Draco’s fortune, grimacing, then tip it to give him a better view. Even after a pause for any further ideas to reveal themselves, you have no other answer. “This is a worm.”

He scowls in an instant, managing to tenderly snatch the cup right out of your hand. Whilst he frowns down at the squiggly line of tea leaves, you take a shot at the guidebook– only half seriously– and go right to the back of the alphabetically ordered list… and there’s just no way. On its very own page… The Worm. And, to make matters worse, you don’t think you’ve ever seen the words ‘hidden’ and ‘danger’ written so frequently in a single section before.

“Good news, there’s a page for the worm symbol! Can you believe it?” Your stare is plastered onto the thick book in your hands as you skim it. “Bad news, though, the fortune itself is terrible.”

It’s his huff that lures you away from the writing, and only for a second do you lock eyes, before he’s back to scrutinizing the cup. “This is not a worm.”

“What is it, then?”

Before he can respond, your name is being called from the opposite direction. It grabs your attention and, from her table with Cedric, Marla is the source. “Have you gotten anything good?”

“A spiral! It suggests I reflect and look inwards, or something.” You nod solemnly, mentally holding onto the description that Draco gave. “And Draco got a worm.”

Marla’s brow hitches, and behind her, Cedric stifles a laugh. He absentmindedly turns through the guide, only visibly engaging in the conversation when Marla replies, “Cedric got a heart.”

“Yeah,” Cedric chimes in, leaning forward to reach within your earshot, “So don’t be surprised when I find the love of my life this term!”

Shaking her head, Marla rolls her eyes so hard it appears painful. “Romance is not the only conclusion from a heart, but, sure, why not?” She then lifts her cup from the table and lets you get a glimpse into it. “I have a key in mine. New opportunities, prosperity, adaptability…” A real sweet smile on her face contrasts the faux nonchalant shrug she gives.

“Oh? That’s so perfect for you!”

“Isn’t it?” Her eyes must twinkle with how great her grin is, the glee blooming off of her as she sets the cup back down. “I’m thinking it refers to that internship I applied for at the Astral Administration.”

“Mention my name when you’re giving acceptance speeches.”

“I’m sure I’ll give you thanks in at least one of them..”

You laugh in jest, “Ha-ha,” before Cedric draws her back in with something about an actual Snitch being an official tea leaf symbol. How very topical, in a world such as this.

When you turn back towards Draco, it’s as if class has just barely begun– his stance is identical to before, with a stone cold face and eyes that could be anywhere else but here. You wonder if the interaction with Marla was enough to upset him, but no… this is different. The disturbance doesn’t seem like it has anything to do with you at all. The cup with his worm has been nudged to the very edge of the table.

An are you okay? is on the tip of your tongue, when Professor Thyme swoops in from seemingly nowhere, right to Draco’s side. She looms over the two of you, brunette hair dangling at her elbows. “Anything marvelous in your fortune, Mister Malfoy?”

His eyes snap upwards, and his neck tilts back just the slightest, while every other aspect of him remains idle. “I’ve got a worm,” he says, with no inclination to elaborate.

Thyme’s appearance contorts with curiosity, and her lip kind of curls like she’s in on some secret– and who wouldn’t be, when so intertwined with the world of divination? Her fingertips sweep across the table as she continues to walk, digits and knuckles thinly veiled by the skin of her hand. Pleased with the participation of her students, she nods, “Excellent,” and moves onwards.

Has he given into his vermian fate? It’s rather silly, actually, how much you’d pay to know his thoughts. This entire ordeal of friendship would be made far easier by it, no doubt.

You nearly ask him, again, if he’s feeling alright, when he masterfully drags his fancy quill along his paper, keeping to himself once more. He must need time to think, you figure, with his sinister, wormy fate and whatnot, so you only mimic his behavior. With a pen, you write up something about looking… inwards… towards what? An aim to please? Crippling indecision? Whatever the case, it’s all on the table.

When Thyme concludes the class, Marla’s soft hand embraces yours, but only for a beat, in farewell, before she’s off to her next lesson. She leaves you to pack up, slipping materials into your bag alongside Draco, and unable to shake the desire to make at least one more attempt for the day. So as he stands up and out of his seat, you almost snap your damn neck to look up at him.

“Hey,” you say, perhaps beginning to accept your idiotic nature.

He halts any further movement, the strap of his book bag in hand, and meets your eyes. “Hi?”

“Me and Cedric are off to get drinks right now. Would you join us?” He doesn’t appear any more amused than before, so you try a smile. “My treat.”

Eventually, he gives way with a half-roll of his eyes, glaring to the side. “As if I need to be treated.” And you hold your breath for him to continue– to outwardly agree– but the way he slips into his crossbody bag and waits is enough to ensure your victory.

Meanwhile, since the damn millisecond of the invitation, you’ve been ignoring the fucking sear of Cedric’s eyes in the back of your head. You’ll have to apologize for this later.

Partly because the walk to El Mago Dulce is… something else. First, the pace is just utterly off. Draco’s at your left, tall and in stride, and Cedric is just a hair slower than usual to your right, not fully back in his best shape. And second, by the time you’re halfway there, you still have not mastered the balance between a dual conversation. Cedric yaps about how kind his professors have been, how he’s managed to stay on top of his workload, and the next time they’ll let him back on the quidditch pitch. Every so often, you attempt to loop Draco in, but he’s as uncooperative as Cedric is— and he doesn’t seem to particularly mind taking the backseat to this entire interaction.

And in other ways, you’d have to apologize to Draco, because you hadn’t realized that bringing him to El Mago Dulce would be like introducing him to your relatives. When you bring a third— unfamiliar but familiar— face through the door, and that bell rings, you think Panne must’ve been too surprised to even greet you. Instead, she makes a tiny ‘O’ with her mouth and stares from the table that she’s tending to.

Is she also going to be weird about this? Not that any of it is entirely unwarranted, but you aren’t sure if you can handle another conversation about how careful you should be around Draco Malfoy. The concern sort of slips your mind, though, when you and Cedric pick a booth and sit across from each other, and Draco slides in right next to you, bumping a little into your shoulder— not that he pays any special attention to it. He’s instead distracted by the pretty pink lampshades and the tall, clear pantries lined up along a wall. They’re always stocked with the freshest sweetbread, any kind you can think of.

“Ay, mijo,” Panne’s voice comes nearer at a record-breaking speed, before any of you can get a word in, until she’s at Cedric’s side of the table. He does his best to stand and meet her, but the tabletop restricts his knees, so he goes in for the hug the very best he can, grinning mad. “How are you? Did you get everything?”

“Every cookie, bread, drink, I got it all,” says Cedric, pulling his face away from her shoulder and sitting back down, his hand offering a final squeeze. “And I’m practically brand new! Not a scratch on me anymore.”

Though this isn’t… particularly true. The majority of Cedric’s injuries– scrapes and bruises and all– have gone away with remedies and time, but he’s also shown you and Marla a split on his ribcage that refuses to ease up. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, but it’s thick and scarred and you cringe just thinking about it, hidden beneath Cedric’s layers.

When they’ve just about finished catching up, a round of butterbeers finds the table, and from behind the counter, Canelo gives a small nod of acknowledgement. You wave in thanks, and Panne clasps her hands together. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Butterbeers are on the house, to celebrate our sweet Cedric’s recovery!” And there’s no protests about that.

“Have you ever tried champurrado?” You ask Draco, to which his eyebrows pinch together and he shakes his head. “I’m usually not a fan, but Panne’s is a must-try! He’ll have one, please.”

Panne has been primarily focused on you and Cedric, but now she looks at Draco, and her smile never falters. “Of course, one champurrado for sweet…”

“Draco,” he finishes, “thank you.”

And then she’s off to assist new guests that walk in, and you kind of can’t resist a breath of relief. She must know the… iconic Draco Malfoy, even by appearance alone– but to ask him his name regardless? The gesture warms your heart, if no one else’s.

“That was Panne,” you say, mostly to fill the gap of silence, “and her husband, at the bar, is Canelo. Los Dulces.”

Draco looks all confused again, eyes squinted now like he’s trying to detect something else in your words. He asks, hushedly, “Are those their real names?”

Well… mostly, you think, so you shrug, even though his sincerity urges you to laugh. A couple of years ago, you asked the same question to Panne herself, long since securing your spot as a regular. Canelo Dulce is and has always been Canelo Dulce, but Panne is a nickname. Patricia Analise Dulce… Panne. “Yeah, pretty much. A cute coincidence?”

By the time the champurrado arrives, and you’ve already had a few drinks of the butterbeers, you’re fairly certain that Cedric has looked in every fucking direction, at all corners of the café, except for Draco. The worst part is, you can’t really blame him– you did spring this on him, after all, but you didn’t think that his distaste was anything beyond a general distrust, rather than some personal beef. As always, his melodrama has been underestimated.

“It’s thick,” Draco notes, and drinks again from his new mug. You wait for further analysis, and you catch his eyes when they drag over towards yours, acutely aware of your attention. “Chocolate, cinnamon, and something else…”

“The masa, probably. That’s what makes it thick.” Your input does noticeably little to serve his curiosity, but he returns to the drink anyway.

At the other end of the table, Cedric cannot be any less engaged. Chin in one hand, butterbeer in the other, and he is fucking glowering at you. It almost makes you laugh again– and you do crack a smile– but you opt to entertain him instead. “Have I told you about my shift tomorrow? And, yes, I’m being forced to work.”

This finally subdues him, but only slightly, as he releases himself from the laser beam glare and leans back against the plush leather seat, arms crossed. “Merlin forbid you work two shifts a week.”

“Three, actually– sometimes four! Can you believe it?”

“Absolutely mad. How dare they?” He eases up now, even tossing back the little playful simper as his shoulders fall.

“Yeah, well, I’ll forgive them this once. I’m doing another tour tomorrow and it’ll be the last before the snow sets in! Butterflies everywhere, fairies working overtime, and the gardens coming out of transition phase. It’ll be perfect.”

To your side, Draco is slithering around at the mere mention of fairies. That memory of your time together at The Grove rouses you, so before Cedric can respond, you add, “Draco actually met Flora the other day.”

Cedric stalls in his reply, locked up with your gaze, like he’s wondering if you’re being deadass, if you’re really trying to force him into a conversation about and– oh god, maybe even with Draco Malfoy. It takes everything not to giggle at how quickly the buoyancy is wiped clean off his face, leaving a dry smile in its wake. He yields, though begrudgingly, “Really…”

And… that’s all. You hold out hope for him to say literally anything else– anything that you can use to propel the conversation further– but the makeshift rhetorical question is the last of his contributions. Your attempt is hopeless, however, like your savior, Draco butts in all on his own.

“That bloody Flora, wouldn’t mind if I never saw her again.”

This has you jumping to her defense now, testifying on behalf of Flora’s good character, and joyed to have something to work a conversation with. Although the sneer on Draco’s face is relentless, you’ve at least got his ear. “Oh, and just wait ‘til you meet Ivy! She’s much easier to befriend.”

This route of conversation, though purely accidental, might be your saving grace of the evening, if only Cedric would give in. You watch each other for a few hardened seconds, before he shifts his attention over to Draco, utterly defeated. He fishes something from the logs of his memories in an attempt of affability, on your behalf. “When I first met Flora, she managed to sic a colony of fire ants on me. One crawled right up my leg and burrowed itself, until I was a case even Madame Amani had never seen before. So… you’re not quite alone.”

His voice is so calm, entirely opposed to his live reaction that day, maybe two years ago now, and it has you laughing, even if neither of your companions are up for that sort of mood at the moment— the absurdity of the memory still drags it out of you. And the masked terror on Draco’s face does nothing to quell your hilarity. Through your fist, you physically attempt to reign yourself in and intervene once more, “To be fair, that was mainly George’s doing. It was all in good fun.”

“And you made no effort to talk sense into either of them! Quite the friend you are, I should’ve cut you off right then.”

“Yeah, you should’ve.”

Draco and his everlasting posture endures in the spot next to you, but he leans into the seat a little further now, perhaps, like Cedric, accepting the circumstances. It had earlier crossed your mind that you may have to cut this coffee date short, make something up about schoolwork or preparations for tomorrow’s tour, only for the sake of mimicking a natural end to an awkward event. Though by the time your butterbeer dwindles down to nothing at the bottom of the glass, and Draco offers up the rest of his own– “The champurrado is superior anyway.” – you find those efforts unnecessary.

When you’ve managed about half of the second mug, giving up on the rest, Panne interrupts a conversation about quidditch cups. It’s nice, for a moment, to experience the conversation rather than lead it. In one hand, she has another rolled up bag with what must be sweetbread, and with the other, she palms it flat against the plane of her chest, right over her heart.

“Those poor kids,” she says, sullen, and meets the confusion on your face. You weren’t quite aware that the news had made it so far out of campus, though word spreads fast, and perhaps news outlets even faster. “Canelo checks the papers every day, and nothing! Zilch, nada. No updates on them.”

“It’s the same for us at school,” says Cedric, in a softer voice now that the bell is ringing at the entrance, bringing in more guests and bigger crowds. “Nurses won’t tell us a thing.”

Panne curses to herself and leaves the bag at the center of the table, rolled up nice and neat. “You three be careful. I don’t think our old hearts could take it if you were hurt.” She directs her attention between you and Cedric then adds, “Make sure you tell Marla this, too.”

If Panne had wielded the same information about the potential cause of this tragedy— or that you dared to press the matters and get involved— would she be upset? Try to convince you to leave the situation alone, to let the professionals deal with it? Maybe, and perhaps she’d be right to do so. The clutter escapes your mind as you bid farewells and head back to campus, Cedric wasting no time to unravel the bag.

“There’s an extra vanilla!” He looks across from you, finding Draco on the other side, and holds out the offering. “Must be for you.”

Once distributed, and the lone strawberry is wrapped up to be saved, Draco finally speaks up again, mostly to himself, and just before biting into the treat, “How could they possibly know vanilla is my favorite?”

Cedric is the first to split off once you hit the edge of campus, leaving you and Draco to lead once more to the Slytherin dormitories. The sweetest nap in the school’s most comfortable bed awaits you, now that you can bear to sleep again. In this spirit, there aren’t many words to be said as you walk, instead embracing the breeze and dusting sugar powder off your fingertips. This was a success, you think, and you wonder if Draco might be inclined to join again on one of your butterbeer outings.

Down the last turn to the dorms, a voice calls out, “Mister Malfoy!”

Your head whips around in every direction, but not a single person in sight appears to be the source. Had Draco not followed the sound, you might’ve thought yourself to have imagined it. He even replies to someone you still cannot pinpoint, “Good to see you sir.” A little bow of his head steers you straight to the wall, where a portrait of a man waving a few fingers greets you in passing.

“You‘re friends with the portraits?” Mentally add it to the list of fun Draco facts that have surprised you thus far; though, upon consideration, it sort of suits him.

“They’re good company.” He speaks so casually, and glances into your gaping eyes when he doesn’t get a response. “Rather wise, too.”

It’s a jovial stroll to the common room, where Draco mutters something about alchemy coursework and scurries off up his set of stairs, too fast for you to even slip in a meaningful goodbye– or to segue into a debrief of the afternoon. It’s too bad, but you figure that you’ll catch up with him again during the next class.

Nothing insane has changed by the end of the day, really. Your relationship with Draco has been remedied, and he and Cedric may be able to do more than simply scowl at each other now, but the world still spins, and much business has yet to be tended to. Best save it for another time, you agree upon yourself when you’ve curled up in bed at the end of it all.

As for now, the weight of Draco Malfoy on your mind, particularly for the nth night in a row, is becoming too much to bear. Though, for once, you’re at ease, because at the rate things are going, with the amends and truces of the day, all should be settling back to what it once was– or even to a new and improved version, you dare to hope. This will be the last night Draco Malfoy consumes your consciousness. And in the back of your brain, swinging between sleep and wakefulness, Henry Selwyn and Rebecca Avery. Finally, anxiety has no grip on your heart, and surely the nurses will find a way to cure whatever curse or illness has fallen upon them. You’re certain of it.

..taglist? (': @malfoy-mrsdracomalfoy <3

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #reader insert #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x you #harry potter #draco malfoy fanfiction #fanfiction #forgive any dogshit writing here #genuinely have mercy #yeahh i still have no idea how tumblr works my bad everyone

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vinylfoxbooks · 9 hours ago

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February 10 - Euphemia Potter | @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 638

Regulus, despite being strictly against waking up in the morning, had a body that decided to wake up at seven in the morning and not be able to go back to sleep. So, every morning, he has to slink out of bed and make his way downstairs, where Effie is always setting up her things to make breakfast while waiting for James and Fleamont to get back from their run and for Sirius to wake up.

She smiles at Regulus whens he hears him, “Good morning, Reg.”

“Morning.”

The woman laughs at the tone, as she normally does, “You’re up a bit later than usual?”

Regulus groans, going to fill the kettle with some fresh water, “I laid in bed for a solid twenty minutes trying to coax my body to go back to sleep.”

“You know that won’t work, how many times have you tried it?”

He hums, “Yeah, but the definition of insanity is trying the same thing repeatedly hoping it’ll work, and my family most definitely has traces of insanity within our blood.” His quip makes the woman laugh again, a bell of a sound that relaxes Regulus’ tired limbs like honey -- she has the same laugh as James, just as bright and smooth and Regulus adores when he hears it from either of them.

“We keep offering you the sleeping draughts that Lee makes, they’re always open to you.” Regulus shakes his head and is going to say something, but the door to the house opens and two voices fill the mostly quiet air, laughing. Regulus feels his heart soar at the sound, but he knows that he’s not going to see James quiet yet -- they like to shower immediately after their run, something about their day being all off if they go around feeling gross from it if they wait too long. But Fleamont always has a different plan.

In comes the man to the kitchen, opening the door and wolf whistling, “Good morning, beautiful.”

The sound makes Effie laugh and shake her head. She takes a break from where she’s mixing the muffin batter to turn and look at him, “I’m in my pajamas, Lee. And besides, there are children present.”

“He’s 16, he’s probably seen and heard worse,” the man shrugs, walking over to the island and going to sit down for a moment, “And, for your information, you look beautiful in anything that you wear. And besides, it’s a legal obligation of mine to compliment you any time you’re in my presence.”

“Oh is it?”

“Mhm, don’t you remember the clause in our wedding certificate that states that? It was in bold red.”

Effie rolls her eyes, “Oh yes, how could I ever forget?”

“That’s simply why I’m here to remind you.” He stands up, walks to her and pulls her into him by the waist, pressing a quick kiss to her lips and mumbling about how he’s excited for breakfast before going to shower and change.

When he’s gone, the woman turns to Regulus, who’s now pouring himself a cup of the boiled water to start steeping his tea, “Make it your goal to marry a man as devoted as him.”

“I think I’d get annoyed.”

“Oh you’d be surprised,” Effie smiles, the motion of it crinkling the corner of her eyes, “They can be worse.”

And it’s just as she says it does James traipse into the kitchen, wolf-whistling much like their dad did before and adventuring across the kitchen to wrap their arms around Regulus’ waist, muttering, “Good morning, mi estrella.”

It makes Effie laugh once more, “Oh James, you and your father.”

“What did we do?”

“Nothing, love,” Regulus shakes his head, though he does send a grin to Effie, “I’m sure I’m already taking the right steps to achieve that goal.”

“I would think so.”

#euphemia potter the woman that you are #she's getting all the love today #because she deserves it #marauders #james potter #dead gay wizards #regulus black #jegulus #james x regulus #euphemia potter #fleamont potter #euphemia x fleamont #nonbinary james potter #jeggyverse microfic #microfic

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kiwii-11 · 11 hours ago

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it’s a secret!

in which . . . honey and her least favourite roommate don’t have a lot in common that they can talk about, other than the topic of romance, surprisingly.

or . . . kayla questions honey’s love life just in time for guy to come home from work.

cw . . . gn reader, they/them pronouns, second person pov, during the time when the two are roommates with kayla, after the confession, secret dating, honey! reader, set in university, honey is a great cook bc i said so, honey also teases guy as much as he teases them

even though you would rather be caught dead than hanging out with your third roommate, kayla happened to still be in the kitchen when you left your room to make your dinner.

when you put the ad up looking for some new roommates, you weren’t really expecting a miracle. but you were a bit annoyed the first time you opened the fridge to find your lunch taken with a note replacing it saying ‘sorry have morning class’. and then again when your laundry was all pink because she tossed in her red bra with your whites. you weren’t expecting this kind of roommate, and you were lucky when guy saw your ad around campus and hit you up after your shared elective class. he, at least, didn’t miss rent due to his job at the pizza place, and never asked you to cover.

it was better than paying for the whole thing alone, you would tell yourself.

and then you see that you have no more passata sauce and that kayla is eating tomato soup. typical.

“hey,” she calls as she stares at her phone, “you eating now too?”

“looks like it,” you respond as you try to figure out what to cook now, “what are you still doing up? you have classes in the morning.”

“yeah, well, i’m gonna skip,” she claims with shrugged shoulders, “this guy from my econ class asked me out so i’m going out. i won’t be back til late at night, he wants to take me around the city all day.”

you glance at the calendar on the fridge. it says in kayla’s chosen colour ‘DATA ANALYSIS 9:30AM - 12PM’ and right after that, in the same colour, ‘WORK 1:30PM - 7PM’. instead of asking, you just grab the base ingredients you like the look of. “enjoy yourself.”

“i will,” she hums with a smirk, “and what about you? you don’t tend to bring a lotta’ people back to the apartment.”

“all my friends have their own places,” you explain as you take out the chopping board, “we hang out in the study hall or just around campus.”

“huh, to be honest, i thought it was because you were a weird loner,” kayla says as she stirs her soup and you try not make a comment, “well, what about any new people?”

“‘new people’?” you repeat in question as you take our the pan from the cupboard.

“yeah, like…” she begins to think to herself before she leans over the counter, “any cute girls from your classes? or what about that handsome barista from the campus cafe?”

you furrow your brows at her as you gather the rest of your utensils.

“remember when we were there at the same time last month?” she begins to say, “i’m pretty sure he’s into you.”

“i barely know the guy, i’ve talked to him like twice,” you roll your eyes as she purses her lips, “even if i was interested in him, no way would i bring him to our apartment.”

you meant it as to have some decorum. it was a little remark towards her, as if to tell kayla that yes, you had been home on the weekend when her and her boyfriend at the time were getting ‘busy’. but she doesn’t catch your drift.

“yeah, that makes sense,” she speaks as she finishes up her dinner, “there’s always something going on around here.”

you begin to prepare your ingredients as you heat up the pan. kayla sat on the bench across from you, so at least she wasn’t completely in the way.

“that reminds me, your friend still hasn’t contacted me about the latch on our bathroom window,” you say as you raise a brow at her, “if the landord sees that before i can fix it—”

the door opens up and cuts you off short, revealing a dishevelled guy. his shirt was all crinkled, his shoelaces untied and his eyes were droopy. you raise a brow at him as he locks the door behind him and drags himself over.

“hello…” he grumbles out.

��hey, guy.” kayla chuckles as she sees him slump on top of the counter.

“you look like shit,” you point out as garlic goes into the pan, “what happened at work?”

“thank you so much, honey,” he sighs out as he stretches across the bench to tap your hand, “it was like every single family in dahlia decided to order pizza tonight. but it’s okay, i made good tips!”

he waves a wad of cash in the air lazily. you shake your head and continue to cook.

“speaking of ‘tips’—”

“shut it.” you cut kayla off.

“c’mon, you don’t think he’s hot?” she pries as she moves around to put her dishes in the sink, “i would totally go after him.”

“you guys talk about me like i’m not here,” guy suddenly quips, as if he’s been revived from the dead, suddenly so interested in the conversation, “so… who’re we actually referring to, hm?”

you send him a little glare as you grab the wooden spoon. guy gives you his best innocent smile and you roll your eyes.

kayla pipes up, none the wiser, “i’m telling them to go and ask out the hot barista from the campus cafe.”

“oh, the one with the piercings?” guy raises his brows.

“that one, yeah.” kayla smiles.

“ooh, he’s totally your type!” he cheers as you turn back to him and chop some more ingredients up, “why don’t you wanna’ ask him out, honey?”

it had been two weeks since guy had crashed into your room and the two of you confessed to each other. you decided to keep it a secret from kayla, just so it didn’t get awkward until you two could move out together alone.

guy wasn’t too fussed about it, he practically enjoyed sneaking around. he would sneak little letters into your bag before you would leave for work or for classes, and when you’d text him, he’d pretend he had no idea.

this little conversation was only another one of guy’s teasing moments. the glint in his eyes makes you sigh in annoyance.

“he’s not even…” you drawl on, “i don’t know, i’m not really into him.”

“well, is there anyone you are into?” kayla tilts her head.

you could practically hear guy’s little thoughts giggling. he’s probably eating all of this up, you just know it.

guy walks over to the fridge beside you and takes a soda can from the shelf. he hums happily as he opens it and begins to drink.

“i’m into my project partner from software engineering.”

your roommate beside you spits his soda all over the fridge and himself.

“really? oh, he’s really cute too!” kayla gasps as she takes her phone out of her pocket, completely disregarding her dirty dishes in the sink, “i’m mutuals with him, guy, you gotta’ see this man!”

“‘man’?” guy repeats with an offended expression. kayla shoves her phone in his face with your project partner’s instagram on screen. “is this him? he’s… not that good-looking.”

“are you blind?” kayla scoffs as she steps away from the delivery man, “he’s so hot, you’re so lucky he’s your partner, i heard he’s super smart! i bet he’d be such a good boyfriend!”

“you think so?” you hum with a smile as you stir the food, “i’m meeting up with him tomorrow afternoon for the project, maybe i should ask him out.”

“yes!”

“don’t!”

you both look at guy, who has stopped wiping the soda off the fridge. his face is flushed and he looks perplexed.

“i—i mean don’t leave me out of this! i’ve got tons of ideas!” he anxiously chuckles out as he nudges your arm gently with his knuckle, “so, uh, when… do you think you’ll pop the big question?”

“i’m not asking him to marry me, idiot.” you snidely remark.

“might as well.” kayla chortles.

you could hear guy’s thoughts just by glancing to him. he’s crushed the can in his hand by accident and his eyes keep switching between you and your third roommate.

“maybe i’ll ask him out to dinner,” you hum as you shrug, “or i could take him back here and cook for him.”

“ooh, that’ll be the only guy you’ve ever taken home! i was startin’ to think that maybe nobody likes you!” kayla bumps her hip with yours, making you accidentally spill some of your cooking onto the bench next to the stove, “guy, you’d be good friends with him!”

“i highly doubt that,” he grumbles as he puts the can in his hand on the bench, “he’s probably not that cool…”

before she can reply, kayla gets a text on her phone in her pocket. as she’s distracted answering it, guy pinches your side. you elbow him in the stomach. he hunches over with a fist against the bench.

“shit, i forgot i have to stop by my friend’s dorm,” kayla claims, which you know is code for her going out all night and not coming home til the next day, “see you guys later!”

she doesn’t wait for you two to answer as she leaves, shutting the door so harsh that the walls shake. her dishes are still in the sink. you roll your eyes with a sigh and turn back to your cooking.

a second later, you feel hands on your hips.

“guy.” you warn.

“what’s wrong, honey?” he asks with his chin on your shoulder, “is somethin’ on your gorgeous little mind?”

you feel him cuddle closer to your standing position. “yeah.”

“and what is that?”

“how i’m gonna ask out my project partner.”

guy lets out a scoff as he leans back with furrowed brows. “you can’t be serious. honey, you’ve already got all my attention, why do you try irrevocably so to garner it in such a way? i—i’m hurt! wounded! you wound me!”

“well, it’ll get kayla off my back,” you explain as you grab a bowl for your food, “she won’t suspect us if i go out on one date with him.”

he pouts as he pulls away, leaning against the counter across from you. he crosses his arms with a tilt of his head. “you won’t ask him out, right? we could always just… tell kayla.”

“hell no,” you scoff, “she’d find some way to get herself outta’ paying rent. i’m not risking that. and she’d go off and tell everyone every little detail about ourselves.”

he shrugs his shoulders and watches you move your food into the bowl. “you’re right, i guess. perhaps you’ll just have to play single til we move out together.” guy offers, as if it was the only solution, “your project partner, left all alone with no honey to help him. cast aside as if he was nothing more than—than a piece of dirt on your clothes! twas a shame, really.”

“shut up,” you say as you sit down to eat, “go ‘n shower.”

“can i have some?” he asks, trying to nudge himself onto the seat with you.

“did you hear me?” you grumble as he takes your fork, “i could’ve made you some if you asked.”

“ugh, it’s so good,” he mumbles out instead of acknowledging your comment, “honey, if you ever need a husband, i am right here. i’d take such good care of you. i’m also so sexy that you could just stare at me all day and not have to worry about me.”

“could do all that and more with my pro—”

“oh, be quiet,” he chuckles as he lifts himself off your stool, “i’ll go shower, and then we can watch a movie. we don’t have any classes tomorrow.”

you hum in agreement as you watch him round your spot. guy gives you a cheeky grin before leaning into you and kissing your lips.

“don’t miss me too much.” he chimes.

“i—”

the door swings open and kayla comes barrelling through again, saying something about forgetting her car keys. guy is quick to jump away from you, hitting his hip in the process. you watch as kayla rummages around the drawers before she finds them and then leaves again. you blink and turn to guy, who is rubbing his side with a vibrant embarrassed blush covering his face.

“go shower, guy.”

“okay, honey.”

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted audio guy #redacted asmr guy #redacted audio honey #redacted asmr honey #redacted fandom #redactedverse #redacted audio x listener #redacted asmr x listener #guy x honey #kiwii // redacted audio

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rederiswrites · 3 days ago

Text

[read it on AO3]

It had been a week since they’d found D’Meta’s Crossing. A terrible, helpless week, in which they’d turned up no new leads, no next steps. No way to fight back against the vastness of this cruelty and destruction. A horrible emptiness and fatigue had crept into Arden’s every waking moment.

“I don’t know, Varric,” he said. “I just don’t–how can something so cruel exist? Why would any thinking creature do this?”

There was a moment of silence as Varric shifted in his cot, trying to sit up more. Arden got up quickly, arranging the pillows behind him, until Varric settled back with a nod of thanks.

“You know, I like to pretend I have a knack for words, but that’s one I can’t explain. People do a lot of evil. Sometimes they’re just so tangled up in their own hurts, they think they’re just protecting themselves. But this? I think this is something different.” Varric stopped, scratching his chin where the stubble was getting thick. “Solas said they were Blighted. Well, that’s like Corypheus. Like Meredith, at the end, given what we know about red lyrium. I think they were always cruel people. But the Blight made everything so much worse. And if that’s true–Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, they’ve been Blighted for thousands of years.”

On the floor next to Varric's cot, Arden put his head in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes. He leaned into his hands hard, trying to gain an inch to think. Maker, why couldn’t he just think?

“I feel so…bad!” he finally burst out. “Varric, why do I feel so bad? What’s wrong with me? I can’t sleep, and I can’t wake up. I ache! And there’s this…this burning in my chest, and it just won’t go away. It’s like I could swallow it down but I can’t.” For a second, he felt himself shake, as if he were about to cry, but as always these past days, no tears came. “Am I Blighted? How would I know?”

“No,” said Varric. “No, I don’t think that’s it. Rook, you ever lost someone? Someone close?”

Arden looked up, confused. “I mean, my grandmother.”

“The one that called you ‘boy’ and liked to tell you they should’ve left you on the battlefield as a baby?” Arden nodded. “Yeah, not sure I’d call that someone really close, then,” Varric said dryly.

“Why? What’s that got to do with it?” Arden asked.

Varric sighed. “Because I think what you’re feeling is grief.”

The two of them sat in silence, the shadows of the room wrapping around them. Arden stared at Varric, but Varric was looking into the invisible distance, seeing who knew what.

“Grief?” It didn’t make sense.

“Grief,” said Varric, “is a terrible thing. It eats everything around it. It drains you, body and soul. You feel it in your heart.”

Arden sat with that, eyes closed, and at last he felt the bloom of tears against his eyelids. He took a shaky breath.

“D’Meta’s Crossing. All those people. Children. There were children, in the–” he couldn’t say it, and couldn’t erase it. In the pulsing, tangled masses, amidst the boils and sickened roots. In the piles of dead, heaped up by the uncaring hands of people who had once loved them. “All dead. And how many more, Varric? How many dying right now, and I’m just sitting here, and I can’t even pull it together.”

“Yeah, that’s the grief. I’m sorry, Rook.”

“How…how do you manage? How do you live with it?” There were tears on Arden’s cheeks now, but it was no relief. “It’s crushing me!”

“I know. I know, kid. I’m sorry. It–” he broke off, closing his eyes for a minute. “It gets lighter, bit by bit. You go for stretches where you forget. Sometimes you wake up in the morning and it’s not the first thing you think about. But it’ll hit you again, out of nowhere. You just…get used to it.”

“It feels impossible.”

“Yeah, but people do it every day. And it’ll teach you something, too.”

“What’s that?” Arden asked.

“To value what you have, while you have it. To make sure you love things while they’re here.” Varric sighed again. “Especially if you didn’t do that before it was too late.”

It hurt so much. Arden took breath after breath, but every time it felt like he wouldn’t be able to take the next one.

“Nothing can ever be the way it was,” Arden choked out. The burning in his chest was so strong; it was agonizing. “Can we even stop them? Can we save anything? Varric–” and he said the name like a plea; please, please tell me it’ll be okay, but it can’t. It can’t be okay. “Varric, this is my fault.”

“Hey! Hey, look at me.” Arden obeyed, looking up at Varric, vision warped by the tears. “We’ve been over this. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. Well, mine and Solas’. You did what I asked you to.”

“What difference does intention make if it destroys so much!?” Arden was nearly shouting, now. “What I’ve let out–it’s worse than anything Solas was doing! At least he meant there to be a world left when he was done! This–this is going to destroy everything!”

“Okay, you want to talk about fault?” Varric snapped. “Let’s talk about fault, because we’ve been over all this before but I know you’re forgetting. Who was it that found that knife in the Deep Roads, back when it was red lyrium? Me. Who was there when we freed Corypheus? Me. Sure, I thought what I was doing was good then, too. How many people have died? Nobody can count. We’re still fighting the red lyrium. Maybe we always will be. I’m too old to pretend about this, Rook. Almost every damned time something went straight to the Void in the last twenty years, I was right there in the middle. So do you hate me?”

“No!”

“What about Solas? His ritual. His dagger. His war, that we’ve gotten sucked into thousands of years later. Do you hate him?”

“I don’t…I don’t think so? I mean, we’ve seen what he was fighting. I don’t even know what to think, any more.” Arden swiped a sleeve across his nose, trying to stop sniveling like a child. “I don’t know, any more.”

“We didn’t create all this cruelty, Rook. We just…tripped over it, I guess you could say. Tore the wound open. And maybe I should hate myself. And maybe some days I do. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. A lot of really big mistakes.” Varric stopped, taking a deep breath. “Maybe that’s why I don’t want to give up on Solas, who knows.”

“Varric, no–” Arden ached. Varric almost never opened up like this, and it was terrible to see.

“But you aren’t one of those mistakes, kid. You’re one of the best decisions I ever made.” Varric nodded to himself. “And I know that you’ll find a way through this.”

“How?”

“For now? One step at a time. Just figure out the next step, Rook. It’ll get easier once you’re moving.”

#write what you know hahaha #this is definitely only about a video game haha #stuff red wrote #arden mercar #dragon age #dragon age rook #varric tethras

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sturniololuvz · 2 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/sturniololuvz/775043131391475712/little-sister-sees-chris-drinkingsmoking-underage

smoking ver? 🫣

okayyy!

“Caught in the Act”

Chris sturniolo x sister

Warnings : smoking

Y/N had been searching for Chris for the past fifteen minutes. She had just finished her homework and wanted to show him a funny video she found, but he was nowhere in the house. Matt and Nick were inside playing video games, so she figured Chris had to be outside.

Sure enough, when she stepped onto the back porch, she spotted him leaning against the side of the house, his hoodie pulled up, back turned to her. She was about to call out to him when she noticed something strange—his hand lifted to his lips, and when he exhaled, a thin cloud of smoke drifted into the air.

Her stomach dropped.

“Chris?” she called, her voice hesitant but firm.

Chris jumped, immediately fumbling to hide the cigarette in his hand. He spun around, eyes wide with panic when he saw his little sister standing there, arms crossed, looking both shocked and disappointed.

“Y/N—what are you doing out here?” he asked quickly, his voice unnaturally casual.

“I was looking for you,” she replied, stepping closer. Her nose scrunched at the smell lingering in the air. “Are you smoking?”

Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew he was caught. There was no talking his way out of this. “Look, it’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?!” Y/N cut him off, her voice rising. “Chris, that’s disgusting! And it’s bad for you! Do you even know what that does to your lungs?”

Chris groaned. “Oh my God, you sound like Mom.”

“Well, maybe you need to listen to Mom,” she shot back, her 13-year-old attitude in full force. “Why are you even doing this? Since when do you smoke?”

Chris avoided her gaze, shuffling his feet. “I don’t do it all the time… just sometimes, when I’m stressed or whatever.”

Y/N’s expression softened slightly, but she was still upset. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. There are literally a million other ways to deal with stress that don’t involve ruining your lungs.”

Chris sighed, rubbing his temples. “Y/N, please don’t say anything to Nick and Matt, okay?”

Y/N frowned. She hated keeping secrets from her older brothers—especially one like this. But at the same time, she didn’t want to get Chris in trouble.

“I won’t if you stop,” she bargained, her tone serious. “Like, for real. No more of this. It’s not worth it, Chris.”

Chris looked at his little sister, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes. He knew she wasn’t just being dramatic—she actually cared.

After a long pause, he sighed. “Alright… I’ll stop.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Promise?”

Chris chuckled softly and held up his pinky. “Pinky promise.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment before linking her pinky with his. “Good. ‘Cause if I catch you again, I am telling Nick and Matt.”

Chris rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

As they walked back inside, Chris felt a little guilty—but maybe Y/N was right. Maybe this really wasn’t worth it.

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #sister sturniolo #sturniolo series

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beabnormal24 · 3 days ago

Text

You got the funk (gets me stupid, gets me drunk) ~ Franco Colapinto/Lando Norris, 6k, E

Or: 6k of Franco giving Lando road head

Lando swiftly glances at the blinking red icon of their position on Franco’s phone screen, a poor resemblance of an arrow if Lando could see it clearly, though that might be an arduous attempt in the complete darkness of this road, no lamplight in sight, nor any other kind of light source except for his dazzlings.

And the ones of the other car almost blinding him, rushing next to them before finally disappearing into the darkness.

Lando hears Franco muffle a sigh next to him.

“What?” He asks, for a second turning his eyes away from the road for a second, enough to take into the sight of Franco stretching his arm across the headrest, looking worriedly at his phone, another maps’ app open on the screen. “What?”

“I think we are lost.”

Lando snorts, releasing the accelerator when he spots a darker shadow on the tarmac in the distance, that might or might not be a hole. It’s better to be safe than sorry, anyway, and, although he might never admit it in front of Alex, he does treat his Camaro like his daughter.

Excuse him, but he freaking paid for her with his own adult money, he would probably cry if he ever saw a scratch on her.

“Yeah, figured.” He mutters, feeling his thighs clench when they pass over the shadow, the bottom of his seat poking into his back for a second before going back to normal. A hole, indeed, then. “I can’t see anything, mate, just bloody trees.”

The greenish tips of a forest surround the car on each side, following their path like faithful hounds, half drowned in the blue darkness of a waxing crescent night, half caught in the yellowish shadows coming from their headlights.

Lando won’t admit that he’s at least a tiny bit scared, mostly because they haven’t really seen anybody aside from that idiot running against twenty speed limits for a while.

Which means that, perhaps, now they are the idiots.

“It’s beautiful.” Franco says, knocking his elbow against Lando’s on the middle armrest. Lando snorts, raising an eyebrow without even looking at him. “No, vale, it’s scary.”

Lando pats his thigh for a second, smirking to himself when it makes Franco jump only slightly in his seat. “How long did the thing say we should stay on this road?”

“Eh,” Franco makes a half-aborted sound, his voice coming out as a squeak, “There is no signal, now. But it said 20 minutes? Maybe 25?”

Lando has to stop himself from closing his eyes and banging his head against the headrest because, well, there’s still a not very smooth road in front of them, he is half sure that they saw a deer’s sign a few miles ago and he can’t see shit past seven feet in front of them.

If he were to hit a deer he is sure that Alex would be able to tell even from miles away and come and get Lando’s head himself, even if Lando would probably already be curled up in a ball on the asphalt, crying and swearing he would never drive again.

And he also wouldn’t want to scare Franco, of course.

He groans, instead, gripping the steering wheel with a hand and swiftly avoiding the upcoming hole on the right side, wheel just catching the edges of it. “Shit that’s a lot of time.”

“You didn’t tell me that Carlos liked living in the countryside.” Franco says, slumping against his own seat. “Wasn’t he like- rich?”

Lando is only half jealous about not being the one just sitting there in the car and doing nothing. But allegedly, he would never let anyone but himself drive his car and, of course, there’s nothing better than getting to see Franco’s profile in the half shadows, the adorable curve of his nose and the plush of his pouty lips.

Franco sits there being the perfect passenger princess all the times, all pretty and silent when Lando is not in the mood, chatty when Lando needs it.

So, really, no complaining at all.

“Yeah, loaded.” He shrugs, leaning his chin over his free hand. The perks of an automatic, especially when he has to drive for so long in a semi-straight line. “But, you know, he and Alex have like tons of horses and dogs and shit, so…”

“Didn’t you say you have horses, too?”

Lando can feel the tips of his ears immediately blooming red. It’s not like he is ashamed in any way, it’s just- “My sisters do horse riding.” He mumbles.

“Rich boy.” Franco singsongs, tapping Lando’s elbow, and even though he knows it’s teasing, Lando can still feel the deep red roots of embarrassment clawing at his cheeks.

He was born in a pretty comfortable household, alright, but he studied to be where he is right now and he swears, he really bought this car with his own money.

He splutters in protest, “I am-“

“Not rich?” Franco interrupts him. When Lando glances swiftly at his face, he has an eyebrow raised, his doe eyes widened in skepticism, though the smile on his lips is still playful. And- when did his mouth get so shiny, again? “This car doesn’t say it, gatito.”

“Would you turn the radio on, please?” Lando chokes out, slapping Franco’s thigh in retaliation, not missing at all the way his skin seems to have gotten warmer all of a sudden, even through the thin fabric of his pants. Uh.

Franco giggles, obviously thrilled by being able to turn Lando into a mushy mess, although if Lando were honest with himself, it’s not even that much of a hardship when you’re Franco.

Even when they had first met, three months ago under the neon purple-blue lights of a gay club Yuki had repeatedly tried to drag him to, and finally managed, he had been so captivated by the sight of Franco that the Argentinian had had to physically close his open mouth with a hand under his chin.

But to his defence, there was not a single functioning brain cell in his head when Franco was looking like that, all long lashes and glinting eyes and pouty glossy lips and freckled chest out on display with the poor excuse of a black mesh T-shirt.

He should not be excused for wanting to bring him back to his place and fuck him into the mattress and then, maybe, when he got to hear Franco’s laugh at one of his very bad jokes, even something more.

Which, to his luck, actually happened.

Franco leans over the console, trying to figure out the controls of the stereo, pressing the button of AFM so insistently that it makes Lando’s eye start to twitch.

“Vamos, carajo!” Franco snaps, adorably scrunching his eyebrows as the fourth consecutive tap of his fingers against the screen does not make the loading indicator disappear. “It doesn’t work! I am trying!”

Lando looks at it quickly, slapping his forehead right after. “Fuck, right, there’s no signal.”

“Oh.” Franco mumbles, flopping back down on his seat. “Yeah, I forgot I said that.”

“Do you want to sing for me, then?” Lando jokes, though if he were completely honest, he doesn’t mind listening to Franco in the shower. Perhaps being almost stranded in a dark forest is not exactly the same, but well- perspectives. “Cumpleanos feliz, cumple-“

Franco snickers, crossing his arms. “That is terrible.”

“Well, sorry if it’s the only one I know in Spanish.” Lando says, just as a row of shadows narrows in front of the car, purplish figures drawn on the asphalt growing thinner just to disappear a second after under his rolling tyres.

He gulps down the sudden knot in his throat, the telltale sensation of freezing goosebumps of fear crawling up his spine as his eyes rake quickly on each side of the dark road.

The yellow lines on the tarmac delimiting the sides seem to be getting more chipped the more they advance through it, the treetops higher, almost as if trying to bend down to cover the sight of their car from outside viewers.

“Despacito? You can’t tell me you don’t know Despacito.” Franco laughs.

Lando can feel the weight of his gaze on the side of his face, mischievous eyes looking at him from under their lashes, tracing scalding trails over his cheek. It’s kind of comforting, especially when Franco’s hand suddenly drapes over the back of his’ on the armrest, warm and gentle, smaller than his but much softer.

Lando exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

“Hey,” Franco’s voice is a soft thing, closer than it was before, and Lando has to shake his head out of his thoughts, suddenly realising he has been staring at the road for way too long without uttering a word. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, ‘course, just-“ he gulps down, another shadow disappears under the light cast by the headlights. Long, too long. The trees seem to be suffocating, tightening their grip, tighter, tighter- “Eh, just a bit anxious, you know? It’s the first time you meet my friends properly. I love them, it’s a- a big thing. For me, I mean.”

It’s the first time anybody meets my friends, or I tell my parents about them, honestly. But that, Lando doesn’t say. He tries to let Franco know how much he is special everyday, anyway.

“Mh,” Franco mumbles, clearly unconvinced. “You said Alex can talk to rocks.”

Lando did in fact say that. Not even an hour ago. “Yeah…”

“And Carlos, I mean- we’re the only ones who talk Spanish, si? I can win him easy.”

“They can be a bit too much.”

“Yeah, of course, they are your friends. And you are already too much, and I am already too much. How can they be worse?”

Well, Lando can’t argue against that. “I mean, it’s also that the car-“

“You are scared, eh?” Franco interrupts him, snapping his fingers.

“What? No!” Lando rushes to say. When he turns around, Franco is looking at him, chin propped on his hand and his lips curled into a smirk. He wants to kiss it away, bite his bottom lip and drag his tongue over it. But yeah- right, driving. “Don’t look at me like that, I am not scared. What would make you think that?” He mumbles, turning his attention back to the road.

“You are so red.” Franco teases, and when his fingers come up to pinch at Lando’s cheek, he slaps them away. “You really are scared.”

“Don’t distract me, I am driving.”

“The trees, the dark, right? And we’re alone on this road, for almost half an hour.” Franco says, ignoring him. His fingers resolve to trail down lower, to the column of Lando’s neck, towards the open collar of his shirt. His touch is a soft brush, sending goosebumps all over Lando’s skin every time his nails trace along his birthmarks, and Lando has to shift in his seat when he starts to feel the middle of his thighs tightening dangerously. “You’re scared, gatito, it’s alright.”

“Stop with it.” Lando snaps, though there’s no bite in his voice.

Rivers of shivers run down his spine as Franco’s fingers move to tease the last open button of his shirt, teasing to slip beneath, caressing the space between Lando’s pecs right under his hanging chain necklaces.

Has this road always been this long? What did Franco say? 25 minutes of this?

Lando grits his teeth as he feels a deft finger tugging at his necklace, deciding that enough it’s enough. “Remember who’s the one in charge, Franco.” He says, lowering his voice.

“Oh, trust me I know.” Franco says lascivious. His dancing fingers travel back up to Lando’s free hand, circling his wrist gently before taking it. “I can still feel it from last night, gatito.”

Lando follows his movements blindly – quite literally, since he’s still successfully forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road -, but he can’t help but twitch when his palm comes in contact with the suddenly exposed skin of Franco’s collarbone where he undid the top button.

His fingers are being pressed against it, and Lando traces distractedly the lines of a purplish bite that he left there the night before, biting down right under Franco’s scar as he fucked inside of him, Franco’s tears of pleasure mixing with Lando’s saliva as he kept biting and biting any place available with Franco panting his name into the shell of his ear.

Well, Lando is not proud of the animalistic side of him during sex. But Franco is definitely not against it, so…

“I could feel these all day.” Franco mumbles, just as he forces Lando’s fingers to press yet on another bruise, on his pec, right above his nipple. “Fuck, Lan, you can’t imagine how hot it was. I could feel you biting me and- I feel like I’ve been hard all day.”

Lando gulps again, deciding that it might not hurt to just sneak a peek again, the road is mostly straight, anyway. And when he turns around Franco looks- well, he looks almost like Lando just fucked him then and there, the top half of his shirt open for the world – or the inside of this car – to see, pearly skin all littered in bruises and hickeys the size of Lando’s mouth, his legs spread wide showing the obvious bulge of his dick under his zipper.

“Fuck, Franco.” He exhales, forcing himself to breathe deeply through his nose. The fingers gripping at the steering wheel itch with the need to just touch, let them wander along the detailed lines of his chest, pinch his nipple the way he knows makes Franco go crazy.

Stupid fucking road-

“Let me suck you off.”

Lando almost doesn’t see the next hole in the road, too late to do anything about it except for simply slow down, but they both feel it under their butts the moment the car passes over it. And Franco freaking groans.

“WHAT?” Lando screeches, flicking his eyes to Franco just to see the complete seriousness on his face, his façade only broken by the tongue peeking out of the seam of his lips, wetting them. Lando can’t think straight. “Are you out of your mind?”

“For you?” Franco says, letting go of Lando’s hand still pressed to his pecs to bring his own between Lando’s legs and grip. Lando clenches his thighs together, only trapping Franco’s hand further over his groin, his nails unceremoniously tugging at the zipper of his pants to pull it down. “Yeah, completely crazy.”

“Fran-“ Lando tries to protest, but it’s weak as that delicate pale hand that he loves to kiss so much is suddenly unzipping his pants and disappearing under his boxers. It hovers on his already half hard dick, Lando can feel the chill sensation of his skin against it, the telltale sensation of all the blood in his body rushing to down there because that’s the effect Franco – beautiful, adorable, freaking sexy Franco – has on him. “We can’t- I am driving.”

“And you’re so hard for me. So big, I can still feel it in me.” Franco says, circling the base of Lando’s cock with two fingers and slowly tugging upwards. It doesn’t take more than a bunch of seconds for Lando to grow completely hard in his hand, the head of his dick bumping uncomfortably against the inside of his boxers. “And you’re scared.”

Lando doesn’t even try to deny it this time, instead shifting his hips until Franco’s palm is completely pressed against his hard on.

“So let me take care of you, take your mind off of it.”

“I- I am driving.” Lando tries to protest again, but even his body can’t follow his own orders, a spark of electricity running all over him from where Franco is touching him, torturous slowly. “Franco we can’t-“

“Si, we can.” Franco interrupts him. “Are you saying that you don’t like it when I suck you off?”

Fuck, Lando loves it. Franco really has the mouth of someone who’s meant to be good at that, all plump and the arch of his upper lip sharp like a bow that only tenses when it’s wrapped around Lando’s cock.

The road seems to be getting darker, now, Lando thinks at least 5 minutes must’ve passed ever since they lost signal, and he knows for a fact that Franco can manage to rend him to mush in 10.

Is he proud of that? Not really. But is he complaining? Not at all.

“Okay,” he relents, almost jumping when Franco’s hands immediately go to the hems of his pants, “Fuck, wait, wait a second!”

“Uh?” Franco blinks up at him from where his head is already buried between Lando’s legs, confused, his big doe eyes all dazed. “What?”

“Let me take the seatbelt off.” Lando huffs, unfastening it from his chest. “It’ll make it easier.”

It feels weird, driving without it on, he probably hasn’t done it in years, ever since he was a stupid teenager doing stupid drives around with his freshly licensed friends.

His legs feel more free than usual, his movements more unconfined, but he doesn’t really have that much time to adapt to the new sensation as Franco eagerly bends over his lap, button nose pressing against the inside of Lando’s thighs.

Ah, he must’ve taken off his seatbelt, too, at some point. When did that happen, again?

“Raise your hips, I need to take off your pants.” Franco says, trading his fingers through the belt loops.

Lando follows willingly, perhaps already more affected just by the thought of Franco giving him road head than what he would like to admit. He should cut himself some slack, though, since it’s, well- it’s Franco.

And Franco’s warm, slick wet lips suddenly wrapping around the head of his cock.

“Fuck!” Lando shrieks, accidentally pressing his foot harder on the pedal. The car responds accordingly, suddenly picking up speed just to lose it a second after when Lando adjusts his position.

“Don’t kill us.” Franco reprimands, slapping the exposed top of Lando’s thighs. “I am too hot to be already dead.”

“Warn a guy next time.” Lando grits through his teeth, slapping both hands on the steering wheel and gripping tight.

“Alright,” Franco sighs. “I’m going to suck you, now.”

Anything Lando could’ve possibly thought about saying completely evaporates the moment Franco wraps his lips back around him, not even giving Lando the time to adjust to the feeling before he goes down to the hilt.

“Fuckin’-“ Lando stutters out, taking one hand off the steering wheel to trade his fingers through Franco’s soft hair.

His tongue is doing something magical to the bottom of his dick, passing right over a vein on the underside, and then twirling around like Lando is the most delicious lollipop he has ever tasted.

“Fuck, fuck, Franco-“ Lando groans, twisting his fingers in his scalp.

Franco moans around him, the sound wrapping around Lando’s dick like a warm hand, and he can’t help but buck his hips up just slightly.

Franco takes it like it’s nothing, as if Lando wouldn’t see the way the corners of his mouth are stretching obscenely around him if he were to look down- just for a second-

Lando does, a quick flick of his gaze, his sight filled with Franco’s curly head over his lap, the tip of his nose pressed to the top of Lando’s exposed thighs, saliva running down the sides of Lando’s dick as he brings his head up to suck on the head.

The road, yes, the road- okay.

He turns his eyes back to the road just in time for Franco to slip his tongue inside of his lit, fingers wrapping expertedly around Lando’s base and flicking his wrist quickly with each lick.

“Bloody- you take me so well, Fran. Your mouth is so good.” Lando groans, leaning his head on the backrest and clenching his grip on Franco’s curls, guiding his head back down on his cock until Franco’s lips meet the edge of his fist.

It’s wet and it’s warm, and Franco is using his tongue more than usual, swirling and then pressing it to the length of Lando’s dick in a way that must hurt a little bit, and yet he does it like it’s natural.

Lando groans, shifting his hips up until his head touches the back of Franco’s throat, feels him moan brokenly and then moan even louder when Lando tightens his grip in his hair, tugging almost meanly at his curls.

Lando knows that he can take it, though, that he likes it.

Fuck, sometimes Lando still can’t believe it, ever since the first time he got Franco in his bed, how much of a freak Franco can be, trashing and panting every time Lando’s teeth as much as graze one of his nipples.

Lando loves it, especially how wrecked he looks after, all red cheeked and unruly hair and plump lips sticky with mixes of saliva and come. Though this time he hopes it’ll go away before they get to Alex’s.

He knows that he doesn’t own Franco. That would be terribly bigoted of him and Franco would probably hate him for actually believing it outside of silly dirty talks in the bedroom that only have a real meaning in the heat of the moment.

But that doesn’t mean he appreciates other people getting to see Franco like that, too. That’s just a sight for him.

Whatever ridiculous spark of jealousy is starting to form in his chest, though, is quickly thrown away as Franco manages to move back up to suck hard on the head of his dick.

Lando groans, one hand tightening its grip on the steering wheel as he forces his eyes open. The road is mostly straight, thank God, and there’s nobody else but them, and thanks to some kind of magic Lando is able to keep the car from swirling around even as Franco starts to hollow his cheeks and lap at the underside of his dick in slow, torturous strokes.

“Fuck, baby, you are so good at this.” Lando praises, patting his hair. Franco hums around him, taking half of his dick back into his mouth. “Such a good mouth, such a good boy, mh?”

Lando can’t see him, but he is sure that he must be preening, his cheeks all flushed red as he thrives under the compliments.

The attention seeker, Lando loves him more than it’s probably healthy.

“Are you still thinking about the trees?” Franco teases him as he gets away from his cock, just slowly stroking it with one hand.

When Lando lets himself look down for a second, he’s met with the sight of him blinking up, the red on his face a stark contrast with the apparent angelic look on his doe green eyes.

Lando cranes his neck to kiss his forehead, perhaps sweeter than what having his boyfriend’s hand jacking him off as he drives actually is, but Franco smiles sweetly anyway.

Lando looks back at the road, realising that, indeed, Franco has done an amazing job at distracting him. He shouldn’t have doubted him at all.

“The only tree I am thinking about now is mine in your mouth. So please go back to that.” Lando jokes and all that he can hear is Franco snorting before he’s going down once again, swallowing him whole.

Lando moans low, hand going back to Franco’s hair. He lets him settle his own pace, now, head bobbing up and down rhythmically, slowly getting deeper and deeper and not once showing any sign of gag reflex.

Lando really doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

And then, the unexpected happens.

Franco’s phone pings, first, and then the radio suddenly blasts with an Adele song at full volume, the signal clearly back without even giving a warning.

Lando startles immediately, and he’s too focused on keeping the car on the road and immediately turning the music off to notice that his hips have jumped up in the process, too hard, effectively choking Franco.

“What the fuck, Lan?” Franco blurts out, moving away as he coughs roughly, still half bent over the control panel with a hand around his throat.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Lando says, quickly moving the steering wheel to move the left. The electronic voice of Franco’s GPS says ‘15 minutes to destination’. “I didn’t mean to-“

His voice is interrupted by his ringtone resonating through the speakers, Carlos’ phone flashing on the car’s screen.

“Fuck,” Lando groans, “The signal is back, I think he wants to know how far are we.”

The frown of pain on Franco’s face is quickly swept away by a sly smirk, as if he had not been cursing Lando in all known languages just a moment ago.

Lando doesn’t know what to read into his foxy expression.

“Answer him.” Franco says, although it sounds more like an order, so serious as if he already knows Lando will do it anyway.

Lando will, probably, for how much he likes to think that he is the one in control, they both know Franco has him wrapped around his finger. Has Lando driving him around at two in the morning when he has sudden cravings, or getting to his knees when Franco really really wants him to.

“What?” Lando flicks his gaze to Carlos’ caller ID, then the road, and then at Franco’s face slowly coming back down between his legs.

Even as he clearly repeats, “I said, answer him.”

Oh,

Oh.

“Fran, I don’t think-“

“Do you want to come?”

Absolutely, Lando is just on the verge of having one of the best orgasms in his- well, fairly rich sexual life and he has no intention of doing any kind of edging - at least not now, like this.

More importantly, he doesn’t exactly look forward to having to sit through dinner while willing a hard on down as Alex serves him casserole and Carlos’ dog sniffs at his feet.

That would be pretty… inconvenient, and given how cocky Franco can get when he puts his mind into it, he’s sure he would try anything to get a hand on Lando’s dick under the table.

“Fuck yeah,” Lando breathes out. And then, just because he knows good manners. “Please.”

“Then answer the man, puta madre.”

Carlos sounds slightly concerned as Lando finally accepts the call, or as concerned as Carlos Sainz can actually be when it doesn’t directly involve his precious bike, or his dog.

Lando doesn’t know if Alex, even, is on the list.

“Lando, where are you?” Carlos' metallic voice fills the cockpit.

Lando can hear the sound of pots moving in the background and the clicking of silverware, but he’s not really thinking about whatever kind of dish Alex must be making when Franco is suddenly taking Lando’s dick head back into the wetness of his mouth.

Lando slams his hand on the steering wheel, biting back a moan as Franco’s tongue slips in his slit, one delicate hand toying with his balls.

Fuck, Lando’s more into this than he should be. When did Franco turn him into this kind of freak?

“Lando? Are you there? Is everything alright?”

“Answer him.” Franco raises his head just enough to talk in hushed voice right against the underside of his dick, goijg back to sucking on his head the moment after.

Lando swallows, clenching his eyes shut for a single second before forcing them on the road ahead. “Y-yes just the, uh, the signal.”

“Ah yeah, sorry, I forgot to tell you. I should’ve probably given you indications before.” Carlos says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. “So, where are you? Alex needs to know when to get the casserole out of the oven.”

“Eh, 15 minutes tops.”

“Ask him if Franco likes parmesan!” Alex screams into the microphone, Carlos groaning right after.

“I think you heard him, Lando.”

Franco hums around him, perhaps the muffled sound of chocked laughter, and the graze of his teeth against the underside of Lando’s dick has him jolting suddenly.

Franco must take it as a sign to keep going, because he firmly wraps his hand around Lando’s base before hollowing his cheeks and opening his mouth as wide as it can get like this, wet saliva spilling from the corners of his mouth and hitting Lando’s bare thighs.

He’s going to die right here, he’s sure of it.

“Yes, yes.” Lando says quickly, taking a handful of Franco’s hair and tugging him down. Franco goes willingly, moaning low enough to barely even reach Lando’s ears. Lando pushes his hips upwards until the head is hitting the back of Franco’s throat, and he can feel the wet suction of it engulfing his entire length. “He eats everything, trust me.”

Carlos and Alex surely can’t catch the second meaning behind that, right?

(Right.)

“Ah, that’s good to know. Alex’s chicken just gave us her first two eggs so we also tried to make an impromptu frittata.”

“It’s our chicken, Carlos.”

“It’s yours when she starts biting at my ankles.”

In all honesty, Lando could care less about their bickering, especially when Franco is bobbing his head up and down, tongue swirling and saliva pooling wetly under his palate, so much that Lando can’t really think about anything else aside from wet, wet, warm-

He is going to come, sooner than he would’ve expected. The illusion of being focused on the road had him thinking he could hold off a little longer but there’s so much he can do when Franco’s heavenly mouth is wrapped around him like this.

Carlos sighs on the other line, “So, alright. Ten minutes, is it alright if we bring out the white wine? I would’ve preferred red but someone forgot to buy it.”

“You went to the mall this morning!” Alex yells in protest.

“It’s okay, it’s- good.” Lando groans. “Whatever’s good.”

Franco is swallowing him down, down, his lips almost touching the trimmed hair of his pubes. He has only ever managed to actually deep throat Lando just once, but even with all the bad angle of bending over the central console, he seems adamant on hitting the second record.

And he’s doing such a good job at sucking Lando off, even like this, because Lando feels like he is going to come probably sooner than he would like, the hot wave of his orgasm building at the pit of his stomach.

And he has no intention to do that while Carlos and Alex are in his fucking speakers.

“Nice, that’s good to know. I know you would’ve preferred beer but we are adults, now, Lando. We must drink fine things at dinner.”

“Yes, yes absolutely, fuck-“ Franco does a magical thing with his tongue just as one of his fingers presses way too closely to Lando’s sack, right where he is sensitive the most.

“Lando, is everything alright?”

“Yes, I-“ Lando chokes out just as Franco hollows his cheeks again, sucking him hard. Lando is sure a vein is going to pop right out of his temple if he keeps holding off any longer. “Just- the road is shit. But I’m almost there.”

“Okay, then I guess we’ll-“

“See you in a bit.” Lando rushes to say, finally ending the call and feeling himself relax against the backrest the moment silence fills in the cockpit.

Franco seems even more eager to make him come, then, bobbing his head quickly, sucking on every downstroke and insistently pressing his finger against Lando’s perineum.

“Fuck, Fran, you’re so good. I am so close- fuck-“

Franco doesn’t pull off, just slips down deeper until his nose is brushing against Lando’s pubes and that is as much of a silent confirmation that Lando allows himself to get before he lets his orgams crash over him.

“Ah, so good. You feel so good, I am going to come, so- ah, yes-“ He comes inside of Franco’s mouth for what feels like hours, spurts of come hitting the back of his throat, and he can feel each swallow of Franco’s throat at every drop of release around his dick, slowly growing oversensitive.

Franco only pulls away when the trembles of aftershocks start running all over Lando’s thighs, and he must sense that the wet suction of his mouth has started to become more painful than pleasurable.

“So…” Franco trails off, swiping a hand over his mouth as he goes back to his seat. “Was it any good?”

Lando glances at him swiftly and Franco looks exactly as wrecked as he imagined, if not worse, slumped against his seat with the long column of his throat exposed as he rests his head on the backrest, little puffs of air escaping his parted wet lips.

When Lando lets his eyes trail lower, is just to see Franco’s hand wrapped around his own dick, suspiciously wet.

“Fuck, Franco.” Lando grits through his teeth, eyes going back to the road. His softening dick gives a weak twitch, he should probably cover himself back up and find some wet whiles, he’s sure he put them somewhere in this cockpit. “Did you touch yourself, too?”

Lando can’t see him, but he just knows that Franco is blushing. For all that he tries to be straightforward and such a little brat, Lando knows that he can get timid when things get pointed out to him.

Lando loves him for that.

“You sounded so hot.” Franco says, voice scratchy. “I like it when you say I am good.”

“I loved it. We definitely need to do that again.” Lando laughs, feeling a bit dizzy and boneless from the recent orgasm and the thought that he made Franco come just by praising him.

They should probably test the limits of this, Lando definitely wants to see how far he can get with Franco squirming just by whispering in his ear - how far Franco can get him.

Franco’s phone pings again, loud. ‘10 minutes to destination’.

“Uh, could you help me clean up a bit now?” Lando asks awkwardly, flicking his gaze to the side to see Franco insistently wiping his own hand down with a dry tissue.

Ah, that’s going to feel so bad on his thighs. If they really are going to do this again, they should probably start to equip the car, too.

Lando has no intention to stain the beautiful leather seats.

“Ay, cono, do I have to do everything myself?” Franco protests, but he still takes another tissue out of the packet to start gently dabbing at Lando’s legs, the wet trails left by Franco’s spit and sweat.

The fabric it’s rough against his skin, but the sweetness of Franco’s touch easily makes up for it.

No matter how rough they can get with each other, Lando knows that deep down Franco likes the moment of care a little bit more. His smiles are always the biggest when Lando comes back from work to bring him his favorite pastries, or when they spend Saturday nights cuddling on the couch to watch trash TV.

Lando likes it too, of course, especially when Franco curls up into his side and pouts until Lando finally starts patting his hair, all of the over confident facade falling to reveal the true sweet side of him.

“Hey,” Lando says softly once Franco has helped him get zipped back up, seatbelt fastened into place. He reaches out towards him, taking his hand to intertwine their fingers over Franco’s thigh - the perks of an automatic. “I love you, mh?”

Franco snorts, but he squeezes back, trying to get his hair back to a coeherent thing rather than the mess Lando had created by gripping at them. “I love you, too.”

—

“Franco! It is so nice to finally meet you, Lando talked so much about you I couldn’t wait to finally see the real version.” Carlos says, enthusiastically slapping a hand on Franco’s shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Franco says back, Thankfully, Franco barely flinches at the contact, rather smiling broadly as if already at complete ease - Lando does that for him, either way.

“Alex is in the kitchen taking care of the last things, he’ll come in a second.” Carlos says, gesturing for them to take one of the already filled wine glasses. “So, how was the ride here? Pretty boring, eh?”

Franco glances at Lando’s burning face with a mischievous smile, his soft lips already pressed against the brim of a glass. “I found it a lot of fun.” He says, taking a quick sip.

A drop of bubbly liquid immediately slips from the corner of his mouth, traveling down towards his chin, and Franco wipes it away with a swift movement of his thumb, all under Lando’s watchful gaze and flushed red cheeks.

The fucking tease.

“A whole lot of fun.”

#frando #lando norris #franco colapinto #carlos sainz jr #alexander albon #carbono #carbono lives in the countryside and frando go visit that’s the only plot I can hive #pwp #my writing #my works #norrapinto

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stellewriites · 1 month ago

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have to keep repeating in my head; he’s leaving soon he’s moving out he’s got a job so he’s leaving in two months he’s moving out every time i see a mess my brother has made in the house

#he leaves a trail….#bathroom soaking fucking wet and covered in soap bubbles??? is he making potions????#kitchen sides covered in crumbs. hob covered in grease and bits of food. sink turning to mulsh at the joins bc he keeps it SOAKING FUCKING #WET. floors a mess. bins full. sofa cushions all over???????#I DONT GET ITTTTTT #SHOES IN THR MIDDLE OF THR HALLWAYS AND KITCHEN??#WASHING MACHINE DOOR WIDE OPEN MICROWAVE DOOR OPEN #no room in the fridge for my shopping bc it’s full of his alcohol…..#the list goes on. the man doesn’t get up until 2pm #i just..#im so frustrated #and my mum is like ‘he’s got nowhere else to stay and it’s so nice seeing him. it could be years before we see him again’ like girl be so #fucking real rn #we facetime him every week when he’s abroad and tbh i spoke to him more then than i do now - like he sits in another room from us. doesn’t #eat with us. when it was mums birthday he put up a fuss about sitting in the same room for takeaway liiiiike— idc if he had shit going on #that day either buck up for mums fucking birthday knobhead #i don’t see him bc im at work or he’s not awake when i am or when im in the house still #like yeah sure ‘won’t get to see him again’#should’ve just been like #promise?? 🤪🤪🤪#bc this is tooooo much now #he doesn’t change!!!! he doesn’t!!#i put a recycle bag at the front door to take out in the afternoon when i knew i was leaving the house but he left before me and i had to #ASK and point out the fucking bag and say ‘put that in the blue bin pls’#like if he’s staying here then pull ur weight if it’s ’your house too’#fucking HELLLLLLL #also might add that he’s staying here for free but uses the heating SO liberally like that bill is going to be sky high but it’s me and mum #that pay it 😐#and he’s been told.#just does it when we’re not in bc i caught him the other day with it on 24c which the radiators can’t even fucking reachhhh UGHHHHHHHHH

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ahalliance · 2 months ago

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qantoine’s coping mechanism to feeling left behind being both self-isolating and becoming possesive of those he cares for is so juicy as a concept . like yeah you go you funky creachure, manifest those complicated and sometimes contradictory emotions

#anyone remember that one fanart of qantoine like . grabbing onto qetoiles and covering his mouth antoine reposted to his insta story .#anyone wonder what was up with that . like he reposted fanarts every now and again but like . that one specifically was such a Choice on hi #part . fantastic fanart btw it occupies space in my brain still #but yeah god . i think qantoine’s self-isolation (+ his secrecy the way he struggled generally to connect with others etc)#was the more obvious Thing he did as a coping mechanism . but damn were those smaller moments of possessiveness interesting #bc you could often just read it as protectiveness instead and well it Was that . but i think it becomes even more interesting if u read it #through a possesive lens . theyre two sides of the same coin anw it just depends on where the limit between the two lies for u #anw i think it manifested itself most obviously with pomme bc a parent-child relationship lends itself to that dynamic more . ough some goo #moments there i’d need to revist their relationship more . ‘je te connais comme si je t’avais créé’ which just has layers of potential #meaning . if you subscribe to the theory that qantoine had a hand in creating the eggs then that adds even More to the potential #possessiveness there . love it #and it manifested with qfrench too i think just in more subtle ways . like idk when there were implications he’d done a Thing to help them #out in some way . like the implication that he had a hand in getting ayp out of prison that one time . or when he was protective of etoiles #during prison . or even moments where he failed to achieve some sort of level of power over them like when bagz and ayp broke into his #secret room and he kept giving bagz the cold shoulder when she was trying to apologise to him 😭 . idk stuff like that . semi petty bitch #energy . but i LOVE the idea of this eldritch dude who’s still figuring out how mortal relationships work kinda just . being too possessive #too controlling . all in the effort to try and keep them in One Piece . and maybe in the end it won’t matter How he keeps them safe as long #as he manages to . he’s old as hell and he’s probably gonna outlive them and theyre all so fragile and small . they won’t see the bigger #picture so he’ll have to make sure he’s manoeuvring them around inside it correctly . <- absolute hc territory in the end there but it’s #very fun to think about :P #jay rambles #antoine daniel #qfrench.posting

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pilonciillo · 2 months ago

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the thing about moving out is i don’t hear the family drama anymore:( because what do you mean my cousin got a girl pregnant and in the middle of the night she left without saying anything to anyone and now he’s a single father

#like ????#and she left without a trace because if his mom can’t watch the baby while he’s at work her mom will #kinda wild i didn’t expect that from him #also him mom is sick so idk how she watches the baby #im like pretty sure her husband left too but she might have taken him back 🙄#like girl please he’s trash let him gooo forget the church your parents were divorced it’s okay 😔#mm. and the last i heard about the oldest is that he came to the us for work which was like after he disappeared and took ppl to ransack our #grandmas house to sell whatever they could but that was like when we were 15 so idk what happened between then and now #idk about the middle one or the youngest 🤔 i haven’t seen any of them in like 13+ years ? oh they must look so different #oh why did i get sad #mmm i don’t think ill ever really see them again #yeah they’re family but honestly with how sporadically i saw them they’re essentially strangers #like yeah my older cousins kids were stuck to me when i first met them and the last time i saw them but they’re like probably over 18 now #i can’t hold them anymore they won’t want to be around me or follow me everywhere #reality can be so cruel #that’s wild

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screampied · 5 months ago

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❛ PHEREMOANED ?! ❜ t. fushiguro

☆ sum. after three long years in the slammer, toji returns home to you—his pretty sweet fiancé. to surprise him, you decided to spray on your new expensive pheromone perfume. was it the best idea? probably not. you wanted to tease him, not make him feral.

warnings. fem! reader, ex-convict toji, pwp, feral toji, scent kink, unprotected, manhandling, size kink, cúnnilingus (he eats it from the back), toji has a tongue piercing, brēeding, marathon séx, choking, spít, impact play, hair pulling, overstim, tummy bulges, overstim.

wc. 6.2k

toji fushiguro never knew how to stay out of trouble—he had a temper and that wasn’t really a surprise.

he’s lucky he got released early on good behavior. three years, one thousand and ninety-five days, twenty six thousand hours and thirty six months spent apart from him. regardless though, you were patient—making sure to visit him during visiting hours and all. but the day he gets released, you get an idea. scrolling online, you read an article about pheromone perfume and skimmed across some pretty eye-catching stories. you ordered it about two weeks prior, waiting for his release to actually try it. spritzing a few good sprays on yourself, you wait by the front door where one of his friends, presumably shiu was dropping him off at.

creaaaak, the wooden door opens and there stands toji. he’s still in his orange jumpsuit, tresses of shaggy sable bangs brushing down his eyes, briefly occluding his vision. “hey, girl,” he gruffs, catching you in his arms once you tackle him into a hug. his big big arms cage you in before he kisses the top of your head. “missed y-”

toji pauses, and you let off a gasp once he abruptly digs his face inside the crook of your neck. “hn. . new perfume, baby?” good, so it really does work. his scarred hands rest toward your hips before he starts to sniff all down your neck, groaning against your skin.

“y- yeah,” you stammer, feeling his hands grip against your blouse. “you like? it was on sale.”

“i love it but it’s damn strong,” he murmurs, and out of nowhere—he lifts you up, tossing you over his shoulder. a giggle nearly leaves from your lips as he starts to trod toward the bedroom, loud boots clanking against the marble-made floor. “did you spray it between your legs too? fuck, you’re just asking to be ruined tonight, baby.”

well shit.

everything happens so fast,

one second you’re hugging your fiancé who just got released from prison and the next, he’s tossing you on the bed, making you spread your legs.

you’ve seen a lot of different faces of toji but this, this was entirely new. he’s got the type of look in his eyes where he wants something and he won’t hesitate to take it . . even if that something is you.

seeing you like this, sprawled all out on the bed with that cute perplexed expression of yours, fuck.

three years. three years without any kinds of physical contact he had to endure, and with the addition of your new pheromone perfume. perhaps you had some kind of death wish.

“spread ‘em,” he huffs, clicking his tongue. toji’s eyes were already hooded and half-lidded. he’s panting already and he’s not even looking at you.

just from staring between your legs, he could almost taste you on his tongue - his tastebuds were already salivating at the carnal thought. toji’s verdant dim eyes stare straight between your legs, right near the very crevices. “wait, no,” and you gasp again once he flips you over, making you flop down on your chest. “ass up baby. i don’t wanna look at you right now. wanna look at her.”

his hands were so hot, quite literally.

his bare palms had all kinds of scars painted near the centers with such rough texture as he feels against your ass. you try to suppress an incoming moan as your back willingly arches forward. your cheek’s being smushed against the silky red cover of your own pillow before he leans in.

toji’s wetly kisses against your ass cheek, nearly ripping your skirt in two. “mhm,” he groans, and even now, he’s still smelling you. your legs start to shake and quiver once he’s smelling every part of your thighs. toji drags his nose up and down, he’s making sure he can take in all of your perfume, he even licks down your legs. you’ve seen him feral before but never like this. his palm continues to rub against your skin before the button tip of his nose reaches toward your panties. “fuck, don’t know how much i missed you, princess.”

“t- toji,” you whine through gritted teeth, and he’s flicking his tongue against the lace pad of your panties. your smell, it was so good - he just couldn’t get enough.

it scratched a obscene itch in his brain, making him so aroused—so much so that you weren’t helping the strain in his jumpsuit sweats at all. toji’s boner was almost painful, it prods against the thin fabric of his jumpsuit and your scent only made his throbbing so much worse.

his hair tickles against the corners of your thighs as you feel his warm breath ghost against your sopping entrance. oh, right. you were kind of sort of a bit drenched—you had played with yourself out of pure boredom. you failed to make yourself finish but he didn’t have to know that.

toji noticed right away and he raises a brow, two pinching fingers pulling your panties to the side. “she’s soaked,” he utters in a low voice—he sounds almost offended. “wonder why that is.”

you let off a broken moan once he peels your panties to the side with just his teeth, dragging a fat swollen thumb right down your drooling slit. “fuckk, smell so good baby but i bet you taste even better.”

and within seconds, his tongue delves right between your legs. once he starts—there’s no prying him off. whenever it was pussy involved, toji was an animal.

he could eat you out for hours, no breaks, not caring at all if his jaw locks and tightens. he ate you out as if it wants some sort of competition, and he’d always get a gold medal. every single time. .

you’re facing the opposite way while he’s eating you from behind, two open palms squeezing against both soft cheeks of your ass. the tiny ball of his piercing gradually flicks against your clit and you nearly let off a shriek. the stimulation has you gasping for air and it felt so good—you’ve never felt more sensitive.

toji spreads your ass wider, dipping his lengthy wet tongue in and out before spitting down your entrance. “ptf,” and it’s a glossy slimy trail that dribbles straight down the cracked slope of your ass before oozing near your puffy pussy. it’s so sloppy, he laps it right up before spitting on it again and again.

toji hasn’t tasted you in forever, three years felt like forever and he wanted to make sure he’d make up for lost time - with his tongue.

“mhm, keep squirmin’ doll, see where it gets ya,” he’d gruff in a husky tone, feeling your entire body starting to writhe and shudder all from his mouth.

despite his jaw already locking—his face was flushed and tears of sweat sprayed against his forehead. even still, the dark haired man showed no signs of fatigue. you just tasted so sweet, and your loud pheromonal smell made things worse.

you slouch back against the cushioned mattress, peering behind you to see him sloppily give your pulsating cunt three second slurps. fuck, his tongue. it was so long.

you felt every extending inch of it trace and curl all throughout the swollen walls of your pussy. he had to make sure your pretty pussy remembered who it belonged to. his rosy pink tip swirls around and around, side to side, up and down—he makes it toy in every witch direction. toji then starts to merrily spell out the thirteen notorious letters of his name over and over.

t - o - j - i - f - u - s - h - i - g - u - r - o.

once his tongue curls in such a slick spiraling manner, your tummy heaves once he spells out the letter ‘s’ with his tongue. it twirls from up to down, and he even grumbles out the letters under his breath in that low, raspy voice.

two big hands cling onto your rickety thighs before he spanks your ass once he sees you trying to reach down between your thighs to touch yourself. “watch it, little girl,” he snarls, the sudden pitchy tone in his rough voice making you throb right on his tongue. he’s practically making out with your cunt now, french kissing your slobbering entrance. toji’s just casually nose deep, taking every few seconds to smell against your clit. “she’s mine.”

“tojiiii—” you moan, continuing to rock your unsteady hips back into his face. toji’s patchy stubble rubs all over against your skin until it’s just profusely dripping from your slick juices.

the scar that runs down the right side of his lip smears against you also. it feels so rough as it scraps against your folds. your pussy twitches as he starts to drag his face back and forth against your slick and you gasp once his tongue slides further up.

up, up, up until it reaches there.

“ah, now what do we got ourselves here,” he whispers, and you moan once he plugs a fat thumb against your puckering hole.

your teeth dig into the cottony fluff of the pillow that’s sat right in front of you. toji’s thumb, he circles it around before lolling out his tongue. even though you’re not directly facing him, you can just hear how wet it is—how wet you are.

you’re squelching so loud that it bounces off the walls, ricocheting against every peeling corner.

the syrupy saliva that departs and smacks from his lips once he open his mouth. “god, ‘yer fuckin’ wet, baby. just for me,” he murmurs, and he creates a long slippery slicking trail from the starting point of your throbbing clitoral hood all the way until he reaches your hole. he pauses as sheeny drool following his mouth. saliva continues to slip away from his wry crooked lips as his lips open and close. he’s fucking sloppy.

it was no secret—toji fushiguro was feral, happily smearing his face against your cunt whilst his tongue multitasks, licking near your ass.

it’s a sensation that almost tickles but oh, you weren’t laughing. your toes curl up in pure ecstasy and your face scrunches as he’s just devouring you whole like the starved man he was.

“ngh, tojiiii,” you whine, feeling the luscious twirl of his fat long tongue run over against every part of your pussy. your estatic nerves felt it all, he was very precise and never missed a spot.

toji’s lip scar that swoops down the right curve of his mouth faintly brushes up near your clit as his head continues to move. he hears you ‘ooh’ at the ticklish feeling and he chortles darkly. he likes to loll out his tongue even further, repeatedly thwacking the center of his tongue against your clit just so you can grow dumb from his piercing.

with your chest continuously dipping and heaving, you’re shivering against the as he’s got a face full of your ass—he feels you reaching from behind, grabbing near his overgrown unkempt strands to give it a nice mean tug. you’re dragging his head against your pussy now, even if your grip was a bit weak. “ohmygod, ‘s gonna make me cum too quick, toji.”

“taste so sweet, he grumbles, your viscous slick gluing all against his reddened scarlet lips. toji continues to dip and delve his lengthy flat tongue in and out of your sweet puckering hole before trailing it back up towards your cunt.

you let off a pretty mewl that lasts for multiple seconds, feeling dewy saturated strings of his spit run away from his own two lips and slabber all over your wet flaps. if it’s one thing toji does, he makes sure that you’re always wet for him.

you’re biting your fist until your knuckles split, occasionally hearing him spit against your cunt again, using a clammy palm to smother it everywhere.

“my wet girl,” his lips purse, soft pants of breath fanning right against your slick. you’re frantically quavering—shaking, and those warm ghostly breaths that waft by your rear doesn’t make things any better. various tingles roam through your body as he’s eating you out from behind, savoring your taste entirely. “mhm, don’t get lazy on me now. shake y’er ass against my face, baby. fuck me back.”

you moan once he gives your right bare ass cheek a firm squeeze. cupping it into his palm, he spanks it before you obey his command. jolting soft skin recoils and jiggles against his face and toji snickers, lying his wide tongue even flatter against your exposed wet pussy.

“uh huh, atta girl, lemme taste all of you,” and as he’s slurping, it doesn’t take long before you’re shooting utter blanks yet again.

interrupting static deafens your ears as a roaring wave crashes through your veins. your knees abruptly buckle until you’re collapsing forward in the mattress and its silky sheets. only then do you now finish on his tongue, letting off a shrilling whine.

“mhm, there it is, there’s my sloppy baby,” and a lustrous stream of your sweetened juices spew down his chin. his chin’s now shiny, and your glistening slick even decorates his stubble.

“fuck,” he takes a moment to breathe, flicking his tongue against his lips. so sweet, toji’s dark eyes rove down at your cute elated state as you slumped into the pillows. you’re trying to crawl away but with two hands, he’s reeling you right back into him. “oh, no ya don’t. get back here, pretty girl,” and your lips part into an ‘o’ as you gasp, feeling his teeth playfully nibble against your pussy.

and toji doesn’t let you escape his grasp. not yet anyway, he was starving. he missed you, and his tongue showed that.

you hadn’t realized how much time’s passed whilst he’s between your legs—you’d guess it’s been a few hours since it was almost dusk now.

toji was a eater, he’s got you lied flat on your back now as he’s slurping you clean. his tongue flicks underneath his bottom lip, tasting the mess you caused that’s pouring down his slick chin. it’s probably been your fifth orgasm and your legs can barely hold themselves up.

“mhm,” and he’s just munching your pretty pussy, glossy strands of his own saliva mixing with your sap continues to dribble down his chin. he’s made such a mess, all because of you. “you sprayed between your legs, didn’t you baby?”

“n- no,” you lie, dragging his head back and forth against your cunt. you did, but to be fair you didn’t think it’d work. you thought it was just another scam. but it wasn’t — toji was here, eating you out as if your pussy was the last edible thing in world.

make no mistake, he was a filthy man. his entire chin’s cascading with a stream of your syrupy mess and he barely bats an eye. you didn’t know how much more you could take before he chuckles, finally departing his lips.

“you’re a bad liar,” and his voice grows deep again. you meet his eyes and that’s when toji makes you get on all fours again. “ass up. y’know the drill. atta girllll,” and you almost shiver from his touch. toji stares at your perked ass, bringing a palm towards your left templed cheek. smack, you moan from the abrupt sting before he later caresses it. “god, i missed you. those idiots wouldn’t even let me touch myself, baby. thought about you the entire time i was rottin’.”

and as he speaks, your cheek presses further against the pillow. toji tugs on his the sweats of his orange jumpsuit—the fabric writhes against his slim waist before falling down, now exposing his boxers. he watches as your ass writhes and he hums, springing out his thick cock. “shit, you don’t even realize how good you smell, do ya?”

“no,” you breathe, feeling a lump circle near the inside of your throat once he brings his tip towards your entrance.

it’s sopping wet, weeping with honeyed tears of slick before he smacks it against your puffy hood.

“fuuuck,” you whine out, the feeling of his bulbous mushroom tip bringing you so many memories. he brushes it down your sensitive slit and you feel the slimy remnants of precum that oozes off his frenulum. a hand of his wraps around his veiny length, giving it a few striking pumps before toji groans. “fuck me toji, f- fuckin’ hurry up.”

“now girl,” he brings another smack towards your rear. this time it’s harder, the recoil rings through your ears and makes you chew the inside of your cheek. “don’t rush me,” and as the bass in his voice pitches lowers and lower, you feel yourself pulsate right between your sprawled out thighs.

toji’s aligning himself, hearing your sloshing weeps sloppily exit out of your pussy. a wry smile compresses against his lips before he wraps a few fingers over the back of your throat with his free hand. “ ‘m gonna take my time with you. so, do me a favor baby. arch that pretty back ‘n shut the fuck up.”

it was such authority in his voice—despite his tip barely even being in, he felt your cunt twitching almost right away.

it makes him snicker to himself, caressing your stinging back side with a scarred bare hand.

“good girl,” and he leans further in, taking yet another whiff of your salaciously rich scent. “here it comes,” he lowly purrs, and you bite your lip once he’s finally entering inside of you.

toji’s slow, purposely. he loves more than anything to see your patience wearing thin, squirming and just aching for a crumb of dick. as he’s perfectly aligned, his swollen angered cockhead gradually starts to disappear inside of your pussy.

“biiiiig stretch, there we go babygirl. take it.” and you’re moaning at each ridiculous inch burying its way inside of you. with little to no ease at all, he’s mending your squashy walls and shaping them all due to the size of his thick cock.

he’s so big, so big that his dick makes your tummy cave in a bit and your thighs start to rattle.

toji’s got a fat delicious hook that always curves inside of you as he’s going in. it’s so good - so good to where you’re feeling butterflies brew up inside of your stomach . . unless that was just his bulge.

“toji, ohmygodohmygoddd,” you babble out, gasping with slick parted lips at the gaping barrage he makes with his dick. he’s only halfway in and yet you feel so full. you almost forgot what it was like for him to fuck you, and oh did you miss it. “you’re not—ngh, not gonna fit.”

“silly girl,” he huffs, already starting to feel himself break a sweat. his forehead’s starting to get clammy the more he’s easing his way in. the raven haired man towers over your jittery body before you feel his hungry gaze rove down your back. “we’ll make it work, princess. just like we always do, i trained this pussy well.”

squiiiissssh!

right after he speaks, you’re already gushing from his cock being so deep inside. his tip gets covered with your slick and he hums in amusement.

“even she agrees with me,” he hoarsely utters, preparing his sharp keen hips. you’re just so wet, you nibble down on your tongue as he’s losing himself further inside. it feels like forever until toji’s finally fully in. you hear a ringing ‘pop’ and that’s when you knew he was fitted nice and snug. “there we go, told ya. i always make it fit just for you—oh fuuucckk.”

your scent’s filling up the room now and it’s just driving him crazy. it gives him a headache, the kind of headache where he actually likes the pounding.

he can’t get enough of you, whether it’s your perfume, your body, or just you in general. all he knew was that he missed you and he was gonna show you how, with his deep pivotal thrusts.

“hngh, toji fuck,” you whimper out, and it doesn’t take long before he’s starting up a fast pitiless pace. the bed immediately dips from the harsh amounts of weight and pressure. toji’s got both hands glued to your hips.

his fat tip rudely thrashed at your sweet pulsing cunt time and time again. he’s simply relentless.

as he’s moving with such speed, you feel his full swollen base tap against your ass over and over.

you almost drooled, imagining how much he’d cum inside of you this time. his fingerstips dug so far into your skin that he left brief marks - it wasn’t too bad, but he’d definitely look back at it later just to tease you. “mmph, fuck toji. right there, that spot, baby.”

“i love you sweetheart but you talk too much,” he grouses, and you’re caught off guard once he pauses mid thrust just lean up close against you.

with your back still turned the opposite way, he pulls down your panties all the way, stuffing them in your empty mouth. “there, keep those pretty things in. only sounds i wanna hear is from y’er pussy, she’s the star tonight.”

toji’s cock was just merciless.

if you thought he was mean in bed, his hips were even meaner. ruthless, you’re being fucked against the springy mattress that’s creaking and the same babbles come out of your lips every time.

those same pathetic cries of his name. . it was like music to his ears. you couldn’t see yourself but you just knew you looked a mess.

you were drooling all against the satin pillow case as your eyes were just bulging out of their sockets. toji always knew how to stretch you good and stretch you right.

he was thick, driving his hips into you at such barbarous force that you were almost sure he was gonna break you. he wasn’t lying when he said he missed you. being away from you for so long was practically torture, and yes it was entirely his fault for getting locked up in the first place but still.

“ugh, mmph!” you whine, your noises becoming muffled from the bawled up panties that were stuffed inside of your puffed cheeks.

he was unapologetically drilling into your cunt as if he was a construction worker. if it wasn’t thanks to toji’s grip with hands, you’d probably fall of the bed and land flat on your ass.

“squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—shit,” he growls, his dark brows curling up together in frustration.

your walls were so clingy, they always were. his dick knew just the right spots to make you scream. after a few sloppy hits, his sweltering hot crown starts to break through your walls, pounding in and out until you’re just dumb full of cock.

you were stupid, entirely dumbfounded—and not a single thought crossed your mind as he’s hitting against that same sweet spot. you feel your toes curl up all the way until they feel numb and you let off a inaudible squeal. “pussy’s such a crybaby, look at how much y’er sobbin’ on me, princess.” he points out, purposely slowing his thrusts down just to ogle at the glimmering cobwebs of your own slick streaming down his cock.

it’s so pretty, you’re drenching his length each second and he feels himself twitch - you feel him twitch inside of you.

as he’s still vigorously delving his fat cock in and out of you, you feel toji’s grip around your neck softly tighten. silvery fingers stroke against your tender skin and you moan, a cock drunk smile spreading across your lips whilst your mouth’s full of your own damn panties.

you even taste yourself and it leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth. toji then suddenly raises your ass up just a bit more.

“hey,” he grumbles, swatting a hand against your ass. you’re snapped out of your own lewd thoughts once the sting meets against your rear.

dark sly eyes flicker toward your body that’s twitching underneath him and he hums. “fuck back against me. don’t be a lazy girl,” and your cunt’s so close, you’re on the very verge and almost every nerve that’s buried between your thighs prepares itself for its elated finish. “fuck. me. back.” he repeats, his words an almost growl.

you whimper, quickening your hips again and he stares at your ass that’s gluing against his sharp pelvis, smack smack smacking away. the recoil was always his favorite part, he groans at how good you stick against him, luxuriating in your sweet filth.

you’re clinging onto the creamy white sheets for dear life while you’re also just casually getting the life fucked out of you.

toji always fucked like he hated you—of course, he didn’t. he loved you, he even put a pretty rock on your finger and couldn’t wait to take your last name. or vice versa.

alas, whenever the conversation went towards the bedroom, that was an entirely different story.

he was mean, sharp angered hips would plowed into you like he hated your guts. his tip’s a crimson red, kissing up against your sweetest spot that’s buried so far deep inside of you that it leaves a mark. your stomach continues to seize as he’s driving himself in and out of you, leaving a little bulge that prods near the lower part of your tummy.

“aw,” he glances at you trying to feel near the exact spot with your hand.

toji grunts lowly at the sharp twinge near his thigh, he’s almost out of fuel but he hasn’t had enough of you.

not yet.

“feel me there, yeah? ‘m really that deep, princess,” he whispers in a raspy tone, and you can hear just how out of breath he is. every few words were broken up and he’s panting right with you, pinching the bridge of his nose to suppress his own moans. “our future baby’s gonna be riiiight in here someday, princess. gonna make you the prettiest fuckin’ mommy.”

“mmph—mmph!”

“oh, right,” he cackles darkly, leaning in to pull your panties out of your mouth. once he does, you’re matching the drilling speed of his pants.

toji keeps jackhammering into your sopping wet cunt and you’re just hysterical. a raw squeal dies out from the back of your throat before you abruptly end up cumming.

it’s quick, you cream all down his cock and your eyelids fatally flap shut. “the fuck,” he pauses, and you feel yourself throbbing all around him. you’re shook, your eyebrows twist together in pleasure and you’re just trying to gasp for any breaths you could get. you pout once he stops his hips all of a sudden, still shoved numerous inches inside before he releases his hand from your throat. “i know you didn’t just cum on me baby.”

you gulp, still heavily sensitive. your body’s practically on fire and you hated that he suddenly stopped.

toji didn’t like whenever you came—without asking first at least. “ ‘m sorry,” you moan, hearing his heavy pants directly from behind you. there was a sweet bratty lie underneath your two words and he knew that. toji fushiguro was no idiot. “sorry toji, didn’t mean—”

“oh, babygirl i’m sorry too,” and you’re confused for a moment before he makes your face squish even further against the pillows. a hand of his lightly pushes your head back into the mattress. you whine once you feel him starting up again.

your pussy resumes to freely constrict around his length before he’s starting up his insane pace again. toji feels you trying to crawl away again, weakly trying to paw your hands at the edge of the bed but he’s pulling you right back.

your ass slams against him and you moan, feeling him thrash against your beloved g-spot yet again.

“nah, we aren’t running today. get back here ‘n take this,” and he talks over your sweet babbles and mewls, speaking in a faux tone to match yours. “you’re a big girl aren’t ya, yeahhh? so whatcha runnin’ for?”

as toji reels you back to his raunchy rude hips, they snap into you at full force and you’re just choking on your own mewling whimpers by this point.

hours past, many many hours of you being fucked in any and every position.

toji’s got you screaming at the top of your lungs from each delirious orgasm that he coaxed out of you. he tells you to give him one more, just one more—but that ‘one more’ ends up being at least six more.

you’ve never felt more dumb out of your mind, and every few seconds he’d run his nose down your back just to get another whiff of your sweet enticing scent. by now, he’s lost count of how many times he smelled you. whatever perfume you were wearing, it was now his favorite.

he had you creaming down his cock again and again, your legs shook in defeat and you moan once he prepares to start up again.

but that’s when you lie him back.

“ugh,” he falls back, and his arms rest over the headboard of the bed. there you’re met with the eyes of a very feral man. toji’s jumpsuit was half on, barely even on at this rate. you take a chance to look at him and he’s just so swole. your eyes roam down his beefy body. he’s definitely got more toned since the last time you saw him. his body, it’s as if he was a sculpture. his and were similar to a greek god, droplets of sweat race down near his sharp v-line and you were mentally drooling. you peer down at a few of his tats that ink into his skin, a few veins running down his forearms. “now, that’s pretty damn rude, baby. pushin’ me over like that. oughta—”

“shut up, toji,” you murmur, still trying to get over your most recent orgasm. your ears rang, so loud that it’s putting bells to shame. with hooded eyes and that same sleazy grin, he holds onto your waist as you make your way on his lap.

toji snickers, a palm of his hand squeezing your ass tight. “oh, so y’er gonna ride me. ‘s that what this is, princess?” and you could hear the smug in his tone.

he didn’t think you had the guts. .

the dimples that poke against either side of his lips confirmed his haughty expression. “cute, but fine. go ahead then, girl,” and he spanks your ass, burying his face into your neck, licking against your sweet skin. “ride me.”

you barely even last a few minutes—toji’s just too fucking big.

you’re babbling yet again at how he’s not gonna fit and he just wryly grins at you. seeing you struggle to take him for the umpteenth time continues to feed his annoying ego.

but like the gentleman he was, toji helps you.

big firm hands attach to your waist and he helps you align yourself once more. your cunt’s profusely drooling, aching for more despite the overstimulation that’s continuing to dumb you down.

“such a baby. gotta help ya with everything,” he whispers, hiding his face inside the crook of your neck.

your scent was still so loud, the smell of you alone made him throb and you felt it from the inside of your gripping pussy.

your clingy walls clamp and squeeze around him tightly before you start up your frantic hips again. twisting your brows together in lewd rapture, you whine—tossing your arms over his broad shoulders. after a few seconds, then do you start to move your hips. “fuck, that’s it baby. ride me good, yeah. move those hips, shiiit.”

he groans, feeling his pumping cock drag its way through every part of your slick walls. he never misses a spot, and he sticks his tongue out, dragging it down your collarbone.

“mhm, fuck me. ride it like you want it, princess.” he spanks your ass, hearing the bed wail and creak out frail groans of its own. your hips threw itself in a circle as you’re on his lap, taking in every inch of his thick heavy cock. toji closes his eyes, inhaling your scent for the nth time, and it’s almost as if the second you started riding him, your smell got even stronger.

your slick glosses down his cock entirely, and it’s so pretty. every chance you get, you stare down between your legs just to see the sloshing mess that’s slapping right directly right underneath you. strands of glistening juices blissfully mix with his and just it’s filthy.

it even tangles into a mere cobweb the quicker you bounce up and down his dick. “f- fuck, fuck,” you stammer, and you’re so full—full of nothing but long girthy inches.

again, his maddened plump tip was just rude.

it’s smacking against your spongy sensitive spot constantly, dragging out those cute whimpers from your throat. your fingertips claw down his back whilst your hips becoming incredibly sloppy. “toji, ‘m gonna cum again. fuck, gonna cum again. hngh, please lemme c-cum.”

“let me think about it,” he sighs, and your face cutely drops at his teasing. toji nips small minuscule bites near your neck as his cock stills inside of you. “hmmmmm,” and he even hums over your pleading whines. burly arms wrap around your waist before he squeezes near your ass. he waits for a good seven seconds before darkly chuckling, lapping his tongue directly underneath your chin. “fine. go ahe—fuck.”

toji groans because right as he speaks, he ends up cumming right with you. his teeth bites into your skin as he’s dumping in a fat load inside, creamy globs filling you up almost right away.

his body violently erupts, feeling a ripple of vibrations jolt through his body and you feel the exact same.

you felt a spark surge through your veins and your brain just turned into complete mush. as your dead hips feebly writhe against him your jaw is just hanging open. “hngh, ‘s full,” you wheeze, feeling him continue to overflow your pussy with such thick amounts.

it’s a lot, so much to where it’s drooling all down your thighs, matching color against the ivory colored sheets.

it was so warm - hot even.

you hear the sloshing spurts that it makes and you’re panting just as much as he was.

toji saved so much for you.

his jaw tightens as he leans back, one hand still glued to the right cheek of your ass. “god, i fuckin’ missed you,” he groans, feeling a tingly sensation at the way you swallow every drop with your drooling cunt. your hips waver over him, and once toji brings his face up to stare at you again, he cups your face. “you alright, princess?”

“y- yeah i—” but before you could even finish your sentence, he pulls you in a deep passionate kiss.

it’s sloppy more than anything, and you feel his hands creep down toward your tits, squeezing against your plump swollen mounds. you whine in his mouth as both tangled tongues move in tavern. shaggy bangs brush against your forehead as you wrap your arms around him. as he’s hungrily shoving his tongue down your throat, that’s when he feels your hips slowly starting to grind again.

after a few long seconds, toji pulls away, watching the lustrous trial of saliva leave from both lips. he’s still so sensitive and so were you.

“baby,” he says, raspy and out of breath. he leans in, giving you one more sniff before groaning in your neck. the insides of your thighs were sticky, glued to the very crevices with his hot gluey cum and you definitely milked him. “i need more—fuck, i need more.” and you gasp once you’re suddenly flipped over on your back.

leafy green eyes bore into your ass and you moan once toji drags a big thumb down your cunt that’s slobbering with milky globs of his seed.

“shit, look at this mess,” and he slides his tongue across his lip - specifically, across the scar that runs down his sly crooked lips. “hah, y’er tummy’s not full enough yet, princess,” and you can almost hear the pout in his voice as he’s stood behind you.

toji vertically smears his thumb against your cunt that’s weeping with such thick velvety amounts of cum. he inches his face toward your rear before bringing a kiss towards your wet entrance.

“before i give you more though, ‘m gonna have ‘ta clean this mess,” and you let off a surprised gasp once he dips his tongue back into your pussy again, the cold pierced ball that lies on his tongue making you whimper. “so be a good girl ‘n bend over again for me,” and he starts to nibble against your clit, feeling you ardently pulse against his tongue.

“heh, but i gotta say, this food right here’s so much fuckin’ better than the shit they serve us in prison, princess,” and toji spits right on your folds one last time, giving it a playful smack. “so much better. . ”

13K notes · View notes

joelsgoldrush · 6 months ago

Text

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.”

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison

Allison:

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.”

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules.

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him.

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?”

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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