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holylulusworld · 16 hours ago

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Aw, sweet Logan is the best Logan (not the worst to me). We love him. Our grumpy hairy beast.

Valentines sparkle

Overhearing a conversation between two girls, Logan doubts himself a lot more than he should. Trying to have you see and feel the sparkle of Valentine’s Day.

Pairing: Worst!Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.082 Words

Warnings/Tags: fluff, softness, insecurity, mention of past sexual content, petname [trouble, baby]

Authors Note: Thought about a little something for the Event Loveuary by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt, so here you are. Have fun and enjoy. There are one or two scenes where I could definitely think about a little something, if someone is interested. Divider made by me.

Events: Sweetheart Bingo [Row One-One | I’m yours]

Masterlist | Logan Howlett Masterlist

His eyes roam over the aisles of the shop; everywhere is pink and red stuff, heart-shaped or with hearts and flowers on them. His heart clenches as he notices another girl with her best friend walking to the little spot with chocolate and little boxes made for rings or cards — concerts, trips, everything.

“Maybe he’s asking me then. I saw he looked at these little boxes last time we went shopping. And today he went out, telling me he has to get something from the office. The office isn’t open today,” she says with a wide grin on her face. Her best friend giggles slightly, looking at the boxes as well; her eyes light up when she sees a small one she likes.

“Hopefully I will be that one. It’s so pretty,” she mumbles and lifts a small box in a heart-shaped form with small roses all over it. She holds it almost in her friend's face, who’s looking through the others to find her favorite. “Does he even know what you like? I mean, he’s a man after all, isn’t he?”

Both of them laugh. The girl who’s talking about her boyfriend nods. She’s reaching for another little box and holding it out. It’s a rose-shaped box, and there are a few little roses too. “He does, mostly. But look at this box; you can let them engrave your names in it.”

They put the boxes away again but keep standing there. The girl who’s pretty sure her boyfriend is going to ask her to marry him points at a few more things, telling her friend she needs that too. While her friend always shows other stuff that she likes and keeps asking if the man really knows what her friend likes.

“Lo? Baby?” Your soft voice comes from behind him when you place some sweets and drinks in the cart in front of Logan. He’s turning around, a slight frown on his face, but he tries to force a smile on his lips and nods. “Hey, you good? You look… I don’t know, confused, unsure?”

“Mhm, ‘m fine, trouble,” he grumbles and turns back to the cart and shoves it in front of himself through the aisle. You walk next to him, keeping a close eye on your boyfriend, who does not look as good as he tries to pretend. “Need something else?”

You shake your head and lead him to the cashiers. Logan nods; he’s not too much into shopping, and the conversation between these two women made him feel uncomfortable. An aching feeling in his chest while he thinks about the relationship with you.

“Baby, can you please—“ you giggle when you pull the cart closer to you. He narrows his eyes, looking at you, then at the cashier, and nods. Logan didn’t notice his tight grip around the cart or that he remained in his spot while the people before you already walked out of the shop.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and helps you with the groceries. You notice Logan’s narrowed eyes, his lips in a thin line, and his jaw clenched harshly. It’s a wonder that he doesn’t crush the eggs he’s holding in his hands, or the bottle he’s handing you.

You stay quiet, not wanting to make him feel more uncomfortable. So you just pay and let him push the cart out of the shop to the truck. He’s grumbling under his breath, his knuckles turning white with the force he’s using to hold the handle of the cart.

“Lo, you know, whatever it is that bothers you, you can talk to me. You don’t have to break the cart to get out of your mood, and you don’t have to swallow it all,” you say softly, placing your hand on his thick, hairy arm. His green eyes drop to your hand; he loves how small your hand looks compared to his arm, but he keeps his cold expression. Logan lets his eyes trail down your arm, over your shoulder to your face. His eyes lock with yours, and he nods.

“I know, trouble,” he whispers. Of course, he knows. You sit down at night with him to make sure he knows that he’s not alone. You’re staying up all night with him when he has nightmares and is afraid to get back to sleep. “But it’s nothin’.”

You nod, not convinced by him, but you don’t want to push either. So you just put the groceries in the car. Logan keeps grumbling and mumbling under his breath, his eyes moving back and forth between the shop and you, but he doesn’t say a word.

The drive back home is quiet except for the music, the only sound next to the engine that fills the car. Logan acts like he’s focused on the street, even though you feel his eyes on you every now and then. They are piercing, intense, and something is bringing deep inside of them, a fire he doesn’t dare to let out.

His lips part, but he stays quiet. You look out of the window, watching the people and houses pass by. Logan and you live outside of town, in a little wooden house that offers the two of you a comforting and relaxing place without too many people around.

He parks the car and gets out; you follow him. Logan’s intense stare is still on you when you grasp two of the paper bags to carry them inside. He does the same, but instead of just two paper bags he takes six and brings them into your shared house.

Shopping with your boyfriend is pretty easy since he can carry so much more, and you don’t have to walk back and forth to carry all the groceries. You kick the door closed and shrug off your jackets and shoes, walking into the kitchen where Logan is already unpacking all the groceries.

“Trouble?” He asks, his voice shaking slightly, and he keeps his back to you. You hum, letting him know he can continue talking. “‘M sorry. I just… I got lost in my thoughts.”

“I know, you’re an open book for me, baby,” you reply, walking over to him. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind while you push your head underneath his arm to look up at him.

Logan looks down, smiling softly at you. You’re just too adorable when you do that. His heart skips a beat, but the flutter is soon replaced with the heavy uncertainty again. “There were two girls who talked about one of the girl's boyfriend. She said she thinks he’s asking her to marry him, and her friend asked her to… if he even knows her because he’s a man,” Logan whispers, turning around in your warm embrace to face you. You’re tilting your head up, listening intensely to your boyfriend. “I don’t want to disappoint you with not getting engaged on Valentine's Day… and I… I don’t know if you… thought I would ask you to, or if I know you to buy you something you would like; I’m a man too.”

You chuckle softly; this man is just too adorable for his own good. “I don’t expect you to ask anything like that, Lo. I don’t even expect a present from you for Valentine’s Day or any other event,” you say softly, bringing your hands to his firm chest.

“But I wouldn’t even know what you like anyway,” he grumbles, doubting himself. Even though he should know better, even though you know better, you let him speak without interrupting him. “I’m your boyfriend; I should give you something. I should know what you love, what I could get you as a present.”

You smile, snaking your hands from his chest up to capture his cheeks and pull him down, his face only inches away from yours. “You remember what you got me for Christmas?”

Logan’s lips curl into a soft smile, and he nods his head immediately. His green eyes light up, and he grabs your waist tightly, pulling you closer. “This big stuffed animal, it doesn’t even fit in our bed, but you love it, trouble. Of course, I know what I gave you for Christmas; how could I forget that sweet smil—“

His eyes widen when he notices; he knows you. Logan knows what you like. He gave you a present for Christmas that made your smile bigger than he has ever seen a smile and your eyes were brighter than the sun when you unwrapped it.

“I know you… I know what you like; that’s why you mean?” He asks. You nod with a soft grin on your lips. “But that’s different; you told me you liked it. But—“

“You don’t have to read my thoughts, Lo,” you mumble. Logan shakes his head; he would love to read your thoughts. He would love it to make sure you always get what you want.

“But… even though I know what you like. Or you tell me what you like. Celebrating such a day…? It feels just like I don’t deserve to celebrate it. I don’t think I deserve you, and yet we want to celebrate it?”

“We don’t have to. We can also spend the day like every other day,” you say softly, but Logan shakes his head. He doesn’t want to disappoint you. Maybe you wouldn’t be, but he would be at himself for acting like it’s nothing special. “But you deserve love, so much love, so don’t dare to doubt it, Lo. But if you doubt it, then I will prove to you that you’re wrong. Because I love you, every day. Not just on Valentine’s Day.”

“I love you too, but you love special days; you love Valentine’s Day…” he mumbles, remembering the conversation you had on a date where you saw some hearts and roses, and it reminded you of Valentine's Day. You confess that the sparkle of the day wasn’t there since you and your ex-boyfriend broke up, but you still liked the thought of it and hoped someone would bring back the sparkle one day. “I want to bring back the startle for you. I want to be the one who gives you a reason to love Valentine’s Day, to love every day with me.”

“I love every day with you.”

“Trouble… I want to make it a special day. So shut up and be good for me,” Logan grumbles, a soft smile on his plump lips. “Do you remember the little cabin with the sauna and the hot tub?”

You nod with a grin; the sauna and the hot tub were a lot of fun in every way you can think of having fun with Logan. “Mhm… how can I not after having to clean the whole sauna because someone thought about spilling his cum everywhere but where he said he wanted it to be?”

Logan blushes, his fingers digging further into your skin, and he leans his head down. “You’re playing with fire, trouble.”

“It’s true. You said you want—“ you tease with a smile but get interrupted by Logan, who narrows his eyes slightly. He digs his fingers further into your skin, pulling you closer with a low grumble in his chest.

“How about we keep your pretty mouth shut before I have to stuff it?” Logan growls, pressing his plump lips on yours to shut you up. You chuckle, kissing him back softly while you try to push your tongue through his lips. Logan groans into your mouth, not letting you dominate him in the slightest. “We are spending Valentine’s Day in that cabin, in that hot tub, in that sauna. With movies, sunsets, sunrises, and food. Maybe some chocolate and ice cream, too.”

And so you do; you spend Valentine’s Day with Logan in that pretty cabin. Most of the day in either the hot tub or the sauna with Logan buried inside of you. Or on the couch in his arms while he turns on one cheesy movie after the other. Logan even asked you to let him help you cook the dinner for the two of you, even though he spent most of the time kissing your neck and keeping his strong arms tightly around your waist while he mumbles praises about how good you feel and how perfect you are. And yes… he helps you to bring back the sparkle of Valentine’s Day, not just for you, but also for himself.

Wanna see some more of Logan and Trouble? Let me know if you have any ideas.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princesscore-angel @fandomxo00 @blackhawkfanatic [tag yourself]

#klloveuary2025 #Logan Howlett x reader #logan howlett x yn #logan howlett x female reader #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett fluff #fic recs #lulu reads

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holylulusworld · 15 hours ago

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Tucker, you asshole...😭😭 How could you...

Feel The Burn: Chapter 1

Lance Tucker x Reader | Destroyer!Chris x Reader

Series Masterlist

Your casual situationship with notorious flirt Lance Tucker comes to a shocking head at a party, fortunately the mysterious stranger you meet that same night is more than happy to help take your mind off it.

Wordcount: Approx 4.3k

Me again! I've never written for Lance but felt inspired by the wonderful @nickfowlerrr and her recent Lance fic (it's great, go check it out!) Expecting lots of angst, smut and drama cos you know I love that. Warnings for Lance being a dickwad. Also my first Destroyer!Chris attempt so let's see how we go. As always - reblogs and comments mean the world!

🥇

He’d snuck out before you had woken up.

The little shit.

You knew it shouldn’t be a surprise…but it still stung regardless.

You weren’t stupid. You knew your ‘arrangement’ with Lance was a casual one – no labels, no expectations, no exclusivity. You’d both been transparent about that, and you weren’t exactly looking to lock into anything serious at the moment – between work, friends, family and general surviving, you only really had time and headspace for fun and stress release.

Lance was the perfect candidate for that. Between his personal trainer role job and coaching on the side, he was just as busy as you were. He was also fun and wanted to keep things light, he didn’t put demands on your time and didn’t ask for more than you were willing to give.

He was also an asshole. Which helped keep the boundaries and lines clear.

You’d met at a bar a few months prior. He’d sent over a cocktail via the bartender, and you were rolling your eyes at the cheesy gesture from the guy who appeared to be wearing what looked like a bright red Olympics jacket at the dive bar. But then he came over, and you were surprised at how disarming his stupid smile was, and how easily he made your friends laugh. And then suddenly you were laughing along with them.

He was cute, you’d give him that. Big blue eyes swimming with mischief, a permanent smirk tattooed across his face. Carefully coiffed hazelnut hair that you just instinctively knew had to be perfect before he left the house.

A walking red flag.

Literally too, with that jacket.

You ended up chatting deep into the evening, your friends moving onto the club while you chose to stay with your new buddy. You found out he was a former Olympic gold winning gymnast turned personal trainer and gymnastics coach, which sounded so fake that you laughed out loud at the outrageous claim – until he smugly made you google him on your phone…

…Touché.

Your job wasn’t quite as impressive, but he did seem interested in the fact you owned your own coffee shop downtown. He’s big into the whole self-made thing.

He was cocky and arrogant; you rolled your eyes constantly and groaned at all his jokes all evening. He was everything you’d normally avoid in a man, yet you were strangely captivated by him. There seemed to be a self-awareness to him that intrigued you, as if he knew how awful he was and leaned into it with a knowing wink. At least he was upfront about his assholery, so many men you knew hid theirs until you’d fallen into the deep.

Of course you ended up back at his place, practically falling through the door as he kissed you feverishly, his hands all over you as if he couldn’t get enough – tugging your clothes off before he’d even closed the front door behind him. He spread you out across his couch and ate you out like a starving man, you were shocked at how quickly and how hard he made you come. Men like him often only talked the talk, so you were genuinely caught off guard that he could also walk the walk.

You’d giggled at the utter ridiculousness of the tattoo across his crotch after he’d removed his boxers, the fuzzy haze from your orgasm giving way to clarity as the ludicrous medal image snapped everything back to focus. What the fuck were you doing here??

But he was unperturbed, laughing along with you and shrugging off your reaction – surely, he must be the cockiest man on the planet. “I earned it,” he grinned wickedly, pulling you into him.

His touch was dizzying. He knew exactly how to hold you, how to feel you, how to push you to let go. You were initially conscious of your softer body compared to his rock-hard abs, you didn’t exactly have a gymnast body yourself - but he looked at you unashamedly – circling every inch, tracing every curve. He’d eyed you hungrily, helping himself to you as if you were the tastiest buffet he’d ever had. If you covered your tummy with your hand he’d rip it away, leaving no part of you hidden from him.

It was intoxicating.

And god, the stamina. The flexibility. You lost count of the positions he’d twist you into, effortlessly coaxing your figure into shapes and angles you didn’t even know you were capable of. Never too far, never leaving you uncomfortable for long – or you’d just be too euphoric to notice. Something just clicked with the two of you physically, your bodies fit together as if they’d been designed that way. If your body was a song, he hit every note.

You’d never experienced anything like it.

That was a few months ago and you were unable to fully disentangle yourself from him. What you had intended to be a one-night thing had spread into many nights. Texts. Filthy FaceTime calls. Meeting each other after nights out with respective friends. One of his buddies even began dating one of yours, so you find yourself in the same spots more and more regularly. You were very different people – he was loud and brash, you were more shy and reserved. He would talk the ear off anyone who’d chat to him, you’d quietly listen and observe the conversation. Nobody would have ever put you two together, and your friends were slightly baffled by the arrangement – but they just wanted you to enjoy yourself.

Every time you said you’d wean yourself off him, he’d pop up on your phone and it would be back to square one again.

You knew he was toxic, you knew he was bad, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your brain switched off when you were with him, no anxiety, no insecurities – just enjoying the moment, lost in your pleasure. Nobody had ever made your feel like that in the bedroom, or outside of it either, he was an addiction your body couldn’t curb. He was the bag of candy you knew was in the cupboard and couldn’t resist sneaking the occasional piece.

…You just had to be careful not to binge the whole thing.

All you’d ever asked from him was respect. You may have just been casual, but you wanted to be treated decently – no degradation or meanness unless you’d specifically requested for it in bed (and sometimes you had), no ditching once you’d agreed to meet, no asking anything too personal about each other’s lives. Sure, you were always mouthing off to each other, but it was infused with fun and banter – never cruel, never unkind.

Just because this was casual didn’t mean you should treat each other like dirt.

Sometimes you stayed over at each other’s places, you both enjoyed a post-coital cuddle – even if neither of you had ever said it aloud. You often ended up sleeping on his chest, hearing his breathing deepen as he absent-mindedly played with your hair. Or you’d shower together, and he’d carefully clean you up, the one time the wise cracks were muted as he washed your body and stood with you under the water, holding you against him. Sometimes you’d just stay up late talking, laughing into the night. As wrong as he was for you, he was also easy to be around. You didn’t need to put on a show or performance for him, maybe because you had never really felt the need to impress him. It took the pressure off.

If you didn’t know any better, the altogether picture might look like something resembling tenderness (but you did know better).

Leaning over this morning and seeing him gone felt like a surprising shot in the gut.

He knew full well you were a light sleeper, he’d accidentally woken you up numerous times at your many sleepovers during late-night bathroom trips or bumping against you after rolling over. He was very used to the angry pillow thrown in his direction as you groaned at the interruption and snuggled back into the sheets or allowed him to tug you back into his arms.

But this morning…He must’ve put his training to good use and crawled out of bed like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, carefully dodging the creaky floorboards in your bedroom like lasers and collecting his clothes at the same volume as a gnat's hiccup.

You frowned, not liking that.

It’s not like you wanted him to hang around. You had to go to the shop anyway. But normally he slept in with you, sometimes getting up before you to make you both coffee, or on rare occasions getting something started for breakfast. Ever the committed coach and former athlete, he often liked a detailed ‘debrief’ of the previous night’s performances – with focus on high points, and areas to develop and work on. Yes, really. He took it very seriously and wanted to be top of his game. Which only really benefited you in the long run, as farcical as the whole ritual was.

You knew his schedule, you knew he didn’t have any sessions booked at this time. Him sneaking off just felt…wrong. Rude, somehow. Like he’d got what he needed from you so felt no need to keep up niceties or courtesy, even though that’s always how this thing had worked.

You glanced at your phone. A message from Kat but nothing else. You checked your text thread with Lance – nothing except the ‘you up, Cupcake? 🧁’ text and selfie he’d sent you last night before you’d arranged for him to come by. Hmm.

Fine. Whatever. Unusual, but shit happens – maybe it was just a one-off. You shrugged it off, despite the faint pang of anxiety it left in your stomach.

You fired off a quick text to him, “nice disappearing act, Tucker. You must’ve pulled a muscle with all that stealth”.

You watched the screen and saw that immediately the little bubbles appeared to show he was typing. They hovered for a few seconds, then disappeared, then started again…only to disappear once more. Huh. Weird. Not like him to ignore a jibe like that. Oh well. Maybe he was in the middle of something.

You put it to the back of your mind and got ready for work, heading over to the coffee shop. Marina had opened that morning so you joined her behind the register, greeting her cheerily and asking about her day so far. You did a quick scan of the shop – a few regulars had piled in, but it wasn’t too busy yet. You threw yourself into your normal tasks – helping with customers, wiping down tables, checking inventory, doing some accounts in the back office. All very normal. You soon forgot about Lance and the unusual start to the morning, getting into full work mode. Filter and Foam Café was your baby, your life. It hadn’t been easy to get the business up and running, you started out with a second-hand espresso machine and a cart, then built your customer base brick by brick until you could eventually afford to lease a premises and hire a small team. It was the result of endless long hours and hard graft, but it had paid off. Maybe your business degree had been worth the money, after all.

You felt at home here with your regulars and your staff, life was hard for many, and you were never going to cure cancer or broker world peace – but if you could brighten someone’s day with a decent cup of coffee and a nice pastry, that was something at least. There were lesser contributions to life.

You took a break and checked your phone. Nothing from Lance, unusually, but you replied to Kat’s message from this morning. She was reminding you about her party at the weekend, asking you to bring a bottle. Kat was dating Lance’s friend, Matt, and they were throwing their first joint-party at their new place together. It was cute.

If all else failed, you could berate Lance for his radio silence when you got to the party.

The week rolled on. Still no word from Lance, which was strange as he normally replied to your messages quickly, but it also wasn’t unusual for one/both of you to vanish for a little while if you had a lot going on. You weren’t worried, and you weren’t the type to be obsessively checking your phone. A tiny voice at the back of your head told you that something felt off, but you easily smothered it. The whole point of your arrangement with Lance was to avoid stress and drama, so you wouldn’t entertain anything else.

Friday night came around. Marina was closing which meant you could leave the shop early to go get ready. You settled on a black dress you were fond of, not too showy, not too frumpy, but hugged your figure nicely. You threw on a pair of comfortable heels and did your hair and make-up how you liked, grabbing a taxi to Kat’s place with the requested bottle and feeling excited about spending some time with your friends – even if parties weren’t your scene.

As you walked in the party was in full swing. Kat rushed over to you excitedly and thrust a cocktail in your hand as she gabbled about the new place – giving you a mini tour. Matt chimed in where he could and you grinned at their dynamic – Kat the whirlwind of chaos, Matt the calming breeze. It worked. It was charming to witness, they’d moved fast - but anyone could see how much they meant to each other. Kat and Matt, even their names worked together.

As you moved through the house with them you recognised most of the faces dotted throughout the party, waving and promising to catch up with some of them after you had finished the home tour. You noted you hadn’t seen Lance, but no doubt he would be making himself known sooner or later.

An hour later you were perching on the arm of the sofa, giggling along with Kat as she regaled Matt and some of your friends with a notorious anecdote from your college days.

“I just can’t believe you did it!” Kat squealed with laughter as she playfully knocked your arm, “and here was me thinking I was brave!”

“Well in my defence, he did cheat on one of our best friends…and it was unlucky for him that I still had all that chicken feed after the farm volunteering day,” you grinned, slightly awkwardly as you’re not always comfortable holding court like this. “But hey, it wasn’t like he couldn’t get the bird crap off of his car after they’d finished eating…”

The group all laughed raucously but your eyes were drawn to someone watching you from across the living room. You sipped from your glass as Lance observed you carefully. His expression was strangely unreadable, not giving you the knowing grin he usually flashed when you locked eyes. He wore dark jeans and a nice navy button-down, no sign of the ubiquitous Team USA jackets this evening.

He made his way over to the group you were talking to, Matt greeted him enthusiastically and they did their buddy fist bump thing they often did. He said hello to the other members of the gathering then gave you a curt nod.

“Cupcake”.

“Tuck”, you responded with your own nod.

The group exchanged knowing glances. Your friends were very aware of the unconventional nature of yours and Lance’s ‘friendship’.

He joins in the conversation effortlessly, much easier than you, flowing and diving in with jokes like he’d been standing there all evening. When separate discussions broke off and formed within smaller groups, you took the opportunity to freshen your drink in the kitchen.

“What’s up with you two?” someone hissed.

You looked up from your glass as Kat slithered around the door, checking over her shoulder to ensure you were alone.

“What? With who?” you wrinkled your nose.

“Don’t play dumb! You and Lance! What’s the latest?” your friend pestered, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You laughed, “oh, stop. Nothing. You know it’s just a physical thing…”

“Yeah, whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Having your weird silent conversations with your eyes. When are you going to wake up and realise that you’re basically dating at this point??”

You huffed in protest but she persisted.

“I’m serious, babe, you know Matt said recently that he hasn’t seen Lance with any other girls for a while now…”

You were surprised by that. You and Lance had never been exclusive, but also had the manners not to discuss anyone else with each other. You’d had the occasional date but nothing much, and based on his aggressive flirting had just assumed he had a steady roster of women in his life (although sometimes you weren’t sure how he’d fit them in based on how frequently you saw him).

But you shook it off. You weren’t naïve enough to think someone as greedy as Lance Tucker would be satisfied with only one girl in his life.

You scoffed in response, “oh come on Kat. It’s not like that…it’s just fun. Besides, he snuck out of my apartment earlier this week and then didn’t respond to my text. Hardly boyfriend behaviour…”

“What? That little…want me to beat his ass?”

“I’d love to see that. But no, I’m good. Thank-you,” you chuckled, Kat was 5’1” – any ass kicking she did would be a sight to see. But you knew full well she could handle it, if she wanted to badly enough.

“I’m not letting him treat you like shit…you know that…” she warned as she squeezed your shoulders.

“I do, Kat,” you smiled, “but you know I’m not letting him do that, either”.

She nodded and grimaced, but that seemed to put her mind at rest.

As if summoned, Lance entered the kitchen a second later, making his way over to the rows of bottles to make himself a drink. Kat was being called back into the living room by a loudly drunk partygoer, she rushed out and shrieked an apology to you as she flew out of the door.

“Fuck, Marcy, not the vase!” you heard her cry out as she vanished.

You laughed at her disarray and finished pouring your own drink.

“So, what’s up with you, Tuck?” you asked Lance as you took a sip.

You watched as he made his gin and slimline tonic – always health-conscious, of course.

He shrugged, “what? Nothing. I’m good,” he said blankly without looking up.

“Right…well why did you sneak out the other day? That’s not like you,” you asked casually, “you’d never normally miss a debrief, and sneaking isn’t really your thing,” you laughed good-naturedly, “louder and prouder, in my experience”.

He shrugged again, “I had to run. Sorry”.

His voice was flat, with none of his usual vigour or mirth. It was…weird.

“Oh, okay. Well…you could’ve said bye. But no biggie. I just thought it was weird you didn’t text me back, so thought I’d check you were okay. All good? Gymnast emergency?” you joked.

“Nope,” he shot back – his tone contained none of the lightness that yours did. “And would you just get off my back, already?”

“Jesus, okay,” you frowned, surprised at his reaction. This wasn’t like him at all. “I was just playing…it wasn’t like you-”.

Suddenly he slammed his glass down, it rattled as it hit the counter, “Fucking christ – just drop it, would ya? Needling away at me…I’m not your fucking boyfriend, alright?”

You flinched, completely caught off guard by his vitriol. This wasn’t Lance, this wasn’t the usual dynamic, normally you bantered back and forth and teased each other. He was often crass, but never…mean.

You didn’t speak for a moment, scrambling for words as your brain tried to compute what had just happened.

“I didn’t say you were…” you mumbled.

“Do this, do that, let’s have coffee, don’t sneak out, blah blah blah. I mean what, are you my fucking wife or something?” he spat venomously.

He looked up at you with anger in his eyes, a look you’d never seen in them before.

“No…Lance, I’m just messing around…”

“Are you? Because it feels like you’re suffocating me here”.

You scoffed in disbelief, “what? How? Because I asked you why you snuck out of my apartment?! Because it’s something you’ve never done before. And then I dared to texted you once about it? Hardly a fucking marriage proposal!”

“I don’t need to tell you where I am every fuckin’ minute of the day…”

“I’m not asking you to, fuck! I just think it’s shitty to sneak out like that. You could’ve just told me you were going! Or sent a text or something, damn! It’s pretty basic decency! Like having to acknowledge me before you leave is that strenuous…”

Both of you were yelling now, fortunately drowned out by the blaring music from the living room, the party obliviously continuing in full swing as you two of you exchanged barbs across the kitchen.

After some time going around in circles, he eventually sighed, taking a deep breath as he placed his palms flat on the kitchen counter. His voice now lowered.

“Look…I thought we were on the same page about this. It’s just fun…just messing around. We aren’t a thing, you and me”.

“I know,” you scowled. “I’m very aware. But I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask that you treat me with a degree of respect…We can have fun and be casual without contempt for each other. Sneaking out and then ignoring me…then acting like I’m the asshole for bringing it up…that’s just…”

“All of it…the coffee…the showers…the sleepovers. It’s just gone a little too far,” he sighed. “Cupcake I…”

You blinked at him, bewildered.

He continued, his voice was soft, as if approaching you like you were a frightened deer, “you’re a great fuck, alright? But that’s it. I can get it from 10 other girls in my phone, if I want. You’re cute, you’re funny, but you’re also a means to an end. You get my dick wet, and you’re good at it. Damn good. You make me so hard I can’t see straight. But I also don’t need you interrogating me about my business. Got it?”

You were shocked by his reaction and the callousness of his words…and the pang of hurt that radiated in your chest.

But more so you were angry. Angry at how he’d blown up out of nowhere, angry at his cavalier approach to all of this, angry at his patronising tone, angry at him for trying to talk you down like you were some kind of idiot. Acting as if he could say whatever he liked as long as he did it in a soothing tone. Like you were some kind of besotted lovesick pup he pitied and needed to let down gently.

Asshole.

You glowered at him so hard he actually leaned back a little, the arrogance in his eyes suddenly dulling in response.

“Cupcake, look, I’m sorry…that was-” he started, moving towards you.

“Oh save it, Lance!” you shot back furiously, shoving him away as he advanced towards you.

“Cupcake…I’m sorry-”

“And don’t call me that!”

“Okay, sorry, look, I was out of line…really…” he said gently.

Great. Pity. That was somehow worse.

You wished you had some witty retort for him, some clever insult to stop him in his tracks and put him in his place. But your rage paralysed any potential wit you may have been capable of.

“Tell it to one of the other 10 girls in your phone. Fuck this…and fuck you too!” you told him through gritted teeth.

That would have to do.

You downed your drink and stormed out of the kitchen. He was hot on your heels, telling you not to be like this and just to take a second but you could barely hear him over your own anger. You did a quick scan of the room but couldn’t see Kat, doing your best to ignore the stares from other partygoers as your newly found shadow tried to stop you from leaving. Some of your other friends were calling your name but you couldn’t bear to speak to anyone.

“Cupcake…hey, wait up,” Lance pleaded, cupping your shoulder.

“Just…leave me alone,” you hissed and wriggled his arm off you. You hope he didn't notice the slight crack in your voice.

He relented, letting out a low exhale and sheepishly shoving his hands in his pockets. You turned away from him, quickly grabbing your coat from the large pile in the hallway, leaving the house as fast as your feet could carry you.

You were trembling as the cold outside air hit you, not quite sure what had just happened. Your face felt hot and flushed with humiliation as you stood uselessly on the porch.

You somehow managed to quickly fire off an apology text to Kat saying you’d left. No doubt she’d be blowing up your phone imminently after the partygoers filled her in on all the drama. You suddenly felt immense guilt for making her big night all about you.

“Motherfucker!” you said aloud into the night.

“What did I do?” replied a smooth voice.

You flinched, confused until a man stepped out from the front of the house. He was smoking out here, initially hidden from your view as he must’ve been leaning against the wall just out of sight. He was tall, his hair shaved at the sides but longer and darker on top. He had a thick beard, cutting an intimidating figure in his denim vest, showing off the tattoos on his biceps. Mostly you were struck by his eyes, cerulean pools that were as striking as they were daunting.

They were also oddly familiar in a way you couldn’t place.

“S-sorry, I wasn’t talking to you…” you mumbled, embarrassed to have been caught out like this in your current state.

“Well, I got time. Just taking a break from the party,” he took a long drag on his cigarette, “I’m Chris. So, tell me about this motherfucker…”

🥇

#lance tucker #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker x you #chris!destroyer #chris!destroyer x reader #feel the burn fic #fic recs #lulu reads

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