#something soft to help me get through this month

[rafedarling]

i love to see when wife still pregnant with Rustyn or Sissy, she can’t eat anything because of her morning sickness so Drew make her favorite food to help her feel better. Drew would carefully preparing a spread of fresh fruit, toast, and ginger tea—anything that might ease her nausea. I know that man would be so sweet and take care of both of them 🥹

𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: four months into your second pregnancy, morning sickness hits harder than you ever expected. with drew’s unwavering support and rustyn’s adorable attempts to cheer you up, you realize that even in the most exhausting moments, your family’s love makes everything better.

warning(s): english is not my native language. pregnancy symptoms (morning sickness, fatigue), mentions of food, and extreme fluff.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

It’s 4:07 a.m., but it feels like time has stopped. You’re sitting on the cold bathroom floor, your back against the wall, trying to steady your breathing. The nausea that’s plagued you all week is worse tonight, a relentless wave that refuses to let you rest. Drew crouches beside you, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, the other brushing a damp strand of hair from your face.

“Baby, are you feeling better now?”

Drew asks, his voice laced with concern.

You’re too exhausted to answer, your body drained from the constant sickness. Instead, you give him a small nod, leaning your head against the cool tiles.

It’s been four months into this pregnancy, and you’ve already noticed how much more challenging it is compared to when you were carrying Rustyn. Back then, the nausea was manageable, and you had bursts of energy to get you through the day. This time, the morning sickness is… unforgiving, leaving you weak and overwhelmed.

Drew watches you carefully, his blue eyes filled with worry.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’ll be downstairs making you a matcha tea.”

His voice is gentle, like he’s afraid to disturb your fragile state.

“Thank you, baby,”

You whisper, your voice barely audible. You let him help you back to bed, lying down slowly, grateful for the comfort of the sheets. Drew tucks you in with a kiss on your forehead before heading downstairs.

Unbeknownst to both of you, a sleepy-eyed Rustyn has woken up and shuffled out of his room, clutching his favorite stuffed dinosaur, already intuitive, sensing when something’s off. Hearing the sounds of his dad in the kitchen, he pads down the stairs in his little dinosaur-print pajamas.

“Dada?”

Rustyn calls out, rubbing his eyes as he enters the kitchen.

Drew turns, surprised to see his son awake at this hour.

“Hey, buddy. What are you doing up? It’s still early.”

Rustyn blinks up at him, his voice soft.

“Mama sick?”

Drew crouches down to Rustyn’s level, brushing his curls out of his face.

“Yeah, Mama’s not feeling so good this morning. She needs some rest.”

Rustyn’s little face scrunches in thought before he tugs on Drew’s sleeve.

“I want to help Mama?”

Drew smiles, his heart swelling at Rustyn’s determination.

“You want to help me make something for her?”

Rustyn nods enthusiastically, his sleepiness forgotten.

“Soup!” he exclaims, the word coming out in a high-pitched squeal.

Drew chuckles.

“Alright, soup it is. Let’s make some chicken soup for Mama.”

Rustyn climbs onto a stool by the counter, watching intently as Drew gathers the ingredients. He’s too little to do much, but Drew lets him “help” by handing him pre-washed herbs to place in a bowl.

“Good job, buddy,” Drew says, ruffling Rustyn’s hair.

Rustyn beams, proud of his contribution.

“Mama loves soup.”

“I think she’ll love it,”

Drew replies, his heart melting at how much Rustyn cares.

While the soup simmers, Drew brews some matcha tea, making sure it’s not too hot. He pours it into your favorite mug, setting it carefully on a tray alongside a bowl of soup.

“Breakfast in bed for Mama,”

Drew announces, lifting the tray.

Rustyn trails behind him, clutching his stuffed dinosaur.

“Me too!”

When they enter the bedroom, you’re lying on your side, your eyes half-closed. The sound of Drew’s voice and Rustyn’s little footsteps make you stir.

“Morning, Mama,” Drew says softly, setting the tray down on the nightstand.

Rustyn climbs onto the bed with determination, his little hands reaching for yours.

“Mama, we make soup!” he says proudly, his face lighting up as he hands you the stuffed dinosaur.

“Dino make you feel better!”

You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of your son’s effort.

“Thank you, baby,” you say, pulling him into a hug.

“And thank you, Dino.”

Drew sits beside you, helping you sit up slowly.

“Here, take it easy,” he says, handing you the mug of tea.

The warmth of the tea and the smell of the soup make you feel a little more human. You sip the tea, letting the bitterness calm your stomach. Rustyn snuggles up next to you, his tiny hand resting on your growing belly.

“Mama, is baby in there?”

Rustyn asks, looking up at you with curious eyes.

You nod, placing your hand over his.

“Yep, your little sibling is in there.”

Rustyn grins, his excitement contagious.

“I’ll be big brother!”

“You’ll be the best big brother,”

Drew says, leaning over to kiss the top of Rustyn’s head.

“Mama and the baby are so lucky to have you.”

Rustyn giggles, his laughter filling the room.

After finish your tea and manage a few spoonfuls of soup, you feel a little better, though still tired. Drew takes the tray and sets it aside, lying down next to you. Rustyn climbs onto Drew’s chest, his favorite place to cuddle, and the three of you settle into the quiet comfort of the morning.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your eyes meeting Drew’s.

“For what?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“For being you. For taking care of me. For teaching Rustyn to be so thoughtful.”

Drew smiles, his hand resting on your belly.

“We’re a team, remember? And you’re the strongest person I know.”

You lean into him, feeling grateful despite the challenges of this pregnancy. With Drew’s unwavering support and Rustyn’s adorable enthusiasm, you know you’re not alone.

As you drift off to sleep, Rustyn’s tiny voice cuts through the quiet.

“Mama, baby okay?”

“Baby’s perfect,” you murmur, your heart full.

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ waiting on you

xPOGUE!FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request ⟢ you and rafe have a date, but when he doesn't show up, you decide to leave

WORD COUNT: +2.k

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: /

rafe wasn’t sure what had changed in him. maybe it was the endless longing looks he’d cast across the beach, the rare glimpses of you tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, or the soft way you always greeted people with a smile, even when they didn’t deserve it. whatever it was, his ingrained disdain for pogues had crumbled like a weak sandcastle against a rising tide.

but you were different.

for months, he’d watched from afar, debating whether he had the courage to approach you. and when he finally did, fumbling over his words like an idiot, you’d agreed to dinner without hesitation, flashing that sweet smile that made his heart stumble in his chest.

so ‘why’, rafe thought bitterly as he stared at his totaled car. did life seem determined to ruin everything?

you sat in the dimly lit corner of the restaurant, your once-bright smile fading with every passing minute. the flickering candlelight reflected your unease as you glanced at the time on your phone for the hundredth time.

you had debated even going to the restaurant in the first place.

as you stood in front of the mirror earlier that evening, nervously smoothing the fabric of your dress, kie’s voice echoed in your mind.

“are you sure about this? it’s rafe cameron, of all people. he’s a kook, and not just any kook—he’s, like, the kook. you don’t think this is some kind of game to him?”

cleo had chimed in, her tone skeptical. “girl, i don’t trust him as far as i could throw him. guys like rafe don’t change, no matter how pretty they smile.”

you’d waved them off, laughing nervously. “i know, i know. but he seemed… different. he was so shy when he asked me out. i think he really meant it.”

kiara had shared a pointed look with cleo. “just… be careful, okay?”

now, as you sat at the small table near the window of the restaurant, watching the candle on the table flicker, their words played on repeat in your mind. you’d arrived ten minutes early, too nervous to be late. but now, rafe was ten minutes late.

you told yourself not to panic. maybe he was stuck in traffic. maybe he’d lost track of time. he’d show up.

right?

you checked your phone again, scrolling back through the single text he’d sent earlier in the day: “can’t wait to see you tonight. :)”

you stared at the smiley face until it blurred, second-guessing everything. was it genuine, or was it mocking? was this all a setup?

a waiter passed by, glancing at your empty table. “can i get you something while you wait?”

you smiled weakly. “just water, please.”

another twenty minutes passed, and your heart sank lower with each tick of the clock. the couple at the next table kept stealing glances your way, whispering. you felt their pity like a heavy weight on your shoulders.

you glanced at the time again. forty-five minutes late.

the lump in your throat grew as you looked down at your hands, neatly folded in your lap. you’d spent so much time getting ready—choosing the perfect dress, applying your makeup carefully, even borrowing a pair of heels from kiara because you wanted to look just right. for him.

but now, sitting alone, you couldn’t help but feel foolish.

rafe was late.

almost an hour late.

the words you’d tried to push away resurfaced:

“guys like rafe don’t change.”

your phone buzzed suddenly, and hope flared for a split second, only to be crushed when you saw it was a text from cleo: “how’s it going? he show up yet?”

you stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. finally, you typed back, “no. still waiting.”

her reply came almost instantly: “you deserve better, babe. leave his ass.”

you bit your lip, blinking back tears. maybe she was right. maybe this had all been some sick joke.

you grabbed your bag, your stomach twisting as you stood. the waiter glanced over as you waved him down. “i think i’m just going to head out,” you said quietly, your voice trembling.

as you stepped out into the cool night air, a single tear slipped down your cheek. you wiped it away quickly, furious with yourself for letting it get to you.

by the time you got home, you’d convinced yourself of one thing: you should never have trusted rafe cameron.

back at home, you kicked off your heels the moment you stepped through the door. the sting of disappointment still sat heavy in your chest, and the first thing you did was strip out of the carefully chosen dress and toss it onto your bed.

the mirror caught your reflection as you pulled your makeup wipes from the counter. you looked tired, the streaks of mascara and the smudged lipstick serving as a cruel reminder of how much effort you’d put into tonight—for nothing.

you sighed, muttering under your breath as you scrubbed at your face, “should’ve listened to kie and cleo. God, i’m so stupid.”

once your face was bare, you slipped into your favorite oversized sweatshirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. the cozy clothes were a stark contrast to the effort you’d put into dressing up, and yet you felt oddly comforted by the familiarity.

the pang of humiliation hadn’t dulled, though. you grabbed your phone, scrolling aimlessly for a moment before finding cleo’s number.

it barely rang once before she picked up. “girl, tell me you left.”

you sank into the couch, cradling the phone to your ear. “i left.” your voice cracked despite yourself.

there was a pause before Cleo spoke again, her tone softer. “oh, babe. i’m sorry. you don’t deserve that.”

tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them away. “i just… i don’t know what i was thinking. i sat there like an idiot, waiting for almost an hour. everyone was staring at me, cleo. it was humiliating.”

“first of all,” cleo said firmly, “you’re not an idiot. he’s the idiot. secondly, you deserve so much better. kie and i said it before—rafe cameron is a walking red flag. i mean, the guy’s got more baggage than a damn airport.”

despite your mood, a soft laugh escaped you. “i know. i just… i thought he was different this time, you know? he seemed so genuine when he asked me out.”

cleo’s voice softened again. “sweetheart, you’re the nicest person i know. it’s not your fault you wanted to see the best in him. but now you know. lesson learned.”

you nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “yeah.”

the ache in your chest flared again, and you sighed, pulling your knees to your chest. “i feel so stupid. i should’ve never gone.”

“you’re not stupid,” cleo said firmly. “you’re brave. most people wouldn’t have even given him a chance. and hey, at least you looked amazing. his loss, not yours.”

before you could respond, a sharp knock at the door startled you.

you frowned, glancing toward the front of your house. “who…?”

“who’s knocking at this hour?” cleo asked, her voice cautious.

“no idea,” you murmured, standing up. “hold on, i’ll check.”

yout heart thudded in your chest as you crossed the room, your phone still clutched in one hand. peeking through the peephole, your stomach dropped.

rafe.

he stood there, looking like an absolute mess. his clothes were rumpled, there was a scratch on his cheek, and he was clutching his motorcycle helmet in one hand. his expression was riddled with something you couldn’t quite place—was it guilt? desperation?

“is it him?” cleo’s voice came through the phone.

you swallowed hard, hesitating.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“don’t let him in,” she said immediately. “i swear, if he tries to sweet-talk you—”

but you’d already unlocked the door.

as it creaked open, rafe’s head snapped up, his blue eyes meeting yours. he looked… wrecked.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice rasping.

you just stared at him, unsure whether you were angry, confused, or on the verge of tears again.

“what are you doing here, Rafe?”

“i—i screwed up,” he stammered, his words tumbling out. “can i—can i please explain?”

you kept the door open just a crack, leaning against the frame, your phone still pressed to your ear. cleo’s voice came through, sharp and protective.

“is he still there?”

you glanced at rafe, who shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his messy hair. his gaze darted to you, then down to the ground, like he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“yeah,” you murmured.

“listen to me,” cleo said firmly. “if he even tries to make some lame excuse, slam the door in his face. and text me how it goes, okay?”

you hesitated, glancing at rafe again. something about the way he stood there, looking almost… broken, softened the edge of your anger.

“okay,” you said quietly. “i’ll call you later.”

“don’t let him off easy, babe” cleo added before hanging up.

you slipped your phone into your pocket and crossed your arms, leaning against the door. “why are you here, rafe?”

he flinched at the coldness in your tone, his jaw tightening. “i—i had to come explain. please, just—can you give me a second?”

you raised an eyebrow, your skepticism clear. “explain? what’s there to explain? you stood me up.”

“no, i didn’t mean to,” he blurted out, his voice desperate. “i swear, i wanted to be there. i was on my way, but—”

“are you seriously lying right now?” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “because if this is your idea of damage control, it’s not working.”

“i’m not lying!” he said quickly, his words tumbling out so fast they almost tripped over each other. “i was driving to the restaurant, and some guy rear-ended me. out of nowhere. my car’s totaled, my phone died, and i—God, i didn’t know what to do.”

you stared at him, your anger faltering slightly at the sincerity in his voice. his hands were trembling, and he looked genuinely distraught.

“look,” he continued, taking a step closer. “i swear to you, i wanted to show up. i’d been looking forward to tonight for weeks. but after the crash, i couldn’t call anyone, and by the time i figured out a way to get here, it was too late.” he gestured vaguely to his motorcycle helmet.

“so i got my bike and came straight here.”

you studied his face, searching for any hint of dishonesty. Instead, you found something else—shame, regret, and a deep, unshakable sincerity.

“why didn’t you just go to the restaurant?” you asked quietly.

“i… i was afraid you wouldn’t be there anymore,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “and honestly, i felt like i’d already ruined everything. but i couldn’t just leave it like that. i had to see you, even if you slammed the door in my face.”

your heart twisted despite yourself. the frustration was still there, but it was tangled with something softer now—an ache you didn’t want to admit.

“so, you’re telling me you got in a car crash, lost your phone, and then scrambled to find a way to come apologize?”

he nodded earnestly. “yes. i know it sounds like some ridiculous excuse, but it’s the truth. i’m so sorry.”

you bit your lip, debating whether to believe him. every part of you wanted to cling to the anger and disappointment, to shove him out the door and lock the feelings away.

but the way he looked at you—like you were the most important person in the world—made it hard to hold on to the hurt.

“why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” you muttered.

rafe’s lips twitched into the faintest, nervous smile. “because i’m an idiot. and i was scared you wouldn’t believe me.”

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “you’re right about one thing. you are an idiot.”

rafe winced but didn’t argue.

“fine,” you said finally, stepping back to let him inside. “but you’re explaining everything. and if i find out you’re lying—”

“i’m not,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “i’ll tell you everything. i swear.”

as he stepped inside, you closed the door behind him, your heart still racing. you weren’t sure where this was going, but for some reason, you weren’t ready to let him go just yet.

you crossed your arms as rafe stood awkwardly in your living room, helmet still clutched in his hand. the tension between you felt thick, but he looked so earnest, so desperate to make things right, that you found yourself willing to hear him out.

“so?” you prompted, raising an eyebrow. “start talking.”

rafe shifted his weight, glancing down before meeting your gaze again. “okay, um… so i was on my way to the restaurant,” he began, his voice low but steady. “i was already running late—i was trying to get there faster because i didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

you narrowed your eyes, not fully buying it yet. “and then what?”

“and then… some guy slammed into the back of my truck at a stoplight,” he said, frustration creeping into his tone. “it wasn’t anything major, but my truck’s bumper was a mess, and we had to pull over. the guy wanted to exchange insurance info, and i was trying to deal with all of that when i realized my phone had died.”

you watched him closely, searching for any sign that he might be making it up. but the scratch on his cheek, the way he kept fidgeting, and the genuine regret in his voice told you otherwise.

“i couldn’t call you or get a ride,” he continued, his words tumbling out now. “by the time i got everything sorted, it was too late to show up in my truck—it wouldn’t even start properly. so i went home, grabbed my bike, and came straight here. i didn’t want to leave things like that. i couldn’t.”

you stared at him, your anger softening despite your best efforts. “and why should i believe you?”

“because it’s the truth,” he said firmly, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “i swear, i’d never stand you up. i’ve been wanting this date for so long, and the thought of ruining it… i hated myself for it.”

he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “i know i messed up, and i don’t blame you if you’re still mad. but i just wanted you to know that i wasn’t trying to hurt you. you mean too much to me for that.”

his words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. the sincerity in his voice, the way he was practically trembling with nerves—it was impossible to ignore.

finally, you sighed. “okay. i believe you.”

rafe’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he let out a breath like he’d been holding it the entire time. “thank you,” he murmured. “seriously. thank you.”

“but,” you added, holding up a finger, “you’re not off the hook completely. you still owe me a date.”

his face lit up, and for the first time that night, you saw the faintest hint of a smile. “i’ll make it up to you,” he promised, his voice soft but full of conviction.

“one hundred percent. no more making you come alone, no more waiting around for me—i’ll pick you up this time.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you mean that?”

“absolutely,” he said, stepping a little closer. “and, uh… i was thinking maybe i could make it extra special. like, i’ll pick you up on my bike, and we can ride out to the beach. watch the sunset. maybe grab some ice cream after?”

his words were tentative, like he was testing the waters, and you couldn’t help but feel the smallest tug at your heart.

“a motorcycle ride to the beach?” you repeated, pretending to think it over.

he nodded, his expression hopeful. “yeah. just you and me this time. I promise it’ll be perfect.”

you let the silence stretch for a moment, watching him squirm slightly. finally, you cracked a small smile. “okay. you’ve got one more chance.”

rafe’s face broke into a grin, the relief and happiness practically radiating off of him. “thank you,” he said softly. “you won’t regret it. i promise.”

“don’t make promises you can’t keep, cameron,” you teased, though your voice was light.

“i won’t,” he said firmly, his eyes shining. “not this time.”

for the first time that night, you let yourself believe him.

MASTERLIST

CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@maybankslover ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @lunaleah ⟢ @maybanksangel ⟢ @wtfdudesblog. ⟢ @niktwazny303. ⟢ @outerbanksloverp4l ⟢ @slut4you ⟢ @hstbsl06 ⟢@percysley ⟢ @yesshewrites1 ⟢ @goldenvespa ⟢ @magicalyoura1

[imreidswifey]

“𝐄𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨”𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -𝐒.𝐫-

Bad pun but I thought it was cute

Summary: Barista reader develops a crush on regular customer Dr. Spencer Reid, leaving cheesy pick-up lines on his coffee cup each day to make him smile.

Genre: Romantic Comedy

Ship: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

———————————————————————————-

It was the highlight of your mornings: the familiar sound of the bell above the café door, signaling the arrival of your favorite customer. Dr. Spencer Reid.

He was unlike anyone you’d ever met—or served coffee to. Tall, with a lanky build and hair that always seemed on the verge of rebellion, Spencer exuded a quiet confidence wrapped in endearing awkwardness. His mismatched socks and habit of nervously fiddling with his messenger bag strap as he waited for his coffee added to the charm.

You’d been working at Bean There, Brewed That for six months now, and Spencer had been a regular since day one. The man was a creature of habit. He always ordered the same thing: a large Americano with two sugars, and he always brought a book to read while he sipped his drink.

But it wasn’t his order that captivated you. It was his quiet “thank you,” the shy smile that accompanied it, and the way his eyes lit up when he read something particularly interesting in his book.

Which was why, about a month ago, you decided to get brave. It started small—a smiley face on his cup. Then a quote from a book you thought he might like. Then, one morning, you decided to do something completely out of character for yourself: you wrote a bad pick-up line on his cup.

“Are you a magician? Because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

You had fully expected him to throw the cup away without a second glance. But instead, he’d chuckled—a low, soft sound—and looked up at you with wide, hazel eyes. “Did you… come up with this?” he asked, tilting his head in genuine curiosity.

“Uh, no,” you admitted, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I found it online.”

And just like that, a new ritual began. Every day, you’d write a cheesy pick-up line on Spencer’s cup. And every day, he’d read it, smile, and sometimes even laugh.

Today was no different. You stood behind the counter, feeling a little nervous as you scrawled today’s line onto his cup. When Spencer entered, looking as disheveled and adorable as ever, you felt your stomach flip.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid,” you said, handing him his Americano.

“Good morning,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you a second longer than usual.

He took the cup, his long fingers brushing yours briefly, and read the line aloud: “Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but what you didn’t expect was for Spencer to blush. His cheeks turned pink, and he looked up at you through his lashes, his lips twitching into an uncharacteristically shy smile.

“That’s… clever,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

“Yeah, well, I figured you deserved a good laugh,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Spencer lingered for a moment, his fingers tapping anxiously against the cup. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You know, statistically speaking, people who share bad pick-up lines with someone are often more interested in… getting to know them better.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was this Spencer Reid’s way of flirting?

“Are you saying you’re onto me, Dr. Reid?” you teased, your voice light but your heart pounding.

Spencer tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “I think I’ve been onto you for a while now,” he admitted, his blush deepening.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he took a deep breath and set his coffee cup down on the counter.

“Would you… like to get coffee sometime? Outside of this place, I mean. Not that I don’t like this place—I do, obviously—but maybe we could… you know, talk more? Without the counter between us?”

It was the most endearing, rambling attempt at asking someone out you’d ever heard.

“I’d like that,” you said, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

Spencer let out a breath of relief, picking up his cup again. “Great. I’ll… uh, see you tomorrow, then?”

��Tomorrow,” you confirmed, watching as he walked away, his step just a little lighter than usual.

And on the counter where his cup had been, you noticed something written in his small, neat handwriting:

“Are you a barista? Because you’ve bean on my mind all day.”

Two days later, you found yourself sitting at a cozy little coffee shop across town. Spencer had suggested it, claiming it had “statistically superior coffee” compared to most places.

He arrived precisely on time, wearing a patterned button-down shirt, a sweater vest, and a slightly crooked tie. His hair looked a little more tamed than usual, but there was still a wild curl that defied gravity. He carried a book under his arm—a habit, you guessed, he’d never break.

“Hi,” he said, shifting nervously as he stood by the table.

“Hi,” you replied, smiling up at him. “You’re right on time.”

“Punctuality is… important,” he said, his voice a little higher-pitched than usual. He cleared his throat and sat across from you, placing the book on the table. “I, uh, wasn’t sure what you liked, so I did some research. I mean, not on you specifically—just in general about first dates. Statistically, coffee dates are considered a low-pressure option.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing some of his tension. “You did research for this date?”

His blush deepened, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not exactly… well-versed in this kind of thing. I wanted to make sure I didn’t mess it up.”

“You’re doing great so far,” you said, and you meant it.

The barista arrived to take your orders, and Spencer surprised you by remembering exactly how you liked your coffee. He must’ve noticed your expression, because he offered a sheepish smile. “I pay attention,” he said simply.

The conversation that followed was effortless. Spencer was awkward at first, fumbling with his words and occasionally losing his train of thought, but once he found his rhythm, he was captivating. He told you about his work—though he kept the more gruesome details to a minimum—and you listened, fascinated, as he explained behavioral patterns and statistical anomalies.

“You’re really passionate about what you do,” you said, leaning forward.

“I guess I am,” he admitted, his voice soft. “It’s not an easy job, but… helping people? It’s worth it.”

“And who helps you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the question. “My team,” he said after a moment. “They’re like family to me. But… I guess I don’t always make time for myself.”

“Well,” you said, offering a smile, “maybe we can work on that.”

He looked at you then, his gaze so intense it made your breath hitch. “I’d like that,” he said quietly.

As the date went on, you discovered more about him: his love for science fiction, his fascination with obscure facts, and his absolute hatred of cilantro. In turn, you shared pieces of yourself, and he listened with an attentiveness that made you feel seen in a way you never had before.

When the coffee cups were empty and the conversation had slowed, neither of you made a move to leave. Spencer finally broke the silence, his fingers nervously tracing patterns on the table.

“I, um, I had a really nice time,” he said.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice warm.

“I’d like to do this again,” he added, his words rushed, as if he was afraid he’d lose his nerve.

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing his. “I’d like that too.”

For the first time, Spencer smiled—not his usual shy, fleeting smile, but something brighter, more confident. It was a smile that made you realize you’d been right about him all along.

Dr. Spencer Reid might be awkward, brilliant, and a little socially inept, but he was also kind, thoughtful, and deeply, unapologetically himself

And as he walked you home that evening, his hand brushing against yours, you knew one thing for certain: you’d write a thousand bad pick-up lines if it meant seeing him smile like that again.

[thebrokengate]

LEWISSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

Sorry. Sorry! Reflex. 😅

Anyway, I just want to say now that I've had time to review this video this morning, HOLY SHIT THIS IS SO WELL DONE! Your readings of the queer subtext in this game are so well put together, and I also have to thank you for adding in the parts about the Don Quixote story as someone who hasn't read it and never got to know the book that made Luis into the character that he is. I found myself nodding along in agreement as well to your reading of Krauser as I consider myself, after spending multiple months after the game came out studying him like a bug under a microscope, to probably be one of the most knowledgeable people about his character and his queer coding. There are a couple things I want to add if you don't mind me doing so though!

Not only does Krauser have the "Anything to make the pretty boy feel special!" line, he also has another line that's either next to impossible to trigger or has been deleted where he tells Leon, "You rely on those pretty blues too much!" And though I can't find a clip of him saying it anywhere on video (and trust me I've tried like. every playthrough that exists on YouTube ever and if you or anyone else finds one PLEASE SEND IT TO ME I NEED IT FOR. reasons.), it is said in this collection of his lines from the game at 2:50. I'm also going to warn you before you click- volume warning because the first line that comes up is Krauser yelling "DIEEEEE" like a death metal singer and it blew out my eardrums the first time I clicked it. Please help me, I am in pain.

More on Krauser: remember when Leon says right after Luis dies, "You won't get away with this, Krauser"? Well... somebody please tell me why Leon tries to or at least thinks about leaving the fight multiple times during the arena boss battle then? The first time it happens is in the opening cutscene after Krauser says, "I've been waiting for you, rookie" where Leon's already looking for a path to escape before Krauser poses the question, "Worried about the girl, is that it?" (and then he says "That's just like you. You've always had poor judgment" which can be taken in.. a number of ways LOL. Is his judgment poor for trying to save everyone or for going after women instead of men- *gunshot sound*) When the battle kicks off, Krauser says, "Better run, rookie!" to which Leon replies, "Not like I have a choice." Which.. he absolutely has another choice: to fight back. Krauser comments several times about how shaky and unsteady Leon is while facing him, and even says, "What's wrong? Show no mercy!" He knows Leon doesn't want to do this and Leon comments multiple times in both fights against Krauser how Krauser isn't leaving him much choice but to fight him and he can't believe that Krauser is actually making him do this. The next time Leon tries to leave, it's right before Krauser uses his newfound power in las plagas to turn one arm into a weapon (before inevitably doing it to both). "Are we done here, Krauser?" Leon asks. Which makes me wonder. Uh- if he really was done, would Leon just let him walk away at this point? Krauser again comments here how Leon is too soft to do what's necessary - put Krauser out of his misery - and attacks again, knocking Leon down into the labyrinth. The final time that Leon tries to get away, he runs for the drawbridge that closes up on him and the look of pain on his face before Krauser jumps down behind him is.. it's just sad. He's tried multiple times to get away, but now he really has no choice. Every time he tries to run away, something else stops him, and now he has to go through with killing Krauser. Even when Krauser's down, he hesitates to do so for so long and had so much trouble doing so that originally, from what Mike Kovac said, Krauser was going to put his hand on Leon's on the knife to guide him to kill him but they couldn't do that because both of Krauser's arms were mutated (linking the video here. never forget what they took from us.. at 3:07:41). And I think it's worth noting too that this is the only fight where Leon tries so hard to get away. Right after this is the Saddler fight and Leon remarks, "I'll make sure you're the next to go, Saddler" and actually does it without trying to leave once. For the duration of the entire fight, Leon flip flops back and forth between trying to leave and trying to reason with Krauser, and it's such a testament to Leon's character how even after all Krauser has done, he still wants to save him (in fact, neither one of these idiots [affectionate] really wanted to kill each other and you can tell in Krauser's responses to actually killing Leon and the way he plays with his food in the first fight like you said - but it ended in death anyway).. and Leon looking back at Krauser's body in the end like a lost puppy utterly destroys me every time.

Going into a little bit about the parallels of RE2R to RE4R, every character and every boss has parallels to each other. Mendez is like the new Mr. X, some of the boss movements of Krauser in the final fight after he's mutated resemble the stage 1 Birkin fight's movements (specifically they both can grab Leon's head and both have mutations starting with the arms), even something as simple as the Garradors paralleling the Lickers - both unable to see but can hear you and are very quick to kill you with their long claws or something that resembles claws. So it's only natural that certain character dynamics parallel too. When RE4R first came out, I saw some people say that "Luis is the new Marvin Branagh" but I disagree. I think that role rather goes to Krauser - in an equal but opposite way. Both Marvin and Krauser were people meant to train and lead Leon in his line of work, Marvin as his lieutenant and Krauser as his major. They also both refer to Leon as "rookie", and Krauser taught Leon to fight with a knife, just as you receive a combat knife from Marvin in RE2R. Equal characters, but opposites. So no, I think Luis actually instead parallels Ada. At least for Leon. Why? He has a shady past, having worked with Umbrella, much like Ada has a shady past running missions for Wesker as a mercenary. He appears and disappears multiple times, leaving and rejoining Leon just like Ada did in RE2R. And there's a moment where he dies, just the way Leon originally thought Ada did at the end of RE2R except this time Luis actually does die. But what's changed here? Luis was on a mission of redemption, dying a better man than he was before, unlike in RE2R where it ends with Ada and Leon turning on each other before Ada seemingly falls to her death. They're both wounded by a third party - Ada being shot by Annette and Luis being stabbed by Krauser - as well. So if that's not more to the queer coding of Luis, I don't know what is. But I also want to elaborate on my "at least for Leon" point because, even though it's irrelevant to the queer coding, Luis acts as a parallel in Ada's story to Leon. She has to save him, he gets himself into trouble all the time, his heart is often bigger than his brain, he's the one she wants to get her the amber, she pushes him away when he tries to care for her like Leon did in RE2R... the works. Luis was a second chance for both of them to make amends with their Raccoon City past together.

Last thing to note, just... Why is there so much BDSM in this game? Jeezaloo!

But that's just a fun addition, lmao.

Anyway, this video was so good and thank you so much for sharing it with the world! :)

hi happy re4 20th. here's a 50 minute long video to celebrate it

[siriuslylantsov]

6 string

pairing: joel miller x reader

description: in which, joel teaches you how to play a song on the guitar.

tags: fluff, established relationship, fem!reader, contractor!joel makes a brief appearance, no outbreak au, age gap, r has hair long enough to twirl but thats it for appearances, so so sweet, some singing, joel makes a dirty joke (i couldn't help myself) hozier mentioned!! and played... by a certain someone, and riptide as the song r learns, one mention of a dead parent.

a/n: my second joel teaching reader fic, this is very telling... also! should this be more frequent? my requests are open if you have any suggestions? i'm self taught when it comes to guitar, where tf was joel miller to teach me...

wc: 1.6k

“could you teach me?”

joel's head doesn’t lift up from his plans, long blue scrolls stretched across the table. “teach you what, baby?” he murmurs absentmindedly.

“a song. on your guitar,” you answer, voice small.

he looks at you now, his expression mildly shocked. you seem to have garnered his full attention, though it wasn't difficult when it came to you, he let go of the corner of paper that he had pinned to the hard surface. 

“i've been tryin’ to get you to play for months now,” he replies, not irritated but curious. “why the change of heart?”

“oh, i don't know. i just think it’d be nice to have a skill that i can credit to you.” you know the justification isn’t necessary and you know he knows that. he’ll do it regardless, anything for his girl.

a wry smile plays on his lips. “i’ve taught you plenty’a skills,” he says, not oblivious to the innuendo that clung to his statement. 

you huff out a chuckle, “not like that, silly.”

 you watch him walk over to you. his hands plant themselves on your shoulders, thumbs caressing lightly in the divots of your collarbones before turning you around. 

“let's go.”

“what? now?” you ask, although you don't stop him as he gently pushes you to the living room as he follows with his hands still on you.

“got other plans?” he sits you down on the couch, moving across the room to grab the instrument. 

“no,” you respond, smiling when he sits to your right. he's angled slightly so you can see his hands. it's how you're usually positioned when he plays you stuff so he can watch you but this time it's more for your benefit. 

“d’ya have a song in mind?”

you hum in thought, trying to recall songs he's played. they all seem difficult. “something easy?” you suggest.

“‘s a little cliche but a good beginner song,” he says as he starts to play.

recognition dawns on you, he's playing riptide. he quietly hums, a low timbre to the verse. you want to melt. 

“i love it when you play,” you murmur, dropping your head to his shoulder. 

“i love playin’ for you, sweetheart,” he replies, letting a chord fade out and handing you the guitar with a soft “c’mon.”

the instrument feels big in your arms as you rest your elbow over the base of it. it's not that you forget how much bigger joel is to you but in this instance it becomes painfully obvious. he guides your other hand to the neck, curling it around the wood. 

“okay, so riptide consists of three chords. a minor, g and c and it's the same strummin’ pattern all the way through,” he explains, moving your fingers to the first chord shape.

he places your fingers over different fret boards and you try to remember each one as he moves on to the next. you give an experimental strum to one chord and sounds with an unpleasant pitchy buzz. your face screws up and he chuckles lightly.

“you have to press hard enough so you get a clear tone, but not too much, just enough that it's firm against the fret,” he says, covering your hand with his own and pushing down.

“ow,” you gripe as the strings dig into your fingertips. 

“sorry, baby. s’gonna hurt like hell for now, need to build up your calluses for it to not.”

“it's fine,” you reply, partially distracted by how his calloused fingertips rub against the back of your hand, trailing down to allow you to try again.

you do, pressing a little harder, ignoring the pain. when you strum again it comes out a bit clearer, still buzzy, but better than before. 

you spend the next 30 minutes trying to switch chords, a feat more difficult than you thought it would be. you almost rage quit five times but joel's soothing encouragement urges you to keep trying. 

“how do you do this so easily?” you whine, leaning back on him. he's sitting a little behind you now, as you've moved to the edge of the couch. 

“playing for 20 years helps,” he says with a little shrug, rubbing your arm.

“careful, mister. you're showing your age,” you warn teasingly and he chuckles, that same warm one that you love so much.

“good to try some stummin’ now?”

“mhm,” you sit straight again. 

he crowds in behind you, arm coming to rest above your right one. he has a gentle grasp on your wrist and your palm as he directs your movements along the strings; down, down, up down up, he murmurs quietly in your ear, moving your hand accordingly.

you get the hang of it, you think. stumbling here and there when you do a down instead of an up, or the opposite. he watches as you intently strum, his fingers keeping the strings muted by touching them lightly. your hand, not on the neck anymore, rests on his thigh.

“keep going,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder. “you’re doin’ good.”

he lifts his fingers off the strings, and they start to resonate with uneven tones. but then a very distinct note rings out and you realise he's started to play the chords while you strum. it sounds good. you look at him and smile, and he shoots you an equally bright grin, crows feet deepening proudly. 

“there we go,” he spurs as your strumming stays perfectly consistent. you hum the melody as he effortlessly switches chords, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he does so. “wanna try doin’ both at the same time?”

you stop, your wrist growing a little tired. “tomorrow.”

“okay, sweet girl.” he takes the guitar out of your arms and leans it against the couch. 

he instinctively wraps around you when you curl into his side, scooting further back into the couch. his fingers play with the hair at the nape of your neck, it makes you squirm because it tickles and he laughs. the same low and warm one again, his chest vibrates with the sound as you press your ear to it. you can hear his heart beat in steady thumps. he leans his head against yours, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the space between you. his free hand settles on your leg, his thumb lazily tracing small, aimless patterns.

“can't believe i've never asked this,” you ask, suddenly curious. “how did you learn how to play?”

he tenses ever so slightly before easing again. 

“y’know my dad died when i was young, right?”

“yeah,” you confirm, lifting your head so you can see his face.

“well, he used to play all the time and after he passed my mom let me have his guitar,” he explains, twirling a strand of your hair with his fingers. he stares absentmindedly at your shoulder, but his gaze is solemn leaving you no reason to worry.

“took me ‘bout a year to pick the damn thing up ‘cause everytime i did it reminded me of him but when i finally did, i spent days on end teachin’ myself. didn't want a teacher or nothin’. if anythin', i wanted him to teach me but i never took up his offer when he was alive.”

“sweet,” you whisper, bottom lip jutting out sadly.

“you’re sweet,” he counters, tapping your nose with his finger. it wrinkles up at the contact and you pull away to reach for his guitar. you hand it to him, perking up in anticipation.

“play me ‘like real people do’?” you request, knowing smile on your lips.

only you could get mumblin’ grumblin’ joel miller to learn a hozier song. it took a bit of convincing, to which he would reply with begrudging grunts like it was the worst thing in the word. but he learned it surprisingly fast, playing it out of nowhere later that night. 

“‘f you sing, then yeah.”

you nod and he shakes his head fondly as he begins to play. you’re not a singer by any means but you could keep a tune. 

“i had a thought, dear, however scary about that night, the bugs and the dirt,” you begin softly, nodding along to the beat.

“why were you digging? what did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?”

his fingers effortlessly plucks the right strings without looking, his eyes fixed on you with a reverence that makes you nervous. must be muscle memory, you wonder how long it’ll take you to get that good.

“i will not ask you where you came from. i will not ask and neither should you.”

your head tilts to the side, smiling. you bring a hand up to his jaw, scratching his beard lightly in a way you know he likes. you lean closer for the next words.

“honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. we should just kiss like real people do.”

so naturally, you kiss him, giggling as you do so. he nips at your bottom lip when he falters, you–the distraction–to blame. 

it goes sweetly and quietly like that. you lean against his shoulder for the rest of the song, humming the melody. he doesn't mind, he just likes the sound of your voice, be it behind closed lips or not. 

when the song ends, he freestyles a bit, you don’t know what he’s playing but it sounds nice. everything sounds nice, and smells nice and feels nice, you could probably die here and you’d be happy, so long as you could take joel with you. 

“play more tomorrow?” he asks, still plucking away. 

“yup,” you chirp, inadvertently agreeing to more frequent lessons by him. even though he doesn’t suggest it, it’s implied in your own secret little way, and how could you say no to an offer like that.

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

[caplanbuckybarnes]

His Burdens

Summary: You try to get through to Bucky and tell him, it's not his fault.

WC: 448ish

Warnings: none? fluff? some PTSD

A/N: I'm probably gonna wind up deleting this. Not happy with it and I havent been in the MCU/Bucky fandom in months so it's probably shit.

Read on ao3

--

The apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. You leaned against the doorway, your gaze fixed on Bucky as he sat by the window, staring into the darkened cityscape. His shoulders, usually strong and sure, seemed to carry the weight of centuries, slumped under the invisible heaviness of his memories.

“Bucky,” you called softly, hesitant to disturb him but unable to bear his silence any longer.

He didn’t respond, but the slight tilt of his head let you know he’d heard you. Approaching carefully, you eased onto the arm of his chair, your presence just brushing against his.

“You don’t have to go through this alone, you know,” you murmured, resting your hand gently on his vibranium arm. “Whatever it is… you can share it with me. You don’t have to keep carrying it by yourself.”

His jaw tightened, the glint of his metal arm catching the dim light. “It’s not that simple,” he replied, voice low and rough. “My past—it’s not something anyone should have to deal with. Least of all you.”

“Bucky,” you said firmly, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “Your past doesn’t define you. It’s a part of your story, yes, but it’s not who you are now. Who you are to me.”

He turned then, his blue eyes shadowed but searching. You held his gaze, unflinching, your expression a mixture of patience and love.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” you asked, your voice softening. “I see someone who’s survived the unimaginable and still chooses to keep fighting. Someone kind, someone brave, and someone who makes the world better just by being in it.”

Bucky’s lips parted, but whatever he wanted to say got lost in the tremble of his breath. You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly over his jaw.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you repeated, your voice breaking slightly. “I’m here for you, no matter how dark it gets. Let me help you carry the weight. That’s what love is, Bucky—it’s sharing the burden.”

A faint, fragile smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and though his eyes were still glassy with emotion, the storm within them seemed to quiet just a little.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Too bad,” you teased gently, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

For the first time that night, a soft chuckle escaped him, and though it was fleeting, it was enough. Enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone. And that no matter how heavy his burdens felt, there would always be someone willing to share the load.

--

if you enjoyed this, show appreciation to the writer and reblog!

[luvst4rc0r3]

“The price of love” PT2

Sevika x F!Reader

Warnings: injections

WC:747

Note: I was not about to leave the ending on a sad ending

PT.1

The apocalypse wasn’t kind to anyone, but Sevika had always been a fighter. Losing you had taken something from her—ripped a piece of her soul right out of her chest—but she hadn’t let herself stop. Not when there was still a flicker of hope, no matter how faint.

She’d heard rumors. Whispers of a cure. Something buried deep in the labs of the old cities, guarded by the same horrors that had taken you from her. Sevika had spent months following every lead, breaking through hordes of the dead, cutting down anyone foolish enough to stand in her way.

She had to find it. She had to find you.

And then, she did.

The lab was a ruin, but it still held what she needed—a vial of green liquid glowing faintly in the dim light. The supposed cure. The scientists who’d created it were long gone, but the notes they’d left behind promised it could reverse the infection, even in the late stages.

It was a gamble. But Sevika had always bet on herself—and now, she was betting on you.

Finding you wasn’t the hard part. She’d kept track of you, even after she’d left you behind. She couldn’t help herself. She’d seen you wandering, your body no longer your own, stumbling through the empty streets like a ghost of the person you once were.

You were still there, in that same abandoned neighborhood she’d last seen you in. When she spotted you again, her heart clenched. You weren’t the same. Your eyes were clouded, your movements jerky and unnatural. But you were still you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispered, stepping toward you slowly, her mechanical arm humming faintly as she extended her human hand.

You turned at the sound of her voice, a low growl escaping your lips. For a moment, it felt like you recognized her, like something in you remembered.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, her voice soft and steady. “I’m gonna fix this. I promise.”

The struggle was brief. You were strong, but Sevika was stronger. She pinned you down gently, her heart breaking as you thrashed beneath her, snarling and snapping like a wounded animal.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking as she pulled the syringe from her bag and plunged it into your arm. The green liquid disappeared into your veins, and she held her breath.

“C’mon,” she whispered. “C’mon, don’t do this to me. Come back.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, you stilled.

Your body went slack, your breathing shallow as the infection began to retreat. She stayed by your side, holding you close, whispering your name over and over like a prayer.

Minutes felt like hours, but then your eyes fluttered open.

Not clouded. Not empty.

Yours.

“Sevika?” you croaked, your voice hoarse and weak.

Her chest tightened, and she let out a shaky laugh, pressing her forehead to yours. “Yeah, it’s me.”

You blinked up at her, confusion flickering in your tired gaze. “What… happened?”

“I found a cure,” she said softly, brushing a hand over your hair. “You’re okay now. You’re gonna be okay.”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you clung to her. “You came back for me.”

“Always,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m not losing you again. Ever.”

The cure worked. Not just for you, but for everyone.

Sevika kept fighting, helping spread the cure to the infected and wiping out the last of the zombies. Eventually, the world began to heal. The cities were rebuilt, the dead were laid to rest, and life—real life—started again.

You and Sevika found a place to call home, a small house on the edge of a quiet town. There were no more safehouses, no more monsters lurking in the shadows. Just you, Sevika, and the life you’d fought so hard to reclaim.

One night, as you sat together on the porch, the stars shining brightly above, Sevika reached for your hand, threading her fingers through yours.

“You know,” she said, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it, “I didn’t think we’d get this far.”

You smiled, leaning your head against her shoulder. “Me neither. But I’m glad we did.”

She pressed a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering there as she whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, squeezing her hand.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like the future was yours. Together.

Y’all wish me luck on my midterms😭

I want food

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 22

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

Jake misses Christmas, Rooster realizes a few things

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

The first couple of weeks had been hard on everyone. Natasha and I had spent the first few days curled up in one bed, then she had slept over with Javy more often than not. Proving to the world that Tasha and I were right when we said that Bob was the best person in the world, he had let me sleep over on his couch whenever I felt like it, which had been quite often. We would watch old movies and order take out, ending the night the same way every time by looking at dog pictures. 

I was doing…okay, all things considered. Until Harvey sent a text asking if I was still coming to Iowa for Christmas. Sure, I knew Christmas was coming, it was hard to miss the decorations everywhere, but it hadn’t really sunk in that Jake wouldn’t be there until that moment. Somehow I had managed to get through the call without crying, confirming that I would take a flight up in a few days to spend Christmas with them. Seeing my nieces would help distract from the pain of Jake being away and I would be able to spoil them rotten with presents.

But today seemed to be the day of overwhelming phone calls because as soon as I was done with Harvey, my agent, Jason, called. 

“Heya, D. How’s the draft coming along?” I rolled my eyes, laying back in my bed. Jake’s pillow still smelled like him, mostly because Javy had stolen Jake’s cologne for me to spray on it, and I found myself sleeping on it more often than my own.

“You’ll get the pages when I’m ready to share them, nosy,” He laughed. I could imagine him sitting with his feet up on his desk, tie hanging loose around his neck. “How’s the scheduling for the book tour coming? Any way we could do it in the next six months?” Keep busy. That’s what Penny had said to do and being away from the apartment for a month or two, every second of my day being directed by Jason and Grace, would be the perfect way to keep my mind occupied. 

“You’re never this eager to do a book tour,” Jason laughed again. “I can schedule something out for March, four months should be enough time to book everything. Grace will be ecstatic, I’ll call her once we hang up. Ooh, I could conference her, one sec.” 

“You don’t have to-”

“Whaddya want, Jason?” Grace’s thick Jersey accent came over the line and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“Our little angel is on the call, she wants to do a book tour.” Grace gasped,

“Hell must have frozen over, good lord. Daisy, is this true?” 

“It’s true, dang, you two don’t have to act like I physically run away from you guys to avoid public engagements.” As soon as I said it, I knew what Jason was going to bring up.

“Do you remember Tucson?” 

“Nevermind, proceed with the roasting,” I groaned, “I deserve that.” Grace and Jason began to regale me with all of the times I had claimed to have a cold or a headache to get out of events. 

There was still no news on whether or not they would be able to talk with Jake and Rooster during the deployment, so Penny had told me to write letters but not send them. Letters from loved ones were notorious for getting lost, so it was more of just an exercise in letting out my emotions. So that’s what I spent my flight to Minnesota doing, writing out letters in the cursive scrawl Jake had once called pretty, detailing how much I missed him, what was going on at home, and other random thoughts that popped into my mind. 

My suitcase was filled with presents and enough warm clothes to survive the drastic weather shift. Christmas wasn’t the same without snow and I was happy to see that Minnesota had gotten the memo, the ground being covered in inches of the powdery whiteness. 

“Auntie Daisy!” Sarah screeched, waving excitedly beside her sister, Haley, who was also waving. Harvey looked good, his ginger mustache waxed into a handlebar, wearing matching Christmas sweaters with his wife Emma, whose blond hair was held up 

“Hey there, babies!” I sweep both of them into a tight hug, letting their giggles wash over me, the love making me feel warm from head to toe.

“It’s so good to see you, DeeDee,” Harvey pulled me into a hug, kissing my temple, his mustache tickling me. “It’s been way too long.” 

“God, did you get even taller?” Harvey had long surpassed my height but it was still fun to tease him, “Emma, you must be feeding him well.” I hugged my sister-in-law with a grin,

“You know me, Harvey’s been doing all the cooking. I’m glad you’re here though, his cooking’s got nothing on yours.” 

“I see what this is,” I laughed, feeling lighter than I had since Jake left. “Invite me here just so I’ll make lasagna for you.” God did it feel good to be around family. 

The days until Christmas were filled with festive activities with the girls, going sledding, building snowmen, making homemade hot chocolate and marshmallows, and decorating too many gingerbread cookies for my wrists to handle. On Christmas, after everyone had gone to bed, Harvey and I had sat down on the couch one night with hot toddies and gingerbread cookies, curled up under blankets.

“So, how’s everything been going with that pilot of yours?” Harvey sipped his mug of tea and bourbon. I smiled, feeling a tinge of sadness thinking about Jake. When did I go from being completely opposed to a relationship to being so stupidly in love that I couldn’t go a few days without missing one person? 

“He wants to get married,” Harvey’s expression took on that of a teenage girl who just got told Taylor Swift was coming to town.

“Oh my God! That’s so exciting, I mean, do you want to get married?” His excitement was understandable, I had loudly proclaimed my resistance to get married many times in the past, much to my brother’s disappointment. My face must have given the answer away because he gasped dramatically, hand over his heart. “Oh my God, you do.” 

“Kind of want to have kids too, one or two of them, watch them run around with the girls and have fun.” Harvey looked like he was about to pass out from happiness. Honestly, I had never thought that I would end up being this happy in my life, not since the day our parents died, and it was kind of surreal to even be voicing this aloud, especially to Harvey. “Kind of want to be Mrs. Daisy Seresin when he gets home from wherever the hell he is.” 

X

“Stop grinding your teeth, you’ll get a headache,” I reminded Hangman for the third time that day. Poor guy had been on edge since the moment we got on the ship and I was under strict instructions from Daisy to keep an eye on him. “One day at a time, man, we’ll get through this.” 

What we had assumed would be a standard deployment, hanging out on the ship, flying recon or just for practice, and getting to call home every night, had turned out to be a top-secret mission that needed them on standby just in case. This meant that there would be no phone calls home, no letters unless sent through command staff, and not knowing what was going on unless they got the go. The uncertainty of it all was killing me but nowhere near as bad as it was Jake. 

I understood. I mean, he wanted to get back to his girl. Back to Daisy, who, if I was being honest, was way out of his league. They were clearly in love, the kind of love that no one could deny or question, and again, if I was being honest, I couldn’t help but be a little jealous of. Though, both of us going insane being separated from our partners probably would’ve resulted in a stolen jet and joint court-marshalling for being AWOL and theft of government property. So maybe it was a good thing that I wasn’t in love. 

“This is going to be the longest six months of my life,” Jake groaned, unclenching his jaw. I crossed my fingers that Daisy would somehow get letters to Jake through command, for my own sanity if nothing else.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @closetspngirl @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove @caitsymichelle13 @bigstrongblackheart @mrsevans90 @djs8891  

[fairytaleendingss]

I really like the way you write James ❤️ no specific request but would love to see a fluffy James x reader

Love-Struck

Summary: You and James can’t keep your hands off each other after a few too many drinks with your friends at a party.

CW: Alcohol consumption, reader having hair long enough to tie up.

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Sorry that this one is kind of short. Tbh fluff isn’t my strong suit. I’m more used to writing angst or hurt/comfort. But hopefully this satisfies your need for soft!James (I love him too). Also sorry that it took so long to get to. Enjoy!

—

You couldn’t contain your giggling as you stumbled through the doorway of your apartment, James having missed the keyhole three times while trying to unlock the door.

You eventually made it in, tripping over yourselves as you clung to his arm and refused to separate, as though the two of you had been glued together.

It was a cool night out and James’ cheeks were flushed from the cold wind. His glasses sat askew on his nose and a few dark curls had fallen loose around his forehead.

He looked so precious, you just wanted to throw your arms around him. And so you did.

With a heave, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down towards you in a sloppy kiss. His large hands came to rest across your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He tasted like tequila and you were sure you probably did too.

He pulled away after a moment, smiling goofily as his eyes traced over you face, as if he was trying to make note of every single one of your features so as not to forget them.

You grinned back, brushing a strand of hair that had escaped from your ponytail, behind your ear.

“What was that for?” He questioned. His voice was raspy and the scent of alcohol clung to his breath.

“I just love you,” you told him, your slurred words laced with an intense affection. You couldn’t express it enough. Even after 2 years of dating and six months living together, you heart still raced every time you looked at him, your stomach filling with butterflies and your entire being swam with a feeling of elation you couldn’t quite put words to. He just had a profound effect on you, like you shared two halves of the same soul or something equally sappy.

You used to roll your eyes at people who said things like that. At couples who were so obsessed with each other they couldn’t bear to be apart for even a moment. But now, looking up at James, you understood.

He grinned even wider if that was possible, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I love you too.”

There was a pause.

“I’m going to marry you, you know?”

Your heart swelled.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I knew it from our first date, actually. You’re the love of my life.”

You pulled him forward once more, your lips connecting like two pieces of a puzzle. You didn’t care that you were both still tipsy from Sirius’ party or that it was well past midnight or that you were standing in the open doorway of your apartment, exposed for the world to see. Right then and there, you were the only two people in the entire world. You and your love for each other was all that existed, all that mattered.

You were pulled apart by the sound of a throat clearing from behind you.

You turned to see Mrs Riley, your elderly neighbour, standing in the hallway dressed in a pale pink bath robe.

“Excuse me loves, this is very sweet and all but it’s two in the morning and you’re being rather loud.”

You turned to look at her wide eyed.

“Sorry,” you muttered bashfully. “We’ll go inside now.”

“Thank you. That would be much appreciated.”

With that, she turned and hobbled back into her apartment, muttering something under her breath about “silly love-struck kids.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you turned back towards James. You could tell that he was trying hard to suppress laughter of his own.

Love-struck, you thought, was the perfect way to describe it.

He pulled you in once more, this time only for a soft peck.

“On that note, I think it’s time for bed.”

You nodded. “I think so too.”

And with that, you pulled the door closed, taking hold of your boyfriend’s hand and letting him guide you towards the bedroom.

You smiled to yourself. If this was what it was going to be like for the rest of your life, you’d gladly be love-struck forever.

[drleggman]

Otoya Eita x reader

summary: Otoya learns that you had sex with his best friend, and the envy he feels isn't towards who he expected

tags: bi/pan!gn!reader, no physical descriptions (character & reader), established relationship (fwb), vague descriptions of sex, 18+ minors don't look or I'm telling your parents

wc: 1.9k

a/n: this is mostly just a convo between Otoya and reader, and the horny bits don't even directly involve him rip. it's very silly and unserious! sorry if you were expecting more

“Curve or no curve?”

Otoya’s question catches you off guard. You’d been sitting in relative silence until now—both reclining on his couch, legs intertwined between you with only the soft sounds of your respective video games filling the otherwise quiet room.

“What?”

“You prefer your cocks with a curve? Or without one?” He asks again like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

The music pouring lowly from the console in your hands stops abruptly, your game momentarily paused. “My bad for the confusion? I don’t always have dick on the mind, unlike you apparently.”

“Answer the question, will you?”

You take a moment to consider. And then another. Is one better than the other? This isn’t something you’d really put much thought to until now. “I… don’t think I have a preference.”

“Oh bullshit.” You can tell he's rolling his eyes without even seeing them.

“I don’t! You know what people say, it’s about how you use it or whatever. As long as your stroke game is good, it doesn’t really matter what your dick is like.” You shrug, and just as you’re about to return to your game, he pipes up again.

“Well Karasu said-“

“You talk about dick with Karasu?” You grin. This is more entertaining, you decide: fucking with him. You set your Switch on the coffee table beside you and give him your full attention.

“Will you shut the fuck- Ugh.” You hear a long exhale, and he sets his controller down. "Karasu said," he turns to you, eyes squinted and brows pinched together, “bottoms prefer it with a little curve. To hit all the good spots or whatever. I told him the same thing you told me, that it doesn’t matter.”

You blow air through your nose, grinning to yourself. Oh you know exactly why Karasu said that to him.

“He’s had a big head ever since I told him that,” you murmur.

“What?”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“Since you told him what?”

“That the way his cock curves feels good…?”

He makes a face at that, pained and something else that you can’t quite place, and you hide behind your hand so he can’t see you snickering.

“Hated that.” He says, but you can’t help but notice that he’s blushing, though just barely. Almost as if he’s flustered. “How do you know what his dick feels like?”

“We’ve… had sex?” What kind of question is that? Is he stupid? “How else would I know that?”

He straightens up, noticeably more invested in the conversation now that you’ve divulged this information to him. “ When did that happen?”

“Why are you interrogating m-“

“When??” His tone is by no means stern, but he’s insistent. You’ve always known this to be true. He’ll pester you til the end of time if you don’t tell him what he wants to hear.

“Like, five months ago?”

You’re not even sure exactly. It happened when you and Karasu were both a little tipsy at a birthday party. Whose it was, you can’t remember. You’d been complaining to him about being pent up, and Otoya had chosen to spend the night with another girl. Karasu offered himself up, cozying up to you and whispering low and raspy into your ear, “How about I take care of you tonight, then?” He’d had his eye on you since you were first introduced to him, seizing the opportunity to finally get a taste of you as Otoya usually doesn’t let you out of his sight when he’s around.

“We were fucking then.” He states plainly. His expression is unreadable, ever the face of indifference even as his words contradict that sentiment.

“Otoya. Since when do you care about the other people I sleep with?”

“I don’t care. I’m just… curious.” You don’t think he’s even trying to be convincing. He won’t even look at you.

“It seems like you care.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve never cared less about anything, actually.”

He does care. Obviously. You’ve talked to him about all of the women you’ve slept with since the two of you had started your relationship, if you can even call it that, and never once has he been this weird about it. It’s something you bonded over, in fact, because of course he’s sleeping around too. Sharing the intimate details of your trysts with other girls is a favorite pastime of yours. At some point Otoya started to wonder if he’s the only guy you’re actively having sex with, so to hear that not only is he not the only guy you’ve fucked recently, but that the other guy was Karasu Tabito, of all people, has him feeling. Feeling what, exactly? He’s not sure.

You know full well about how he likes to fantasize about you with your other partners after you’ve recounted every last detail to him, just as you do with him and his. He’ll let his hand slip between his legs, lazily pleasuring himself as he imagines you with the pretty girl you’d shown him a picture of—sometimes in front of you as you tell him about her, sometimes when he’s alone and too lazy to find a video to jerk off to.

Is it okay for him to think about Karasu like that? What exactly would it mean if he does? God, he has so many questions.

Were you a bit more dominant with him like you are with those girls he hears about? Or did his friend have to put you in your place after you started acting bratty like you do when you're with him? Karasu is a charmer though, and a sweet talker too. Maybe you didn't want to be bratty at all. Karasu has always had that subtle air of dominance about him. He knows how to get his way with people. He’s more than capable of teasing and talking down to you in a way that would lull you into a sense of submission. Otoya has seen it before, both on the field and off, the way that Karasu commands obedience.

He lets his mind wander further. He pictures you with Karasu. You're sweaty and panting, your hips grinding together and hands groping and tongues down each other’s throats. He can hear you so clearly in his mind. Can see the way your face scrunches up in pleasure. If Karasu’s dick really does feel as good as you say it does, it must leave you a whining, overstimulated mess by the time he’s done with you.

The image of Karasu is just as vivid. He can see the cocky smirk he wears as he comes undone underneath him. He can see the sweat beading down his forehead, his neck, and his chest. How he’s glistening with it as he puts more and more force into each thrust. He can hear him too, his honey-slicked words spilling from his lips that are pressed against his neck. And his cock… the ease with which it hits all of the right spots inside of him.

It’s gotta feel so fucking good, Otoya thinks to himself. And I bet he’s hung-

He cuts the thought off immediately once he realizes the gravity of it. He crinkles his nose as he wills away the image of his best friend on top of him.

“What is this?” You say, and suddenly Otoya is reminded of your presence.

He can pretend not to care about Karasu all he wants, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s visibly unsettled by what you’ve said. After knowing each other for as long as you have, you find him easy to read. The way he fidgets with the frayed fabric of his beanie, the way he refuses to meet your gaze. All easy tells. He’s lost in thought, and you think that whatever image he’s conjuring up in that pretty little head of his must be really good to get him to shut up for this long. “Are you… jealous?”

You’ve never seen him react like this to hearing about you fucking someone else. Otoya doesn’t care about exclusivity. He never has. You two sleep with whoever you want, whenever you want. You have a feeling it’s not the fact that it’s a man you slept with that’s getting to him, but rather because it was Karasu specifically.

“Why would I be jealous? I get to fuck you all the time.” You just barely catch the way his voice quivers.

Oh. He doesn’t even know. He’s got that look on his face, the one you’ve only seen a handful of times. It’s the face he makes when he wants something that he thinks is out of reach, and he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. His genuine confusion is almost endearing. He’s seemingly blissfully unaware of his own desires.

“I didn’t mean jealous of Karasu.”

He’s stone faced as he finally looks at you now. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“You are, aren’t y-“

“Shut up.” He doesn’t let you finish. He doesn’t like what you’re implying, and he doesn’t want to unpack that.

You bark out a laugh. “Why were you even thinking about that conversation you two had anyway?”

“Shut. Up.”

You listen, though only for a moment. There’s a pregnant pause, and he’s daring you with his gaze to keep pressing.

“His cock does feel good-“

“Stop that.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning confusion.

“Stop talking about my friend’s cock.”

Oh, but that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it? You have to push his buttons some more. “It’s not like it only feels good because it’s curved, though it does help.”

He says nothing, giving you one last opportunity to drop the topic before he turns his attention elsewhere.

“He just knows how to fuck, I think.”

Another sigh, then he turns back towards the tv and mutters, “I’m done with this conversation.”

He picks up his controller and unpauses his game, and the rhythmic sound of him tapping buttons fills the space between you. He’s getting his ass kicked, not that he doesn’t usually, but right now he seems to be particularly incapable of defending himself from the ai enemies on the screen. You can tell his focus is elsewhere, try as he might to pretend he’s more invested in the game than whatever thoughts are swirling around in his head.

Your lips are pursed as you hold in the words threatening to spill from you. He’s aware that you’re watching him, he can see you in his periphery. Your self restraint is running thin, and he’s started to squirm in anticipation, knowing full well you have some more bullshit to say.

“Have you ever played with your ass before?” You blurt it out before you’ve even realized it, hands clamping over your mouth as if you can’t believe you just said such a thing.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Again, he sighs. The game pauses and he briefly tightens then releases his grip on his controller. He sits on his answer for a moment, not yet sure if he should indulge you further. Maybe if he imagines it hard enough, he can explode you with his mind and be done with this.

“Yes, I’ve played with my ass before.”

You beam, the part of you expecting him to just call you a freak and disregard your question entirely put at ease. “Did you like it??”

You're much too excited about this for his liking. “I- yeah… I did.” Head rolling back onto the couch and his whole body slackening, he looks utterly defeated. You, on the other hand, are basking in your victory. You’re peeling away at him, layer by layer. Unveiling his desires that he’s kept hidden so deep within him he may not even be sure they’re there. “It’s just usually too much of a hassle to do it most of the time...”

Your tongue pokes out to wet your lips, and he watches the movement with rapt attention. “I have this toy… It looks a lot like Karasu’s dick…”

His eyes snap back to yours in an instant, and you continue on as if he’s not silently pleading with you to have mercy on him. To stop implanting these images in his head.

“It’s not quite as thick, but it’s got the same subtle, upward curve~” Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth. Otoya watches again, letting himself get lost in the visual to distract from what you’re saying to him.

You feel his leg shift between yours. His foot trails up, settling just shy of the apex of where your thigh meets your hip. “Okay… You’re telling me this why…?”

“We should try it.” You grin. His face goes flush. “On you, of course.”

“And why do you think we should do that?”

You sit up and push yourself towards him. He tries to back away, but there’s nowhere for him to escape to.

“So you know what to expect when you finally decide to ask Karasu to have his way with you.”

divider by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[kaezerdoodles]

I will protect you from all around you

I will be here, don’t you cry

[homeofthelonelywriter]

“That’s it. I’m done.” Simon, who had been laser-focused on his phone - he might or might’ve not been looking at engagement rings online - glanced up, frowning as he watched you walk to the kitchen. Your back was turned to him so that he couldn’t see your facial expression, but your tone suggested you weren’t happy. He quickly stood up and followed you to the kitchen, where he watched you turn on the kettle.

“What is it, love?” You didn’t turn to look at him, instead furiously searching the cabinets before trudging back to the bathroom, where you had just come from. “I’m sick of it, Si. I’m gonna go to the doctor and have them rip the whole thing out.” Realization dawned on the soldier. It was time again.

Confused, he pulled up the menstruation app on his phone and checked on your cycle. You were a few days early this month, which explained why he hadn’t received a notification yet. With a deep sigh, he followed you, finding you in the bathroom, once again searching through cabinets. Without a word, he opened one you hadn’t looked into yet and pulled out the fuzzy hot water bottle you were looking for. You turned to look at him, tears in the corner of your eyes, and your lips jutted out in a pout.

“I know, love. Come, let me help, yeah?” You nodded, holding up your arms, until he picked you up. Without even as much as a grunt, he lifted you into his arms, carrying your bridal style to your bedroom, where he laid you down and tucked you in. “I’ll be right back, darling.” After pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, he disappeared out the door and rushed down to the kitchen, where he prepared your hot water bottle just the way you liked. He also grabbed a mug and made you your favorite tea, knowing that the warmth would help with your cramps.

Before leaving, he grabbed your favorite snacks and a soft blanket from the living room. Then he made his way back to you. In the bedroom, you were curled up on one side, cradling your cramping stomach. After setting the tea down on your nightstand, Simon gently made you uncurl and pressed the hot water bottle against your abdomen, over a blanket, where he knew the cramps always were. “There you go, love.” The snacks were dropped beside the bed as he wrapped the extra blanket around you. “I’ll just grab some more stuff, and then we can spend the day here, cuddling, okay?” You nodded, still pouting and slightly wincing when another cramp hit.

Simon hated seeing you like this, so he rushed around the house, grabbing something cold to drink, pain meds, and anything else you liked to have nearby when you were hurting before returning to the bedroom and jumping into bed. The moment he had crawled underneath the blanket, you latched onto him, your very own heater, and he wrapped his arm around you, holding the TV remote with his free hand. Already knowing all your comfort movies and series, he put one of them on, before relaxing and pulling you closer.

A comfortable silence fell over you two as you watched whatever was playing on TV, Simon’s fingers absentmindedly massaging your stomach, trying to ease the cramps, when an idea came to you. Suddenly, heat started to pool between your legs as you glanced up at your boyfriend. “Si?” He grunted in response, surprisingly focused on the TV. “Si?” You repeated yourself, this time capturing his attention. He was already halfway out the bed, thinking that you’d ask him to get you something, but you pulled him back. “Give me a baby, Si.” He stared at you, all wide-eyed and confused for a second before he pounced on you. Let’s just say it didn’t take you long to get your wish.

Part 2

A/N: Definitely not projecting. Definitely not writhing in pain rn.

[robinsgrl]

toxic baby daddy rafe does something to me. no soft rafe (only with his girls and only sometimes). he’s abrasive and harsh. even more when someone messes with you. yooo where my panties at

mdni 18+

It’s been three months. Three months without Rafe as your boyfriend. Three months of his only title in your life being your baby daddy. There were days where you would refuse to even call him that.

In high school, you loved the sound of his voice. You loved how the palm of his hand felt at the small of your back. You loved that being around him brought you a sense of peace.

Now, all you two do is argue. About everything and anything. Even if you do start half of them. Not now, though.

“What I do in my spare time is none of your business!” Luckily, Samara’s in the living room, her noise cancelling headphones on as she watches some YouTube show, giggling when something funny comes up. You’d usually try and pay attention to her screen time but you can’t when Rafe is in your home and bitching at you.

“So you’re whoring it up when Samara’s with me?” His words are harsh, spitting them at you.

Your eyes are wide and bewildered as you look up at him, chest rising and falling from the intense match you’re having. “Listen to yourself! Whoring it up? Are you from the fifties? Women can have sex without being called a whore nowadays!”

“So you are fucking someone? Who is he.” It’s not a question. It’s a goddamn demand and you hate the way it makes your knees feel weak.

You scoff loudly, rolling your eyes. “I’m not fucking anyone.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, ___, Topper fucking saw you.”

“Topper’s your dick rider.” You spit back out. It comes without warning. His big hand falls on your neck, tightening around you. Your back pushes up against the wall, eyes wide and up on his as he stares down at you angrily.

His face nears yours, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. A shudder runs through your body and you want to shut your legs to help ease the sensation between them but he forces his knee to you. “I’ll kill any man who gets near you, do you fucking hear me?” His words are low and menacing. From anyone else, it’d be scary. It’d drive you away and straight to goddamn police station. But from him? You can’t deny how good it feels.

Rafe’s always been protective of you. Since you two met, he’s hovered around you like a scary dog, growling at anyone who came your way. It grew when you got knocked up in your senior year of high school. And it grew tenfold when your baby girl was born. But it got to be suffocating. You broke it off with him and it took him two weeks to realize you were being serious.

You would never admit that you made a mistake. Not ever. Admitting that you miss him only lets him win. It gives him a point. And yes, you should be mature enough to realize this isn’t a game but he’s so damn cocky about it. The last thing you need from Rafe is a bigger ego.

“Who is he?”

“Eric. Eric Jones.” You admit easily, breath shaky and full of a need for him.

“Did he fuck you?”

You can’t answer. He repeats himself.

“Did he fuck you?”

You nod, hands falling to his arm as his hand tightens on your neck. His eyes won’t leave your face, taking you in completely. You can see it all. The anger. The jealousy. The twinge of hurt. He pulls his hand from your neck and pulls away from you. “Call your mother. Tell her to pick Samara up.”

“What?”

“Just fucking do it.” And you do. Like always, you do as told and Samara’s off with her grandma for the night.

“He can’t fuck you like I can.” You’re a drooling mess as he pounds into you from behind, the sound of skin on skin meeting fills the room. His hand is in your hair, forcing your head back. “Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

The moans and whimpers coming from you won’t stop. You try to form words as he keeps shattering your world but it won’t come out. “Fucking slut. Answer me.” His hands trail down to your neck, pushing you up slightly to sit as he keeps fucking into you. Your back arches up against him, toes curling as you feel the building ache in the bottom of your belly.

He groans loudly as he feels your walls clench down on him as you curse out loud, grinding down on him to reach that peak you want so badly.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight. He couldn’t even fuck you right, could he? My poor girl, getting fucked by amateurs.” His fingers trail down to your freed tits, pinching at your pebbled nipples. “I don’t care what break you think we’re on, when you need a good fucking, come to me. No one can ever make you this cock drunk.”

You’re nodding frantically, “yes, yes, fuck, Rafe! Rafe! Oh, fuck!” You come undone when his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing at your sensitive and pulsing bundle of nerves.

At this very moment, you’re grateful for the house that Rafe bought you instead of cooping up in the one bedroom apartment you wanted when you moved out of his place. You had hated the power he had for giving you such a nice place but you’re grateful now as you moan and yell his name, body convulsing as his fingers keep working against you.

“Raaaafe, fuck!” He’s pushing deep and deeper as he pushes your front side back onto the bed. The overstimulation is making you writhe beneath him, pretty whimpers leaving your swollen and reddened lips. You can tell he’s reaching his own end when his thrusts become harder and longer, momentum slowing.

One pump. Two pumps. Three. Four. And he’s groaning in your ear, his front pressed up against your back as he comes inside of you from behind, your cunt fluttering around him at the full feeling of his load.

—

You awaken hours later to the bed dipping beside you. You had fallen asleep in Rafe’s arms after he had cleaned you up and whispered soothing and sweet nothings into your ear.

“Rafe?” You sit up tiredly, rubbing at your eyes to wipe the sleep away. His back is turned to you, the most relaxed you’d seen him in a while.

You scooch closer to him, pinched eyes trying to take a look at him. A small gasp leaves you as you see his bloodied and scarred hands. “Go back to sleep, baby.” His polo is covered in dribbles of blood, some drops of it drying up on his face.

You want to ask questions. You want to clean him up. But you can’t. You’re not a very good liar and the last time the police came around asking for your help, you almost broke, but Rafe was always thinking of you, his lawyer cleaning up the mess you made with the police. He had kissed and soothed you down from your teary apologies that night for being weak.

You nod, yawning softly, “okay… just… put the shirt in the wash.” It’s his turn to nod, a soft smile on his face as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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[javierpena-inatacvest]

Me, You, and Baby, Too

Summary: You and Joel have always wanted kids, but didn't want to rush into having them until you both were ready. After a surprise at his job, Joel realizes there's nothing more he wants to do than put a baby in you as soon as he gets home.

Pairing: Husband!Joel Miller x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (it's baby making time, so hush), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, big ole fat and nasty breeding kink (.... don't look at me it's bad), creampie, cum play, talks of starting a family, calling Joel "Daddy" (in the sense you want to have his babies, but also 🤷🏼‍♀️), Sweet soft Joel who loves his wife and would give her the universe if he could, honestly with just the way Joel is talking about makin' babies, I think I'm pregnant

A/N: It's that time of the month where Madeline ovulates and writes feral breeding kink smut!!! 🤪 Okay I am so nervous to post this because I have never written for Joel before and I'm worried it's trash with a capital T, but after re-watching TLOU, I need 2003 Joel Miller carnally, so here we are. This is also inspired by @mrsmando post about 2003 Joel Miller constantly keeping you barefoot and pregnant because it made me unwell, and no lies were told. (thanks for ruining my life mimi) 🤠 ANYWHO I hope you guys like it, and if not, I'll shut up and go back to writing Javi and Frankie and pretend like this didn't happen

There were a lot of stereotypical answers that you expected from your husband when you asked him how his day at work had been:  

“Good.” 

“Fine.” 

“Long.” 

“My knees are killin’ me.” 

“Tommy did somethin’ fuckin’ stupid again.” 

“Better now that I’m home with you.” 

So when Joel arrived home today after a new job he had started with Tommy on a bathroom renovation, there were few things that could have prepared you for the response your husband had when you asked him how his day had gone. 

“Hey, honey. How was your day today?” You smiled, watching Joel stroll in through your front door, kicking off his work boots at the entryway, beginning to put away his things before strolling into the kitchen to greet you. 

“Pretty good." He paused, leaning in for a quick kiss before making his way over to the closet before speaking again. "Saw a real cute baby today.” 

You could practically feel your heart skip a beat as you looked up from the vegetables you had been cutting up for dinner, tightening the grip you had around your knife to make sure you didn’t drop it in shock. 

Out of all the things for Joel to bring up on the first day at a new job, a cute baby had been at the top of the list.

Not floor plans. 

Not timelines for the project.

Not something stupid that Tommy did. 

Not even what he had done today on the job. 

The top news that Joel Miller had to report back to you about his day was the sighting of a cute baby. 

You and Joel had always agreed that you’d wanted kids, and your husband had been not only adamant, but genuinely excited at the prospect of becoming a dad. But only being a little less than a year into your marriage, the two of you had decided you didn’t want to rush into anything, and when the time felt right, you’d both know it. 

But one by one, as your friends began to announce their pregnancies, baby showers, and pictures of their adorable newborns, you couldn’t help but deny the baby fever starting to burn hotter and hotter inside you with every passing day. 

You’d brought it up in passing a few times with Joel, talking about your friends who had kids, or a cute mom and her children you saw walking around in your neighborhood, and while he had always had a positive response to what you had to say, you just had a feeling that now just wasn’t the time for the two of you yet, and that was okay.  

But here you were, standing in your kitchen, jaw practically scraping the ground at the notion that your husband had dropped just about the least subtle hint ever that babies weren’t just at the forefront of your mind- they were on his, too. 

“Awh, really?” You asked, shaking your head to snap out of your shocked state, returning back to dice the onion you had been working on before Joel could turn around to see you after finishing hanging up his things in the closet, trying to subtly coax more information out of him. 

“Yeah.” He smiled, joining you in the kitchen, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to his chest for a soft kiss to greet you, “The family we’re startin’ the bathroom reno for just moved in. Had their first baby a few months ago and just hadn’t had time to work on fixin’ things.” 

“So they’re already putting the baby to work with you and Tommy?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at Joel playfully, giving him a quick peck back on the lips as he laughed at your sass. 

“Cheap labor.” Joel shrugged back, playing into the joke, “Nah, she woke up from her nap while Tommy and I were runnin’ through some measurements so her mom brought her out for the last lil bit we were there. She was damn cute, too. Just smilin’ and laughin’ at everything.” 

You were glad Joel’s arm was still wrapped around your hip, because you were convinced if it wasn’t, you were about to melt to the floor into a puddle, watching how soft and sweet Joel was talking about a cute, smiling baby. 

“Well a cute baby definitely sounds like a very nice perk of being on the job.” You smirked, trying to play it cool enough to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. 

“Yeah.” Joel replied softly, quietly pausing for a moment, watching the gears turning in his brain, carefully calculating his words before he spoke. 

“You okay?” You asked, looking up at Joel, knowing your husband well enough that he had something on his mind he was trying to work up the confidence to spit out. 

Joel looked back down at you, big brown eyes locking with yours as his grip around your waist tightened ever so slightly, tongue swiping against his plush bottom lip as he took a long, deep breath in and slow exhale out.  

“Honey, what is it?” You asked again, now slightly concerned with how nervous your husband looked in his stoic silence, reaching up to gently wrap your fingers around his arm, thumb stroking his skin. 

“I want one.” 

You froze, worried that your heart may have actually stopped as you looked at Joel, making sure that you had really just heard what he had said. 

“W-what?” 

“I want one. A baby. I- I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked about it, but I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and seein’ that baby today, it just- shit, I just couldn’t stop picturin’ what it would be like to have one of our own I guess.” 

If you weren’t a puddle before, you sure as fuck were now.  

An overwhelming sensation of nerves and excitement began thrumming through your veins, your heart beat pounding in your ears as your face grew warm and a smile started to spread between your cheeks. You were almost certain you had to be dreaming, asking again to make sure that someone needed to come and wake you up and send you back to reality. 

“Joel… Really?” 

“Yeah, really. Nothin’ I want more. I know I ain’t gonna even be close to the perfect dad, but I know you’ll be sucha good mom, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want some tiny lil versions of us runnin’ around. Couldn’t think of anything that would make me happier than that. Like I said, I know that we ain’t talked about in a while, and if ya aren’t ready yet that’s okay but I-” 

Before Joel could even finish the rest of his thought, you were pressing up to plant your lips to his with passionate intensity, hands roaming up his chest before cupping his jaw and the scratchy stubble of his cheeks while your stomach flipped with arousal and want, already feeling a damp patch beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear. 

You pulled away, kisses traveling along his jawline and up his neck until you were nipping at his ear, the hot breath of your words whispering against his skin. 

“You wanna make a baby, Joel Miller?” 

“Fuck-” Joel groaned, reaching his other arm around you grab at your ass, pulling you in tight enough to feel the bulge beginning to grow under the denim of his worn jeans, pressing against your thigh.

“‘Cause there’s nothing that I want more than to make you a daddy.” You smirked, looking up to watch Joel’s eyes darken with lust, jaw going slack as a low groan rumbled in his chest, his once half hard cock now fully erect and straining against his zipper, trying to keep from giggling watching your husband try to string together any sort of thoughts to speak. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” He moaned, running his hand over his face to try and regain his composure to keep from busting right then and there. “You- fuck, you sure, baby?” 

“Mhmmmm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anything in my whole life. So sure,” you paused, softly pressing your lips to his between words, “that I think we should go make one right now.” 

Your adamant confirmation was all it took to set off something almost animalistic in Joel, crashing his lips back into yours in a messy clash of tongues and teeth, gripping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up around his hips and lock your legs behind the small of his back. Without ever letting your mouths part, Joel was already halfway to the bedroom before you had even realized it, playfully giggling at how frantically he was carrying you down the hallway, your bodies bumping against the walls and door frames, too focused on desperate and needy kisses for any sort of spatial awareness. 

Finally reaching your bed, Joel carefully laid you down, letting your back fall into the mattress, leaving your lower half to hang off the edge before your husband was on his knees, settling himself between your parted thighs. 

You sat up on your elbows, watching as Joel tightened his grip around the meat of your legs, peppering kisses up the inside of each across your soft skin before coming face to face with your core, planting another soft kiss there before letting his fingers ghost over your heat, still covered by your jeans. 

He rapidly worked at the button of your pants, shuffling them down off your hips to reveal your underwear, now absolutely soaked with arousal from the prospect alone of Joel knocking you up and carrying his baby. 

“Jesus Christ, baby girl, look at ‘cha.” Joel tutted, admiring how the cotton of your underwear clung to the outline of your cunt, sticking to the puffy and swollen lips of your pussy from how wet you were. “Haven’t even touched ya yet. This all for me, darlin’?” 

Just as you began to try and answer, Joel took one of his fingers, barely dragging it over the damp fabric before beginning to rub soft circles over your covered clit, eliciting a pathetic whimper from you at the electric sensation.  

“F-fuck- It’s all for you, b-baby.” You stammered, moaning even louder as a second finger joined the first, pressing more pressure into you sensitive nub as he nudged each of your legs to drape over his shoulders, his free hand tugging at the waistband of your underwear, making you instinctually lift your hips as he yanked them off your legs to crumple in a messy pile with your pants. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.” Joel mewled, running his fingers up and down through the weeping seams of your folds, toying with your entrance while draping his arm across your hips to hold your squirming lower half in place. “Wants me to fuck her full of me and fill her up so bad, huh?” 

“P-please, Joel. Want you to fill me up so badly.” You whimpered, staring down at your husband, a devilish grin spread across his face, licking his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between your blissed out face and the glistening mess between your thighs. 

“I will sweetheart, promise. Gotta taste you first though, baby. Gotta make sure you’re nice n’ready for me. ‘Cause once we start, I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till I knock you up.” 

With that, Joel was diving between your legs, lapping you up in long and firm strokes, pressing against your clit in the way he knew would make you fall apart under his tongue. While he would have loved to have spend hours just like this, making you writhe under his touch, drinking up your arousal like a wandering man parched in the heat of the desert, Joel had one thing on his mind, and one thing only- 

To get you pregnant.   

Joel began to intensify the pace of his tongue, swirling and sucking around your clit as two of his thick fingers pushed into your heat, sliding in and out of your entrance with ease from how wet and worked up you were. Curling his fingers ever so slightly, you cried out as Joel bumped against your g-spot, pushing against the soft, spongy spot as his tongue worked its magic. 

You could feel the arousal shooting through your veins, heat beginning to bloom in your stomach as Joel fucked you with his fingers and mouth, shooting your hand down to grab fistfulls of his thick, brown hair to brace yourself for your impending orgasm. 

“J-Joel, oh fuck- Fuck, baby, I’m c-close. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” You whined, pussy beginning to flutter around Joel’s fingers, the tightening only egging him on further to get you to cross the finish line. 

With just a little more pressure of his tongue, Joel could feel your cunt clamping down around his digits, watching the pleasure shoot through your body as you came, your orgasm crashing through you like a tsunami. 

As you reached your high, Joel drank up your arousal, not faltering in his pace, too focused on your pretty cries of his name being chanted like a prayer to do anything but keep going and making you feel good. 

Truth be told, Joel had gotten so lost between your thighs, the only thing stopping him was the tensing feeling between his, so pussy drunk and determined to fuck you full of him that he was worried he was about to cum too if he didn’t stop. 

Pulling off you, Joel frantically stood up, racing to undo his belt and jeans, yanking them down his legs in tandem with his boxers as his cock slapped against his stomach, precum already pearling from his tip, desperate to be inside of you. His shirt quickly followed his pants, ripping it over his head as his broad body caged yours under him, helping you to scoot back on the bed until your head hit the pillows, trailing kisses up and down your body the whole way. 

As Joel kissed and nipped at your skin, you quickly shuffled off your top and bra, leaving you bare beneath him, moaning as his tongue flicked against each of your newly exposed pebbled nipples, grouping your breast and kneading the soft flesh in his palms. 

Even though you had just came, you could already feel your cunt starting to clench around nothing, desperate to feel Joel inside of you, to stretch you out with his thick cock and fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. But with the way your chest was heaving and breath shaking from your orgasm, you could barely muster out the words you wanted. 

“J-Joel, p-please, baby. P-please.” 

You snaked your hand between your bodies to reach for Joel’s cock, wrapping your fingers around his length and swiping your thumb over his leaking tip, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you stroked him, trying to guide him to slide between your legs and ease your ache. 

Lowering his hips, you moved your hand and let his replace it, Joel pumping himself a few times before guiding his tip between your folds, collecting your slick to coat his cock, using every last ounce of self-control he had as his eyes locked with yours, wanting to see your face as he pushed inside you. 

“Please, what, darlin’?” Joel teased, knowing damn well what you were begging for. 

“Need to feel you, Joel. Need you to put a baby in me.” You moaned, reaching up to grab his face, your palm rubbing against his stubble as your fingers tugged on the curls at the nape of his neck. 

With one more pump, Joel lined himself up with your entrance, sliding into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting of his length making the breath hitch in the back of your throat, filling you up inch by inch until he bottomed out inside you with his tip just kissing your cervix. 

Joel couldn’t help but smirk as he watched your mouth fall open, parted lips letting a soft moan escape while your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head at the newfound sensation, giving you another moment to adjust before he began to slowly roll his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your core. 

“Christ, baby girl, so wet and tight. Like this pussy was made just for me. Made for me to fuck ya full of me until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ take.” Joel groaned, reaching down to grab your thighs, pinning your knees to your chest, stretching you open to take Joel even deeper, practically feeling him in your stomach with the position he had you in. 

“Joel, oh my god- fuck, you feel so good. Fuck, baby. Want you to fill me up so bad.” You whimpered, Joel now beginning to pick up his pace as he thrust in and out of you, continually punching in that perfect spot over and over again, leaving your brain bordering on short circuiting. 

Joel’s fingertips dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pushing your legs down just far enough to be chest to chest with you, the sweat dampened curls of his forehead brushing against yours as your mouths met in an electric kiss, catching each other’s muffled moans with each snap of Joel’s hips. 

“Yeah, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up? Fuck a baby into you? Let everyone see what a pretty momma you are, carryin’ our kid?” Joel grunted, picturing you, months from now, belly round and tits swollen, pregnant with your baby, wondering how many you’d let him give you, because fuck, he’d keep knocking you up until he had nothing left to give. 

Each push and pull of your bodies against each other felt more and more electric, an undeniable coil tightening in your stomach with the way Joel was pounding into you and the hairs at the base of his cock were brushing against your clit, already feeling yourself beginning to teeter on the brink of pleasure once again. 

“Yes, fuck, fuck- yes, Joel. I wanna have your baby. Want you to knock me up so I can make you a daddy. Please, baby, please.” You were all but sobbing at this point, your fingers digging into the tan and sweat sheened skin of Joel’s broad shoulders, overwhelmed by the lewd combinations of Joel’s heavy pants in your ear and wet squelching of your pussy as his pelvis flushed against yours repeatedly. 

Joel could feel you beginning to tighten around him, pussy sucking him in with its warmth and wetness, ready to clamp around his cock and milk him for all he was worth. 

“That’s it, darlin’, I know you’re close. Gotta cum for me first though, baby girl. Gotta feel ya soak me before I stuff ya so full of me, I swear t’god, you’ll be drippin’ outta me for days. So fuckin’ full that I’ll get you pregnant right now.” Joel groaned through gritted teeth, leaning back to reach and grab your leg, wrapping it around the small of his back before you lifted your other to join it, locking your ankles to keep him as close to you as possible. 

“Joel, oh my god, fuck baby, fuck, I’m gonna- fuckfuckfuck-” 

Suddenly, your orgasm was rushing through every inch of you, crying out as the pleasure hit you like a freight train, choking Joel’s cock with your pussy, unable to do anything but relish in the white hot bliss that had you nearly floating out of your own body. 

While Joel would have kept fucking you until the sun went down, the truth was he was relieved to feel you cum, spending every second since your agreement in the kitchen trying to keep from finishing until he was balls deep inside you and you were soaking his cock as you reached your high. The realization that now was his chance to make good on his promise, to fill you up and fuck a baby into you, ignited something primal, feral, in him, pounding into you at a punishing pace as he could feel himself teetering on the brink of collapse right with you. 

“That’s my girl. That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby. Shit, I’m gonna cum too, fuck- gonna fill this tight lil pussy up so goddamn much, give you a baby, make you a momma, oh fuck!” 

With one final stutter of his hips, Joel let out a strangled moan, flushing his hips against yours as he milked himself of every last drop, painting your warm, wet walls with hot ropes of his spend, making sure nothing went to waste. 

He couldn’t help but but press even further into you, plugging you with his length and fucking his cum as deep as he could into your cunt to make sure it took, collapsing on top of you with his cock still buried in your heat, letting your chests heave together in sync as you both caught your breath. 

Joel was convinced he had never cum so much in his entire life, afraid that if he pulled out, that somehow he’d have more left to give, and sure as fuck wasn’t going to risk letting anything coming out of him end up not inside of you. 

Well, not until your muffled grunt rumbled beneath him. 

 “Joel, baby, I love you but you’re kinda squishing me.” You huffed, giggling to yourself as you watched your husband come-to in real time out of his post-orgasmic state, immediately offering a half muttered apology as he rolled off you, sitting back on his knees to admire the shiny and slick mess between your legs. 

“Fuck me…” Joel murmured to himself, eyes wide as he stared at your pussy- wet, puffy and soaking with your arousal, bringing his fingers to your spent hole as he watched a dribble of his cum begin to leak out. Gently scooping it up, he collected everything he could, pressing it back into your cunt before pulling his hand out. Crawling up the bed to lay next to you, Joel wrapped you up in his arms as the little spoon, peppering ticklish kisses over your back and shoulders, making you burst into laughter. 

“Joel, stop! That tickles!” You squealed, squirming in his grasp, trying to defend yourself from his unrelenting attack of soft, plush lips and scratchy beard dancing across your skin. 

“Don’t laugh so damn hard, or all my hard work’s ‘bout to come out!” Joel teased, giving you a playful nudge, pulling you in even closer. 

“Stop making me laugh, then! Plus, I think you came enough to put quadruplets inside of me, so I think we’ll be okay.” You snorted, Joel joining in on the laughter. 

“Baby, I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard in my whole goddamn life.” Joel sighed, shrugging as you rolled your head up to look at him and that stupid goofy grin he got whenever he couldn’t contain his excitement about something. “God, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Joel.” 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, Joel slowly bringing his arm to rest across your stomach, thumb slowly tracing careful circles on your skin. 

“You’re gonna make such a good mom. I’m the luckiest man alive that you wanna have a family with me. Still not really sure what I ever did to deserve it.” 

“Joel! You’re gonna make me cry! And this is before pregnancy hormones, ya jerk.” You tried to laugh, choking back the tears welling in your eyes. 

“Yeah, what a jerk, your husband tellin’ you how much he loves you.” He teased back, planting a long kiss on your temple, before pressing another one to your lips. Another wave of soft silence followed, watching Joel’s face scrunch in a calculated concentration. “How big of a crib you think I gotta make? I don’t know ‘bout a rockin’ chair, but a crib can’t be that hard. I gotta measure the guest room tomorrow.” 

“Honey, I don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet, you don’t need to have a crib built tomorrow.” You teased, laughing at Joel, despite the fact his mind was already thinking about a baby room and accessories had you melting. 

“Sweetheart, what did I say earlier? I ain’t lettin’ you outta this bed ‘till we know there’s a baby in there.” He smirked, nodding at his hand still splayed across your stomach, “So you better get comfortable, ‘cause if it’s up to me, there ain’t a chance in hell we’re gettin’ anything but a positive pregnancy test at the end of this month, and we'll sure need that crib nine months from now. Never hurts to get a head start."

Tag List: (Sorry if I tagged you and you don't wanna be tagged, just let me know!!)

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[gothgoblinbabe]

She Wolf

A/N: I said I was gonna get this done and it took me way too long and has an absurd word count but I am incapable of holding in word vomit! Inspired by She Wolf by Shakira cause idc its GOOD and it got me thinking' so here it is. Also you don't have to listen to the song as you read but I think It's fun!

Summary: You've got a crush on your best friend and he's a bit of a dick. He regrets it and tries to apologize but you're already trying to push yourself to move on any way you can, even if it's in some shady club you'd never been to before.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, swearing, Logan's kind of an asshole for a minute, Possessive/jealous!Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), friends to lovers cause that's my fave, fem reader, mutant reader, unnamed creepy guy (?) aaaand Logan absolutely has a pain kink. I think that's it but if there's any I missed please let me know!

Word Count: 7K (im so sorry but I'm not though)

divider credit here

“Are you ever gonna tell him?”

You looked up from your desk towards Ororo’s voice, sighing and taking your glasses off your nose.

“God, I don’t know, ‘ro. I don’t think I should. It’s just going to end with me being humiliated and him never wanting to even be in the same room as me again.”

You’d had a crush on Logan Howlett since the day you first walked through the doors of the mansion six months ago. You’d probably be considered best friends by now with how much time you’d spend together, doing jack shit around the mansion on your days off. Just about everyone could tell he had a soft spot for you and that you had one for him. Logan was a classic ‘tough guy’, constantly trying to hide his kind nature with a hard exterior, but it took only a couple weeks for you to crack that barrier. You weren’t exactly a seemingly ‘soft’ type either.

You’d spent the majority of your life before you joined the X-men hoping from couch to couch and hitching rides with strangers, not really having a destination or a place to call home. You’d been dropped off at a church when you were fourteen, around the time you started to turn every full moon. Your parents couldn’t live with having to chain their mutant daughter in their basement once a month, and so they dropped you where they thought you’d find some ‘help’. You’d been passed from foster home to foster home till you were eighteen, each one passing you up the moment they realized you were not like them. It was always a slip of the mask, something setting you off to make you so enraged your eyes gleam yellow and your sharp canines make an unfortunate appearance. You took off the second you could and being on the road came with its fair share of creeps; men with terrible intentions looking for opportunities. You’d never wanted to hurt anyone - truly - but when cornered by a creep, it was hard to think anyone would miss them. A couple of local newspapers caught on, debating where the wolf that tore men to shreds had gone. You weren’t an animal. You just had teeth like one.

Knowing you couldn’t lurk in town much longer, you’d hitchhiked your way to a camp occupied with people like you; lost with no place to call home. It was there that you’d met a couple of mutants who told you about Charles Xavier and the place that seemed completely unreal until you set your eyes on it. That felt like a lifetime ago by now. 

“I think you're underestimating how he feels about you,” Ororo said, bringing you back to reality. She was sat on the edge of your bed, flipping through one of your magazines as you worked at your computer to try and make a lesson plan for the coming week. 

“I think you’re overestimating how he feels about me,” you let out a short laugh, shaking your head.

Just as she was about to retort, you both heard someone shout your names from the hallway. You looked at each other curiously and left the room, hearing shouting again. 

“Are you guys gonna play Monopoly with us or what?”

You both giggled and made your way downstairs towards Scott’s voice. Him, Jean, Marie, Bobby and Logan were all sat in the living room, the game already set up on the coffee table. Bobby and Marie were picking out their game pieces, assigning everyone else to their own piece.

“Okay, Logan, you’re gonna be the dog,” Marie smiled, dropping the little metal piece into the palm of his hand. 

He was definitely not as amused, “why do I have to be a damn dog?”

Ignoring him, she handed another piece out to Jean, “you’re the thimble.”

She then handed the boat to Scott, the top hat to you, and the iron to Ororo. You all began the game after Scott painstakingly over-explained the rules and how to play. 

It was a good bit into the game that you all became distracted with conversation, eventually leaving the board game untouched. The topic of compatibility came up somehow, the conversation focused on the joy of Bobby and Marie. 

“I think anyone would be lucky to have what you guys have,” Ororo smiled, shifting her gaze between the two of them.

“And what we have, obviously,” Scott joked, hanging his arm around Jean.

“Gross,” Logan chimed in, taking a sip of the beer he’d hidden in the back of the fridge.

“I think someone is jealous,” Ororo said in a singsong voice, poking his arm.

“Of having someone hang on me all the time? No, thanks,” he scoffed.

As stupid as it was, it made you a little sad to hear he had no interest in even entertaining the idea. It wasn’t a surprise, but still a disappointment nonetheless.

Ororo brought up your name and your eyes went huge, silently begging her to keep her mouth shut.

“You don’t seem to mind her hanging on you all the time. I think you’d be cute together,” she said, smiling mischievously at you. Scott and Jean agreed and you had never wanted to smash your head into a coffee table as much as you did in that moment.

“Nah, definitely not my type of girl.”

It was just seven words, out quick without a second thought, and yet it felt like you’d been punched in the gut. You couldn’t take your eyes off the monopoly board on the table, avoiding everyone’s gaze. 

Definitely not my type of girl. 

“I think I should head to bed, it’s getting late,” you mumbled, keeping your head down to hide your blushed face as you got up from the couch and practically ran out of the room and up the stairs. 

“What the hell was that?” Scott scolded Logan the moment you were out of sight.

“That was so mean,” Ororo chimes in, backhanding him on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Logan said nervously , shrugging his shoulders, “…do you think she’s mad at me?”

“Probably more hurt than mad,” Jean said honestly. 

“Shit,” he sighed, putting his beer down to rub his face with his hands, “what do I say?”

“Not that,” Marie replied, “why did you even say that anyway? You could’ve just said no.”

“I think you like her and you’re being mean so that she wont like you back because you’re afraid,” Ororo said after a moment of silence. 

Logan sat quiet for a moment, his hands still over his face.

“Am I that easy to read?” His voice was muffled through his hands.

The rest of them couldn’t help exchanging knowing smiles.

“So you finally admit it,huh? You’ve got a crush,” Scott teased.

Logan moved his hands from his eyes to glare daggers at him, “you shut your fucking mouth or I’ll shove that monopoly board where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“I think that’s a yes,” Jean whispered to her boyfriend.

“Talk to her when you see her tomorrow. We’re not going to let you hurt her feelings just because you can’t accept your own,” Ororo advised, lightly patting him on the shoulder.

“Do you think she’s even gonna talk to me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan tried to catch up with you the next day, always seeing you as you were leaving a room he was entering or passing by and even then, you ignored his calls of your name.

It was a little after dinner now and because it was a weekend, a couple of kids were up playing the PlayStation in the living room. Bobby and Marie sat with them, taking turns with the controllers. 

Logan entered the room after about three laps around the mansion, mentioning your name to the both of them.

“Have you guys seen her? I’ve been trying to talk to her all day, she keeps running from me.”

“Can’t really blame her,” Bobby muttered, his eyes never leaving the TV screen as he button smashed. 

“She’s in her room,” Marie answered before Logan could come up with a retort, “she went up before dinner, said she wasn’t hungry.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair, “she’s skipping dinner now too, great.”

“Go talk to her!” She insisted, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.

He made his way to the stairs and up to your bedroom, knocking lightly on your door. Hearing nothing, he knocked again, a little harder. Still, nothing. 

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know. I wanna talk about yesterday, I was a dick.”

Silence. Now he was a little worried. He tentatively grabbed the doorknob and turned, cracking it open a bit.

Your bed was made, your desk was neatly organized and you were nowhere to be seen. He noticed your purse was gone from the usual spot you’d leave it in and your closet was open, a couple garments and some shoes strewn about on the floor. It looked like you’d gotten dressed and dipped. He figured maybe Ororo or Jean might know where you were, leaving your room and looking for them instead. He found them shortly after, huddled in the kitchen. Again, he asked if either of them knew where you were.

“She’s in her room, she went up before dinner,” Ororo answered.

“No, she’s not. And her purse is gone.”

Both women turned to each other with the same worried expression.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Having tried your cellphone about thirteen times from just about everybody’s phones, they all decided they had to tell Charles. He used his ability to connect with every mutant on the planet to try and locate you, visualizing with his eyes closed. Everyone stood in his study, anxiously awaiting his conclusion. After a moment of silence, he started to silently chuckle to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asked immediately, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m afraid you all have your work cut out for you,” he replied, finally opening his eyes.

“So, where is she?” Ororo asked, worry in her voice. 

“There is a club called The Nightcrawler - “ Charles began to explain, but Logan interjected impatiently. 

“Club? What, like a book club?” He nearly scoffed. There was no way you were at some sleazy nightclub in the city. You were a homebody and an introvert, neither of which made clubbing enjoyable. 

“Maybe we should just let her have fun,” Jean began to say, but Logan was already halfway out the door.

Uncharacteristically, you found yourself dressed to the nines in the middle of a dance floor full of people. You’d spent a while trying outfits in your room, searching for something you could actually wear out that wasn’t sweatpants and a hoodie. You’d settled on a halter top that tied at your neck and in the back and a pair of ridiculously tight pants that you’d bought forever ago and never had the guts to wear. You ended up standing in front of the mirror, choosing a pair of very cute but very uncomfortable shoes and looking over the outfit. If you weren’t Logan’s ‘type of girl’, you sure as hell were somebody’s. Trying to get yourself out there may be the best solution to forgetting the heart-crushing infatuation you had with your best friend who would never see you as anything more. 

“I feel ridiculous,” you chuckled to yourself, turning in the mirror to see the back of your outfit. You did look good, just super out of your comfort zone. You grabbed your bag and ended up slipping out when everyone was eating dinner. That’s how you ended up where you were, pushing your way through the crowd of people with a drink in your hand. You passed the raised lounge area and felt a hand on your shoulder, making you turn suddenly.

“Hey, you wanna dance?”

He was tall, leaning down a little to shout over the music. He was pretty good looking but didn’t look like Logan in the slightest, which you realized was exactly the point of going out tonight. He was dressed nice and smelled like expensive cologne. 

“Sure, why not?”

As you abandoned your half finished drink on a table and let him pull you a little further into him, a familiar song started to thump through the speakers.

“I love this song!” You exclaimed, letting the nameless guy rest his hands on your hips.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

S.O.S., she's in disguise

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

“Ironic,” you muttered under the music.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan walked ahead of Ororo, Jean and Scott, his long legs taking him much further at a much faster pace.

“Logan, slow down!” Ororo called out, jogging a bit to catch up with him.

“What if she didn’t even want to be there? What if some guy dragged her there?”

“Oh,” Jean laughed, “ I see. You’re jealous.” 

“No.”

“Yup.”

“Nope.”

“So you’d be fine if we walked in there and she is with a guy?” 

Logan slowed his pace as they approached the entrance, “sure, whatever,” feigned disdain in his voice.

The second the door opened, the bass of the music was overwhelming. It was dim, save for a few colorful lights projecting around the room. The four of them were squished together near the door, trying to pick you out in a sea of moving people. 

“This is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Scott shouted.

“Not necessarily,” Ororo replied, a smug smile on her face.

“What?” Logan furrowed his eyebrows.

She pointed across the room and he followed her gaze.

There's a she wolf in the closet

Open up and set it free 

There's a she wolf in your closet

Let it out so it can breathe

You didn’t even look like you. He’d never seen you in anything that showed that much skin or any clothes that even hugged you like that, for that matter. 

And you were with a guy.

Sitting across a bar, staring right at her prey

It's going well so far, she's gonna get her way

“So, what did we tell you?” Jean shouted, waving her hand in front of his glaring eyes.

“Just some kid,” he replied dismissively, turning to her, “doesn’t mean anything anyway.”

“You sure?” Scott nudged his shoulder, making Logan look towards you again.

That kid had his hands up the sides of your top with his head craned down to kiss your neck, your back to his chest. You were giggling, playfully smacking his arm. Truthfully, you thought the attention was nice for a change. After trying so hard for too long to get Logan to notice you, it felt good to have someone pay attention to you in that way. 

Not looking for cute little divos or rich city guys

I just want to enjoy 

By having a very good time

And behave very bad in the arms of a boy

You felt his hands squeeze your hips a little harder, enough for his nails to dig into your skin. Out of instinct, you felt your canine teeth start to poke against your lower lip. You tried in vain to tug his hands from you, only making him tighten his grip.

The switch in demeanor was obvious even from across the dark room, your smile turning into a grimace that bared your sharp teeth. You yanked the sleeves of his jacket to make him finally let go, turning around while he still had his arms ghosted around you.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

S.O.S., she's in disguise

“Touch me like that again, you son of a bitch, and I will rip you to fucking shreds.”

You gathered fistfuls of his shirt, bringing him down to eye level so he could see your snarling teeth and gleaming eyes as a hint that you weren’t bluffing. 

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

Before anyone could even tell him to stay put, Logan had already disappeared into the crowd of people.

“God damn it,” Scott huffed, following Jean and Ororo when they went after him. 

“Logan!” Jean yelled, trying to grab his jacket to slow him and only having him slip out of her grip. 

There's a she wolf in the closet

Let it out so it can breathe

“Shit, I’m kinda into the fangs. What, you gonna bite me?” He was whispering in your ear, your hands still on his shirt. Before you could do something you were going to regret, you felt someone tug your upper arm and pull you away from him.

“Come on,” Logan snapped, “we’re leaving.”

“What the hell are you doing here? What do you mean we?” You yelled back. You didn’t want to stay anywhere near that guy but you weren’t ready to leave either and sure as hell not with Logan dragging you out like an angry parent.

“Hey, she doesn’t really look like she wants to leave with you, man,” the other guy interjected, keeping a grip on you by looping his fingers through one of the belt loops on your pants. 

“Yeah? She doesn’t want to stay with you either, jackass,” Logan moved his hand from your arm to hold your hand instead, “she’s not interested.”

What the hell had gotten into him? You felt like you were in the middle of a tug of war with two dogs. 

“No one’s gonna fucking ask what I want, right?” You tried to complain, neither of them hearing you. 

“Your little doggy girlfriend here was just about to take care of me. You mad about it?” The other guy laughed and you nearly lunged at him, Logan’s hand tugging you back. He intended to pull you away so he could get to him first, but Scott, Jean and Ororo jumped in just in time. 

“Alright - enough, enough, we’re leaving!” Jean yelled, pushing you all towards the door, Logan dragging you the whole way. When you finally were out in the cool evening air, you angrily yanked your hand from his.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, turning to Logan, “and what the fuck was that?”

“What was that? You’re welcome - “ 

“I didn’t ask you to come save me - from what, having a good time?”

“Oh, yeah, it looked like you were having a lot of fun,” he scoffed, “he had you by the hip so hard he probably left a bruise.”

He instinctively reached his hand out to check and you swatted it away, “Don’t - Don’t touch me!”

None of them had ever heard you sound so pissed off and you’d definitely never snapped at Logan like that before. 

You took a deep breath and reached down to slip off your shoes, leaving you barefoot on the concrete. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to the rest of them,” but why are you guys here?”

“You left without saying anything, we couldn’t find you and we wanted to be sure you were safe,” Ororo sighed, hugging you in relief, “we’re so glad you’re okay.” 

You hugged her back.

“I just - I wanted to disappear for a while,” you explained apologetically, avoiding Jean and Scott’s gaze. 

“Do you know how stupid it was to run off and not tell anyone where you were going?” Logan scolded you, but Jean clicked her tongue at him.

“Shut it! Enough from you! You’ve done enough damage control!”

The ride home was almost silent, your tired body slumped in the backseat between Scott and Jean, until Ororo spoke from the front passenger seat.

“Honey, I don’t mean this in a bad way, but,” she paused, thinking over her words, “what were you gonna do to that guy if we hadn’t stopped you?”

You understood what she meant immediately. 

“What, you think I was going to kill him?” you asked, crossing your arms and leaning forward in your seat, “I wasn’t. I don’t do that unless I have to and you know even then I hate doing it.”

“I know…so, what were you doing with a guy like him anyway?” she asked, trying to move on from the question that had clearly made you upset, “he seemed kinda shady.”

Logan was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white, dreading the answer.

You shrugged your shoulders, staring at the synthetic fabric of your pants.

“Liked the attention, I guess,” you answered honestly, kind of hoping you could throw anyone off the idea of you being interested in Logan, “it’s been awhile since a guy has liked me like that.”

“He only wanted one thing from you anyway,” he scoffed from the front seat. Ororo glared at him, about to tell him to mind his business before you stopped her.

“And I can’t want it either?”

That shut everybody up and Ororo turned to him again, a look on her face that said ‘you asked, you got the answer’.

You tried to bolt to your room when you all got home but Logan was quick to follow, catching up with you to stand in your path in the hallway outside of your bedroom. 

“What’s going on with you?”

“Leave me be.”

You tried to dodge around him but he stuck his arm out. 

“Logan.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue speaking.

“Move.”

“I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me what’s going on with you. You don’t disappear like that, ever. And I wanna talk to you about last night - “

“There’s nothing to talk about. Goodnight,” you huffed, ducking under his arm and opening your door.

“I care about you, you know, I was worried,” he began to explain.

You tried to slam the door in his face but he stuck his foot out, jamming his boot between the door and the doorframe. You let go in defeat and turned away, gathering your pajamas as if he wasn’t in the room.

“Yeah? Why?,” you scoffed, trying with everything in you to bite your tongue but failing miserably, “I’m not your type of girl. What’s there to worry about?”

Logan’s face fell. He pushed the door closed behind him. 

“Is that what this is about? That’s why you went out?”

“Why do you care?” 

You still had your back to him, furiously shuffling through clothing in your dresser.

“Stop.” 

You felt his hands on your arms as he came up behind you, paralyzing you in your spot.

You let him turn you around gently, almost chest to chest.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings -“

“I’m not.”

He leaned back a little to force you to look him in the eye.

“I only said that - listen, I only said that because - “ Logan paused, biting his lip till it nearly bled, but you shook your head and slipped by him again.

“Please, don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Logan.”

You sounded so exasperated, tears forming in your eyes when you turned your back to him.

“Fuck,” he sighed, “I only said that because I didn’t want you to like me.”

You wiped the tear that rolled down your cheek and turned back to him, a confused expression on your face.

“It worked, are you happy?”

“No, I’m not - “

“Well, guess it backfired. Get out of my room.”

You were face to face again, keeping your mouth in a tight line so your lip wouldn’t quiver. It felt stupid to cry in front of him, but you couldn’t really help it once it started. 

“Oh, god, please, don’t cry,” he begged, leaning down and actually bringing a hand up to your face to wipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. You wanted to smack it away, tell him again to just get the hell out , but you couldn’t.

“Why would you do that?” You mumbled out quietly, finally letting the overwhelming feeling of sadness cancel out any rage you had for him. You couldn’t look him in the eye again, concentrating on the throw rug you were standing on.

“I’m so sorry, princess, I am. I’m really fucking stupid,” he huffed. 

You were surprised by the softness of his voice and finally tore your eyes from the floor. He’d called you that before, but usually in a teasing way. This time it sounded endearing, like a plea of your name. 

“And what happened there, at the club? ‘She’s not interested’, what was that about?” You continued.

He sighed, still trying to figure out what exactly it was that he wanted to say. He realized there probably wasn’t much of a way to beat around the bush and he groaned, closing his eyes as he stood in front of you to make spilling his guts a little less agonizing.

“I like you - like you a lot, and I was an asshole because I figured if you hated me, you couldn’t like me back and it would save you the trouble.”

Hearing no response, he finally opened his eyes to see you still standing in the same spot, your lips parted.

“Save me the trouble of what?”

You were confused, your eyes narrowed as if you were angry.

“I don’t know…having to deal with me, I guess. I - I’ve never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else and it scares the shit out of me.”

You could hear him swallow hard, his eyes looking everywhere around the room except at you. 

“And earlier, when we picked you up,” he continued, “I acted like that because I was jealous, alright? Can’t stand to see some asshole on you like that, and you were dressed all nice and - I don’t know.”

You’d never heard him sound so nervous in all the time you’d known him.

“You are my type of girl,” he finally choked out, “only type of girl I’d ever want.”

All you could do was inhale sharply, his words echoing in your mind. 

“It’s alright if you hate me, I can’t say I really blame you. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He began to walk out, convinced he’d fucked up beyond repair.

“Logan.”

Your voice stopped his hand from turning your doorknob and he turned back to you. 

No longer crying, you tentatively stepped forward a bit, nervously playing with the front hem of your top. 

“You’re not something to deal with, you know,” you muttered, letting your hair fall in front of your face.

You supposed this was the point where it was your turn to explain.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Logan, probably since the day I walked in here and I just - I think I wanted someone to distract me so I wouldn’t wallow in self pity because you didn’t want me.”

“You were trying to get over me,” he realized aloud, a small smile on his face to hide the hurt, “I deserved that.”

After a moment of tense silence, he spoke again.

“Did it work?”

His voice was low and soft, a tone you’d rarely heard him speak with.

You pursed your lips and finally lifted your head, taking a deep breath. 

“No. I don’t think it was ever going to, either,” you laughed a little, “when that guy asked me to dance, the first thing I thought of was that he didn’t look anything like you.”

Your voice trailed off a little at the end, a little embarrassed to confess that even if Logan had already flat out told you he was interested in you.

Without another word, he came close enough to reach for your hands and gently intertwine your fingers with his. He cleared his throat, nervously chewing his bottom lip before he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

You must have had this dream a million times over, waking up night after night and feeling so empty because none of it was real. But now, with his hands in yours, it was very real.

You eagerly pressed your lips to his, not wanting to waste another second. His lips were soft and you were encompassed in the scent of his body wash and cologne, smelling of pine and cedar wood. You brought your hands up to play with his hair at the back of his head. Logan moved his arms to wrap around your waist, pulling you further into him. 

When you finally pulled away from each other, you were both smiling like idiots.

“We should’ve done that much sooner,” you giggled.

“Agreed.”

His fingers traced small circles on the exposed skin of your back, making you shiver.

He kissed you again, this time with much more intensity. It wasn’t long before your tongues were in each other's mouths and you both had fumbled yourselves over to the end of your bed.

“Wanted you for so long,” he mumbled between kissing your neck and jaw, his hands still sliding up and down your back, “I was so stupid.”

“We both were,” you giggled a little, cut short into a moan when he licked your neck all the way from your collarbone to under your ear.

“L-Logan,” you gasped, unable to hide your blushing face.

He hummed into your neck, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Can I show you how sorry I am? Let me make it up to you.”

His voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you let him pull you onto him to straddle his lap, lost in the feeling of his hands on you.

“Mmm, uh-huh,” you hummed, mouth hung open as he sucked light marks into your neck. 

“You have to use your words, pretty girl,” he brought his head up to rest his forehead against yours. He cupped your jaw tenderly, almost as if you’d disappear if he let go. 

Before you could answer, he moved his hands to drag your hips over his, grunting when he felt the pressure.

“Y-yes, yeah - please,” you choked out between moans, tugging his hair harder every time he pushed and pulled your hips.

“Please what, baby?”

“You - you can make it up to me,” you groaned into his neck. 

He effortlessly lifted you by your thighs and laid you with your back to the bed. You untucked his white t-shirt from his jeans as he crawled over you, desperate to get your hands underneath it. You lightly scratched your nails along his back, making him groan into your ear. He kissed down your neck to the center of your chest, gently slipping his fingers under the hem of your top and around the back. 

“Can I take this off you, baby?”

You were already sitting up before he could finish his sentence, reaching to try and untie the knot at the back of your neck.

“Eager, huh?”, he chuckled, “let me, sweetheart.”

He wrapped his arms around your lower back to tug at the knot, feeling it come loose in his hands. He snaked his hands up to the back of your neck, doing the same to the tied strings there. When it came loose, the only thing holding the piece of fabric to you was his hands at the back of your neck. He let it slip from his fingers, a smirk on his face when it fell completely.

You threw the garment somewhere to the floor and tugged on the collar of his t-shirt, bringing him down with you as laid back again and pressed your lips to his. He pulled back for a moment to yank his shirt off and immediately return his mouth to yours, making his way down to your neck. He brought both his hands to your chest and swept his thumbs over your hard nipples, eventually bringing his lips to them and sucking. 

“Ah - Logan,” you whined, making him smile against your skin.

“I like it when you say my name, pretty girl,” he mumbled, dragging his fingers down your sides and hooking them into the waistband of your pants. He kissed all the way down to your hips, moving himself to lay on his stomach with his head between your thighs. 

Before he could ask you if it was alright to rid you of them, you were already unbuttoning your pants and pushing them down your hips and thighs. He took them off the rest of the way for you and you kicked your panties off with them.

He hooked his arms around your thighs to pull you closer, licking his lips and resting his cheek on the inside of your thigh.

“I thought about you a lot, you know - like this,” he huffed, his warm breath fanning over your pussy.

You had your hands in his hair already, swiping fallen strands of hair out of his face.

“I thought about you like this, too,” you admitted, sighing as he started to plant kisses right above where you wanted him the most.

“Yeah?”

His teasing voice brought goosebumps to your skin and you nodded, gasping when you finally felt his lips graze your clit.

“This what you think about when you fuck yourself?” He mumbled into you, the vibration of his voice making you tighten your grip in his hair. He growled like an animal, trying to push you even further into his mouth by the grip on your thighs.

You were trying to choke out an answer, distracted by the wet sounds of him messily eating you out.

“Y - ah, yes, yeah - not as good as the real thing, though.”

He laughed with his mouth still attached to you and you tightened your thighs around his head, keeping him in place.

He could have spent hours with his mouth to your cunt, practically fucking you with his tongue while you whined his name. 

A knock on your door sounded through the room, the both of you freezing in place.

“Hey, I just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling okay?”

It was Scott.

 You grimaced, thankful at the very least that your door was locked, but Logan had a terribly smug smirk on his face. 

“Y-yeah, I’m alright, just - just tired,” you managed to choke out, stuttering when you felt two of his fingers slip into you effortlessly.

“You sure?”

You sighed, hating and loving Logan at the same time for what he was doing. 

“Yup, th-thank you, m’ jus’ gonna go to bed.”

Scott responded with a goodnight and you groaned in relief when you heard him walk away.

Logan was curling his fingers inside of you, still lapping at your pussy and letting you use your grip on his hair to angle his head however you wanted him. You felt the pressure in your lower stomach rise and you tried to warn him, tugging on the hair on the back of his head.

“Logan, I’m - “

“C’mon, pretty girl, c’mon.”

His encouragement sent you over the edge, euphoria blooming from your lower stomach and spreading through you. You had to cover your mouth to muffle your pornographic moans, but Logan reached up to tug your wrist.

“Uh-uh, wanna hear you, beautiful,” he mumbled into you, practically pushing your thighs even further around his head.

“Fuck, L-Logan, too - too sensitive,” you stuttered out, trying to pull his face away by his hair and failing miserably because of his grip around your thighs.

He eventually reluctantly detached himself and crawled back on top of you, sucking the taste of you off his fingers. 

“I could do that for hours, you know, if you let me,” he groaned, pulling your hips up to him so you could feel the weight of his hard cock underneath his jeans.

Still sensitive, you reactively gripped his biceps and dug your fingernails into his skin. You were going to apologize and were quickly cut off by the guttural moan he let out into the side of your neck.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rocking his hips against yours.

“You’re into pain, huh?” 

You figured it was your turn to tease him, dragging your fingernails from his shoulders all the way down his back.

“You’re gonna pay for that, pretty girl,” he grunted, moving quickly to undo his belt and strip himself of the rest of his clothing. 

When his cock sprung up and hit his stomach as he took off his boxers, you swallowed hard; already feeling a wanting ache in your stomach again. You figured he was big - he was already a tall guy, after all - but he was far bigger than any guy you’d ever seen. Logan noticed the way you bit your lower lip, resting himself on top of you again and bringing his thumb up to pull your lip from under your teeth.

“What, are you nervous? It’s alright sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

His voice was so soft and gentle, a tone you rarely ever heard from him. 

You could feel the weight of his cock against your inner thigh, heavy and already leaking. 

“ ‘m not nervous, I want you, please,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist. You reached your hand between your bodies to line him up with your entrance, trying to push him in with your legs around his waist. 

“You sure?” he huffed, trying with every muscle in his body to not slam into you in one thrust. 

You nodded eagerly, scratching at his lower back. 

Logan couldn’t help himself and gave in, slipping himself into you.

“So tight,” he groaned into your neck, pushing himself in even further.

“You - fuck - you’re so fucking big,” you admitted truthfully, nearly drooling at the feeling of him stretching you out. 

“Feels good?”

It was hard for him to speak when you were so wet that he was nearly slipping out of you as he gently rocked his hips back and forth, trying to be gentle and let you adjust to his size. 

“Mm - uh-uh,” you hummed, gasping each time he pushed further.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he huffed and you groaned, digging your nails into him. 

“Y-yes, yeah - want you all the way in,” you whimpered.

That was all it took for him to be buried in you, grinding his hips into yours so that you were pinned to the mattress. 

He worked up to a devastating pace, practically slamming your headboard into the wall.

“S-someone’s gonna - someone’s gonna hear us,” you managed to gasp out, out of breath every time he filled you and pulled back again. 

“Don’t care, let ‘em,” he pressed his forehead to yours, bringing a hand up to your face to affectionately cup your cheek. It was so sweet and almost disgustingly hot, the caring gesture contrasting the intense feeling of him repeatedly slamming into the sensitive spot inside of you. 

He really didn’t have a care in the world about who heard you both, far too lost in the feeling of finally being able to have you under him like that. You had sweat soaked strands of hair stuck to your face, your eyes squeezed shut, and he was almost sure you’d never looked more beautiful. 

“So fucking pretty,” he huffed, his thumb swiping your bottom lip. He had an idea, one he’d considered many times when he thought of you under him like this.

“Bite me.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, threading your hand through his hair, “are you sure?”

“Please.”

You forcibly unsheathed your fangs, letting them tentatively poke at his thumb that was still to your lips.

He moved his hand to your throat, resting it there without tightening his grip. 

“Please.”

His pleading had the heat in your lower stomach rising and you obliged, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. You felt guilty - you didn’t enjoy hurting people - until he was whimpering in your ear, moaning your name over and over again. 

You bit his neck, his shoulders, his lip - all the small puncture wounds healing themselves within seconds. 

Having him so pussy drunk and groaning praises into your ear brought the pressure in your lower stomach to a max and you cried out his name, letting him fuck you through your second orgasm. 

“ ‘s good, huh, princess? Come on me, c’mon,” he was begging, feeling your muscles tense around him. That drove him over the edge, his hips rutting into you and his thrusts becoming sloppy. He finally let himself go, filling you and letting it drip from you onto the sheets. He pulled back a little to see the mess you had both made, your inner thighs painted with a mix of his release and yours. He went to pull out completely and you clamped your thighs around his hips again, keeping him still.

“Want me to stay?”

“Mhm - please.”

The sexual tension was replaced with loving comfort, Logan keeping you to his chest as he laid you both on your side. His chin rested on the top of your head and your face was against his chest with your eyes closed. You smiled at the thump of his heartbeat in your ear, nearly letting it put you to sleep. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he mumbled into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head, “you know I love you?”

The last three words made your eyes shoot open and you looked up at him, worried you’d misheard him or maybe he was just messing with you.

“Really?”

“Of course. You think I would’ve done that with you if I wasn’t in love?”

You thought hard for a second, realizing he was right. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had hookups before, but it had been quite a long time since he’d bothered to even get to know someone like that. He wasn’t the type to lead you on, either - always up front with you, even if he didn’t have to be. 

“I love you too,” you answered, unable to hide the wide smile on your face.

“I should’ve told you much sooner,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as you snuggled into him again.

Before you could both fall asleep from exhaustion, he yanked the comforter over the both of you, hearing you mumble sleepily.

“You can make it up to me some more.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

A/N: If you made it to the end I love you <3 pls lmk what you think and reblog+like if you enjoyed!! also still navigating how to write smut without using cringe terminology so forgive me if that part sucks