#or what he liked. or what he smelled like. or remembered what his voice sounded like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thoughtfulfiction · 2 days ago

Text

Friend zone? End zone.

Author’s note: Anon requested🧡

July

Packing everything up and moving to France with no idea where you'd live or how you were going to make money, to study under some of the most well known pastry giants in the world was...crazy. But somehow, opening up your own bake shop in Cincinnati felt even more like you were losing the last hold on your sanity. You didn't know anyone here, no friends or family nearby, but Velvet Clementine was your dream. And today, the dream smelled like vanilla, caramelized sugar, and the bright zest of fresh clementines, located in the middle of the Queen City. You had your own staff, granted it was four people but still, you were the owner, the boss, of your very own place.

Cincinnati had been your home for six weeks when the bell chimed, and two men—tall enough to make your display case look like a dollhouse—ducked into the shop. They moved with effortless confidence, their voices a low rumble of laughter as they scanned the display case with the focus of someone choosing their last meal. You watched them pile on various pastries, looking through the rows of mini pain au chocolat, almond croissants and pastel de nata. The mini fruit tarts featuring clementines and red velvet cakes were the items that made you fall in love with baking, hence the name of the place. The shorter man reached for a tart, its glossy colorful slices glistening under the bakery lights, nestled in a bed of creamy white chocolate mousse. You watched as the other one picked up a croissant, giving it a slight squeeze—a soft crackle of delicate layers breaking beneath his fingers. They seemed satisfied with their various selections, happily walking over to the register, the tall one flashing his almost sinfully perfect smile as he paid for everything. You thanked them for coming in and sent them on their way.

"You can't be serious, how did you not say anything?" Your sous chef Quinn let out a breath she had probably been holding since the two guys walked through the door.

"What are you talking about?"

She scoffed, remembering the fact that you’d lived in Europe the last few years so their presence didn’t hold much weight. She tossed a dish towel over her shoulder as she turned to face you, “they’re Bengals, babe. Like, literal football gods. Also, it helps that they’re stupidly attractive."

You hummed, processing everything she just threw at you. "Well, that part I did notice. And they’re freakishly...big. Good thing we made extras of everything, because I think they just wiped out half the front shelf."

Quinn laughed, stepping around you to check for herself. "I have a shelf they can—sorry."

"Okay easy tiger,” you let out a laugh, “they're gone. Are we still on for drinks tonight?"

"Oh absolutely, I definitely need a martini or three after seeing the best receiving duo in the game, in person. My boyfriend is actually going to lose his mind when I tell him."

You shake your head with a smile on your face, walking back to the kitchen to restock, the scent of butter and cocoa bean filling the air as you slip behind the counter to arrange the freshly baked tarts.

Much to your surprise, they were back three days later. The door sounded again, and the tall one walked up to you, his broad shoulders barely fitting in the doorway. "I'm Tee."

"Hi Tee," you smile, surprised. "Didn't expect to see you back so soon. Or your friend over there." Tee turns around to find Ja'Marr loading up on cheesecakes this time, not paying attention to anything else. The sight of him, mouth half-full of a pastry, causes you to chuckle.

"I didn't either but...damn. You the owner?"

You nod, hesitant but flattered.

"Excuse my language, but yo, this shit fire—like man. We had to come get some more. Everything’s made fresh, from... scratch?"

"Yeah, every morning I get here at like 5:30 and we bake everything. From scratch."

Ja'marr appears next to him, holding a mini crème brulee. "You are VERY good at your job. You'll be seeing a lot of us now that we're back for the season. Swear you weren't here when I left Cincy, how long you been here?"

"Stop, it's not that great.” You wave him off as he continues to nod profusely, holding up his latest find with wild eyes as you laugh again. “And I've been here a little over a month, just moved to Cincinnati actually."

"From?" Ja'Marr pipes up, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

"France, lived there for a few years to perfect my pastry skills and really focus on my craft."

"That's crazy, I just got back from Paris for Fashion Week. The food was amazing and looks like the classes worked cause you definitely know what you're doing."

"Thank you guys. And spread the word will you? I heard you two are kind of a big deal around here."

"Something like that, we appreciate you for these," Tee flashes a wide grin, holding up the bag as he thanks you one more time, "you'll see us back here soon."

The next day they returned the favor and since you'd been feeding them, they wanted to take you to a special spot downtown to really introduce you to the city. Of course you brought Quinn with you. Her boyfriend didn't believe this was actually happening until he Facetimed her and saw the guys for himself. It was nice to finally feel like you'd met people you got along with without having to try to be anyone but yourself. Over the next few weeks while exploring the Cincinnati food scene, you found out that Tee and Ja'marr were funny, sweet and kind, just two guys enjoying the last few weeks of the offseason before training camp ramped up. Both of them were in the midst of contract negotiations, having to explain to you the ins and outs of NFL life. They appreciated that you didn't care about their status and never asked unless they started the conversation and you loved having people around that made this city feel so much less like a foreign country.

Ja'Marr strolled in one morning with a grin, practically bouncing on his feet as he leaned across the counter. "Hey, so listen...you gotta make those mini cakes for my housewarming on Saturday. I mean, you have to be there, since we’re your best friends now and all. It’s only right."

Quinn, who had been wiping down the counter, stopped mid-motion and squinted at him. "Excuse me? So now I’m invisible? You’re just gonna act like I wasn’t the one keeping her entertained before you waltzed in with your designer sweatpants and phenomenal taste in bakeries? Some people." She shakes her head in mock disbelief.

Ja'Marr smirked, completely unbothered. "Anyway, Imma ignore that. Jealous isn't a good look on you Quinn." He quickly turns his attention back to you, "so...you'll be there Saturday right? I'll text you the address."

"Yes, I'll be there."

"And so will I, since we wanna exclude people from the conversation." Quinn adds in from behind you.

Ja'Marr, clearly pleased with his victory, flashed a grin as he turned to leave. "Speaking in third person? You know what I'll just see y'all Saturday." Before heading out, he shot you one more look over his shoulder. "Don’t forget, mini cakes."

As he walked out, Quinn glanced at you, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Looks like you’ve got some serious new friends now, huh?"

"We," you correct her, "we have some serious friends new friends now."

As a business owner, you prided yourself in being a professional. Even at your friend's party, you wanted to be more than on time and make the cakes look as pretty as possible. Quinn had joined you in the last-minute preparations, both of you arriving an hour before the gathering started to get things in order. The large living room was already buzzing—caterers setting up a lavish buffet, trays full of appetizers being placed on side tables. Some of Ja'Marr’s friends, who you assumed were visiting from Louisiana, lounged in the corner, their laughs echoing over the low hum of video game sound effects.

You and Quinn worked in tandem, setting the delicate mini cakes on a table near the center, the soft scent of the various flavors filled the room as you arranged the treats just so. You hadn’t even noticed Ja'Marr and Tee walking towards you until Ja'Marr's voice cut through the conversation.

"You brought my favorite ones, that’s so sweet. I am gonna tear. These. Up." His grin was wide as he took in the display of your pastries while wiggling his fingers.

"Be classy, please," you teased, glancing at him, "we don’t want your neighbors thinking a wild animal moved in next door."

"Nah, it’s cool," Ja'Marr shrugged nonchalantly, glancing down to check his phone. "I think one of the neighbors just got here."

The door clicked open, and in walked a tall figure. Your breath caught slightly in your chest as your gaze followed the man’s movement. His striking blue eyes swept across the room, a faraway intensity to his expression that made it seem like he was seeing more than just the people around him. There was a quiet confidence to his posture, the kind of calm authority that made him impossible to miss. His light brown hair, a little tousled in that effortless, perfect way, gave him the air of someone who had just stepped out of a high-end catalog.

"Burrow!" Ja'Marr exclaimed, his voice shifting into an easy familiarity. "Damn...I’m really surprised you here. Didn’t think you were leaving the house for a year after your little world tour."

"We went to the same country," Joe replied, his voice steady and slightly dry. "And it was just one." He gave Ja'Marr a side hug, but the moment was strange—a quick pinky shake that made you tilt your head, wondering what it meant. Something about it felt oddly intimate.

Ja’Marr turned his attention to you. "You remember that bakery we been tellin' you about? This is Y/N, the owner. We kinda best friends now so you need to get used to seeing her around. And that's Quinn, they're a package deal."

"Nice to meet you both." Joe’s voice was smooth, but there was a slight tension in the air as he extended his hand.

You reached for it, but Quinn—who had been standing beside you—was frozen. Her eyes were wide, staring at Joe like he was some kind of myth brought to life. The words she'd been about to say caught in her throat, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to process the moment. The seconds stretched on, but she didn't seem able to move, her usual confidence wiped away by her starstruck shock.

You nudged her lightly with your elbow, snapping her back to reality. She blinked, her expression changing in an instant. “Sorry,” she said quickly, her voice higher-pitched than usual as she shook Joe’s hand. “It’s just—um—I'm, like, a huge fan. My boyfriend, too. He’s gonna lose his shit when I tell him I met Joe Burrow.”

Joe’s eyebrow raised slightly, a small, amused smile pulling at his lips as he noticed her flustered reaction. He let out a soft chuckle. "Well, nice to meet you, Quinn."

You laughed softly, shaking your head at Quinn, trying to play it off while feeling your own pulse steadily increasing. Quinn, still flushed from her sudden nervousness, was no longer frozen but her eyes were still glued to Joe, unable to hide the awe on her face.

"Okay, now that we've got that out of the way," Ja'Marr said, clearly enjoying the shift in energy. "I know you don't play about your diet but when I tell you these cakes are the best thing I've ever put in my body? I'm being serious."

Before you can roll your eyes or downplay it, the homeowner stops you. "Don't even think about it, I don't wanna hear none of that. We just need to get him to try one."

Joe grabs one with a Biscoff cookie on top and takes a bite, completely unfazed by the fact that everyone is watching. "Wow, this is. This is incredible. I get why they won't shut up about your place. This is really good."

"Thank you," you laugh softly, trying to push down the weird sense of nervousness pooling in your chest. "And thanks for breaking your strict diet to try it, that means a lot."

He nods and more people start to show up so Ja'Marr leaves to greet them and Tee grabs a few tiny cakes for himself, Quinn asking him if he wants a plate. Everyone moved on from the previous conversation but as you made eye contact with Joe, something unexpected happened—a flicker of recognition, of something unspoken, passing between the two of you. His gaze held yours for just a heartbeat longer than usual, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room had melted away. Although you didn’t really want to, you ignored that feeling and focused on enjoying the night.

You and Quinn moved around the party, getting to know different groups of people, mingling with different players on the team, their significant others and she had to explain to you who all these people were. Of course you'd heard the names before, the buzz around the city the closer the players got to training camp and to the season actually starting. But if years in Europe had taught you anything, it was that sports fans are obsessively dedicated and somehow now you had also become an honorary Bengals fan because of Ja'Marr and Tee. And you couldn't wait to cheer them on. But right now? You couldn't wait to be home and in bed.

The exhaustion of the being up since 4:30 in the morning was continuously creeping up on you. The noise and the laughter mixing with the smells of rich food and the clinking of glasses was all becoming a bit too much after a long week of work. Your mind was constantly racing, your body tired and your spirit longed for some peace and quiet.

You slipped outside into the cool evening air, the chill of the night sky a welcome relief from the heat of the crowded room you'd successfully slipped out of. The city buzzed faintly in the distance, but it felt like a different world out here, away from the chatter and the constant movement.

You leaned against the porch railing, closing your eyes for a moment to just breathe.

The door clicked open behind you, and for some reason you knew exactly who it was. His presence was unmistakable.

“Didn’t expect you to be out here,” Joe’s voice was low, a little gruff but soft in the quiet of the night.

You didn’t answer right away, too focused on the quiet of the moment to form any words. You’d seen Joe around the party—he’d been laughing and chatting, looking perfectly at ease, but now he seemed... different. There was something in the way he stood, in the way he gazed at the horizon, that told you his social battery had run out just like yours had.

“You all good?” Joe asked after a beat, his voice a little more concerned than you expected.

You nodded, finally turning to face him. “Yeah. Just needed a minute. It’s...a lot, sometimes, you know? New city, new life, always on the go.”

Joe looked at you for a long moment, as though weighing something in his mind. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I’ve had days where I just need to...step away for a second. Guess we both needed some air, huh?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. Two people who seemed like they could handle anything, both seeking a quiet moment to themselves, at the same time. You glanced at him, noting the way his hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw slightly tense. He wasn’t trying to fill the silence with empty words or forced jokes, and for that, you appreciated it.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just standing there in the cool night air, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door. For the first time, you felt the world slow down a little.

Joe shifted, and you glanced over, catching the faintest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Tee and Ja’Marr won’t shut up about you. Guess it’s my turn to see what all the hype is about."

You smiled back, the moment stretching on, neither of you in a rush to move. "Hope I don’t disappoint."

Ja'Marr had you over a few nights later to go over some film with you to get you ready for "the most important season of your life." Tee walked into the living room holding an iPad full of notes, including the presumed depth chart for week 1. Joe sat on the opposite couch, a water bottle on the table in front of him. They gave you a rundown on what everybody's role is on the team starting with Joe.

"He's QB1, you know. Heart of the team, he's our leader." The more he talked, the more it sounded like he was reciting wedding vows to his quarterback, who looked like he was bored out of his mind. You glanced over at him, but he didn’t react, just sipped his water and let Ja’Marr ramble on. You had barely spoken to him all day—just small glances here and there without taking it any further.

The same thing happened the next day. And the day after that.

Finally, you spoke up. "You're not a man of many words, are you?"

Joe barely looked up as he responded, "Depends on who it is and what they're asking." His tone was casual, but there was a weight to it, like he didn’t give away words freely. Like almost every human interaction he had was a secret interview prying into his personal life.

"Okay, well, you've attended three sessions of my exclusive Bengals 101 class, and you've barely said a word," you pointed out, shifting on the couch to face him. "But yet, every day, you're here."

"I love football," he said simply, taking another sip of water. Then he set the bottle down, finally looking at you. "And I would hate for the newest football fan of the crew to be confused in the middle of the Jungle."

"Is that what they call it? The Jungle?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at the fact that he may have just cracked a joke.

Joe gave you a half-smirk and nodded. "It gets pretty wild, Y/N," he said, standing up and patting you lightly on the back as he walked past. "You better be ready."

He always kept interactions short, never going out of his way to talk to you in group settings, refusing to join the group chat that Tee had created with you, Ja'Marr, and Quinn. Instead of treating him like an onion who needed to be peeled, you just went with it and tried to lean in and embrace his dry sense of humor.

One night, you plopped down next to him on the couch. "Hey," you said casually, tilting your head to study him. "I was just wondering—do you ever smile? Like, unprompted? Or do you just reserve happy Joe for the comfort of your gigantic house when you're alone watching SpongeBob reruns?"

Joe turned his head slightly, his lips twitching into a smirk before he quickly looked away, trying to hide it.

Too bad for him—you caught every second of it.

A few hours later, as you cleaned up after another “film session”, you caught Joe watching you from across the room. Not in an obvious way—more like he was trying to figure something out, like you were a broken play he was seeing on his tablet.

He left without saying much, as always. You figured he preferred sticking to his usual routine—keeping his world small, guarded and unbelievably predictable.

So, when you saw him on the other side of Quinn's door after days of radio silence holding several bags of food, you almost dropped the bottle of wine in your hand.

"You know, you probably shouldn't have tipped that delivery guy. He just handed me these bags when I told him I was coming up here. I could've just been some horrible person stealing a perfectly good breakup recovery meal."

"I think because you're...you know—you? He probably would've handed you anything. I’m surprised he didn't ask for a selfie."

“Oh, he did,” Joe deadpanned, shifting the bags in his arms. “I signed the receipt instead. How's Quinn?"

"Honestly? She said she saw it coming, but it still sucks. You can come in."

Before long, everyone had found a spot, the coffee table now covered in takeout containers, the aroma of fried rice and lo-mein filling the air. The soft glow of the TV flickered across the dimly lit living room as Quinn sat curled up in the corner of the couch, picking at her food while Tee animatedly recounted his worst breakup story.

“At least your ex didn’t break up with you via emoji,” Tee said, waving his fork.

Ja’Marr nearly choked on his drink. “You lyin’.”

“Bro, she deadass sent me a salute emoji and just—gone.”

Quinn let out a weak laugh, shaking her head. “Okay, that’s tragic.”

“Exactly. So if I survived that, you’ll survive this.” Tee nudged her with his elbow.

The weight in the room had started to ease, the heaviness of Quinn’s breakup quickly turned into a lighter and softer energy. You sat on the couch sharing a blanket with her, almost having to force yourself into finishing your food because it was unfortunately your first real meal of the day. Joe sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his knee brushing against yours every time one of you shifted. You told yourself it was nothing.

Every once in a while, your eyes met—quick glances during a particularly funny scene, a knowing look when Ja’Marr started yelling at the TV. He was more relaxed tonight, his usual quiet guardedness giving way to something looser, something easy.

For the first time since moving to Cincinnati, you felt it. That feeling of belonging. Of finding your people.

Quinn let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning her head against your shoulder. “I guess I’ll survive.”

“You definitely will,” you reassured her, placing your hand on hers, giving it a squeeze.

Joe shifted beside you, his voice low. “You picked a hell of a crew to stick with.”

You turned your head, meeting his gaze, something unreadable in his expression.

“Could be worse,” you teased, nudging his leg slightly.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. For a second, it seemed like he might say something else—but instead, he just reached for an egg roll.

After that night, things started to shift more toward football. The usual late-night hangs became less frequent, the group chat more active with reminders about packing lists and schedules. Training camp was looming, and you could feel the weight of it, even though you weren’t the one suiting up.

One night at Ja’Marr’s, Tee stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. "This is our last free weekend before camp. Y’all better soak it in.”

Quinn groaned. “Ugh. That means my social life is about to take a massive hit.”

Ja’Marr snorted. “Don’t act like we don’t have days off. We just gon be tired as hell.”

Joe wasn’t there that night—he’d taken off for a few days on his annual lake trip, something about needing to “reset.” Not that you were keeping tabs on his whereabouts or anything, but the house felt quieter without him.

Then, two nights before camp started, he walked into Ja’Marr’s house like nothing was different.

Except, everything was different.

Tee was mid-sentence when he noticed, his words dying in his throat as he squinted at Joe. “Boy, what the hell?”

Ja’Marr turned, eyes widening. "Nah. No way."

You blinked. “Did you—did you shave your head?”

Joe barely reacted, setting his keys down like this was any other day. “Yeah.”

“And bleach it?” Quinn added in, looking intrigued...and a little scared.

“Yep.”

Tee leaned forward, inspecting him like he was some rare species. “You look like a villain in a Fast & Furious movie.”

Joe smirked, rubbing a hand over his buzzed, bleach-blond head. “Perfect.”

Ja’Marr was still in shock. “Bro, what possessed you?”

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered. “Felt like it.”

You tried to stifle a laugh, shaking your head. Of course. The most dramatic change of the offseason, and he acted like it was nothing.

Quinn tilted her head, appraising him. “You know what? I don’t hate it.”

Ja’Marr ran a hand down his face, groaning. “Man, now we gotta deal with this version of Joe all season.”

Joe just grinned, casually grabbing a side salad off the counter like he hadn’t just broken everyone’s brains. Training camp hadn’t even started yet, and he was already causing chaos.

Quinn, Tee, and Ja’Marr burst out laughing, looking at each other with wide grins. "Hold up—do y'all realize what this means?" Tee pointed between them. "We all got buzzcuts now."

Ja’Marr gasped, nodding. "Oh, it’s a sign. We're about to be in sync this season. Chemistry off the charts."

Quinn snorted. "What, like you're the bald-headed Avengers?"

Tee clapped his hands. "Nah, we’re like…an Olympic relay team. Faster, stronger, better communication."

Joe shook his head, amused. "You guys are ridiculous."

"You say that now, but just wait," Ja’Marr said, stroking his chin like he was cooking up a master plan. "I'm over here manifesting greatness."

Joe just rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his food, but then he caught your expression. You were dying to say something. "Go ahead, tell me what you really think. I've heard a few. Cody Rhodes, Eminem..."

"I was gonna say a more attractive version of Jonah Hill in the 21 Jump Street flashback scenes."

Tee and Ja’Marr lost it. Ja’Marr literally had to grab the counter for support, and Tee was staggering away, gasping between wheezes. "Bro, I can see it!"

Joe stared at you, lips pressing together like he was physically restraining himself from laughing. "That’s just hurtful."

"You asked." You bit back a grin.

The chaos continued around you, but somehow, it ended up just the two of you standing there as the others got distracted by something else.

You hesitated. You shouldn’t ask. But you did.

"Why did you do it?" You tried to sound casual. "Your hair looked fine—I mean, more than fine—but… why?"

Joe leaned against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. His lips twitched like he was about to say something stupid. Then—

"I want frosted tips."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"And I’ve never seen anyone actually look good when they just go get them, so I’m doing it the natural way."

You just stared at him. "Joe. This is the most insane way to get blond highlights, and you know it."

"Sorry you feel that way," he said, totally unbothered. "But I don’t do things halfway. Go big or go home."

He said it so casually, but the way he was looking at you? That was dangerous. The kind of look that made the room feel a little too warm, made your stomach do an annoying little flip. His icy blue eyes held yours just a second too long—long enough for you to realize that you should run for your life.

Because if you stayed here any longer, you might have to admit that you were developing a teeny, tiny, completely inconvenient crush on Joe Burrow.

August

Having a crush as an adult kind of feels like you're having a heart attack. You could be completely fine one second and then suddenly your entire being was consumed with thoughts of him so vivid it made your chest hurt.

The first preseason game was finally here, giving you the perfect excuse to focus on literally anything else. Your first tailgate was an experience, that morning of the game was by far the busiest day you'd ever experienced. Pre-orders were being picked up left and right, mini pies and cheesecakes were snatched off the shelves before 11am and the only thing that remained by the time all of you left the shop at 2pm was a lone batch of cupcakes that you ended up giving away for free at the stadium. It was easy promo.

Paycor Stadium felt like magic. A chaotic, slightly unhinged kind of magic. Fans were everywhere—some already drunk, all of them decked out in orange, fully prepared to dedicate their mental health to a 53-man roster for the next several months. You just wanted to see your friends do what they loved—well, at least two of them, since Ja’Marr was in the middle of a holdout. Or, technically, a hold-in, since he was still around the building but not practicing. You were still trying to grasp the nuances of contract negotiations, and honestly, you needed a few more Bengals 101 cramming sessions to feel more confident in your abilities to explain the situation, if anyone were to ask.

Time slowed when Joe stepped onto the field. And the stadium erupted when he threw a touchdown to none other than Tee. You swore you saw a couple of fans crying, which was kind of heartwarming but also a little funny, considering they didn’t know him personally.

Joe hadn’t talked much about his wrist injury or the recovery process after surgery, and you never wanted to pry. You figured he’d open up when he was ready. But as you watched him out there, commanding the field like nothing had ever been wrong, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had been as easy as he made it look.

He commanded the field like he commanded every room he entered. You met up with him, Ja'Marr, Tee, Quinn and a bunch of his friends from Athens along with his family to gather at his house, not only because it was the beginning of the season, but it was also a new beginning for him post surgery. The celebration was on, laughter and quiet music filling every corner of the house. You couldn't really hear it, but it had to be from Joe's never ending playlist filled with Gunna and Kid Cudi songs. People drifted in and out of conversations, drinks in hand, taking in the importance of indulging in the calm before the storm of the regular season.

At some point, you found yourself in the kitchen, away from the noise, refilling your drink. You weren’t alone for long.

Joe lingered in the doorway for a second before stepping into the kitchen, leaning against the counter beside you. His presence was quiet but steady, like he was still deciding if he wanted to speak.

For a moment, the two of you stood next to each other silently. You were perfectly happy listening to the muffled sounds of the party happening in the next room. Then, finally, he exhaled, his voice low enough that it almost got lost in the noise.

“I um—I cried last night.”

You turned to him, startled by the sudden confession. His gaze stayed on the counter, fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood.

“There were nights when I thought I wouldn’t make it back here,” he admitted. “Like, really about thought it. More than I ever have before.” He swallowed hard, jaw tightening for a second before he let out a humorless laugh. “I’ve never been afraid of failure. Not really. But this time… it was different.”

You could only imagine what that felt like—to have the thing you built your whole life around suddenly feel uncertain. To sit in the unknown and not be able to do anything but wait.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly, shifting so you were fully facing him. “I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like for you.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “But I do know I’m glad you’re here. That you made it through. And that I get to see you come out on the other side of it.”

Joe finally looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.

Before you could stop yourself, you sighed, "I think about failure all the time."

His brows furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

You glanced down, running your thumb over the rim of your glass. “Every single day at the bakery feels like a risk. Like one wrong move, one slow month, and it all comes crashing down. I try not to let it eat me alive, but it’s always there in the back of my mind.” You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Every day is either a risk or a victory. Some days, it’s both.”

Joe was quiet for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “I get that.”

And you knew he did. Probably more than anyone else. Maybe that was the thing about him—he understood the weight of expectations, the pressure of something you love being both the best and hardest thing in your life.

The party carried on around you, but the two of you stayed there, in the quiet.

Joe wasn’t sure when it started, but sometime after the day he met you, he’d found himself wanting to be near you. To talk to you. To hear what you had to say.

Now, standing here, watching the way your eyes softened when you spoke, he realized something that both excited and terrified him.

He liked you. He really liked you.

And when you smiled at him—soft, understanding, like you really saw him—something in his chest tightened. He was absolutely fucked. And he knew it.

The day after his ill-timed epiphany, he had to figure out a way to see you, without making it completely obvious that he wanted to see you. So he did the one thing he could think of.

"THE Joe Burrow, gracing my humble bakery with his presence?" You place a hand over your heart in mock surprise. "Did hell actually freeze over? Or did you finally crack under the pressure of living a sugar-free life?"

The quarterback looks around and shrugs, "told my parents about this place and I wanted to grab them something before they head out. What should I get? What's good here?" He laughs and you glare at him.

"Everything," Quinn interrupts before disappearing in the kitchen to go over their fall menu, "you know this."

"Well…surprise me." Joe says, when it's just you again. "You're the professional here. And I trust your opinion."

You pick out a few things, putting them in a box and handing them over to him after he tapped his phone on the tap to pay. His fingers brushed against yours on the box, just for a second. Just long enough for his slightly calloused touch to settle into your skin. He didn’t pull away immediately. Neither did you. And then, just like that, the moment passed.

Joe thanked you, turning on his heel and walking out without another glance. He told himself not to think about it. About the way your hand felt against his. About how his skin still felt warm where you’d touched him.

He spent a considerably long time staring at his palm in the car before shaking his head, gripping the wheel, and driving himself home.

September

The month came with the promise of real football. Instead, it delivered losses. Three straight. By the end of the month, they were 1-4, and the frustration was suffocating.

Losing wasn’t new to Joe—football was a game of highs and lows. But this? This felt different. This felt like clawing for air and only inhaling more water. He’d been playing pretty well but that hadn’t translated to team success so needless to say, he was frustrated.

And when Joe was frustrated, when the weight of the season pressed down on him, he did what he always did: he shut people out.

His routine became even more rigid. Early mornings. Earlier nights. Film. Practice. Ice baths. Rehab. Study. Sleep. Repeat. No distractions. No detours. Just football.

No one took it personally. Not really. This was how he was wired. How he dealt with things. But that didn’t mean you didn’t notice the way his texts became shorter, the way he started disappearing from the group chat, the way even Ja’Marr and Tee could barely get more than a few words out of him after a loss.

You weren’t even sure if stopping by was the right move. Still, you showed up at his house the day after their first win, peanut butter oat cups in hand and a ton of nerves in your stomach. You just…wanted—no needed to see him. To lay eyes on him and know he was okay.

Joe opened the door a few moments later, looking like a guy carrying a losing record on his shoulders. His hoodie was slightly wrinkled, his hair, which had already grown out tremendously, was still damp from a shower, and there was something unshakably tired about the way he stood.

But when he saw you, his posture relaxed just a little.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“Hey.” You offered a small smile, holding out the box. “Figured you’d be on lockdown mode, so I won’t keep you. Just wanted to drop these off.”

His lips twitched like he was debating whether or not to smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But I did.”

Joe exhaled, running a hand over his face before glancing down at the box in his hand with a small smile. You were definitely going to consider this a win.

You let the silence settle between you for a moment before finally saying, “I know this is my first season actually paying attention to all this, but…I do know one thing.”

He looked at you then, a softer expression on his face as he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“This season isn’t over,” you said firmly. “Not even close. I know you well enough to know you won't just give up without a fight.”

Joe swallowed hard, slowly nodding his head. He didn’t respond right away, but you didn’t need him to. Instead, you reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder—just for a second, just to ground him.

“I’ll let you do your thing,” you murmured. “I just needed to see you for myself.”

Something flickered in his expression, something almost vulnerable, but before you could place it, he sighed, releasing a significant amount of tension in his muscles.

“Come on,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’ll walk you out.”

The morning air was cool as the two of you walked in quiet steps toward your car. When you reached the door, you turned to say goodbye, but before you could, Joe pulled you into a hug.

It caught you off guard at first, the warmth of him, the way he held onto you like he needed this moment more than he was willing to say.

And then you felt it.

The steady, rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

You weren’t sure what it meant. If he even realized how much he was giving away just by standing here, holding you like this. And as much as you wanted to say something—to push—you got in your car holding back a smile.

October

The guys were riding on a high after beating the Giants, allowing themselves to celebrate for a total of...four hours.

By the time Joe made his way to Ja’Marr’s place, the energy in the house was still buzzing. Most of the guests had gone home and it was just the core four cleaning up in the kitchen, while others made their way in and out of the house. For once, nobody was sulking over film breakdowns or injury reports. It was rare for Joe to show up to things like this—especially in-season—but a win after weeks of frustration made it easier to step outside his routine, even if only for a little while.

He kept to himself for the most part, sitting back and listening while his receivers talked over each other about plays, what went right and what they could’ve done better. But the conversation took a sharp turn when Quinn, comfortably stretched out on the couch with a glass of wine in hand, looked up and announced, “Oh, by the way, I got her on dating apps.”

Silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

“Wait, what?” Tee sat up so fast he almost knocked over his drink. “Are you serious?”

“Like, for real?” Ja’Marr leaned forward, grinning. “Ain’t no way.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Quinn smirked, pulling out her phone. “Took some convincing, but she finally caved. And now I get to be the supportive best friend who helps her swipe.”

Ja’Marr rubbed his hands together. “Hand it over. We gotta see this. Make sure ain’t no weirdos on there. Last thing I need is for you to end up on some true crime Netflix special.”

Joe stayed quiet, gripping the neck of his water bottle a little too tightly as you handed them Quinn your phone and she pulled up the profile. Tee and Ja’Marr crowded around, making dramatic noises every time they scrolled past a new guy.

“Absolutely not,” Tee muttered, swiping left.

“Oh, hell no.” Ja’Marr swiped even faster. “Why he posing like that?”

“This one’s kinda decent, though,” Quinn argued, nudging the phone toward them. “Look at him.”

Joe didn’t look. He didn’t join in on the commentary, didn’t make a joke, didn’t do anything except sit there, staring at the condensation rolling down his water bottle, wondering why there was a weird feeling sitting heavy in his chest.

It wasn’t like he had a right to feel any type of way about this. And he knew what it meant.

But that didn’t stop him from feeling it anyway no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

Between the temperature fluctuations and the sudden boom in business, your head was spinning. The bakery had never been more popular. What had started as a hidden gem over the summer had officially become one of Cincinnati’s go-to spots. Lines stretched out the door on weekends, with customers raving about the new fall menu: cinnamon swirl snickerdoodle blondies, apple cider donuts, maple pecan scones. You barely had time to catch your breath between managing the chaos and perfecting each batch, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Meanwhile, the Bengals’ season remained a rollercoaster. A solid win against the Browns gave everyone a glimmer of hope, but that optimism came crashing down when the Eagles steamrolled them by twenty. After that game, no one heard from Joe. His silent rage wasn’t unusual after a loss, but it was nevertheless, felt from miles away.

The next week, they bounced back in a big way, blowing out the Raiders at home. The scoreboard said it was a dominant win, but Joe was still visibly pissed, seen on the sidelines venting to Zac Taylor about missed offensive opportunities and a shit ton of penalties that should've been avoided. The moment went viral—clips of his animated rant flooded social media, with analysts debating whether his frustration was a sign of his competitive fire or a deeper issue brewing in Cincinnati.

That night, everyone met at Jeff Ruby’s for dinner, but Joe didn’t show. To the surprise of absolutely...nobody.

Toward the end of the night, the restaurant manager approached your table with a takeout bag in hand. “This is Joe’s order,” he explained. “He called it in, but something came up. He asked me to give it to you, is that okay?"

You hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah, I got it.”

It wasn’t long before you were standing outside his house, takeout bag in hand, knocking on his door. When he opened it, he looked exhausted. Not physically—no visible bruises or signs of injury—but mentally. His eyes were dull, his usual composed demeanor carrying an edge of frustration.

You gave him the bag. “Figured you should still eat.”

Joe took it with a small nod. “Thanks.”

For a second, you considered just leaving, letting him sit with whatever was weighing on him. But instead, you crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You wanna talk about it?”

He let out a slow breath, rubbing his jaw before stepping back to let you in. You followed him to the kitchen, watching as he set the bag down on the counter but didn’t open it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, finally breaking the silence. “I just—” He sighed. “I’m playing well, but I don’t know if we as a collective have what it takes to close out games when it actually matters. We can beat shit teams, but the moment we go up against a real contender, it’s like everything falls apart. And I hate feeling like we’re right there but just not good enough.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. Joe wasn’t the type to be satisfied with mediocrity. He needed to win, and not just in ways that looked good on paper. At this point, to get back on track they needed to look dominant— unstoppable. Not like kids throwing together a project at the last minute because they forgot the due date.

“I get it,” you said softly. “This is your job, your career. You don’t half-ass anything, and you don’t want to settle for middle of the pack.”

Joe’s lips pressed together, his gaze flickering to yours. “Exactly.”

He ran a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “I’m sorry for missing dinner. Just…had a lot on my mind.”

You tilted your head, a flash of curiosity taking over. “Anything besides football?”

For a second, he was quiet, debating whether or not to answer. You could see the internal battle written all over his face, his jaw tensing and flexing as he pondered the risks of honesty.

Then, he muttered, “Fuck it.”

Your brows lifted, but before you could ask, he looked at you—really looked at you—and said, “I’ve been...thinking about you.” His voice was low, steady, but you could hear the weight behind it. “More than I want to. More than I should.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

You should’ve said something, but for once, you had no idea what to say. Instead, you took a step forward. Joe’s eyes tracked your movement, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance. His hand brushed against your waist, his gaze flickering to your lips, leaning in ever so slightly—

“Yo, have you seen my phone charger?”

Ja’Marr’s voice shattered the moment like glass.

Joe immediately stepped back, cursing again under his breath as Ja’Marr walked into the kitchen, completely oblivious to what he had just interrupted.

Your entire face was on fire and you were sure your heart was seconds away from bursting out of your chest.

Joe looked like he wanted to murder his best friend.

November

Neither of you brought up what almost happened. Maybe because neither of you were sure it should have happened. Or maybe, deep down, you were both afraid of what it would mean if you admitted that it did.

So, instead, things carried on like normal—except they weren’t normal at all.

Joe still came by the bakery, though now he had a habit of showing up under the guise of casual excuses. Like when he walked in one morning, a familiar water bottle in hand, and placed it on the counter in front of you.

“You left this at my house,” he said, completely straight-faced. “Wanted to make sure you’re staying hydrated.”

You blinked at him, then down at the bottle—one of many you’d undoubtedly left behind at places far more inconvenient. “You drove all the way here for…this?”

Joe shrugged. “Seemed important.”

Quinn made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. You didn’t have to turn to know she was giving Joe a look—one that said she saw right through him.

Still, nothing was said.

The two of you danced around the elephant in the room for 17 days. Then came the bye week, and as fate would have it, or your own personal hell, you ended up at Joe’s house, standing side by side in his kitchen as you baked a pumpkin pie together. The whole thing came randomly, he mentioned in passing that it was his favorite and he was spending his entire bye week on the couch so naturally you came up with a solution. Nobody else was free so it just ended up being you and him. Of course.

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon, nutmeg, and warm sugar, the scent pulling you into your natural element. This was your Paycor Stadium, your stage. R&B played in the background, filling the comfortable silence as Joe rolled out the pie dough with slow, concentrated movements. The counter was dusted with flour, the remnants of your work scattered across the surface.

"You’re pressing too hard," you murmured, stepping in behind him. You placed your hands gently over his, guiding his movements. "You want it even, but not overworked."

Joe huffed out a breath, the warmth of his chuckle brushing against your cheek. "So what you’re saying is, I’d be terrible on a baking show?"

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as you both worked the dough. "I’m saying, there's some room for improvement for sure."

Joe turned his head slightly, just enough for his blue eyes to catch yours, his expression hard to read but there was a certain glimmer in his gaze. You didn’t move away. Neither did he. This was how it had been for months now—a quiet understanding, an unspoken closeness that had slowly built between you. It was in the way he showed up to your bakery with your favorite coffee, the way you memorized his weekly schedule, the way he looked for you after every home game, his gaze scanning the crowd in the player guest section postgame until he found you.

The pie crust was ready now, but neither of you were ready to move to finish it.

Joe’s hands lingered under yours, his thumbs lightly grazing your knuckles. "I like this," he admitted after a moment, his voice low. "Us. Doing this."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Me too."

It wasn’t just about the pie, and you both knew it.

You helped him move the dough into the pan, your fingers brushing again, sending little shivers up your spine. The pumpkin filling sat ready in a glass bowl, waiting to be poured, but Joe seemed far more interested in you. His eyes traced over your features, cataloging every detail as if he was afraid he’d forget them.

"What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

Joe shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

He exhaled slowly, rolling his lips together as if debating what to say. Then, instead of answering, he reached out to touch you, his fingers trailing down to your jawline, resting there a smidge too long. His movements were gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t. You couldn't.

The space between you evaporated, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so delicate, so achingly tender, that it stole the breath from your lungs. It was slow, unhurried, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you against him. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself sink into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. The warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with vanilla extract—it was intoxicating.

Joe deepened the kiss, a quiet desperation laced within it, months of lingering glances and fleeting touches culminating in this moment. You felt his hesitation fade, replaced by something raw and real, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

But then he pulled away.

And you saw it—regret, creeping into his expression before he even said the words.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “This was a mistake.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Are you serious?”

Joe exhaled, looking anywhere but at you. He was still standing somewhat close but his hands weren’t on you anymore, making the temperature in the room instantly feel like it had dropped 20 degrees. Even the expression on his face was a little colder than before. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Your heart was pounding, anger curling hot in your chest. It was the only thing fueling you and keeping you warm. “I think it's a little too late for that. Joe, things have already changed. These past few weeks—hell, these past few months—we’ve been dancing around this. We’re not in fucking high school. Just tell me the truth.”

You took a step closer, forcing him to face you. To look at you. “Do you honestly have no feelings for me?”

Silence.

Then, finally—too quiet— “I don’t.”

You flinched like he’d slapped you.

Joe must have seen it because he let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just—overwhelmed. The team is losing, and I’m playing the best football of my life, and I just—I can’t add another thing to my plate right now.”

You studied him for a long moment, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides. Then, finally, you nodded.

You stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to say something—but he didn’t. He just stood there, shoulders tense, eyes locked on the floor like he was hoping if he didn’t look at you, this would all just go away.

“You’re such a coward.”

Joe’s head snapped up, but you were already shaking your head, anger and frustration crashing into you all at once.

“You are so stuck in your own head,” you continued, voice sharp, unrelenting. “You keep everyone at arm’s length so you don’t get hurt. So you don’t have to admit that you actually feel things like a normal human being. You’re not some heartless football machine, Joe. You don’t have to live, breathe, and die this sport 24/7 to be fulfilled.”

You took a step forward, forcing him to face you, forcing him to hear you. “And you can stand there and act like this isn’t real, like there’s nothing between us, but I know there is. And you do too. Maybe it’s new, maybe it’s always been there, but I’m not stupid. At least I didn’t think I was.”

Joe’s jaw tightened, but he still said nothing.

And that? That pissed you off even more.

You scoffed, blinking away the sting in your eyes as you turned on your heel, grabbing your things off the counter. “If you want to pretend none of this is real, then fine. I won’t fight you on it.”

Joe didn’t move. He didn’t stop you.

You lingered for half a second, hoping—praying—that he’d snap out of it. That he’d reach for you, say your name, give you anything.

But all he did was stand there, motionless, watching you go.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head one last time before you reached for the door.

“Don’t burn my pie,” you muttered, then stepped outside, slamming the door shut behind you.

December

Joe told himself, over and over, that he’d made the right decision.

That pulling away had been necessary. That it was better this way.

But as the weeks passed, the reality of it settled in like a dull, persistent ache in his chest. The group dynamic wasn’t the same anymore. Quinn was firmly on your side, and Tee and Ja’Marr were caught in the middle, trying their best to act like everything was normal when it clearly wasn’t.

You only hung out with them if Joe wasn’t going to be there, and eventually, he stopped showing up altogether. Left the group chat, too, because what was the point?

So, yeah. He told himself this was what he wanted. That it was for the best.

Then one day, the night before his birthday while the Bengals were in Dallas, his house was broken into.

It was everywhere. The footage of the smashed window. The grainy security cam stills of showing the inside of his house. The headlines dissecting every detail—what was stolen, how much damage was done.

For a second—just a fleeting, stupid second—he thought maybe you’d reach out.

But you didn’t.

And why would you? It wasn’t your place anymore.

You were moving on. Meeting new people.

Like Cory.

Sweet, mature, honest-about-his-feelings Cory.

More than Joe could say for himself.

Joe wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

At all, really.

But when he overheard Tee and Ja’Marr talking about you, about how you’d been going on several dates with some guy named Cory, he couldn’t help but listen.

“Seems like a good dude,” Tee said, scrolling through his phone. “Takes her out, treats her right.”

“She actually looks happy, too,” Ja’Marr added. “Not whatever the fuck that was with Joe.”

Joe rolled his eyes, slamming his locker shut. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ja’Marr turned to him, unimpressed. “It means you fumbled, bro.”

Tee nodded. “Big time.”

Joe exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t in the mood for this. But they weren’t letting it go, so he told them. Everything. The kiss, the fight, the way he let you walk away because he was too caught up in his own head to admit how he really felt.

By the time he finished, Tee and Ja’Marr were looking at him like he was the dumbest man alive.

“You fumbled twice,” Tee corrected.

“She’s moving on,” Ja’Marr added. “And from the sound of it, dude’s actually putting in effort. You had your chance.”

Joe didn’t respond, just sat there, feeling more irritated by the second. He told himself he didn’t care.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft hum of jazz playing in the background as you swirled the last bit of your wine in the glass. Across from you, Cory was smiling, eyes warm and excited in a way that made you feel a little guilty. He was sweet, thoughtful, and easy to be around. The kind of man that you bring home to your parents and settle down with. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was easy. There was no tension, no unsaid words, no history thick enough to make the world stand completely still for a minute.

You were on your fifth date now, and even though you liked him, you knew deep down you weren’t feeling it the way you were supposed to.

“I, uh—I actually got something for you,” Cory said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “Well, it’s more of a surprise, really.”

You set your glass down, watching as he pulled out a sleek envelope and slid it across the table toward you. “Go on, open it.”

You hesitated before peeling it open, your heart practically stopping when you saw what was inside. Two tickets to the game—Bengals vs. Broncos. A must-win. And VIP passes for the postgame meet-and-greet.

You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“I wasn't snooping in your house or anything but I did see a Bengals cup in your cabinet the other day. But you never really said anything about being a fan?” Cory said, clearly proud of himself. “i don't know, I figured you might like it. And hey, you can finally meet some of the players.”

Your stomach twisted painfully. You swallowed down the instinct to refuse, to make up an excuse, to say absolutely the fuck not. But what reason did you have? To Cory, there was nothing complicated about this—just a thoughtful gift for someone he was getting to know.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Wow, Cory. This is...really sweet of you.”

“So, you’ll come?” he asked, his grin widening.

You nodded, the weight of your own decision pressing against your chest. “Yeah,” you said, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “I’ll go.”

And just like that, you sealed your fate.

Admittedly, it was their best game of the season. A win in OT, a Tee touchdown to keep their playoff hopes alive, and all the players riding on a high of a multiple game win streak. A month ago, you would've been celebrating right along with them. But tonight you really needed to get through this meet and greet without throwing up. And without blowing your cover. If nothing else, this was Cory's opportunity to have a once in a lifetime experience and the last thing you wanted to do is ruin that.

And then you saw him.

And Joe saw you with...him.

He saw how the guy next to you couldn’t wait to shake his hand—Joe thought it was a joke. Thought maybe this was some kind of sick cosmic punishment for all the terrible decisions he’d made in the last few months.

You looked good, unfairly good in your jacket and Bengals beanie, one that Tee had given you and Joe felt his irritation morph into something else entirely.

You weren’t even looking at him.

Cory, meanwhile, was beaming. “Man, it’s so cool to meet you. You played great tonight.”

Joe barely managed a nod, jaw tight.

Cory didn’t seem to notice the tension thickening the air, but you did.

And when your eyes finally met Joe’s, there was something there—something that made his pulse jump—before you quickly looked away.

Yeah. Joe was pissed.

The moment Cory got distracted meeting some of the other players, shaking hands and taking pictures, Joe saw his chance. He stepped toward you, lowering his voice.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “Attending a football game, in the city I live in. Apparently that's a crime now.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then be more specific," you bite out.

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. “Him? This?” He gestured vaguely in Cory’s direction. “Really?”

Your expression hardened. “Yes, really. He’s kind, honest, actually says what he feels instead of hiding behind excuses and—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “You know what? No. I don’t owe you an explanation. I don't owe you shit.”

Joe clenched his jaw. “So that’s it? You’re just—what? Moving on like none of it mattered?”

“Oh, now you want to talk about it?” You whisper yell. “You didn't have anything for me when I asked you, remember? All you could do was look at the floor like a freaking idiot. It was crickets and now you have the nerve to ask me what this is? You don’t get to do this, Joe. You don’t get to push me away, call me a mistake, then act like you suddenly care when you see me with someone else.”

He stepped closer, voice low and tense. “You know damn well I care.”

You swallowed, blinking up at him, and for a second—just a second—Joe thought you might let your guard down. That you might admit there was still something there.

But then you shook your head. “If you actually cared, we wouldn’t be having this conversation here. We actually wouldn't be having this conversation at all. I would've been here, with you. Not looking for pieces of you in another guy, a perfectly nice guy who just wanted to meet the freaking Bengals today. So if you don't mind, I'm gonna go meet Tee Higgins and Ja’Marr Chase...for the first time.”

Joe didn’t know what to say to that.

So you left him standing there, walking back toward Cory with a smile, pulling him in for a hug like Joe wasn’t just barely holding himself together.

January

Exactly seven days later, while Cory was over watching the game with you, Joe took a hit and stayed down. This time you were hanging on by a thread, on the inside. On the outside, you shoved some popcorn in your mouth and sipped on ginger ale, hoping the bubbles would bring your heart back to its rightful place instead of where it currently resided...in your stomach. You didn't know if he had a concussion but he definitely looked out of it, missing throws he usually made and the Bengals escaped Pittsburg by the skin of their teeth, securing a two point win on the road, their destiny up to chance. Ja'Marr called you in the locker room after the game to tell you he needed you at the watch party for good luck in praying on the Dolphins and the Broncos downfall. You told him you'd think about it, part of you didn't mind being in the same room as Joe, especially after you caved and watched his postgame press conference to make sure he wasn't lying about being concussed. Maybe the two of you could be cordial with each other and leave the past behind.

You woke up on the couch with NFL Network still on tv. Something about it felt embarrassing, because it felt right. Months ago you were watching an introduction to football PowerPoint and now you'd regularly catch yourself having football withdrawals. Just as you were ready to call it a night, turning off the tv and mentally preparing yourself to head to your room, you heard a knock at the door. Who could possibly be coming over at 2 in the morning?

You stood frozen in the doorway, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Your stomach dropped—hard and fast—like missing a step in the dark. Joe was standing there, still in the clothes you had seen him wearing during in his postgame press conference. His hair was a mess, the shadows under his eyes deeper than usual. He looked exhausted. But that wasn’t what made your breath hitch. It was him. Here. Now. After all this time.

“Joe.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

He exhaled heavily, a far away look in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms, trying to steel yourself, ignoring the way your pulse was racing. “You don’t know? What do you mean you don't know? You just drove around after you landed and magically ended up here?”

“I don't know, I just—I couldn’t go home. Not without seeing you.” He swallowed hard, eyes flickering over your face like he was searching for something, anything that might give him an answer. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but when I got on the plane, all I could think about was you.”

Your heart clenched painfully. Damn him.

“You scared the hell out of me tonight,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “Watching you go down like that—” You shook your head, gripping the fabric of your hoodie. “I hated it.”

His eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. “I know. Can we just—can I come in?”

You stared at each other, the weight of everything unsaid pressing in around you.

“Joe.” You sighed, your resolve crumbling at the sight of him standing there like that, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him in.

“Please,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Just for a minute.”

And against your better judgment, you stepped aside.

Joe ran a hand over his face and took a shaky breath. “I don’t even know what the fuck I was thinking on that play, the pocket collapsed so fast I didn't even have time to throw the ball away. And when I hit the ground, all I could think about was you.” He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Not football, not the game, not the playoffs. You. And how I’d fucked everything up so badly that you wouldn’t even reach out. That I wouldn’t get a chance to apologize.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable.

“I’m so, so sorry. I was a coward,” Joe admitted, his voice breaking. “I am a coward. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be in control—of my game, my career, my emotions. It's kind of my thing. And you…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You fuck all of that up for me. The way I feel about you scares the living shit out of me.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

“I’m not some heartless football robot,” he continued, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m a man who’s been terrified to feel anything real because it means I can’t control it. And when I’m with you, it’s real. It’s been real for months, and you were right. About everything. I was too much of a fucking idiot to admit it.”

Your heart was pounding, your breath shallow. You wanted to believe him—God, you did—but you couldn’t just let him walk back into your life like he hadn’t wrecked you before.

“I need you to give me a chance to fix this,” Joe pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Please.”

You swallowed hard. “Joe…”

“I swear to you,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his hands almost reaching for you before he forced himself to stop. “I promise, I will prove to you that I’m not that coward anymore. Just… just say you’ll let me try.”

You studied him carefully, searching for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only raw, unfiltered desperation and a kind of vulnerability you had never seen from him before.

Your walls were still up, but something inside you cracked. Just a little.

“You have to earn me this time,” you whispered.

Joe nodded instantly. “I will.”

After a hard conversation with Cory in the morning, you decided to attend the watch party the next day to test the waters. And to see your friends all in one place again. The atmosphere in Joe's house had shifted from tense to comfortable, a soft kind of warmth that had been missing for a while. The room was still, save for the quiet hum of the television, which was showing the Broncos slowly dismantling the Chiefs, much to the frustration of everyone else in the room. Joe had been quiet for the most part, lost in his thoughts, but you could tell he had already come to terms with the inevitable.

You weren’t sure if you should be relieved or sad about the Bengals missing the playoffs, but you did know one thing: it didn’t feel like the end for you and Joe. Not anymore.

The room had cleared out, the others heading to their respective homes after the game, leaving you and Joe alone. The snow outside had started to fall heavier now, creating a peaceful stillness that you couldn’t help but love. Joe seemed to notice the shift in the air as well, his eyes softening as he glanced over at you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His concern was still there like that first night he found you outside the housewarming party, that need to take care of you even now.

You nodded, even though there was a part of you that was more uncertain than you wanted to admit. “Yeah. Just…just thinking.”

He leaned back against the couch, eyes flicking to the window as the snowflakes danced in the cold air. “You want me to drive you home? It’s getting pretty bad out there. Or, you could stay? Only if you want to."

You hesitated for a second, a small part of you wanting to avoid the drive, to stay with him just a little longer. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he was sure this time. Like there was no more running. “I think…I think I want to stay,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Joe didn’t need any more convincing. He pulled you in close to him on the couch, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he let out a slow sigh. “I’m really gonna miss football," he murmured. “But I’ve got a lot of work to do with you, so I guess I’ve got some time now. I messed up before. I’m not messing this up again.”

You smiled, the weight of the past few weeks lifting off your shoulders just by being close to him. “I can’t wait to put you to work, 6am at the bakery tomorrow morning. And the next few mornings. For a while.” you teased, your voice barely audible.

Joe’s eyes darkened for a moment, a quiet promise in his gaze. He cupped your face gently, leaning in with a tenderness that took you by surprise. When his lips met yours, it was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment. A kiss full of unspoken apologies, solidifying what was to come, and the quiet declaration that he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right between the two of you. Even if some of that ended up with him getting covered in flour for the foreseeable future.

You didn’t pull away. In fact, you melted into the kiss, your heart swelling in your chest as his hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place like you were exactly where you belonged.

He pressed one more slow kiss to your lips before his eyes flicked to yours, searching. “So… does this mean our friendship over?” His voice was low, careful, but there was something else there—hope, maybe.

You didn’t even have to think about it. You let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking your head and running your fingers through his hair. “Absolutely. It’s dead and gone.”

Joe exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head before reaching for you, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “Good,” he murmured, tugging you closer. “Because I really didn’t want to be your friend anyway. Got much bigger plans in mind.”

#Joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x you #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fanfic

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inseobts · 2 days ago

Text

Undercover Lovers

zoro x reader

while waiting for luffy and the others to return from whole cake island, you and the rest of the crew are forced to go undercover in wano, where your and zoro's cover as a loving couple quickly gets complicated.

words count: 1.2k

tags: wci and wano spoilers, fake dating, romance, soft zoro

masterlist || ko-fi

You and Zoro stand in the shadows of the misty Wano streets, hidden in plain sight. The night is thick with tension, and the smell of the night air is saturated with the scents of food and unfamiliar spices.

“Alright” Zoro mutters under his breath, his gaze darting around. “This mission is simple. We blend in, gather intel, and keep a low profile. No trouble.”

You glance at him skeptically “Simple? Nothing here is simple, Zoro. Especially when we have to pretend to be a couple...because I don't know if you looked at yourself”

Zoro, ever stoic, adjusts the sword at his side “It’s just an act. Play the role and we’ll be fine.”

You don't know who has this brilliant idea but you're hating them all.

You scoff “That’s what you think. I don’t think you fully understand what it means to pretend to be someone’s lover.”

He grins faintly “I think I do. You make it sound like I'll be terrible at this.”

The two of you exchange a glance, the awkwardness palpable. You had to assume this would happen, but the idea of him being your pretend lover makes your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t expect. You’re both meant to lay low while Luffy, Nami, Chopper, and Brook are rescuing Sanji on Whole Cake Island. But you and Zoro are left behind, needing to keep the rest of the Straw Hats safe while undercover.

“Now, let’s go” Zoro commands, the stoic warrior in him taking over. “Remember, just act natural.”

You and Zoro enter a local tavern in the heart of the capital. The noise from the patrons fills the room, but everything about this place feels off, like a hidden danger lies in the air. As soon as the door swings open, all eyes turn to you, and the tavern goes silent.

The bartender raises an eyebrow “What’s this? A foreign couple?”

You force a smile and link your arm with Zoro’s, making sure your posture looks casual and affectionate “Yes, we’re just here to enjoy the local food and drink” you say, your voice smooth.

Zoro stands beside you, towering and quiet, his gaze scanning the room. His posture is stiff, uncomfortable, and it’s clear that he’s not used to playing the role of someone’s lover.

“You’re an odd couple,” the bartender says, a smug smirk on his face “The woman seems more… lively. And you...” he eyes Zoro, “look like a man who could care less.”

Zoro barely glances at the bartender “I’ll take some sake.”

The bartender nods, but there’s a smirk on his face “Of course. For you two lovers, the first round’s on the house.”

You exchange a look with Zoro, both of you realizing that staying in character would be harder than it seemed. As the drinks arrive, you take one and drink it slowly, trying to hide the tension in your shoulders.

As days pass, the two of you work together to gather information, keeping up the act as a loving couple. But things become more complicated when one young local guy, Miyamoto, starts showing more interest in you than you’re comfortable with.

You’re sitting in a quiet corner of the town square, Zoro casually sitting by your side, when Miyamoto approaches with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah, y/n” he says smoothly “I didn’t expect to see you here. Care for a walk?” His eyes flicker toward Zoro before returning to you “I can show you some of the best views in the town. Perhaps Zoro doesn’t mind… after all, I’m sure he’s busy with his… training.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his boldness. You glance at Zoro, but to your surprise, he’s sitting there, arms crossed, his usual indifferent expression masking any emotions.

“Zoro’s fine” you say quickly, trying to shut down Miyamoto’s advances “We’re fine here. And besides, I’m not one to leave my loving companion behind.”

Miyamoto chuckles, though the sound is more mocking than playful. “Loving? You don’t have to pretend, you know. I’m sure Zoro would be fine with me taking care of you for the evening”

This is making you mad, not just his advances but also Zoro sitting them like nothing was happening, not even caring to look over you and notice the uncomfortable air around you.

You clench your fists and you're about to storm out of there until Zoro finally turns his gaze toward Miyamoto, narrowing his eyes. His usually passive attitude shifts, and there’s an unmistakable tension in the air “You’re making a mistake if you think I won’t mind and I would let you”

You watch the exchange carefully, feeling the air grow thick with unspoken words. Miyamoto takes a step back, and Zoro’s eyes briefly meet yours, the unease in his gaze not going unnoticed.

It’s late into the evening. You and Zoro are once again walking through the dimly lit streets of Wano, the mission nearing its end. The tension from Miyamoto’s advances still hangs in the air, and for the first time, Zoro seems a little different.

“You’re quiet” he remarks, glancing at you “You looks upset since that last meeting with Miyamoto, are you?”

You look at him briefly "pretty much yeah... I was feeling uncomfortable and yet you waited that long to even say something"

"I knew you could handle it alone"

"Well... I actually couldn't"

He suddenly stops walking. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. You can feel the weight of unspoken words pressing between you.

Then, with a sigh, he finally speaks.

"For the record, I didn’t like it either" Zoro mutters, voice quieter than usual.

You blink at him, caught off guard "What?"

His gaze flickers to the side, as if reluctant to say more "That bastard...Miyamoto. The way he looked at you, the way he talked to you." His grip on his sword tightens. "It pissed me off... but if I did something we would have been in bif trouble"

After a pause he continues, “I didn’t like the way he looked at you” Zoro says, his voice unexpectedly serious.

Your heart stutters in your chest, unsure of whether you’re hearing things “What?”

Zoro glances at you, a slight frown tugging at his lips “I told you. I actually didn’t like the way he was talking to you. He was crossing the line”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest, unsure whether it’s the alcohol or something else making your heart beat faster “Zoro…” you start, but your words fail you.

“Forget it” he says gruffly, looking away as if the conversation never happened. But there’s something different in the way he speaks, something real this time.

You pause, staring at him. Could it be that… the act was becoming more than just a mission? Was Zoro feeling the same as you were?

“Zoro” you start again, but before you can say anything more, he steps forward, closing the gap between you two. His hand touches yours, almost like it’s an accident, but when he doesn’t pull it away, you realize it’s not.

The moment stretches on, and you can feel the tension dissipate into something new.

Without thinking, you lean into him “Maybe this act wasn’t so bad after all.”

Zoro stares down at you, his eyes flickering with something indecipherable “Maybe not” he replies, voice low and barely above a whisper.

He takes your hand in a better and firm way now and start walking again, hand in hand.

You smile at him, a small blush on his cheeks, trying to avoid your eyes. And for the first time, you wonder if the lines between the pretend lovers and real feelings are starting to blur.

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allfearstofallto · 10 hours ago

Text

Breaking up with Mafia! Childe is a nightmare. You've never met a man so insistent, so stubborn, so damn near depraved in the way he refuses to acknowledge that you no longer want to date him. It's almost psychotic, his actions and how he still treats you as if your his, even though you've long since cut things off with him. Or at least tried to.

He always shows up at your place, at your new job, or calls with a number that you don't know. Always finds a way to sneak his way back into your life, even when you so desperately try to push him out. That blue sports car will be parked out front and you'll feel all the blood drain from your body, a chill running up your spine.

Knuckles usually split and bleeding, bruises on his face, he wore a charming smile that spoke of an inherent sadism, parading his wounds like a trophy. He always smelled of the particular brand cigarettes he smoked, the ones that would hang from his lips while he waited for you. He'd put it out whenever he met your gaze though, against the wall or on the concrete pavement of the ground, claiming that you were much too pretty to smell like tobacco.

He always paid in cash and never told you what his job was, just danced around the topic with a dark chuckle that spoke a thousand words.

"I can afford you, can't I?" He'd ask, his tone playful, but there was a dark look in those hollow blue eyes that told you to pry no further.

When he opened his wallet, you'd see nothing but large, crisp bills. No cards or identification. Maybe a picture of you tucked into one of the pockets, one that you don't remember taking though.

He wasn't typically the type of guy you'd date. Physically he was. All playboy smiles and fluffy orange hair. Lean build and sultry voice. You felt pressured to give in to him, mostly because of his persistence. And even more pressured to stay.

"I'd never hurt you," he'd say as you tended to his bleeding lip, watching the way he barely winced as you dabbed the alcohol wipe to his wound. He just fell, he assured you.

A fall?

Right.

That's why he was holding your wrist with his hand. Clenching his long fingers so tightly around you, like you'd run away the second you let go. Insisting that you were safe with him and that nothing would ever harm you. When asked what he was keeping you safe from, he'd just give you a cheeky grin.

"My clumsiness," he hummed. His words had a scary amount of whimsical joy behind them as he placed his elbows on his knees, holding his head up with his hands, blue eyes looking at you in pure adoration as you continue to clean his wounds in a deafening silence. The only other sound being your rapidly beating heart.

AN: Had to get the idea out of my head!!!!

#maiistalking<3 #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere childe x you #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere male #yandere mafia #mafia au #tw yandere

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aspenmissing · 1 day ago

Note

hi im back 😻

would you be able to do arcane x reader who has trauma from being a car / road accident in the past ? yes it may be a deep topic but its just a suggestion :)

ʀᴏᴀᴅ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 5874 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴꜱᴇ, ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ (ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ), ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀʀꜱ,ʀᴏᴀᴅꜱ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴀʜʜʜ!! ᴍʏ ʙᴇʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʏ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ <3 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!!! <3 <3

JAYCE

The streets of Piltover were always bustling, alive with the hum of innovation and the energy of its citizens. Gears turned in high-rise factories, steam hissed from vents, and mechanical transports rumbled down cobblestone roads. For most, the city's rhythm was a testament to progress, to the ever-forward march of invention.

But for Y/N, it was suffocating.

The clatter of carriage wheels against stone, the sharp whir of Hextech engines, the sudden bark of a driver yelling for pedestrians to move—each sound sent a jolt through her nerves. It wasn’t logical, she knew that. She wasn’t in danger. But logic had little power over memory, and her body remembered what her mind tried to forget. The sensation of impact, the way the world had spun out of control, the suffocating weight of debris pressing down on her chest—sometimes, it felt like she was still there, pinned beneath metal and wreckage, waiting for someone to pull her free.

She walked close to Jayce, her fingers unconsciously gripping the sleeve of his coat, her breaths measured yet slightly uneven.

Jayce noticed. He always did.

He slowed his pace, his own steps turning deliberate and steady. “Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head toward her. “You okay?”

Y/N nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just… a little on edge.”

She knew he didn’t believe her. Jayce wasn’t the type to push unless he had to, but he wasn’t one to ignore things either. The first time she had flinched at the sound of a passing transport, he had taken her hand and waited until she was ready to talk. It had taken a while, but eventually, the words had spilled out.

A road accident. Years ago.

One of Zaun’s many reckless, haphazard transports—rusted, unstable, held together by little more than scrap and wishful thinking—had lost control. The driver hadn’t been paying attention. By the time she realized what was happening, it was too late.

She remembered the brief moment of weightlessness before impact. The way the world had blurred into streaks of color and movement. Then pain—sharp, relentless pain. And after that, nothing. Just darkness.

When she woke up, her body had been broken, her sense of safety shattered beyond repair.

Even now, years later, with Piltover’s well-maintained roads and more controlled systems, she couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability when walking too close to the street.

Jayce didn’t press. Instead, he shifted closer, subtly positioning himself between her and the busy road. It was a small thing, but it helped. His warmth, his steady presence, the way he always seemed to know when she needed him—it was more comforting than she could ever put into words.

They walked in silence for a little while, the noise of the city drumming against her ears. She tried to focus on Jayce instead, on the solidness of him. The way his coat smelled faintly of metal and oil from the workshop. The warmth of his arm beneath her grip. The steady rise and fall of his breath.

“You wanna take a different route?” he offered after a moment, his voice calm, patient.

Y/N hesitated. She knew what he meant. If they took the longer way, they could avoid the main road—the carriages, the traffic, the unpredictable movements. It would be quieter, easier.

But it also meant giving in.

She hated the way fear still had its claws in her, how even after all these years, it still held power over her. She hated feeling weak.

Jayce must have sensed her struggle because he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not giving up if it helps you feel safe, Y/N.”

Her throat tightened.

He always knew what to say, didn’t he? Always knew how to balance between pushing her and giving her space. She glanced up at him, taking in the quiet sincerity in his eyes, the unspoken promise that he’d be here, no matter what.

After a long moment, she exhaled and gave a small nod. “Okay.”

His smile was soft, understanding. “Okay.”

Without letting go of her hand, he steered them toward a quieter street. Here, the sounds of the city were muffled, distant. The buildings stood taller, blocking out the rush of the main roads, and the only vehicles that passed were slow-moving, careful.

Jayce didn’t make a big deal out of it. He didn’t smother her with concern, didn’t ask if she was sure she was okay every few minutes. Instead, he kept things easy, light—talking about everything and nothing at all. He rambled about work at the Academy, about Viktor getting frustrated with a failed experiment and swearing in Czech under his breath. He brought up an argument he’d had with Councillor Salo about funding—nothing serious, just enough to pull her attention away from the thoughts circling in her mind.

And it worked.

Little by little, her grip on his arm loosened. Her shoulders, once tight with tension, relaxed. The pressure in her chest eased as she focused on the warmth of Jayce’s voice rather than the phantom echoes of memory.

By the time they reached their apartment, her heartbeat had steadied.

Jayce held the door open for her, stepping aside to let her in first. But before she could move past him, he gently brushed his fingers against her cheek, tilting her face up so he could meet her gaze.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured.

Her breath caught.

She looked at him for a long moment, then huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “For what? Taking the long way home?”

“For facing it,” he corrected. “For letting me help.”

Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat.

She wasn’t used to leaning on people. Wasn’t used to having someone who cared so much, who noticed even the things she tried to hide.

But Jayce did. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

So she let herself lean into him, just for a moment, pressing her forehead against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, holding her close, steady.

VIKTOR

The streets of Piltover were always alive with movement—horses trotting, carriages clattering, the occasional hum of a hextech engine cutting through the noise. For most, it was the ordinary rhythm of the city. For you, it was something else entirely.

The sounds weren’t just sounds. They were echoes—memories buried beneath the surface, waiting for the right trigger to drag them back into the light. The rattling of wheels against cobblestone wasn’t just a passing carriage; it was the moment right before impact. The distant snap of reins wasn’t just some merchant hurrying along; it was a warning too late to stop what was coming. The sharp inhale that caught in your throat wasn’t just nerves; it was habit, muscle memory from a past you wished you could forget.

You never told Viktor much about it.

But he noticed. Of course, he did. He always noticed.

He noticed the way you tensed at the sound of wheels scraping against the cobblestone, how you froze at the sudden crack of a whip urging a horse forward. How your breath hitched when crossing the street, even when there was no immediate danger. You were careful—too careful, as if something unseen lingered at the edges of your vision, waiting.

He never pried. Never forced you to speak before you were ready. Viktor was patient that way. Gentle.

Like now.

You stood at the edge of a busy street, hands clenched at your sides, staring at the flow of movement ahead. The road stretched wide, a chaotic river of carriages, pedestrians, and hextech cycles. The crowd wove through it effortlessly, as if there were no risk at all.

But you knew better.

Your heartbeat picked up, drumming against your ribs in time with the clatter of hooves. You knew it was irrational—this fear, this hesitation—but knowing didn’t make it any easier. The instinct to move, to step forward, warred with the overwhelming need to stay rooted where you stood.

It was fine. You were fine. You could cross. It was just a road.

A touch at your elbow. Not firm, not urging. Just present.

"Take your time, miláčku," Viktor murmured beside you. His voice was quiet, steady, grounding. (Darling)

You turned slightly, catching his gaze—warm, patient, unwavering.

Your eyes flickered downward, to his cane, to the way he leaned into it with practiced ease. Viktor had his own struggles with movement, his own challenges. And yet, he never rushed. Never let the world dictate his pace.

You swallowed. "I'm okay," you murmured, though the words felt thin.

Viktor hummed softly, unconvinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he simply stood there with you, waiting.

The city moved around you both, bustling, uncaring, but he made it feel like you had all the time in the world.

His hand hovered near yours—not grabbing, not insisting, just waiting. An invitation.

And you took it.

His fingers curled around yours, solid and warm, anchoring you to the present.

Together, step by step, you crossed.

Your breath came uneven at first, your fingers tightening around his, but Viktor’s pace never wavered. He walked as he always did—measured, deliberate, unbothered by the rush of the world around him. His cane tapped softly against the cobblestone, a steady rhythm amidst the chaos.

Halfway across, a carriage rolled past a little too close for comfort, the sound of its wheels grinding against the stone sending a sharp spike of fear through you. Your breath hitched, and you faltered, your grip on Viktor’s hand tightening.

He paused immediately, squeezing your fingers in return. “Just a little more, drahý.” His voice remained calm, a gentle reassurance. (Dear)

You nodded, inhaling shakily, forcing yourself to keep moving.

One step. Then another.

The curb was right there. You just had to reach it.

And then—solid ground.

Your foot hit the safety of the other side, and the tension in your body uncoiled, leaving you feeling almost lightheaded. You exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling as you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Viktor didn’t let go of your hand right away. He gave you a moment, letting the world settle around you again.

“You did well,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, more out of relief than amusement. “I feel ridiculous.”

“No,” Viktor said simply. “You are brave.”

The sincerity in his voice made something tighten in your chest, something warm and fragile all at once.

You looked at him then, really looked at him—the quiet strength in the way he stood, the patience in his eyes, the unwavering steadiness he always offered without question.

You weren’t sure what you had done to deserve someone like him. But right now, in this moment, you were grateful beyond words.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Viktor just smiled. “Always.”

JAYVIK

The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels against the cobbled streets of Piltover should have been soothing—steady, predictable, almost lulling. But for Y/N, it was anything but. Each jolt of the wooden frame sent a wave of tension rippling through her body. Each sudden turn had her heart seizing in her chest. The dim lantern light inside the carriage flickered slightly, casting long, shifting shadows against the plush velvet interior, but all she could focus on was the movement. The way the carriage swayed, the subtle lurch whenever it rolled over uneven stones—it felt too familiar.

She sat stiffly beside Viktor, her hands gripping the edge of her seat so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Across from them, Jayce watched her with growing concern. Her breath came short, uneven, and no matter how hard she tried to ground herself, the memories came creeping in.

The crack of splintering wood. The sheer force of being thrown forward. Weightlessness before impact. The screech of twisting metal and the suffocating scent of burning oil. The sudden stop—too sudden. Then the silence, so thick it felt suffocating.

A sharp gasp left her lips before she could swallow it down.

“Miláčku?” Viktor’s voice was soft, careful. Gentle concern laced every syllable. He wasn’t looking at her face—his golden eyes had zeroed in on her hands, the way they trembled ever so slightly against her lap. His own hand, the one not gripping his cane, reached out and rested lightly over hers. The warmth was a stark contrast to the cold sweat prickling at the back of her neck. “Are you alright?” (Darling)

“I’m fine,” she lied, but her voice wavered.

Jayce, seated across from them, immediately caught it. His furrowed brows deepened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied her. “Y/N…” he said, his voice softer now, worried. Then, after a beat, his large, warm hand came to rest on her knee. He gave it a light squeeze. “You don’t look fine.”

She swallowed hard. Tried to breathe through it.

But her heart wouldn’t slow.

The sounds. The movement. The enclosed space.

Her stomach twisted painfully as the past clawed its way into the present.

Viktor’s grip on her hand tightened, drawing her back. “Hey,” he murmured, thumb tracing slow circles over her knuckles. “Stay with us.”

Jayce leaned in further, his hand never leaving her knee. “We’re here, Y/N,” he said, steady and firm. “You’re not alone.”

She clenched her jaw, trying to force her body to listen—to stop reacting as if she were still there, still trapped in the wreckage of her past. But it wasn’t so easy. The fear wasn’t rational, wasn’t something she could logic her way out of. Her fingers twitched under Viktor’s, and she suddenly realized how tightly she’d been gripping the edge of the seat.

Jayce noticed too. “Here,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Move over a little.”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“I mean it,” Jayce said, voice warm but insistent. “I’m not gonna let you sit there shaking the whole damn ride. Move over.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before relenting, shifting slightly closer to Viktor. Jayce wasted no time—he moved to sit beside her on the other side, leaving her sandwiched between them.

The second she was nestled between their bodies, she felt it—the sheer, grounding presence of them both. Warm, steady, real. Viktor, ever patient, let his hand settle over hers again, while Jayce wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side.

“Close your eyes,” Jayce murmured, resting his chin lightly atop her head.

She hesitated, fingers twitching slightly, but then—slowly—she obeyed.

“Listen to my voice,” Jayce continued. “And Viktor’s. Just us. Just here.”

A shaky breath left her lips.

Viktor leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over her ear. “You are here, lásko.” His accent curled around the word, soft and tender. “You are not there anymore.” (Love)

Jayce’s arm around her shoulders tightened slightly. “You’re safe,” he murmured. “We’ve got you.”

Her body, still tense, remained rigid for several moments longer. But as their warmth sank into her, as the steady rhythm of Viktor’s fingers tracing against her wrist and Jayce’s thumb brushing slow circles against her arm took over, something inside her loosened.

The carriage still rocked. The sounds of the street still surrounded them. But they didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.

Jayce let out a quiet sigh when he felt her relax slightly against him. “That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

Viktor pressed a soft kiss to the side of her head. “I would never let anything happen to you,” he whispered.

Jayce hummed his agreement, squeezing her just a bit tighter. “Neither of us would.”

She believed them.

Slowly, she let her head tip against Viktor’s shoulder. Her free hand, the one that wasn’t in Viktor’s, came to rest over Jayce’s where it lay against her arm. The warmth of them—both of them—surrounded her, wrapping her in a cocoon of safety she hadn’t known she needed so desperately.

For the first time since stepping into the carriage, she felt like she could breathe again.

And this time, the road ahead didn’t feel quite so terrifying.

VANDER

Vander always knew you had your ghosts—everyone in Zaun did. But he never expected to see one grab hold of you in broad daylight, right in the middle of the Lanes.

It had been a simple outing. You had taken Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor out to the marketplace, letting them stretch their legs while you ran errands. Powder had been clinging to your hand, her little fingers wrapped around yours as she hummed to herself, distracted by all the colors and sounds around her.

Then, out of nowhere, a carriage came barreling through the street.

Too fast.

Too close.

The thunder of hooves on cobblestone, the creak and rattle of wooden wheels—it hit you like a memory you couldn’t outrun.

The sound of a child’s scream. A body crumpling. The sickening thud as the carriage’s wheel spun just inches away from the broken, lifeless body of your childhood friend. It was like the world around you stilled in that moment, and you were back there, just as you had been when you were a child. When it was your fault that they died.

Before you could think, your body moved on its own.

You snatched Powder up, crushing her small frame against your chest as you stumbled back, your breath ragged, heart hammering against your ribs. Powder let out a muffled noise of surprise, but you didn’t let go. You couldn’t.

You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t let Powder be taken from you, not like that. Not like your friend had been.

The world blurred around you—noise fading into a distant hum. You could still hear the scream of tires, the impact, the sheer, terrifying loss of control that had marked your past.

“Y/N?” Vi’s voice barely reached you. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Your grip on Powder only tightened. You could feel her little hands pushing against your arms, but you just held on. If you let go, something terrible would happen. If you let go—

"Y/N."

A familiar voice. Steady. Grounding.

Vander.

His hands found your shoulders, firm and warm. You flinched at the contact, but when you looked up, his face was calm. Concerned. He was crouching slightly, putting himself at your level, his blue eyes steady as they searched yours.

“She’s alright,” he murmured. “You’re alright. Let her breathe, love.”

You blinked, your vision swimming as Powder shifted in your grasp. Her small voice trembled. “I— I’m okay, Y/N. I promise.”

Your arms felt like lead, but slowly, painfully, you loosened your hold. Powder pulled back just enough to look up at you, her big eyes full of worry.

“I'm sorry…” you whispered, your voice cracked, the words barely leaving your mouth as you fought to calm the rising panic in your chest. “She nearly got hit, Vander. She nearly—”

The weight of the words hung in the air. Powder was okay now, but in your mind, it could have been another accident. Another loss. The fear that she would be taken from you too—like that—hit harder than you had expected. You swallowed hard, trying to push the memories back, but it was like an avalanche.

Vander gently peeled Powder from your grasp and passed her off to Vi, who held onto her protectively. Powder clung to her sister, her lips wobbly, but she nodded when Vi whispered something reassuring.

You let out a shaky breath and staggered back. Your legs didn’t feel steady.

Vander caught you before you could fall.

He didn’t say anything right away, just kept a firm arm around your back, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, grounding you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured again. “It’s over.”

But was it? It didn’t feel over. The panic still sat like a stone in your chest, the echoes of the past clawing at the edges of your mind. You couldn’t shake the image of your childhood friend’s limp body, crushed by a carriage’s wheel, too far gone to help. It had been too fast, too close. You hadn’t been able to save them. And now…

Vander didn’t rush you. He just stayed there, holding you steady while you fought to pull yourself back together.

You let out a ragged breath, blinking away tears that you hadn’t even noticed falling. Your voice trembled. “It could have been her, Vander… Powder, she—she could’ve…”

“She’s alright,” he interrupted softly, his hand brushing through your hair in a calming motion. “And you’re here. We’re not going to let anything happen to her.”

You nodded, but your eyes were still unfocused, lost in the rush of the past. “I thought I’d lost her.” You swallowed thickly, trying to speak through the weight in your chest. “Just like—” You cut yourself off before you could say it, choking on the painful memories that clung like shadows.

Vander didn’t force you to finish. Instead, he tightened his grip around you, bringing you close. You could hear his steady heartbeat beneath your ear, a constant rhythm that grounded you in the here and now.

“We’re not going anywhere, love,” he murmured. “None of us are.”

Only when your breathing slowed, when the shaking in your hands eased, did he finally guide you away from the middle of the street. The kids followed closely, Mylo and Claggor whispering between themselves while Vi kept a firm grip on Powder’s hand.

You didn’t realize you were clutching Vander’s coat until you were safely inside The Last Drop.

He sat you down, crouching in front of you as he let you catch your breath. His hands rested gently on your knees, his eyes filled with care as they studied your face. He waited, patient as ever, until you finally met his gaze.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, his voice low and understanding.

You swallowed hard, your throat still tight. “I—I was just thinking of the accident. The carriage. The way it—” You struggled for words, your mind pulling you back to that day. “It wasn’t just an accident, Vander. I could’ve saved them… my friend… But I couldn’t. I wasn’t fast enough.”

Vander’s jaw tightened, the weight of the past settling between you both. He knew about it. About the crash that had nearly taken you, about how it had left you raw and afraid of anything moving too quickly, too recklessly. He had held you through it before. He would do so again now.

“You’re here,” he reminded you, his voice steady and unwavering. “You’re safe, Y/N. And she’s safe. That’s all that matters.”

You let out a slow breath, your hands still shaking slightly as you gripped his. Your voice was barely a whisper. “But what if… What if I can’t stop it next time?”

Vander leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours in the way he always did when he wanted to reassure you.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he whispered. “You’ll never be alone.”

You nodded, the weight in your chest starting to lighten just enough to breathe. His presence, solid and steady, was all you needed right now. And as the kids piled onto the seat beside you—Powder leaning against you, Vi watching carefully, Mylo and Claggor sticking close—you finally started to believe it. You weren’t alone anymore. And nothing could take that away from you.

SILCO

he air was cool and crisp as the evening sky bathed the streets of Zaun in a soft orange glow, a sight few truly appreciated. Y/N stood near the entrance of the luxurious carriage Silco had arranged for them, her hand hovering just above the door, anxiety tightening her chest. Silco, dressed in his usual crisp attire, stood by her side, his expression unreadable yet tinged with something softer—concern, perhaps.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice low and steady, though a hint of worry slipped through as his gaze lingered on her. He’d never seen her quite like this before. Usually, Y/N was calm, collected—resilient. But tonight... something was different.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. The sound of horses shifting, the rattle of carriage wheels—they all seemed to echo louder than usual in her ears. She reached for the door, but her hand froze mid-air. Her grip tightened on the edge of the carriage. Her heart raced, and suddenly, she was back in that moment—trapped, confined, helpless. The memory of the accident, the screech of tires and the violent impact, flooded her mind like an unstoppable tide.

"I... I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible, the words trembling on her lips.

Silco's eyes softened slightly, though his posture remained imposing. He stepped a little closer, his presence overwhelming yet somehow... calming. He could see it—the unease, the fear in her eyes. And though he was no stranger to intimidation or force, this was different. This was something personal, something he couldn't control through his usual methods.

"Y/N," he began, his voice still firm but gentler now, as if he knew exactly how to navigate this. "We’ve discussed this. The meeting is important. I need you there."

She shook her head, her body recoiling from the carriage. "I know, but—" Her words faltered as her breath quickened. She could feel the walls closing in. "I can't... not like this. Not in there."

For a moment, there was silence between them. The sounds of the city—the clang of metal, the distant hum of Zaun’s machinery—seemed to fade away, as though the world had held its breath. Silco studied her, his cold, calculating gaze softening just slightly, as if seeing her for the first time in a way that was less about her usefulness and more about her humanity.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he exhaled slowly, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his eyes before he turned his gaze toward the horizon. It was rare for Silco to reveal anything beyond his usual icy control, but in this moment, with Y/N standing before him, vulnerable in ways she hadn’t shown him before, he knew this wasn’t something he could force her through.

"You don’t have to go inside the carriage if you’re not ready," he said quietly, his voice no longer commanding, but calm—reassuring. "We can walk there instead. The night’s nice, don’t you think?"

Y/N looked up at him, her heart still racing, but something in his tone—something in the way he looked at her—began to ease the vice-like grip on her chest. He wasn’t dismissing her fear. He wasn’t telling her to ‘get over it.’ He was giving her control. Giving her space.

His hand moved toward her arm, a touch not forceful, but steady, like the anchor to her racing thoughts. "It’s a nice night for a walk," he repeated, a small glint of something like amusement in his eyes. "And I find these walks more tolerable when I have good company."

Her chest tightened at his words, but the warmth behind his voice made her stomach flutter—something she hadn’t felt in a long time. A small, hesitant smile tugged at her lips, and she slowly nodded, relieved to not have to make the decision alone. "I... I think I’d like that."

He gave a small nod in return, and without another word, Silco gestured for her to follow as he turned away from the carriage. His presence, as always, was commanding, but now it felt strangely protective, as though he wasn’t just leading her to a meeting but guiding her through a moment she needed to face.

As they walked, side by side, the hum of Zaun faded into the distance. The city was alive with noise, but with Silco by her side, it felt quieter. More peaceful. The familiar streets, dark and smog-filled as they were, now felt less oppressive. Each step they took together seemed to bring her a little further from the panic, a little closer to something she couldn’t quite name.

"Is it always this quiet when we walk?" Y/N asked, glancing up at him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silco’s lips curled ever so slightly. "Only when I want it to be."

Y/N gave a small laugh, the sound of it easing the tension in her chest. "I think I understand why you like it now," she said, her voice still quiet but steadier than before.

They continued walking, not in a hurry, not with an agenda. Just two figures moving through the streets of Zaun, with nothing but the sound of their footsteps and the distant murmurs of the city around them. Silco kept pace with her, but he didn’t rush her. He didn’t need to. This was a different kind of power—one that didn’t rely on control or coercion, but understanding. The kind of power that came from simply being present for someone when they needed it most.

As they neared the location of the meeting, Y/N could feel her heart slowing, the panic receding into the background. The world didn’t feel as heavy now. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the walk or because of Silco's presence, but something about the moment had made her feel... a little lighter. A little more grounded.

"We're almost there," Silco said, his voice carrying a hint of finality.

Y/N looked up at him, her chest no longer tight, her thoughts clearer. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice softer than she had expected. "For not pushing me. I... I didn’t think I could do it, but you let me find my way."

Silco glanced at her, his usual cool mask in place, but there was a subtle shift in his expression—something softer, almost protective. He gave a small nod, his gaze unwavering. "You don’t need to thank me," he replied, his voice steady yet carrying an unspoken understanding. "But, for what it’s worth, you’re not alone in this."

They arrived at the meeting point, the familiar faces of their allies waiting, unaware of the quiet journey that had led them here. But as Y/N stepped forward, her mind was clearer than it had been in hours. She wasn’t completely free of the fear, but the weight on her chest had lifted. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she could face whatever came next—because for once, she wasn’t facing it alone.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N and Jinx had spent the day wandering through the twisted streets of Zaun, the thick air of the undercity filling their lungs as they moved between alleys and rickety bridges. The sounds of the city, a constant hum of machinery, and the chatter of locals echoed around them. Jinx, in her usual chaotic energy, had been bouncing between conversations, occasionally letting out a loud laugh or giggle. Y/N, though quieter, enjoyed the spontaneity that came with being around the unpredictable Jinx.

They had just turned the corner onto a narrow street when a carriage came barreling toward them, moving much too fast for the cramped space. It swerved dangerously close, the horses’ hooves pounding against the cobblestones, and for a moment, it seemed as if it might slam right into them.

Jinx didn’t miss a beat. She jumped out of the way and, without hesitation, shouted after the driver, “Hey! Watch where you’re going, you freakin’ idiot!” Her voice was full of fiery frustration, but the carriage was already speeding off, the rattle of the wheels fading into the distance.

Y/N stood frozen in place, the sudden adrenaline surge causing their breath to hitch. Their heart pounded in their chest, the familiar knot of panic tightening in their stomach. They didn’t hear Jinx’s taunting remarks; instead, all they could hear was the rush of wind, the screeching of the carriage wheels, and the all-too-real flashback of the accident that had haunted them for years.

The world felt like it was closing in. The ground seemed to tilt beneath them. The sounds of the street became muffled, and the air felt thick, suffocating. Y/N’s hands shook as they struggled to steady themselves. Every ounce of their body was on high alert, every nerve screaming to run, to escape, but their legs refused to move.

Jinx, noticing the sudden shift in Y/N's demeanor, turned around with a confused look on her face. "Y/N?" she called, her voice a little quieter now, sensing something wasn’t right.

Y/N tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. They could feel the panic crawling up their throat, the weight of it pressing down on their chest like a hundred bricks. They staggered back, leaning against a nearby wall for support, their vision blurring. Their breathing became erratic as they clutched at their sides, desperate to calm themselves, but it was like trying to catch smoke with their bare hands.

"Y/N!" Jinx’s voice was sharp now, full of concern. She took a few quick steps forward, her earlier energy gone, replaced by something softer—something Y/N rarely saw from her. Jinx reached out hesitantly, her hand brushing against Y/N's arm. "Hey... it's okay. Just breathe. You’re safe, okay? No one’s gonna hurt you."

Y/N’s eyes snapped to her, but it took a few moments for their brain to process her words. Jinx wasn’t mocking them. She wasn’t laughing. She was genuinely worried. Slowly, almost mechanically, Y/N began to take shallow breaths, trying to steady themselves.

"You’re okay, you’re okay," Jinx repeated softly, her voice almost soothing despite the chaotic world around them. "I got you, alright? Just breathe with me, yeah? In... out..."

It took time, but gradually, Y/N's breaths slowed, their grip on the wall loosening. The panic faded, but the lingering aftershock of the trauma still held onto them tightly. They swallowed hard, their head still spinning.

"I... I just... it came out of nowhere," Y/N managed to say, their voice shaky. "The way it came out of nowhere. It’s like it happened again."

Jinx didn’t say anything for a long moment. She didn’t need to. The words hung between them, unspoken, and somehow that was enough.

"I get it," Jinx finally said, her voice softer than it had been before. "But you're not there anymore. You're with me, alright? And I'm not going anywhere."

Y/N nodded slowly, their breath still uneven, but the pressure in their chest had begun to ease. The world was still spinning, but the vertigo felt a little less suffocating.

Jinx gave a small, crooked smile, her usual chaotic grin returned, though with a softness to it. "You’re tough, Y/N. Tougher than you think."

"Yeah," Y/N whispered, feeling the words finally settle into place. "Maybe I am."

Jinx’s grin widened. "C’mon. Let’s keep walking. No freakin’ carriage is gonna ruin our day."

And with that, Jinx led the way down the street, her footsteps steady and sure, with Y/N following behind, still shaken but not alone.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane angst #arcane fluff #reader insert #jinx x platonic!reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 2 days ago

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you in my eyes [6] l Javier Peña

Summary: you weren't friends and you certainly weren't planning anything more together

Warnings: angst, some kissing, enemies (?) to lovers, misogyny and sexism at work, some bad language, Murphy shows up, guns, blood

A/N: let me know you're reading this. I've had too little time lately to devote to this story, and I like it.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[previous chapter] [masterlist]

"Did you lose something?"

Loise watched him closely as he appeared near your desk and noticed your absence.

"Is she at work?" he asked, nodding towards your usual spot.

The woman smiled and adjusted the stack of files she held in her arms. Javier had the impression that she was having fun delaying the answer.

"Yes, she is." she finally answered.

"Where?" Why did she have to be like that, shit.

Loise analyzed his question again for a moment, until she finally answered, "She went to the archives. She said she had something to check."

"Thanks." he said dryly and started walking down the still empty hallway.

It was early, but not early enough, because he didn't find you at home when he showed up to pick you up. Okay, you didn't expect him to come back sooner, but shouldn't you have been at the apartment? Where were you that night when he showed up on your doorstep? Who did you meet looking like that... Peña remembered the smile of your neighbor who informed him of your absence that evening. Where the hell did you go?

He pressed the elevator button, but he was too impatient and eventually went down the stairs to the archive. His footsteps echoed in the hallway, and when he stopped in front of the door he noticed that the light was on inside. Loise might not be lying though.

As soon as the door opened he smelled dust and paper, and the quiet hum of the fan. Javier slipped inside and quickly made his way through the maze between the shelves. He spotted you after a moment, you were standing with your back to him, searching carefully through one of the boxes.

"I finally found you." he mumbled, and you quickly turned around.

His heart leapt at the sight of you, and your smile made the corners of his lips turn up a little. Did he miss you?

"Javier!" your voice filled his ears with a pleasant sound "I thought you were coming back in the evening."

"We managed to come back earlier." he replied, walking over and folding his arms over his chest "Yesterday, exactly."

"Oh, that's good." you replied, pulling out another folder and placing it on a couple more that you had on the shelf below "Did you manage to find anything? Any new leads?"

"Yeah, we have something to work on." he mumbled "And you?"

"I think I have something too."

You reached for the folders and started looking through them, excited, clearly wanting to show him something. Javier watched you closely, he felt the blood in his veins starting to flow faster, his thoughts speeding up.

"Yesterday I managed to meet with a guy, he had important information." you said without looking up at him.

"That's good." Javier replied.

"I didn't want to believe what he told me, but he had pictures and..." your eyes widened "Shit! He wasn't lying."

He didn't know what you were talking about. He didn't care. He finally blurted out what had been eating at him since yesterday.

"Did you have fun while I was gone?"

"W-What? What are you talking about?" you finally looked at him, distracted from your train of thought.

Javier cleared his throat. "I was at your place yesterday. Right after I got back with Murphy. You were gone."

"I had to go out. I had an appointment." you replied surprised, frowning.

He nodded. "You're dressed up for meetings with informants? Your neighbor told me."

Finally, the context of his words sunk in. Javier saw your eyes light up and your fingers clench tighter.

"What are you suggesting, Agent Peña?" you hissed.

"I'm just saying you weren't home. And now that you're saying you met with an informant, so..."

"I got information about a mole in our office. I couldn't go there and look like an agent from a distance." The words fell out quickly through your clenched teeth. You turned the folder and pressed it into Javier's hands. "This guy is collecting information from our office. He also had information about your last mission with O'Connell."

Peña looked at the photo of the man, he looked pretty average, but since he was in the files he had to be related. You pulled a folded photo out of your back pocket and put it on the one Javier was looking at.

"She's having an affair with him. They've been seeing each other for a while." You said, Javier looked at you. "I caught the mole, Agent Peña. And I didn't have to spread my legs."

Javier gulped. He already knew he fucked up. You glared at him and he really considered what he should say. Finally he spoke.

"I didn't say that..." you rolled your eyes in annoyance "Listen, I..."

"You better not say anything, Peña." you silenced him by pulling the file out of his hand "I have to meet with Messina. You can write it off as my next fling if you want, I don't give a damn."

"Shit! Sorry, I panicked!"

"Right, and you immediately thought of me like everyone else in the office!" you walked past him and headed for the door "I was so stupid. I thought you were different..."

Before he could say anything or react, the door slammed shut behind you with a bang.

The entire office had been pretending to work for over an hour, but everyone's eyes kept wandering to the door of Messina's office where she, you, one of the agents, and the person you had identified as the mole had all disappeared. Javier also caught himself looking in that direction, but his motivations were completely different. The guilt was eating him up inch by inch and he wondered if he would ever be able to look you in the eye again.

"I can't believe it's her." Murphy mumbled, stretching in his chair and clasping his hands behind his neck. "She worked with all of us."

"She also had access to the documents and everything else." Javier mumbled, lighting a cigarette and scratching his temple, your name finally leaving his lips. "You know if she wasn't sure, they wouldn't be sitting there right now."

"Yeah, I know." Murphy nodded. "Maybe I was expecting someone else. A guy. Someone who would do it for money or something."

"Loise did it for a guy." Javier replied. "People do a lot of stupid things because of feelings."

Murphy looked askance at his friend, wondering for a moment if he was still talking about what was happening behind the office door, or if he was talking about something else. He didn't ask about that, though, instead he glanced back at the office where muffled screams could now be heard. The sound of tapping on machines and conversations stopped for a moment, but no one heard anything distinct.

"Williams is there, I'll ask him when he comes out." Steve finally stated. "Maybe we could jump on..."

The door opened abruptly and Messina walked out of it with a lively step, right behind her was you leading Loise. The woman's face was covered in fresh tear tracks, but yours was unreadable to Javier. You didn't even look in his direction, with your chin raised you led Loise down the corridor and soon you all disappeared.

Peña and Murphy stood up almost simultaneously and as soon as the floor seemed safe they glanced into the office where Williams was filling out some paperwork.

"Hey. What's up?" Murphy asked, Javier slipping in after him.

Williams looked up at them and adjusted his glasses on his nose. "You already know, guys." He replied. "Loise was the one who was providing information from our office. Tough case, only this Agent could have come up with that."

"And the screaming?" Javier asked and noticed Williams shaking his head, smiling crookedly.

"You know," he replied. "Women. Loise tried everything to undermine her position. She called her the office's number one whore, said she spread her legs for anyone and for any information. She threw up everything and Messina finally told her to shut up." his mouth twisted in a strange grimace, but when he spoke there was admiration in his voice. "I don't know how she did it, and then endured it all with a straight face. I would have exploded. Loise will hear the charges, she'll be flying back to the States on the next plane."

Murphy looked at Peña and they both left the office. They knew that what had been said would soon be known to everyone in the office. Every word Loise said would be repeated, even the words she said about you. There was a fear that instead of success and a pat on the back, you would once again hear whispers behind your back, because people would wonder how much truth there was in Loise's words.

Javier felt even worse, now he was one of them.

It was after midnight when a knock on the door woke you up. For a moment you ignored the sound, hoping that some resident had had a few too many drinks and simply got the wrong door, but eventually when the knocking continued, you stood up and pulled on your robe. You reached the door in the dark and opened it just wide enough for the safety chain.

"Peña." you mumbled, resting your forehead against the door, "It's late."

"I had to." he mumbled, looking around the hallway, "Can we talk?"

"I don't know. Can we?"

"Please, I know I screwed up. I don't want to leave it between us like this."

Your eyes were judgmental, or at least that's how he felt. You stared at him, considering his words, but eventually you took off the chain and opened the door wider. He walked in and a familiar scent filled his nostrils, your scent, the scent of your place.

"I heard Loise is coming back to the States. You did a good job." he said as you closed the door and leaned back against it, folding your arms across your chest.

"I know." you replied coldly.

Javier shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You didn't need his praise, you didn't need any man's praise, because you knew you were good at what you did.

But despite everything, you didn't roll your eyes, you didn't scold him. You waited, or rather gave him a chance.

"I should apologize." he finally began. "I reacted... fucking idiotically." you tilted your head. "I wanted to surprise you, and when I didn't find you at home... Your neighbor told me you went out and looked nice. I thought... I fucked it up, I know. I was scared that you... that you might have... with someone..."

A small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows as you furrowed them. "Were you jealous, Peña? About me?"

He shrugged, he was a grown man, and for a moment you had the impression that a teenager was standing in front of you. "Maybe, does it matter?"

"I don't know, does it?"

Your eyes met and something inside you twitched. If Javier felt jealous, that could explain his behavior.

"You know..." you began slowly, unraveling your arms and pushing your messy hair out of your face. "I was mad that you thought I could do what you thought. I mean, since when...we do what we do, I never..."

"I know." He interrupted you quickly. "I was an idiot. I felt so fucking insecure, because I really feel good around you. You're so much more, you know."

You raised your eyebrows, surprised by his confession. "Do you have a soft spot for me, Agent Peña?"

Javier rolled his eyes and lowered his head, trying to hide the smile that appeared on his lips. "You're good, you know? So fucking good."

You pouted and shrugged. "I know. And you? What are you like, Javier?"

He took a few slow steps towards you. His shoes stood on either side of your bare feet, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the remnants of his cologne and cigarettes dripping down to you.

"I think I'm at a disadvantage. How could I possibly compete with you, huh?" His fingers brushed your thighs, then climbed up your hips, squeezing them lightly. "What have you done to me, hermosa? I barely recognize myself."

"I hope Murphy gave you hell on this trip." You mumbled, smiling.

"Oh, yes! He's taken it to his limits. He kept wondering out loud why you even looked at me."

"You've got a nice ass in those tight jeans."

A sly smile appeared on Javier's face, he raised a cocky eyebrow. "Are you watching my ass, hermosa?"

"I'm watching your back, Agent Peña." His lips barely brushed your cheek, his warm breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Good thing you asked. Yes, please."

Your lips met in a sweet kiss, tender and gentle. Your hands climbed up his neck and slid into his soft hair, and when you parted your lips without hesitation he slid his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His body pressed against yours and in that moment you had no way of escaping. You didn't even consider it.

"You know she's too good for you, right?" Murphy smirked.

"Shut the fuck up." Javier muttered, throwing his cigarette butt on the pavement and crushing it with his shoe.

"I'm just saying." Steve shrugged and checked his watch.

He leaned against the car door next to Peña, the sun warming their backs, but they were both staring at the embassy door where you had disappeared almost an hour ago. After Loise flew to the States, you had to sign a few more documents and promise that the information about the mole in the office would not get out beyond the people in the department.

Javier thought it was stupid, but he couldn't fight the bureaucracy, and he didn't want to keep repeating it to you. You had been getting along really well for a few days, he didn't want to ruin it.

Even though Murphy teased him every chance he got, Javier knew he was right. He felt that you were too good for him, but despite everything, he was the one who made that incredible smile appear on your lips. It was in his arms that you fell asleep almost every night, that had to mean something.

"Connie wanted me to ask if you both would come over for dinner on Sunday." Murphy spoke again. "What do you think?"

"Have you already told her about us?"

"And what did you think, that I would keep it to myself?! Jesus, she thinks the same way as me..."

"It's her."

The doors of the embassy opened and you walked out onto the sunny street with some man. He shook your hand and exchanged a few more words with you. It took Javier a moment to realize that something was wrong. A car that was parked under another building screeched towards you.

"Fuck!" Steve hissed when he noticed that one of the passengers had drawn a gun. "Get down! Get the fuck down!"

The shots from Javier's and his guns mixed with those fired towards the embassy entrance. Panic broke out on the street. The screams of people mixed with the sounds of a car that bounced off one of the cars parked nearby and started to flee. Meanwhile, Murphy and Peña ran towards the embassy building. The whole situation made it so that they didn't see if you reacted, but when they were closer…

"Jesus Christ! Call an ambulance!" Javier growled when he reached you.

You managed to hide behind a car parked nearby, but you weren't fast enough. The blood stain on your side was growing with every passing moment.

"They hit him too! Fuck!" Steve's scream reached Javier's ears. "What about her?"

"She's bleeding like hell." Javier hissed, lifting your shirt and revealing the gunshot wound. He pressed it hard, and you groaned in pain. "I know, I know, babe. The ambulance is on its way."

His hands began to cover in blood. The seconds dragged on endlessly. He saw you weakening with each passing moment.

"Stay with me, hermosa. Don't even dare close your eyes!"

But he had no control over that. He had no control over anything anymore.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist: @qpiiee @missladym1981 @axshadows @djappleblush @picketniffler @txmel @wowitsafemale @cheekychaos28 @underneath-the-sky-again @misstokyo7love

#pedro pascal #javier peña x reader #javier peña #you in my eyes series #narcos

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mistyresolve · 1 day ago

Note

Hello🥰 do you write fics? Would you mind taking one of my request? I was thinking maybe reader was recently out of depression because of an event that happened and she meets tf141. They help her through it because they’re sacred that she’ll get back into it but they realize she’s ok and she’s on a good road. Later on in the fic reader finds Simon in the corner with tears in his eyes and all you can smell in the air is fart (Simon has farted)

Word count - 1.2K

Summary - For the last two months, Task Force 141 had grown increasingly concerned about the mental well-being and safety of Sergeant L/N. Who had become so withdrawn and stone-faced that it was nearly impossible to make them laugh, let alone crack a smile.

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death (kinda, it's an animal), Limb loss, Mentions of mental health.

A/N - i refuse to acknowledge the second half of the request

Masterlist ❤︎

You went to every rehab and therapy session, but that didn’t change the fact that where there was once a furry friend with his tail wagging who was now missing. It sure as hell didn’t change the fact that the K-9 was dead. There wasn’t a body for you to bury. Not that you would have had the time. When you were medevacked out, you had lost so much blood you weren’t conscious enough to tell them about your dog still left at the crash site.

You were bedridden for two weeks after the explosion, stuck in a state of shock for half that. You had visitors the entire duration of your hospital stay but couldn’t remember who was all there.

It all went wrong because of a single misstep. In a matter of milliseconds, your life was changed forever. A life was lost.

Like clockwork, your ears began to ring and fill with the sounds of metal scraping along the concrete, the sound of broken glass and settling rubble. The crackle of an engine giving up. The sounds of your screams, as you tried your best to get your leg unstuck from between the wall and an LTV. The tinny reverb of your fist slamming down on the side of the LTV in frustration. Somewhere among the wreck was your K-9, Lily. You called her her name over and over again; until your voice was raw.

She didn’t so much as whimper.

It took you forever just to relearn how to walk. Even today, you sometimes struggle to find and maintain balance. You have yet to get used to your new life.

“I still don’t feel very good. And I’ve been wanting to hide away a lot more,” you toe your boot at the edge of the carpet, tracing its pattern with your eyes. You were finding it increasingly difficult to look people in the eyes, afraid that they would see through your fragile exterior if you did.

Dr.Greene leaned back in her chair, quickly jotting down the admission. Her tawny hair caught in the light of the singular lamp she had on. The room smelled like lavender; you can imagine it was a calming environment for some people. Yet, your leg twitched to get out of here.

“Listen, I don’t think this is what I need. I don’t need months of R and R. Let me back onto the field. " You rested your elbows on your thighs, but you already knew the answer she was going to give you—the same one she gave you last week and the week before.

“Once I tick off a few more boxes on your file, I will do just that.”

You stood up from the cushioned chair, swaying ever so slightly, and dipped your chin at her, “Thank you. I think we end things here.”

“There’s a lot we still need to unpack and discuss,” she started, levelling you with a disapproving look, “This session is going so well for you.”

“Then we can leave it to next week’s session,” you snipped.

Price was sitting in the lobby waiting for you, engrossed in one of the pamphlets that were left on the coffee table. The members of the 141 took turns taking you to your appointments, mostly because of your newfound fear of vehicles, which sent you into a crazed panic.

“Done already?” he stood up, his knees crackling as he did so.

“Get me out of here before I start screaming.”

You leaned your weight on the railing, letting the steam from the coffee heat your face. Behind you, the door squeaked open, and if the lack of footsteps meant anything, it meant that Ghost was coming out to keep you company.

Ghost was the only one you felt like he didn’t coddle you. He didn’t try to stop you from doing the things you used to do; he didn’t try to pretend to know how you felt.

But he was getting scared for you.

You were standing right in front of him, and he still felt like he was seeing a ghost.

You could see his arm resting on the banister from your peripherals, his hands clasped together. You couldn’t find the energy within you to greet him.

“Wh’s on your mind?” he asked, picking a piece of the peeling paint off the railing and flicking it away.

You shrugged, your vision unfocusing.

He knocked his elbow against yours, grabbing your attention, “Whatever it is, it ain’t helping you.”

“I wasn’t even going to bring her on the mission,” you respond, your head ducking, “I just felt so bad that I’d left her behind for the last three,” you sucked in a shuttering breath, “It’s my fault. She didn’t need to be there,” It was an admission you hadn’t voiced before, not even in your own head.

It was all you could do to put the mug onto the railing before you collapsed, your feet sliding out from under you. The heart-wrenching sob that tore through you was devastating to Ghost.

He knelt beside you, one hand reaching for under your arm, “Let’s get you inside. We’ve got an audience out here.”

He ushered you back into the coffee room, guiding you to the couch. He let you cry for what seemed like hours. He didn’t say a word; he just gave you the chance to let it out. He made sure no one else came into the room and handed you a glass of water for hydration and that was all you needed. He already knew you didn’t want to hear all the sap like “She’s in a better place” or “How could you have known that was going to happen?”

It was the first time since the accident that you had cried.

Three Months Later

Aside from Mactavish, whom you had already given a very important job, you had sat everyone down in the commons room.

You cleared your throat about to give a big announcement, “As you guys may know, I have been allowed to rejoin the K-9 unit, “ As an instructor, given the fact that since you lost your left leg, you were unfit for combat. There was a collection of smiles around the room. “It has been a long, tiresome journey. I owe a lot of my recovery to you guys. So I thank all of you for your support and patience.”

Slowly, you backed up until you reached the front door, “Now we all know that being a part of a K-9 unit requires one thing. I would like you guys to be the first to be introduced to our newest member, Callahan,” You swung the door open. Soap knelt on the other side of the door and let go of the dog's collar, who immediately took advantage of the freedom and booked it into the room.

He was still a juvenile and still hadn’t completely gotten rid of his puppy coat. He was still energetic and friendly when he wasn’t at work. His left ear flopped around as he hopped from person to person, too excited and overwhelmed to decide who he wanted to sniff out first.

Callahan wasn’t like the normal K-9s. He couldn't sniff out mines and wasn’t trained to attack an assailant. He is a support animal. No, he specifically trained and curated to your needs.

Masterlist ❤︎

#simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #simon riley #cod ghost #task force 141 #task force 141 headcanons #soap mactavish #captain john price #john soap mactavish #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #cod fluff #mw2 fluff

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graceisinthelibrary · 2 days ago

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No. 6 for the prompt?

I'm sorry this took a while, but work came in between me and my keyboard.

The prompt was "Food is burning on the stove" and I hope you like it!

She smelled it in her sleep. The awful stench reached her in the depths of her hectic dreams. She wrinkled her nose. Sneezed and found it hurt. Food was burning on the stove… but why?

Audrey stirred and found her body was hurting too. So it wasn’t just her head and the smell… It wasn’t food. No one had invaded her kitchen, claiming the aga to cook something. Who would anyway? Helen was forbidden to get near the pots and the others only used it for heating water.

As she opened her eyes, she groaned, because even moving her eyelids hurt.

“There you are…” Mr Farnon’s voice, calm and soothing as if he were talking to one of his patients, reached her through the fog that refused to leave her brain. She blinked and frowned. He was closer than she had expected. His hand touched her forehand and his blurry face smiled at her. “How are you feeling?”

“Did a house hit me head?”

“I’m afraid it was a plane,” he quipped, trying to sound funny. However, it made no sense, he didn’t make sense. With her eyes closed again, she tried to unravel the mystery of his words and went back to the day before…or whatever day it had been. As the realisation that she didn’t know what time or day it was, dawned on her, she suddenly felt scared. What happened?

“Mr Farnon…”

“I’m here.” But why? Was he watching her, perhaps guarding her?

“Drink something. You must be thirsty.”

Her throat ached indeed. It was raw, soar, and as she swallowed the cold water, administered by him with loving care ran down her throat, it felt soothing. Fighting the urge to sink back in her pillow, she struggled to sit up and leaned against the head of her bed. Siegfried pushed a pillow into her back to make her more comfortable. Her vision became clearer, revealing that she was in her room at Skeldale. Rain was hitting the window. The clock on her bedside table said it was late afternoon. Now that she was sitting upright and the fog in her brain slowly vanished she noticed that it wasn’t food that was burning somewhere.

“Why does my hair smell like smoke?”

“Can’t you remember?”

“I think I were out with Mr Bosworth…” It had been dark, rainy, a typical spring night in the Dales, and she had been in a horrible mood to be out in a muddy field when at home a pleasant fire and a sherry were waiting for her.

“A plane had crashed on the field,” Siegfried reminded her. “You had to go out to evaluate the situation.”

“You were angry with me…” she disclosed. “We argued about it…” It hadn’t even been her shift and Bosworth’s eager insistence she should assist him had led to an argument with Siegfried.

Gradually it all came back and the memory took her breath away. They had never argued like this before. Usually they resolved their conflicts with banter, with respect but that evening the atmosphere had been anything but playful. Of course, she had known his protest for going out in the middle of the night to a crash site had come from a place of worry. Yet, what he had voiced were his usual complaints about her never being at home… he had told her she was neglecting her duties and, worst of all, Jimmy. Helen and James had been at the Drovers, which had left Siegfried alone with the toddler who was fast asleep. Siegfried was perfectly able to look after the boy who once he was asleep rarely woke up and she had told him just that.

Annoyed, she had to go with Bosworth and as a result missed out on a quiet evening by his side, she had shot back that he was a spoiled old man who couldn’t adjust and was just thinking about his own comfort. She had stormed out of the house and Bosworth had picked her up.

The plane, as it had become clear soon, hadn’t been German. The debris had been cluttered all over the field, the tailpiece had been on fire. The pilot had still been sitting in the cockpit, covered in blood, but still alive and conscious. Audrey had talked to him, trying to unfasten his seat belt, but the mechanism was stuck. That’s why he couldn’t bail out in the first place. Feeling Bosworth would be useless for the task of getting the soldier out, she had ordered him to rush off to the next farmhouse to use the telephone. They needed the cavalry and fast… what had happened then?

“I think there were a small fire…” She looked at Siegfried, hoping he could fill in the gaps.

“There was. A fire and an explosion. I don’t know how, but you managed to get out the pilot. You dragged him across the field into a ditch, and then the fire reached the tank. You were lucky.” The last three words stumbled from his lips. His voice broke as he lowered his head and hid his face in her blanket. His shoulders were shaking as he sobbed into her bedlinen and she placed her hand on the back of his head and caressed it.

“Oh Siegfried, I’m sorry…” She whispered. The details of the night were still hidden in a mist. But the smell of her hair, the smoke consisting of kerosene and mud helped to put the pieces back together.

Somehow she had cut the seat belt with a pocket knife Siegfried had given her after she had taken on the warden job. It had come in very handy and apparently it had saved the pilot and her own life.

“Whatever for?” He asked, lifting his head. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“I were mean….before I left. But I was so angry for having to go out…and you were…”

“Selfish? Degrading? Abhorrent?”

“I dismissed your worry…and I were wrong.” Obviously, she had. Her lying in bed with her body protesting against every move, proved she had misjudged the situation. She had never been in a more dangerous situation, not even during the Great War.

“I was scared to lose you and when the phone rang I knew it wasn’t Rudd’s bloody sow who needed help…” He chuckled, but new tears streamed over his face and she reached out to touch his cheek. She gently caressed his beard, found it much softer than she had imagined it. Then she snatched a hanky from the drawer and gave it to him.

“I never meant to scare you.”

“Never mind me,” he replied after he had blown his nose. “I was selfish and abhorrent while you saved a man’s life. Bosworth wants to put you forward for a commendation. If he had a say in the matter, you would receive an OBE.” It was the first time he smiled.

“He’s so daft,” she said and the chuckle hurt her chest. She coughed.

“You inhaled a lot of smoke… and something hit your head when the plane went off.”

“I was lucky,” she repeated his earlier words.

“I was lucky,” he said and grasped her hand. “I got you back in one piece.”

“You took me in when I needed a home, don’t you think you’ll get rid of me so easily now,” she joked, hoping to make him smile. She succeeded and lovingly stared at the wrinkles around his brown eyes, wondering if they had become deeper overnight. “I’ll always come back to you,” she added, more serious this time. “Always.” Their eyes locked and he led her hand to his lips.

“And if not it’ll be the end of me.”

“There are much easier ways to say ‘I love you’,” she pointed out, squeezing his fingers.

“I love you,” he whispered and leant in. His eyes, asking for permission, rested on her mouth. Her lips parted and she met him in a soft kiss. They took it slowly, explored, gauged, cherished this moment of truth and commitment.

“I love you, too,” she mumbled against his lips, her eyes filled with happy tears, and her headache seemed gone. She felt light like a feather and kissed him again, this time deeper and longer.

Lost in each other they didn’t hear the knock at her door or how Helen opened it. Jimmy, now walking, giggled as he stepped in and Helen gasped as Siegfried and Audrey broke apart.

“His Lordship has arrived,” Audrey chuckled and Siegfried moved aside to allow Jimmy a good look at his Godaunt.

“We can come back later,” Helen offered as Jimmy tore himself loose from her and ran over to Audrey.

“Or you could discreetly vanish and bring us a cup of tea and something for little Jimmy here,” Siegfried suggested instead and heaved Jimmy onto the bed.

“Alright…” A little wary Helen nodded and decided to do as asked. She would reserve her questions for later.

#all creatures great and small #acgas 2020 #maggie smith #siegfried farnon #siegfried x audrey #fanfiction #writing prompt #drabble #light angst

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madridfangirl · 2 days ago

Note

wrote smth bc i was bored

Jude’s phone buzzed the second he stepped into the team bus. He didn’t have to check to know who it was.

Dove: Call me when you can, okay?

He sighed, running a hand through his curls before pressing the call button. It rang once before her voice, soft and familiar, filled his ears

"Jude…"

He exhaled heavily, leaning his head back against the seat. “I know.”

"It wasn’t your fault," she said immediately, firm but gentle. "That ref was ridiculous. The second yellow was—"

"Doesn’t matter," he muttered, voice tight. "It happened. I let the team down."

Ananya was quiet for a second, and then—"You know, if I was there, I’d be hugging you right now."

Jude let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "I’d probably bury my face in your shoulder and refuse to move."

"You would," she teased softly. "Big, tough footballer, but the second something goes wrong, he just wants cuddles."

"Shut up," he murmured, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

There was a rustling sound on her end, like she was shifting under her blankets. "I know today sucked," she said, voice softer now, "but one bad night doesn’t erase everything you’ve done. You’re still Jude. My Jude."

His chest tightened. "You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?"

"That’s because I know you," she whispered.

Jude closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her words sink in. "Wish you were here."

"Me too," she admitted. "But since I’m not, just do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Sleep, okay?" she said, voice laced with quiet affection. "And when you wake up, remember that no stupid red card could ever change how much I love you."

Jude swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding even though she couldn’t see him. "I love you too."

And for the first time that night, something in him felt lighter.

Jude didn’t even think twice. The second the plane touched down in Madrid, he ignored the usual routine—no waiting around, no unnecessary stops. He just needed her.

By the time he was knocking on Ananya’s door, it was past midnight. His duffel bag was slung over his shoulder, his hoodie pulled up to hide the exhaustion written all over his face. The red card, the frustration, the noise—none of it mattered now. He just wanted to be home.

And Ananya? She was home.

The door swung open, and there she was—hair messy from sleep, drowning in one of his hoodies.

"Jude," she breathed, eyes scanning his face like she already knew exactly why he was here.

He didn’t say a word. Just stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Her hands slid up his back, holding him just as tightly. "Hey, love," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "Rough night?"

Jude exhaled shakily, his grip on her tightening. "Horrible," he mumbled against her skin. "I just needed to see you."

"You’re here now," she murmured, threading her fingers through his curls, grounding him. "You’re okay."

For a moment, neither of them moved. He just held her, breathing her in, letting her warmth melt away the frustration still lingering in his bones.

Ananya pulled back slightly, just enough to cup his face. "You look exhausted."

"I feel exhausted," he admitted.

"Come inside," she urged, pulling him in gently before shutting the door behind him. "You need to rest."

Jude kicked off his shoes, dropping his bag without care. The moment they reached the couch, he collapsed onto it, dragging her down with him until she was tucked under his arm.

"Didn’t even change out of your hoodie," she teased, fingers playing with the hem.

"It smells like you," he murmured, his voice lower now, sleep creeping in. "Didn’t want to let go of you, even for a second."

Ananya softened, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’m yours," he corrected, eyes already fluttering shut.

She smiled, tracing slow circles on his chest. "Yeah, you are."

And as he drifted off, his arms still locked around her, Jude realized—no matter what happened on the pitch, no matter how brutal the game got, as long as he had her to come home to, he’d be okay

was listening to Pretty Boy by The Neighbourhood while writing this

This has been a very tough week and you just put a massive smile on my face. Thank you dear anon, I look forward to a lot more titbits from you.

#star crossed lovers

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coweye · 7 months ago

Text

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice.

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was.

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot.

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired.

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face.

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her.

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised.

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features.

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully.

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling.

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red.

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man.

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry.

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits.

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie.

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?”

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed.

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping.

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline.

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers.

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted.

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet.

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists.

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.”

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp.

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?”

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form.

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue.

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now. “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-”

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily.

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other.

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion. “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that.

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground.

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind.

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him.

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy.

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you.

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead.

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do.

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip.

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura.

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan.

He’s just Logan.

You bury yourself deeper in his neck.

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut.

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs.

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?”

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you.

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back.

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not.

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue.

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter. He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips.

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his.

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist.

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart.

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you.

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close.

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve.

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him.

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him.

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional.

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he.

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth.

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you.

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-”

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you.

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch.

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth.

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast.

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole.

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin.

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it.

He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach.

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin.

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard.

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy.

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you.

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers.

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go.

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does.

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing.

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably.

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down.

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh.

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection.

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again.

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind.

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence.

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“AGH!” Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you.

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend.

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous. Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands.

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you. Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?”

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously.

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest.

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different.

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours.

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back.

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #worst logan #worst logan x reader #worst logan x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine you x #wolverine deadpool #wolverine smut #wolverine x you #wolverine #james howlett x reader #james howlett #james howlett x you #wolverine deadpool fanfiction #wolverine fanfiction

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saintrosalyn · 2 months ago

Text

JAILBIRD

Ghost becomes pen pals with an inmate before deciding that he wants to adopt his little jailbird.

Word count: 4.1k

Tw: inmate reader, reader is kept as vauge as possible but is implied to be younger than Ghost, violence, stalking, ghost is a perv, p in v, oral (f! Receiving), creampie, spanking (once), orgasm denial if you squint, unprotected sex, NOT edited we die like men.

Edited to Add: Part Two is posted :)

Notes: Baby’s first fanfic, please be gentle. Let me know if I missed any trigger warnings or if you want to see more! I have an idea for a second part but I don’t know if anyone wants it, right now it’s tucked away safely in my drafts. Enjoy! :)

P.S. I’m thinking about making an ao3 account and publishing an edited version of this on there. I’ll link it if I do! I’ve already spent too much time procrastinating finals but christmas break is around the corner so who knows.

The letter came with the top serrated, already opened, as all your letters came. You mostly ignored them. There were a couple of programs that allowed people to become pen pals with prisoners but you’d been there long enough to know what they often contained.

Many of the women milked poor losers on the outside. Money given and sent. Promises of butterfly kisses and blowjobs whispered over the phone. Exchanges. Some were even able to sweet talk their honeys into giving bribes. Money passed into hands of guards, currency that was then exchanged for cigarettes, which were much more valuable on the inside than the bills used on the outside.

You don’t know why you read this letter. It certainly wasn’t the penmanship, a scrawled handwriting that lay between cursive and print. Maybe it was the blue pen, you’d recognize a Bic anywhere, or maybe it was the fact that it smelled a bit like top-shelf liquor.

It was rather blunt. But not in an obscene way. Simple and straight to the point as if constrained by an unknown word count. It wasn’t memorable, but what else was there to do? Pace your cell back and forth and wait for zoochosis to settle further in your bones. Close your eyes and remember what freedom tasted like before it dissolved in your mouth.

The pen they gave you was cheap, the paper even cheaper, but you were used to making things work. Your reply was shorter than his, than Simon’s, but it got the job done. If he wanted to write back he would. If he didn’t, well, the new prison guard was starting to get rather handsy with you. The time will pass no matter what.

___

His replies came in strange patterns. Some weeks you’d get eight in a week, other times you wouldn’t hear from him for a few months. It took a year for the first phone call of which lasted less than a minute and consisted mostly of him grunting on the other end and a schlick sound you pretended not to notice. It was his fourth phone call that he finally said a few words in a voice so low it made the phone buzz against your ear, tickling like a lover's breath. Eventually, you had some semblance of conversations, even if they were interrupted by a recorded voice warning you of the time you had left.

He told you he was a soldier and at first, you planned on cutting the whole penpal idea off. Even before you got arrested you hated bootlickers more than anything. But Simon grew on you, and your friends all suggested you get in his good graces to see if he could pull some strings. You would’ve felt guilty if he was anything other than glorified government property. Both of you were.

The first thing he gave you was a book, The Yellow Wallpaper, which was thicker than you remembered from the time you read it in school. It was only when you cracked open the spine did you find a pack of cigarettes inside, the pages carved out so your real present could be placed inside. You couldn’t help the smile that split your lips as you pressed one between your lips, not noticing the tiny S carved into it.

You thank him for the gift by whispering his name into the phone. A mantra, a prayer, it didn’t matter as long as you kept your voice breathy. He promises to get you more and you learn not to refuse him. At one point, you notice that little robotic voice doesn’t time you anymore. The guard who couldn’t keep his hands to himself was replaced with a woman, hair pulled back into a military-style bun. And you got an extra cookie with your meals.

It took a year for him to visit. You knew it was coming eventually, men are only fine with their imagination for so long before they crave something tangible. Hell, even you were curious about the man who wanted to sink his teeth into you. It almost felt like getting ready for a date. Butterflies dropped like lead in your stomach as you tried to tidy your appearance as much as you could. You smelled, but there wasn’t much you could do about that. The whole damn prison smelled like a county fair bathroom. The lack of air conditioning in the heat of summer just added a sweet BO tinge.

The first thing you noticed about Simon was his size. You had never met a man as big as he was. The next was the thick scar tissue that marred his face. Though, even without the scars you would be hesitant to ever call him handsome.

Intimidating.

That was what came to mind staring at the thick cords of muscle that covered his arms and the broadness of his shoulders wasn’t just genetics. And he just stared at you. You glanced at the phone that connected to his on the other side of the glass and back at him but decided against it.

You offered him a small smile and an awkward wave. It unnerved you. The focus and attention pinned you in place. Normally you kinned yourself to a tiger you saw at a zoo when you were a child. One that paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A habit you understood all too well. But sitting in front of your pen pal you realized you were rather off.

Simon was the tiger and you were the bird that caught his attention.

It took far too long for the guard to come and collect you. For once you were grateful to retreat back to your cell, so much so that in your retreat you failed to notice the nod your warden gave Simon.

___

After that Simon met with you in person as often as was allowed. He never said anything and neither did you. Eventually, the novelty of him wore off. Humans were rather adaptable creatures, and you could only be scared of the man for so long before your body adjusted to him. Despite your silence, Simon didn’t appear displeased with you. In fact, it was almost the opposite of it. More gifts arrived.

A pillow, high-end shampoo, a toothbrush (that you had a strange suspicion was used before being given to you), nail polish, and more cigarettes. Some of the women were jealous of the attention given to you, others tried to get with you to share your bounty. Somehow you dodged most of the conflict. But you can only run so long while trapped with so many women.

When you showed up to your meeting sporting a bruised cheek and split lip the air quickly changed. Before you thought Simon looked like a predator.

You were wrong.

Fear coursed through your veins and you recognized the look in his eyes. Every woman in the damn place knows what a hunger for violence looked like. Slowly he reached out an arm, the sleeve of his hoodie riding up slightly showing off tattoos, before grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear. With a shaking hand, you did the same.

“Bird.” His voice was somehow deeper in real life than over the phone.

“You should see the other guy.”

His lips twitched.

There was something uncanny about his eyes. They weren’t brown, they were black. Obsidian. You realized that before, the first time you met him, he wasn’t trying to scare you. Though, you were pretty sure it wasn’t directed at you.

“Just a little spat is all Simon. Everything sorted itself out.”

All over a bottle of nail polish. Tempers run short in prison. You spend most of your days in a cell, and what little free time you get surrounded by the same insufferable bitches, it’s a mystery there isn’t more violence. For the most part, things were settled with words. The more physical an inmate gets the more time spent in your cell. There were some weeks where you spent twenty-three hours a day in that little room.

Simon let out a sigh as if dealing with you was the most insufferable part of his day.

“Did ye’ get medical attention a’ least?”

You nodded your head.

He gave a grunt.

That seemed to be his preferred method of communication with you. Caveman grunts and growls, the occasional moan over the phone he couldn’t hold back. You figured it had something to do with his job. He was quite tight-lipped about it, but you gathered he has co-workers (his squad? Platoon? What was the proper lingo?). Despite this, you were under the impression he spent the majority of his time alone. He always seemed more primal after those month-long stints of silence.

You always wondered how you would feel if he never contacted you again. Went out and didn’t come back. Would you assume he was dead? That he moved on to prettier things that aren’t locked away? Would it make a difference to you?

No. It wouldn’t.

Even now you got letters upon letters from other men. Though none were as giving as Simon was.

It was back to silence and staring contests that you were used to. The both of you slipping into a familiarity. He never put the phone back. Even when your warden came and escorted you back. You didn’t glance back at him.

Tucked away in your cell you didn’t get to watch Simon slowly rise out of his seat, chair creaking from the shifting of his weight. You didn’t see Simon lurk in the back as the inmates met with their loved ones on the out. Didn’t see him take notice of a particular girls with nails painted the same shade as his gift to you. The same shade as the tip of his cock.

___

The girl was transferred. For a singular moment, you thought Simon had something to do with it. Then laughed at the idea. Simon may be in the military, but you highly doubted he had anything to do with the bitch who got transferred. At least you got your nail polish back. It was a strange shade, and the idea of a man as big as Simon standing in an isle trying to pick out a shade made you chuckle, it was the thought that counted.

Time marched on. Penpals came and went but Simon stayed the consistent part in your life.

Eventually, the possibility of parole was on the horizon.

Freedom.

So close you could practically taste it.

Unfortunately, that meant a laundry list of to-do items. Court hearings, lawyers bankrolled by Simon, arranging for transportation and housing. Simon handled most of it. By now, the lingering guilt of using your soldier fiance had long left you. He seemed like the kind of man who needed to learn lessons the hard way, and entering a relationship with a felon was a lesson most didn’t need to learn. Still, he had been putting in quite a hard amount of work. He deserved a treat.

And after years of forced celibacy, you needed it bad.

The two of you would enjoy each other for a week or two. Simon would realize he made a mistake moving you in. He would kick you out. You’d pawn the ring he’d give you and use the money as a cushion as you landed, getting back on your feet. The two of you would go your separate ways and never see each other again.

Being in prison taught you a lot of things. Despite everything, patience wasn’t one of those lessons. The day you were gaining your freedom passed was the slowest part of your life. The checking, double checking, retrieving your stuff, checking again, until finally,

Finally,

You were outside. You were outside in something other than a uniform that stunk of sweat, there were no handcuffs. Anxiety crept everywhere. You wanted to get as far away from the prison as you could, if you breathed wrong a warden would drag you back. A pair of arms snatched you.

You looked up and couldn’t help but laugh, pressing your lips against his scarred ones.

“Fucking Christ your tall.”

He chuckled against your lips before taking them again, hands digging near painfully into your ass. The two of you somehow managed to walk back to his car peeling off one another before Simon peeled away, hand clutching the fat of your thighs as he drove.

“Never pictured you as a reckless driver.” You giggled.

The adrenaline and giddiness of being free hadn’t worn off yet. If anything it seemed to slowly be morphing into a different beast entirely. You pressed your lips against his bicep causing him to groan. You glanced up at him, watching as his jaw clenched weaving in and out of traffic in a way that was certainly not legal. You would’ve been worried about being pulled over if he wasn’t driving a military vehicle. They answered to a different police, or so he told you.

Eventually, he pulled into the yard of a house with an honest-to-God white picket fence. You smiled as you got out, curiosity creeping in about what his house was like. Simon opened the door for you, which would probably should’ve made you swoon at his gentleman-like behavior, but truthfully it was how he hauled you out of the card and dragged you inside that got your heart racing.

Impatient.

The door barely closed before his body was pressed against yours and his lips were pressed against your jugular. One of his rough hands slipped up your shirt, grunting when he found a clear path to your tits instead of meeting the edge of a bra. The other dipped into the waistband of your pants, running over your clothed cunt, no doubt feeling the wet spot against your underwear. Your hands slid over his arms, squeezing at the muscle, before slowly sliding them up and up, going to the back of his neck, a hand threading through his short hair the other cupping his face to kiss yours.

A large thumb found your clit, only the thin cotton stopped him from rubbing directly against it. He pressed down hard on it, causing your breath to catch in your throat, his thumb moving down your slit. The seam of your mouth parted in a moan and he used that to stick his tongue down your throat.

The kiss was obscenely wet, beastly as his spit passed from his mouth into yours. Before prison, you would’ve pulled away with a grimace. Too much tongue, too much teeth, too much. But your whole body was on fire, years of pent-up orgasms made you desperate for it all. For someone to press against you, to be inside you.

Simon was oh-so-convenient.

You tried to pull away, lungs burning enough to convince you that air was in fact a need, but the door stopped you. Pressed between it and Simon you had no escape. You whimpered against his mouth, again and again until he finally got the hint and pulled away, a string of spit connecting your mouths as if it too was reluctant to pull away from you.

“Bedroom?” You panted, though if he took you here against the door you would die happy.

Simon threw you over his shoulder and took his stairs two at a time before tossing you on his bed making you laugh. The caveman and his prize. Simon took the moment of being away from you to pull at the collar of his shirt. You watched in appreciation as it lifted higher and higher until it was discarded on his carpet.

His body was marred in scar tissue, muscle, and a layer of fat that made for a solid fine specimen of the male species. His pants were discarded next, and either he pulled his underwear down with them or he just wasn’t wearing any to begin with. You didn’t have much time to ponder that thought distracted by his hard cock.

Jesus Christ.

Big was an understatement, monster was the word that popped into your mind. It crossed the territory between delicious into scary. Large and thicker than you thought possible. You swallowed and for a second hoped he would forget about the blowjob you promised him after he gave you a pillow.

“Yer’ wearin’ too many clothes Birdie.”

Quickly, though not as quickly as Simon was, you wiggled out of your pants, shrugged off your shirt throwing it in the same pile as his clothes. He stepped closer to you, one large hand grabbing your ankle before retching you towards him.

He leaned down, mouthing at your bare tits, slobbering over them. The soft press of his tongue flicked over your nipple before he moved to the other and grazed his teeth over it. His hands were everywhere. He was everywhere. Impossibly big and pressed against you everywhere. Until all your senses were filled with him. As if Simon was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The artificial sun in your glass cage.

His mouth moved lower, nipping at your skin before he moved between your legs. He settled his body in between them, the calloused palm of his hands pressing your legs further and further apart until the stretch burned in the muscles where your legs met your pelvis. Quickly the pain faded into the background as he pressed a kiss against your bare clit, before taking it in his mouth and sucking. You felt the rough pad of his fingertips press against your hole rubbing against it but never quite dipping inside. Again and again, he moved it against you but never in you.

It was maddening.

You tilted your pelvis against his mouth, trying to coax his fingers into your welcoming body. He growled against your clit, removing his mouth causing you to whine. A sharp sting met your ass cheek and you yelped.

He spanked you.

“Behave.”

You never took the man to be hungry for anything other than missionary, but it seemed he had learned a few tricks over the years. He did have a few on you, you were sure of it. Your thoughts leaked out of your ears as he moved back up, slotting his hips in between your legs. Liquid lust ran through your veins at the sight of him rubbing his dick against your mound, a mess of your slick and his pre dragging along your pussy and up to your belly button. Your poor hole clenching around nothing at the image of how deep he was about to be in you.

You took a deep breath, mesmerized as he pressed the tip against your entrance, catching it before pressing himself inside. He went slowly, and you couldn’t help the moan that left you as he finally began to sink home. Throwing your head back you closed your eyes as he stretched your body out.

You weren’t a virgin before you were locked away, but years of celibacy made you feel born again. Hell, with the size Simon was even if you had fucked him before he would’ve made you feel virginal with the way he was splitting you open.

When you opened them again you caught his gaze, he stared at you watching your expression pinch as he gave small thrusts, working the last of him inside you. When his balls pressed against your ass you let out a shaky breath. You had passed your limit two inches ago but somehow Simon had managed to coax your sweet pussy to take the last of him inside. The pain of him had taken you away from the edge of an orgasm he was working you towards, but when his hand found your clit again you knew you weren’t going to last long.

If his shaky breaths were anything to go by Simon wasn’t going to last long either.

He kissed you again, this time it was softer. Sweeter. Made your stomach turn in a moment of guilt. It was replaced when he drew out of you, slowly letting you feel inch after inch leave your body, before slamming back in.

He moved again against you. And again. Building up a punishing rhythm. You couldn’t help the small ah ah ah’s that left your lips as he rutted in you. Your hips pushed against his, working with him as you both chased your highs.

His hand never left your clit, as if glued to it working in tight fast circles. His other hand traveled along your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Squeezing at your tits so hard you thought it might bruise, running up your bare skin, constantly moving and feeling. As if he couldn’t believe that you were real. That you were out of your cage and underneath him panting his name in his ear instead of against the end of a phone.

Your own hands wandered. Moving over his arms, God’s gift to you, his chest. But mostly they moved down his back, feeling his muscles move and contract under your hands. Before you left you would convince him to put a mirror over his bed, so you could watch his shoulders shift and move as he thrust inside you.

It was too much. The feel of Simon, the stimulation on your clit, the thick cock pistoning like a machine inside you, pressure built and built inside you. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down as he pushed you off that ledge.

Simon’s thrusts stuttered as he felt your walls fluttering around him, suckling at his cock, coaxing him. He came with a groan soon after you, painting your walls with thick globs of his cum.

You panted as he rested against you, letting his cock soften inside you as you ran your nails over the nape of his neck and caressed his short hair. It was oddly soft, comforting to run your hands over.

Simon began to untangle himself from you, slowly as if reluctant to part from your embrace. He moved to what you now realize was the on-suite connected to his bedroom. You could feel his cum start to drip out of your cunt and down your asshole, shifting at the uncomfortable feeling. You couldn’t find the energy yet to move, not even sure if your legs could support you right now. Simon came back to you, wash-cloth in hand, and began wiping up the mess he made.

“We’ll have to get a Plan B tomorrow.” You murmured as he crawled back into bed next to you.

Simon didn’t say anything, but he had always been a quiet man. He maneuvered the both of you until you rested under the covers, your hand running along his bare chest. Tracing his happy trail before moving back up, not ready to go again.

The adrenaline from before had worn off, leaving you suddenly exhausted. Sated and free you dozed off against him.

When you woke up again it was darker outside. Not yet the full black of night but rather the soft blue that came after the sun had only just dipped out of sight. Simon wasn’t in bed next to you. You rolled over with a sigh, sitting up and smoothing your hair. Thirsty you threw the covers off your body and padded across out of his room entering into a small hallway. There was a door directly across his room and with a shrug, you went into it.

It wasn’t snooping if you lived here now too. Even if you were only going to stay for a little bit.

The handle turned easily but the room was darker than you expected, no windows to let in any natural light. Your hands patted at the wall until you found the edge of a light switch, with a click the room was bathed in a soft glow.

Your breath hitched.

The room was bare except for a small desk and chair, the walls were covered in photos. Photos of you. Old photos, from before your prison stint. Mugshots. But what made your skin crawl were photos of you in your cell. You sprawled out on your uncomfortable cot. You sitting cross-legged across from your cellmate. Images of you in the cafeteria. Images of you in the yard.

You took a step back, then another, and another.

You flicked the light back off and slowly closed the door. You took a shuddering breath and yelped when you felt a chest pressed against yours.

Simon’s hands dug into your hips, pulling you tight against him.

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost, Birdie.”

Poor little bird, trading one cage for another.

___

Part Two

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon x reader #ghost x you #ghost #simon ghost riley #reader is delulu in this

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bunnis-monsters · 9 months ago

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NSFW

Yandere!Vampire that was once royalty, living in a dilapidated castle, alone and depressed. As a human, he was surrounded by people. Everyone adored him, his golden curls and warm brown eyes charming the hearts of every noble that set eyes on him.

That was until his family was slaughtered by a coven of vampires, leaving him the only survivor. Now with no family, he was turned away from the nobles that once gathered at his side, calling him beautiful and intelligent. Now he was a beast, and was only left alive because no one dared to touch him.

As the years passed by, all that knew of his existence died out, meaning no one remembered or cared for him. In the past, he had at least been grateful he had been in someone’s thoughts, even if it was in a negative light. Now, no one even hated him. He was just nonexistent to the world outside his castle.

Centuries passed by, every day slowly picking at the last bits of his sanity. Days of past grandeur and the current day mixed together, leaving him in a state where he couldn’t tell whether he was back in the living arms of his family, or wandering the dark, crumbling hallways of his childhood home.

It was only when a soft, warm light flooded one of the abandoned rooms he had been standing in that the fog in his brain began to fade, allowing him to see what was in front of him for the first time in decades.

It was you, a young woman in a hoodie and jeans, holding a flashlight. You lived only a mile away, and had been exploring when you came upon ruins of what seemed like an ancient castle.

You had heard rumors of a person that wandered the ruins from the townsfolk, and old tales of vampires that had been passed down by tongue for centuries. Not believing them, you decided to see for yourself…

Your light shone upon what you first thought was an ethereal ghost or some kind of beautiful spirit. A man with a mop of blonde curls, porcelain skin, and the most beautiful pair of ruby red eyes you’ve ever seen stared back at you.

The person attempted to speak, but clutched his throat, as if he hadn’t spoken in so long, his vocal cords had forgotten how.

“H-hello?”

The man perked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes clearing up. It seemed just hearing another human speak made his undead heart leap, and he couldn’t help but stumble towards you.

You yelped when he crossed the room within seconds and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply.

The smell of another person, of sweat and perfume mixing together to make your own unique scent made him want to sob.

Of course you were freaked out, but the man holding onto you wasn’t hurting you, and you could feel warm tears soaking through your shirt. How could you turn away someone that was obviously in distress?

Unsurprisingly, the man followed you home. It didn’t take a genius to realize he wasn’t human. He was as pale as a sheet of paper, with no pulse or any color to his cheeks. His eyes were scarlet, a shade you had never seen a human have before.

Despite knowing this, you couldn’t help but care for him. He was thin, malnourished, with clothing that was so old and dirty that it nearly crumbled when he took them off.

“Are you hungry?”

You had taken to asking only yes or no questions, since he couldn’t speak. The man frowned, his eyes getting foggy for a second. You decided to ask again.

“Hello? Are you-“

He suddenly snapped back into reality, leaning forward to gently place his lips on your neck. You squeaked out in surprise when you felt his teeth sink into your neck… but it didn’t hurt. Instead, you only felt an uncomfortable pressure and draining sensation, and before long he was pulling back.

“Mmph…” he panted softly, blood running down his chin. “Was… so… thirsty…” he managed to say, his voice hoarse and small.

He cupped your cheek, holding your face in his hands and looking down at you with what could only be described as utter adoration.

“My love…”

From that point on, he was attached to your hip, following you everywhere you went like a lovesick puppy. Any time you were separated, he had severe anxiety, going back and forth from his dreamworld and reality. It was his coping mechanism, but it caused him to never understand what was real and what wasn’t.

You grounded him, made him feel safe and loved. Oh how he adored you. You had saved him from his lonely existence and taken him into your home as if he were a stray dog, and he was loyal like one. His loyalty came at a price, however, and that price was your freedom to do as you pleased.

Late nights out with friends became next to nonexistent, especially if he knew there would be any males there.

“I just want to protect you, my beloved. It’s a dangerous, cruel world. People will act as if they love you when they do not…”

And as you slowly became more and more isolated, his affections only grew. Kisses to your hand began to trail up your arm and to your neck. Snuggles turned into grinding and heavy petting, and even the most innocent of caresses became lewd in nature.

It didn’t take long for him to fuck you for the first time. After all, he had been pent up and alone for centuries, resisting taking you on the spot was excruciating.

The second he sunk into your pussy, he came. You were just so warm and your scent made his head fuzzy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you like a wild animal, feeding from your pretty neck as he filled you up over and over.

After the first time, a day didn’t pass by when he didn’t crave your intimate touch. Some days he was satisfied with heavy petting and kisses, others he couldn’t be satiated until his face was between your legs, lapping at your cunt for hours.

You were his, his mate, his lover. He couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore, so could you really blame him when he clung to you so tightly?

He just loved you, and he did such a good job at keeping you satisfied, just enough to where you didn’t look into the missing cases of your old lovers and male friends.

Why would you need to pay attention to any of that when your loving, attentive boyfriend was right there, ready to worship you from head to toe?

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sttoru · 8 months ago

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plsplsplspl soft intimate sex with satoru:(

𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. gojo satoru x female reader. smut, pwp. unprotected. praise kink. spooning position. crēampie. cōckwarming. reader gets called ‘baby, pretty, sweetheart, princess’

“it’s okay, baby, i know,” satoru whispers words of comfort in your ear from behind. one of his arms is wrapped around your waist to keep your body close, the other circles your thigh, holding up your leg so his cock could slide in and out smoothly.

you’ve both just woken up from an afternoon nap, needy for each other’s touch. your lover’s raspy voice paired with his bedhead has been an irresistible combination.

satoru wasted no time in pulling your shorts down and freeing his erection from its confines. he went from rolling his hips against the fat of your ass and fondling your tits under your shirt, to burying his fat dick all the way up your cunt.

he’s so soft—so caring. his butterfly kisses make you drowsy again, the tingly sensations running from your face to your nape, and back down to your shoulders and upper arms. “let it out, yeah—good girl. don’t be shy,” satoru chuckles softly as he grinds his cock upwards, tip prodding at that sweet spot that makes your toes curl.

your eyes are half-lidded and blurry. you’re feeling so good and loved, so pleased and happy to have a partner like him. “right there, ‘toru,” you whimper quietly once you feel the head of his dick rub back and forth on the deepest parts of your velvety insides. satoru happily obliges, hugging your body even tighter to his chest before burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“here, baby?” the white-haired man asks, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine as it ghosts over your skin. he keeps his dick balls deep inside you and switches to slow and shallow strokes, “y’re so pretty. you always know jus’ how to take it. so, so, so good.”

your hands are scrambling to hold onto the white sheets. you can’t physically take the amount of pleasure you’re getting, that inevitable peak gets closer and closer. your hips involuntarily jolt back against satoru, reciprocating his gentle thrusts. a big hand reaches out to yours that’s tugging at the covers, slender fingers intertwining with your own.

“m’sgood,” you mumble incoherently through a soft whimper. your back is positioned in a nasty arch that makes satoru’s dick tingle. he sighs against your nape before allowing his tongue to wet the skin, sucking on the same spot soon after. he does the same to your sensitive ears and neck—covering you with his love while also filling your body with the same.

satoru holds your hand tightly, squeezing it every now and then to reassure you. “i love you so much, y’know that, right?” he says in a gentle tone. he’s confessed his love to you so many times before, though he always makes it sound like it’s his first time doing so.

“i’m never letting you go, ever,” your partner promises before leaning over your shoulder to catch your lips in a kiss. satoru’s tongue sweeps over your bottom lip before rolling around in your warm mouth. his hips don’t stop, cock repeatedly appearing and disappearing inside of your pussy. the pace never escalates to make the moment last longer.

“mhmm— wanna b-be with you forever,” you mutter against his glossy lips, feeling safe and protected in satoru’s embrace like this. all you’re feeling, hearing and smelling is him. that’s what peace is for you. as long as you got him, you’re going to be just fine.

satoru smiles at your words. you feel so perfect around him, your cunt molded to fit his cock whenever he pleases, remembering its shape and allowing it to ruin your insides. “of course, sweets. i’ll treat you so well, ‘kay? you can count on me,” he comforts you with a forehead kiss.

“pretty girl. you’re perfect,” satoru continues to praise you like no other. his free hand runs over the small of your back and back to your thigh, keeping a gap between them so his cock can move a bit more freely. “let me hear your cute moans, c’mon. fuck, y’ turn me on so much,” he sighs, not knowing what he’d do without you.

satoru is obsessed with all of you. the combination of your personality and looks is heavenly. his lips never stop distracting you, his tender kisses covering your entire upper body. the lovey dovey atmosphere in the room never dulls even once.

“ah, ‘toruu, hnghh—can’t last f’ any longer,” you moan, your eyes nearly rolling back. your lover is all the evidence needed to let you know that sex doesn’t have to be rough to be good. he can make you cum for an infinite amount of times by simply grinding his hips against you—changing his techniques every now and then.

rolling his hips in small circles or simply pressing his cock all the way inside your cunt and then prodding at your sweet spots, is all what’s needed to make you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

“aww, my poor baby. can’t hold it in f’me?” satoru pouts before kissing your temples lovingly. he caresses your hip, other hand still not letting go of your hand. there’s such a deep connection between you two—no one can ever sever it. that strong bond feels more intimate when you’re merged into one like this.

“nooo, can’t,” you shake your head and whine about how close you are. satoru nods at your needy words and dips a hand down to rub your clit. his middle and ring finger move around the small bundle of nerves in circles. “khehe, that’s okay. let’s cum together,” he whispers as kisses find their way down your jawline.

you hum in agreement, little moans filling satoru’s ears as you get closer to your climax. your body trembles and heats up, your tummy tingles and tenses up. satoru’s in the same situation as you, his low moans turning into hisses and even quiet whines against the skin of your shoulder.

he holds you close, preparing both of you to reach your long awaited releases. “sh—shit, ‘m g’nna pull out, baby—give me a second,” you hear him whimper under his breath as his hand tightens its grip around yours. he’s nearly crushing your bones.

you don’t give him time to even think of pulling his cock out. you want to relive the sensation of having his seed spread inside of your cunt, overflowing until it’s dirtying the sheets. “no- ‘toru. inside, please,” you beg quietly as your pussy locks around his cock. your walls cling onto his dick, yearning to milk his heavy balls dry of every drop.

satoru gasps and hisses, trying to speak up, but getting overpowered by his own noises of desperation. “fuck, all right, princess. as you wish,” his voice is husky and deep as he pushes his cock in to the base before dumping his load inside you.

ropes of hot cum come out quickly, one after the other, filling you with a hot creamy liquid. you can feel every drop being drained inside your spasming cunt. your own cum mixes with his, creating a lewd mess between your thighs.

“th-thank you,” you whisper tiredly. your body relaxes in satoru’s embrace. you’re trembling due to the intense aftershocks and your lover wastes no time into kissing it better. your forehead is peppered with small pecks, the rest of your face following.

satoru giggles at your fucked out state. he gives you a head pat and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. you can feel him grinning uncontrollably against your skin—the joy emitting from him is contagious.

“any time,” he sighs. you can feel his cock softening after that release, still nestled deep inside of you. he has no intention of pulling out, especially since it’s so comfortable. you let him cum inside you and thus he’ll do everything to keep that hot load buried deep inside your cunt.

you can nearly fall asleep like this with satoru. you have zero complains and simply need to relax after what just happened. perhaps take another nap or two.

the white-haired man kisses your shoulder and rubs your lower tummy, enjoying the softness, “i’m gonna prepare us a warm, relaxing bath in a second. let’s just cuddle some more, baby.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #jjk x you #gojo x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #satoru smut

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satorhime · 1 month ago

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୨୧ㅤִㅤׄ COUGH SYRUP ― GOJO SATORU.

satoru is a bit of an idiot who will do anything to get you to speak to him after an argument.

𓈒 ݁ ₊ content ﾉ fem reader, clingy satoru, established relationship, mild argument, fluff, not proofread, randomly started missing my boy :( <3

satoru can’t function when you’re upset with him.

he knows he should be an adult about it — he is an adult, after all. he should give you space, let you simmer down. most people do not do things such as send one hundred and fifty text messages (he counted each of ‘em; you left him on read one hundred and fifty two times. who does that?) to your phone while you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and they most definitely do not take a sick day because their significant other is mad at them.

but then again, satoru isn’t like most people.

which is why he’s currently sprawled out on the sofa in the middle of the day, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket — one that still smells faintly of your perfume. tissues litter the coffee table and floor around him, an unconvincing movie set of misery. call him manipulative, but it’s the only thing he’s got left in the tank since, for the last seventy-two hours, you haven’t spoken more than five words in a sentence to him.

you’re his main source of enrichment, his brain stimulated by your sweet kisses and good loving so when you take that away, you’re stripping away his heart and soul. he’s got nothing left. he might as well die.

in satoru’s brain, he figures that surely, if he’s coughing up a lung, you’ll feel bad for him and start talking to him again. in sickness and in health, right?

by the time you walk through the front door after making a quick run to the supermarket for groceries, he’s in full performance mode, clutching his stomach with a groan.

the sound is so realistic that you feel a sudden stab of worry, wondering if he’s injured. rushing into the living room, you find all six foot three of your boyfriend balled up on the sofa, looking like walking death.

or trying to, anyway.

“satoru?” you ask, eyebrows arching as you set your grocery bags down on the floor, taking out your phone and glancing at the time on the lockscreen. “why are you home? it’s eleven am.”

“baby,” he groans pitfully, looking up at you. his glacier blue eyes are red rimmed and shimmering suspiciously — like he squeezed them shut repeatedly until he got the desired effect. satoru sniffles for good measure, huddling into the blanket. “i’m sick,” he announces, his lower lip wobbling, dragging out the last syllable like it physically hurts him to say it.

“sick? you seemed fine when i left this morning,” you say, taking a step forward. you reach out a hand, pushing back his wintery locks to check for a fever. his skin feels normal, cool to touch even. your eyes narrow. you’re dubious — satoru never gets sick, yet it is his favorite act whenever he’s in the doghouse and wants attention. that, and he’s a terrible actor. you purse your lips, irritated. this is what he does instead of just apologizing?

“i wasn’t fine emotionally,” satoru whines back. “i’m heartbroken here. it’s debilitating my health rapidly.”

your expression doesn’t budge and satoru’s pout deepens when he realizes you’re not buying it. he clutches the blanket tighter around his big body, exaggerating a shiver for good measure. “you’re my life force, angel. my happiness. my —”

“stop it,” you interrupt and hold up a hand, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. you’re mad at him — you are. “but let me get this straight. you called out of work because i wasn’t talking to you?”

“it was a medical emergency. do you have any idea what it’s like to go hours without hearing you voice?! without seeing you smile at me? you wouldn’t even let me use your body wash last night so we could share the same scent. i barely survived the night. any longer and i’d be a goner,” he sighs dramatically, then remembers he’s supposed to be on his last leg and hacks, phlegm rattling in his throat.

“you’re obsessed,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hold firm. but your damned heart has selective memory and it is making an appearance again, rapidly forgetting why you’re still mad at him. oh, you had a right to be upset over what he did, but it seems insignificant now when he’s in front of you, groveling like a servant at a throne.

“angel, come on,” he presses, sitting up on the sofa and reaching for your hand, hurt flashing bright across his eyes when you step out of range. if you let him pull you down on that sofa with him, he’ll sweet talk his way into you forgiving him without consequences. he’ll do that anyway, but you won’t make it easy for him. “i’ll do anything to make it right.”

“don’t angel me. you can’t just manipulate me into forgiving you with your big pretty eyes,” you wag your finger at him. “i bet you don’t even know what you did.”

“i know, but it’s working, ain’t it?” he grins, shamelessly dropping the congested tone in his voice. “and i know what i did,” he scoffs. “you’re mad at me about that thing.”

yes, that thing.

two nights ago, your body pillow — your very expensive, weighted body pillow which happened to have a giant render of your boyfriend on it, went missing. you’d commissioned it to have something to cuddle with on those nights when satoru is away on business and you miss him in your shared bed an unhealthy amount. you’d become a little too attached to it, though, while satoru wanted nothing more than to burn it.

“he has a name,” you hiss, swatting satoru’s knee as you struggle not to laugh. “don’t call mr. comf-toru-ble a thing! he’s sensitive.”

“see?” satoru says, scrubbing a hand over his handsome face before gesturing around wildly. “you even named it.”

you give him a sharp look. “he cost me an entire paycheck— an entire paycheck that three days ago, you gave to the garbage collectors because i was cuddling him instead of you!”

“i was feeling neglected!” he defends, voice pitching higher in his affront, placing a hand on his chest. “you spent the whole night with it. meanwhile, i— your husband— was right there, cold and alone. i can’t let me steal my wife.”

“we’re not married, satoru,” you remind him, then pout. “unlike my husband, the pillow doesn’t hog the covers, snore, or throw out things that i really like.”

“it’s not hogging the covers, it’s redistribution of them for my comfort,” he grins playfully, but upon seeing your serious expression, he concedes, sobering up. in truth, he knows he messed up and went too far. it was childish to throw out something that you bought because of his frequent bouts of absence. maybe if he was around more, you wouldn’t need to cuddle with body pillows that look like him. “look, baby. i’m sorry. it was a moment of weakness. it’s not everyday i gotta be in competition with myself, but i’ll make it up to you! i even ordered you another one.”

“a moment of jealousy, you mean,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your tone now.

“hey, you gotta see it from my perspective though. it’s kind of crazy seeing you cuddle with a pillow that looks like me when the real thing is right here,” satoru gestures down the long line of his body, though it looks more comical than inviting when he’s wrapped like a overstuffed burrito in your throw blanket.

“mm,” you nod, “well, maybe if the ‘real thing’ is a good boy, i’ll cuddle him more often.”

“deal,” he answers immediately and when his muscular arms shoot out from behind the blanket and reach for you this time, you let him. his arms circle around your waist, pulling you into his lap. it was just a few days of silent treatment, but satoru wastes no time tucking his face against the dip of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent like you’re something precious and rare he lost ages ago and is just discovering again after eons.

he’s squishing you, he knows it, but god he hates it when you’re mad at him — and you, in return, hate being at odds with him too. you both make too much sense to each other to be apart, and there’s upset in the balance of the world when the two of you are in an argument.

“worst seventy-two hours of my life,” satoru blows out a breath of relief, the air tickling the hair at the nape of your neck, drawing a shiver down your spine. “never do that to me again, angel. you hear?”

“don’t throw out my customized satoru merch again and i won’t, baby,” you coo, smiling.

“you’ll still choose me over the other guy though, right?”

“we’ll see, ‘toru, we’ll see,” you answer playfully, yelping when he darts in to nip at your ear in retaliation.

getting comfortable in satoru’s lap, you lean in to put the both of you out of your miseries and forgive him with a kiss when you get a whiff of menthol and childhood memories wafting from his chest.

“are you wearing vaporub?”

#gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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imaginedisish · 6 months ago

Text

My Girl (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! So sorry this took so long. Here is the secret relationship/breeding kink fic. I honestly really like this one...and I hope you guys do too. Was listening to "Juna" by Clairo while writing it, but went with "My Girl" for the title. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan have been in a secret relationship for months, but everything comes to a head when a new mutant visits the Institute, and won't leave you alone...Logan shows him, and you, who your man is.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Thigh riding, Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), breeding kink, praise kink, possessive!Logan, jealous!Logan, unspecified/implied!Age Gap, established relationship, creepy!OC who hits on reader and doesn't lay off, minor violence, afab!/fem!reader, fluff/feelings, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it?

Word Count: 5,313 this is why it took so long also, smut right under the cut...

You remember the first time he fucked you, vividly.

It was late at night, after a mission. You almost died in his arms. And that was what broke that thing inside him, the burden of time that he carries, that deep-seated pain that made it justifiable to stay away from you. He had held back for so long—had done his all to resist falling for you. He was screwed from the beginning, and he knew that. But he had become so terrified at the thought of losing you that he hadn’t realized it could happen all the same if he stayed away—if he forced himself to remain a friend.

So, when he fucked you that first time, that first night, he fucked you like it’d be the last—the only time.

“Goddammit, so fucking perfect,” he mumbled, his lips bruising yours, shoving himself deep inside—as deep as you could take him. “Needed you this whole time. Can’t live without you.”

“Logan,” you whined, his hips snapping against yours. “D-don’t stop, please.” “Never gonna stop, pretty girl,” he promised. “Can’t go back. Can’t be anywhere but here.”

For months now, you’ve been together—but nobody knows. There’s no doubt about commitment—nothing casual about the relationship in the slightest. You start and end every day in Logan’s bed. You’ve talked about running off together, getting married, and settling down. For the first time in his long life, Logan sees a future where he’s happy—genuinely happy.

The sun peaks through the curtains. You curl yourself into Logan’s chest. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you tight against him, even in his sleep. You listen to his breathing as the fall breeze creeps through the open window. Everything is calm and quiet in the morning, when everyone is still tucked away in their bedrooms, sound asleep.

Logan groans, tugging you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Go back to sleep.” His voice is heavy, laden with exhaustion. “Too early.” He kisses the spot just under your ear, and you moan involuntarily, feeling extra sensitive in the haze of the morning. He smiles softly against your neck, and kisses you again, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan louder this time, intertwining your legs with Logan’s. “Love those pretty little noises you make.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, his thigh slotting between your legs, pressing against your core. You can’t help but grind down on his thigh, rocking your hips back and forth. “Need you, Lo,” you beg.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” Logan husks, his palms warm against your bare skin as he slips underneath your shirt—which is really his.

He’s slow in the morning, pressing soft kisses on your bare shoulders, letting his touch linger longer than normal. He likes the peace of it all—waking up to each other, smelling you next to him, feeling the other side of his bed warm and full of you. When he fucks you, early like this, he takes his time.

His fingertips trace the curves of your stomach, falling into your dips, gripping your flesh. Logan breathes you in, his lips softly melting into yours. “Still too early?” You mumble between soft, lazy kisses.

“Never too early to want you,” Logan husks, dragging his thigh against your core again. “Always need you.” You can feel his erection through his boxers. “Gonna take care of my girl. Gonna make you—”

There’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Scott’s voice on the other side. He knocks again. “Logan, you in there?”

Logan tries to ignore him, his fingertips dragging down your sides, bumping into the hem of your panties as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the hollow of your throat. You let out a breathy moan as Logan bites down on your pulse point. He smiles under your jaw at the soft sound, content that you can’t hold back.

“Logan,” you whisper, running your hands up his arms, to his shoulders, your fingertips finding the nape of his neck. “He’s not gonna stop.”

Sure enough, Scott knocks again. “Logan, I know you’re in there,” he calls, banging on the door now. “Wake up. We have some tech guy on his way.”

Logan groans into your neck. “Why do you need me, Summers?” Logan licks your collarbone teasingly, hiking your t-shirt farther up your body.

“He’s…a mutant,” Scott explains. “He can speak with machines, computers, code—you name it, he can do it. He’s gonna fix some stuff around the mansion. Charles asked me to make sure you’re awake just in case…” Scott trails off.

Logan finishes Scott’s sentence. “In case everything goes to shit?”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Scott huffs, likely shaking his head on the other side of the door. “But yes. In case things don’t go as planned. I’m also looking for—"

But Logan cuts Scott off, saying your name for him.

“Yeah, I can’t find her. Do you know where she might—”

“On a run,” Logan chimes in, and you suppress your laughter by pressing your face into his chest. “She’ll be back soon.” Logan’s arms wrap around your back, holding you against him.

“Alright,” Scott says, shuffling, slowly stepping away from the door. “If you see her, let her know what’s going on, okay?”

“Trust me bub,” Logan husks, his fingers digging into your flesh, tickling you. “I’ll make sure she knows.”

Scott mumbles something unintelligible as he walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he disappears down the stairs.

Logan’s lips are attached to your neck again, sucking playfully. “Where were we?” He teases, his nails grazing down your back. His palms settle on your ass, squeezing your flesh tightly in his hands.

You moan, your chest flush with his. “Logan,” you whine. “We need to get up,” you insist, your hands pushing against Logan’s broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscular biceps. “Can’t stay in bed anymore.”

Logan grunts, his thigh still nudged between your legs, rocking into your core. You want him, and it’s tempting to let him take you right here, right now. But you can’t. And he knows it. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and pulls you tightly into his chest. “Later,” he promises, his lips finding the shell of your ear. You smile at the thought. There was always a later with Logan.

You snuck out of Logan’s room, unnoticed, as always. It was still early—too early for the ruckus of a morning at the mansion to begin. You got ready for the day and slipped downstairs. You’re still shocked at just how oblivious the rest of the team is. Truly, no one knows about you and Logan.

You’re in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of coffee, waiting for the day to start. Familiar, heavy footsteps approach, and you smile before you can even see his face.

“Hi pretty girl,” Logan coos, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your front. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the strength of his heartbeat. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and walks over to the coffee pot.

Scott enters the kitchen as Logan takes his first sip of coffee—one second earlier and he would have seen Logan holding you. “The guy is here,” Scott announces from the doorway. He looks at you and smiles. “Oh! Hey! How was your run?” He asks cheerfully.

You almost spit out your coffee, remembering what you were actually doing this morning. “Great!” You say, doing your all to hold back your laughter. “Surprisingly relaxing.” Logan snorts and plays it off like he’s sniffling.

Scott smiles, none the wiser, and nods, cocking his head towards the hallway just outside the kitchen. “Come meet the tech guy!” He backs out of the doorway and into the hallway. Logan settles his coffee cup—which reads #1 Professor—next to yours on the counter and gives your waist a quick squeeze as you hop out of the chair. You walk shoulder to shoulder into the foyer. All the signs of your relationship are there—out in the open—and yet, still, no one seems to catch them.

You step into the foyer, and there’s Scott and the Professor by the front door, chatting with a younger man—who’s about your age. The man’s eyes find yours, and he smiles softly. “Hi there!” He calls, waving. “I’m Mark!” He strides away from Scott and the Professor and towards you. “But you can call me Techno.” He smirks and winks, extending his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

Logan grabs his hand instead, gripping it tightly, catching Mark off guard. “Wolverine,” Logan growls. “And you can’t call me Logan,” he adds, gritting his teeth. “So, you turn on computers, bub?”

Mark grimaces, wrenching his hand from Logan’s grasp. “A little more than that,” he asserts, closing his eyes and bawling his fists. You look up as the lights flicker, and televisions turn on and off. Your cell phone rings in your pocket, and you pull it out. The screen reads: Incoming Call from Mark.

Your lips part. “How did you…” You trail off.

Mark shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “My powers essentially let me communicate with electricity and tech,” he explains. You can practically hear Logan seething beside you.

“A technopath,” Charles offers as he rolls over to join the three of you with Scott in tow.

“Exactly,” Mark says, nodding to Charles. “Makes it easy to put my number into pretty girls’ phones.” Mark winks at you, and you press your lips into a straight line in response.

You shake your head. “I’m not inter—”

You’re cut off by the sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing. “These,” Logan pauses, lifting his claws to Mark. “Make it real easy to hurt creeps who put their numbers into girls’ phones without asking first, bub.”

Mark rolls his eyes, and the corners of your lips twitch up. You try to force down your smile, try to slow the rhythm of your heart. You secretly liked when Logan got possessive over you. He was inherently protective, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on just a little.

“Let’s stay on course,” Charles reprimands, guiding Mark to the hallway to the left with a wave of his hand. “Let me show you some of the machines I’d like you to work on.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Xavier,” Mark says harshly, his eyes locked on Logan as he backs away to follow Charles and Scott.

Logan lowers all but his center claw, giving Mark the middle finger as he turns around. “Don’t mind Logan,” Scott says as they disappear into a room, the door shutting behind them.

“Logan,” you whisper, now that everyone is gone. “Don’t worry,” you assure, bringing a hand to his shoulder.

He turns to look at you. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

It is not going well, or fine.

Mark is something of a nuisance. He’s only been here for an hour, but he has already created multiple excuses to talk to you, to pull you away from whatever task is at hand.

You’re in the middle of teaching an English class, discussing Mrs. Dalloway with a group of older students. “So, what are we to make of Clarissa and Sally’s relationship?” You ask the students, to no avail.

This was your hardest class of the day—especially given the fact that you’re not even a decade older than most of the students. You had joined the X-Men in your early 20s, your powers having shown themselves a bit later than in most mutants, and only a few years have passed since then. Convincing the students who have been here their whole lives that you deserve to teach has been nothing short of a challenge.

So, when Mark butts his head in on your class, annoyance burns through your body. You take a deep breath and swallow down your frustration.

“Hey!” He chimes, his head poking through the open classroom door. “Mind if I take a look at your computer really quick?”

The class perks up, more focused on you than they were just seconds ago. You fake a smile, nodding and pushing yourself off the front of your desk so that he has space to access the computer.

He slips behind the desk and smiles widely. “You didn’t have to move,” he remarks. “Would’ve been nice to have you close.”

You want to gag. You turn away from the students, whispering so they can’t hear. “Listen,” you chide, narrowing your eyes. “I am not interested, so could you please—”

“What are you doing in here, asshole?” Logan’s voice echoes against the walls of the classroom. For the first time all year, the class is paying incredibly close attention. “The Professor told you to check the computers in the lab down the hall.” Logan fully enters the room, striding over to Mark, his hands bawled into fists at his sides. “Beat it, bub.”

“Whatever,” Mark mutters, his head down as he exits the classroom. The bell rings, and the class stands, grabbing their things and filing out the door.

You groan. “Please read the next twenty pages for tomorrow!” You shout over the hubbub and shuffling of students. “I know it’s a challenging novel, but I think you guys can…” The students are gone before you can finish your sentence. “Handle it.”

Logan smiles sympathetically, closing the distance between you and him. His presence is comforting, warm, everything you’ve ever needed. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Sorry,” he apologizes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to make your class harder than it is already.”

You take a deep breath, your annoyance fading away. “You helped,” you whisper. “Mark is the one who ruined things,” you insist. “He won’t leave me alone.”

Logan chuckles. “You don’t like him?” He teases. “Don’t like a guy your own age flirting with you?” He’s egging you on, trying to joke, but you can tell part of him is a bit serious.

You shake your head. “Only like you.” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat and Logan grunts.

He reluctantly pulls away, the palms of his hands dragging down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Gotta get to my class,” he husks, his fingers slipping, tugging longingly as he steps to the door. “Meet me after?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. You’ll be outside his classroom door before the bell rings, waiting for him.

You nod, and he smiles, his hands gripping the doorframe like some invisible magnet is pulling him away, and he’d give anything to spend another second with you. He slips down the hallway, and into his classroom.

You spend the next thirty minutes or so grading papers, waiting for the period to end so that you can walk across the hall to Logan’s class. Another few minutes pass, and you start to collect your things, readying yourself to meet Logan. Your heart thumps in your chest at the thought, even after all the months you’ve spent together.

You grab your bag and head to the door, closing it behind you and locking up. You cross the hall and stand outside Logan’s door. He’s teaching a younger group of kids—ten to eleven-year-olds. You would trade places with him in a heartbeat if you could. The younger students loved you. There was no question of respect, no doubt of your power. But Logan was given the class as a challenge—Charles wanted to test his patience.

And, honestly, seeing him with the children did something to you. You loved watching the way he doted on them, carefully explaining material in a way they’d understand. He was an excellent teacher, and one day, you’re sure, he’d make an even better father. You find yourself falling into fantasy: Logan, late at night, a baby—your baby—on his chest. You can see it now—him changing a diaper, teaching the child to walk. Your heart squeezes in your chest, your eyes falling closed as you daydream about the future—your future together.

You’re so distracted that you don’t hear Mark walk up to you—don’t feel his hand grab your shoulder.

You yelp and jump. “Oh my god,” you mumble, turning around and coming face to face with him.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand lingering for far too long on your shoulder. He finally peels away, his arms falling to his sides. He leans against the wall, trying to appear casual and cool. “What are you doing tonight?”

The bell rings before you can think of a polite way to shoo Mark away, and the students exit Logan’s classroom, happily shouting greetings in your direction. You stood outside Logan’s door every day, and the students were always excited to see you.

A few of them run up to hug you, complaining about Logan’s gruffness. When they hear Logan’s footsteps approaching the door, they bolt down the hallway, their laughter booming against the walls.

Logan steps out into the hall, and he groans audibly when he sees Mark next to you. But Mark ignores Logan, his eyes trained on yours. “Got plans?” He asks again.

You roll your eyes. “Dude, I’m not interested!” You groan, too irritated to pretend to be nice. Mark smirks and parts his lips, ready to persist like the creep he is.

Logan steps in front of you, his claws already out. “Listen, bub,” he growls, his claws just inches from Mark’s chest. “If you don’t fuck off and stop harassing my girl, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Mark scoffs. “My girl? What are you, her father? You can’t possibly be dating her.”

You can see the anger in Logan’s eyes, the honest rage. “Lo,” you soothe. “Don’t do it.” But you know it’s too late. His decision is already made.

Logan shoves Mark against the wall, his claws pressed against his throat. “I’m her fucking boyfriend, bub,” he grunts as Mark squirms helplessly under his hold.

“Oh, her boyfriend?” He teases, despite the fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you too old to be a boyfriend?”

Logan shoves him harder into the wall, and Mark yelps pathetically, like a small dog. “More serious than that,” Logan asserts. “Guessing you wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?”

“Alright, break it up!” Scott’s voice echoes from down the hall. He runs over, Jean and the Professor by his side. Rogue and Gambit follow close behind. But Logan doesn’t budge, the tips of his claws almost digging hard enough to draw blood.

You bring your hand to Logan’s shoulder. “He isn’t gonna hurt me,” you whisper to Logan. “I could handle him easily if he tried.” You slide your hand to the nape of his neck, trying to soothe him, to relax him. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay?”

Logan retracts his claws and lets go of Mark, who stutters away from Logan and into the center of the hallway. “I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Mark shouts, but Logan doesn’t react. He simply intertwines his fingers with yours.

“You okay?” He asks, his thumb brushing circles into the side of your hand.

You arch a brow. “Are you okay?” You smile and lean into him.

“So…” Scott trails off, interrupting. “You two are…”

“Together.” You finish his sentence, your eyes still on Logan’s. You can feel the tension in his shoulders stretch down to his hand. He’s rigid, still on edge. You know he needs to get out of here, needs to be alone with you.

“How long has this been going on?” Scott asks, genuinely caught off guard. “Did anyone know about this?”

You turn to the team to see heads shaking side to side—save for the Professor. “I did, of course,” Charles confesses. “But I felt it was best left a secret until the two lovebirds decided otherwise.”

Rogue shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “I can’t believe you never told me!”

“Told you what?” Jubilee calls from down the hall, approaching the group. She blows a bubble as she stands next to Rogue, her eyes trailing down to where your and Logan’s hands connect. Her eyes widen and her bubble bursts. “No way!” She cheers, jumping up and down.

“Settle down,” Charles laughs, extending his hand down the hall to where Mark was just moments ago. “Scott, make sure our technopath friend makes it out the door alive.” Scott nods and heads down the hall. Charles turns to you and Logan. “As for the two of you,” he pauses, winking. “We’ll discuss more at a later point.”

You smile in understanding, and Logan squeezes your hand—another sign it’s time to go. He’s still worked up about Mark; he needs to get this out of his system, needs to relieve all the built-up tension.

“Got something I need to take care of,” Logan says to the group, tugging you down the hallway.

He strides through the mansion, practically yanking your arm out of your socket. “Logan,” you whisper, trying to catch his attention. You’ve never seen him like this—rage and jealousy like fire in his eyes, dripping from his pores. He leads you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, and it suddenly dawns on you what exactly he needs to take care of.

Logan pushes the door open and slams it closed the second you’re inside. His hands are immediately on you, grabbing at the pillowy flesh of your ass, pinning you to the door. His lips find yours—hungry and rough, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your face. He tastes you, his tongue seeking more of you as it swipes across your lower lip. You open your mouth, inviting him in, your tongue tangling with his.

Logan hoists you up without breaking the kiss, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection straining inside his jeans, pressing against your heat. He grinds into you as one hand slips under your top and drags up your back, holding you tightly against him.

“Need you,” he mumbles against your lips. “Always fucking need you.” He tears you away from the door and towards the bed. He throws you onto the mattress and climbs over you, slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. “Tell me you need me, pretty girl.”

“N-need you,” you stutter as he settles on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“I’m not too old for you?” Logan teases, one of his hands loosening its grasp on your arm and trailing down your body, settling on the hem of your shirt. “You don’t wanna be with anyone else?” He hikes up your top, pushing it above your breasts.

You can feel the heat pooling between your legs. “No,” you whine, arching your back as his fingertips play with the bottom of your bra. “Only wanna be with you,” you breathe as Logan slowly, teasingly pulls your bra up. “Please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “Want you to fuck me.”

Logan smirks, finally tugging your bra and top over your head and casting them to the floor. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” Logan soothes, palming your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipples under his thumb.

“Fuck,” you moan as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Logan hums, his fingertips trailing across the valley of your breasts, doing the same on the other side. Logan pinches harder, and you moan louder this time. “That’s it,” he coos, his lips finding your pulse point, sucking roughly. “Don’t be quiet, darlin’,” he demands. You whisper his name, your voice whiny and needy. “Show me how much you need me. Keep making those pretty little noises, baby.”

“Feels good,” you whimper as his hand traces down your stomach, to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in his fist and yanking it up to your waist.

He chuckles darkly. “You wore this just for me?” He asks, his thumb hooking inside the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. “Wanted to make it easier for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck, yes, just for you,” you pant, watching as Logan lifts himself off you, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. He dexterously unclasps his belt buckle and throws the leather to the floor. He balances on his forearm as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pushing them down his thighs along with his boxers. “I’m all yours, Lo,” you promise as he presses his forehead to yours.

Logan’s hand glides down your side, slipping between your legs and finding your folds. You moan as his fingertips prod at your entrance, spreading your slick. “Fuck, all this is for me?” He pinches your clit before swiping through your folds again. “You’re soaked already, princess.” His fingertips brush your clit, tracing achingly slow circles into the bud.

You rock your hips against Logan’s touch, searching for more friction. “Logan, need you,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I’m yours.”

“All mine?” He whispers, his touch suddenly disappearing. You groan at the loss of contact. “Say it again, pretty girl,” he demands, guiding his cock to your folds.

“All yours,” you answer, trying to move your hips lower to feel just an inch of him. “Please just—”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slams into you, down to the hilt with one thrust. He throbs against your walls as he works you open, his hips still, his cock splitting you in two. “Fuck,” Logan grunts. “So fucking tight. Perfect little pussy. Wanna stay right here forever. Maybe I won’t even fuck you. Maybe I’ll just make you sit on my cock.”

But you need him to move, need him to take you. “Logan, f-fuck me,” you choke, trying to move your hips. His hand grips your waist, stopping you from sliding up his length. “Please, move,” you plead.

“So impatient,” he chides, kissing you bruisingly, biting your lips. He finally pulls out and slams back in, bottoming out again. His hand slides down your waist and slips between your legs. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I want?”

His hand is just above your clit, inches away from where you need him most, waiting for your answer. You nod emphatically. “Yes,” you say with pleading eyes. “Anything. You can do anything just please—oh fuck!” Logan pinches your clit and starts his machinations, swirling around the bud. He pulls out and pumps back in, setting a ruthless pace.

His hips snap against yours, taking all of you with reckless abandon. His lips swallow your moans, consuming you, drinking you in. Of all the times he’s fucked you, it’s never been quite like this. There’s a hunger in Logan’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, an undying need you’re not sure can be satisfied. Something feels different about this time—more intense, fervent, and feverish.

Logan thrusts in and out of you, bottoming out with every pump, still stretching you out. His fingertips stroke your clit roughly, your walls already fluttering around him. He curses under his breath, his chest heaving against yours.

“Look at you,” he groans, fucking into you. “So beautiful like this. Always so beautiful.” You can feel his cock twitching inside you. “Wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

“I-I already am,” you stammer, his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. “Always gonna be yours.”

“Want more than that,” Logan grunts, his hips rocking, his pace quickening. He’s so deep inside you—hitting exactly where you need him most with every thrust.

“Whatever you want,” you pant, your chest pressing flush to his. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” He growls at the shell of your ear. “You gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me stuff you full of me?”

“Yes, please,” you cry out as he pumps in and out, shoving himself as deep inside as he can possibly fit. You feel so full, so complete. Nothing compares to having Logan this close, to having him be so connected to you. You’re already coming undone underneath him, falling apart. “Want you to stay inside.” And then the words fall from your lips without a second thought. But you mean it, and you want it more than anything…

“Wanna have your baby, Lo.”

Logan groans at your words, his cock throbbing with need. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that, sweetheart.”

“N-not teasing,” you stammer. “I mean it.”

“Shit,” Logan growls, his skin slapping against yours, your words spurring him on. He’s letting himself go, letting himself plunge deep inside you, fast and hard. “Such a good girl,” he praises, his length dragging against your walls, pushing deeper still. “You gonna let me fuck a baby into you?”

“Yes!” You cry out, the fire burning in your belly spreading up to your spine, coursing through your veins. Your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tightly.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, rutting into you, his hips stuttering. “Want you forever.”

You throw your head back as his fingers swirl around your clit. “You have me Lo, always gonna have me.” Your walls clench down around him, and the tension snaps. Electricity shoots up your spine as your orgasm crashes into you. It’s intense—more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. Pleasure washes over you in waves, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck.

Logan is right behind you, whispering a string of praises as he finishes inside you. “Did so fucking good for me. Always so perfect, beautiful.” His thrusts slow until he’s still inside you, but he doesn’t pull out. “Don’t wanna move, princess,” he husks, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You don’t have to,” you say, your voice hoarse. Logan rolls you onto your side, hoisting your leg up and over his hip, keeping himself deep inside your cunt. You close your eyes, your heartbeat finally steadying, your chest still heaving in time with Logan’s.

The silence is comfortable, calming. You listen to Logan’s breathing as he runs his hands up and down your back. “You okay?” He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

You hum. “I’m perfect,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. “Do you really…” You trail off, suddenly nervous to ask the only question on your mind, despite everything that just happened.

“Yes,” Logan answers immediately. “I meant it. Wanna be a family. Wanna be with you forever.”

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You can feel his cock growing hard inside you as you move to get more comfortable. “I want that too, Lo,” you sigh. “More than anything.” You smile against him, thinking about your future, thinking about how all this started because some asshole wouldn’t leave you alone. You can’t help but giggle at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice.

You look up at him. “You’re crazy, you know that?” You joke, your smile widening. “You could’ve hurt that guy.”

Logan’s smile widens too. “Just crazy about you,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you, his cock still deep inside you. “Should’ve kicked his ass.” You bite your lip, waiting for his next move. “You’re my girl,” he groans, sliding out of you slightly.

“Yours,” you breathe as he thrusts back in. “All yours.”

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