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deliciousangelfestival · 21 hours ago

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Let's Play Pretend - 9 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , Part 9 , -

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By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Suddenly, the lights flickered—and died. Darkness swallowed the room in an instant.

A brief silence followed, thick and uneasy. Then came the sharp clicks of safety mechanisms disengaging as Mr. Vert’s bodyguards sprang into alert mode, spreading out and positioning themselves near the entrances and windows.

You heard a voice crackle through the security system speaker: “It’s just a short circuit. Should be back in a moment.” “Got it,” one of the guards responded curtly.

Mr. Vert stood calmly, but he caught the way you shifted nervously, your body tense and rigid. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying not to shake—but the darkness made your skin crawl. It reminded you too much of a childhood you buried deep, nights alone, terrified, unable to scream.

Nobody knew that part of you.

But Mr. Vert noticed. His sharp eyes didn’t miss how your breath caught or how you trembled like a drenched puppy in winter. He stepped slightly closer. “We’ll be alright,” he said, voice low but firm.

That’s when it happened.

A grunt—a thud.

Something dropped outside, in the garden below the window.

You turned toward the sound instinctively, peering through the shadows. At first, it looked like nothing but trees and shrubs swaying in the breeze.

Then, your blood ran cold.

Between the branches, barely lit by the emergency backlight from the hallway, you saw it—a figure, standing still, face covered with a balaclava patterned like a skull.

And it was staring straight at you.

“ARGHHH!” you shrieked, stumbling backward in horror.

Chaos erupted.

Mr. Vert immediately stepped in front of you, shielding your body with his. His composure faltered slightly as he tried to make sense of the figure outside. “What the hell—”

More shadows moved outside.

More masked figures—silent, swift—slipped into view like phantoms. One by one, they emerged. Two, three… five… ten… fifteen.

“Uhm…” you whispered, voice shaking, “I guess we’re fucked.”

Vert squinted toward the window. “They’re smaller than my guards. Piece of cake—my men can handle this.” But doubt was beginning to creep into his voice.

He turned to his security team. “What the fuck are you doing?! I’m not paying you to stand there— FIGHT THEM!”

The guards surged into action, but the battle quickly turned grim. The intruders wore night-vision goggles, cutting through the darkness with ease. They moved like trained shadows—silent, coordinated, lethal. The guards fought back, but it was clear they were outmatched and overwhelmed.

Vert’s bravado faded as he watched his elite team struggle. “Who sent you?!” he barked toward the intruders, trying to make sense of the ambush. He had enemies, sure—but this was something else. Something more focused.

Then he noticed it.

One of the masked figures seemed to hesitate the moment his eyes flicked to you.

Mr. Vert’s expression hardened. He reached out and grabbed your arm—not gently.

“Shit,” he muttered, realization dawning in his eyes. “They’re not here for me.”

“Boss…” your voice was small, scared, and uncertain. The grip on your arm hurt, but that wasn’t what scared you the most. It was the way those masked eyes locked onto you like you were the target. The prize.

And the nightmare was just beginning.

Vert didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed your wrist firmly, pulling you behind him as the sounds of chaos exploded in the background. The guards clashed with the intruders—shouts, grunts, and the thud of bodies echoed off the walls.

“Come on!” Vert barked, dragging you through the hallway.

You stumbled slightly as he led you down the corridor to his study. He reached the bookshelf, scanned quickly, and yanked a specific hardcover off the shelf. With a soft click, a hidden mechanism whirred to life. The shelf slid aside, revealing a narrow metallic lift tucked behind the wall.

“This goes straight to my garage,” Vert said in a rush. “Had it built in case I ever needed to disappear from my own parties.”

He shoved the key fob into his pocket and guided you inside the hidden lift. The doors closed with a hiss, and a soft hum vibrated beneath your feet as the lift descended.

Neither of you spoke. You clutched your chest, feeling your heart hammering so hard you thought it might burst. Vert tapped his foot anxiously, gripping the car remote like it was a lifeline.

A chime announced your arrival at the garage. As the doors slid open, the sleek silver sports car parked directly ahead blinked twice in response to the remote. The soft glow of headlights cut through the dim underground space.

Both of you rushed to the vehicle. He opened the passenger door for you before sliding into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared to life.

Tires squealed as he accelerated out of the hidden exit ramp and onto the quiet city road. You both looked back at the building—dark, distant, and now crawling with shadows. Your chest still rose and fell rapidly, breath shallow, adrenaline flooding your bloodstream.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Only the sound of the tires on asphalt and the low hum of the engine filled the silence.

Until Vert finally murmured to himself, barely above a whisper, “Was it... the lunatic group?”

You turned to him slowly, still shaking. “Who?”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “It started a year ago. We received a threatening message. It looked like a ransom letter… letters cut from magazines and newspapers.”

Your brows furrowed. Fear crept into your voice. “What do you mean we?”

He took a breath. “It was me… your manager, and your ex-fiancé.”

Your blood ran cold.

“What?” Your voice cracked.

“Why didn’t you tell me? What did the letter say?”

Vert glanced at you, guilt flickering in his eyes before focusing back on the road. “Because it was about you.”

Your mind reeled, thoughts spiraling.

Why had no one told you? Why had they kept something this serious hidden?

Vert continued, “The letter said things like ‘You deserve better,’ and ‘None of us understands you.’ At first, we thought it was just another obsessed fan. Happens all the time. But this one… this one felt different. It left us all with this... sick, unsettled feeling.”

You swallowed hard. “Do you think this lunatic is the reason why Dolly and Jack died?”

There was a long silence.

Then Vert answered, voice low, almost reluctant. “It could be.”

Before you could respond, the car jolted sharply to the left, swerving violently toward another vehicle in the next lane.

“KYAA!” You screamed, gripping the door handle with both hands.

“What the hell?!” Vert wrestled the steering wheel, trying to steady the car.

“Boss?!”

He stared at the controls, horror dawning in his face. “The car… it's moving by itself!”

“What?”

“I’m not touching anything!” he shouted.

The vehicle suddenly accelerated, the speedometer climbing rapidly.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Did someone hack the car?!”

“I… I guess!” Vert’s voice pitched in panic. “But I’ve only ever seen this crap in movies!”

The car sped faster, weaving between lanes. You could barely process what was happening—your heart was in your throat, your pulse racing.

Then your phone lit up.

A call.

From the one person you needed most.

Bucky.

You grabbed the phone and answered with shaking hands.

“BUCKY!” you screamed.

His voice came through, calm but urgent. “Where are you?”

“The car—It’s not stopping! Vert says it’s been hacked or something

“What’s going on? I see your location moving—like you’re in a car.” Bucky’s voice crackled through your phone, calm but laced with urgency. Unbeknownst to you, he had placed a tracker on your phone for safety—just in case. He had been on his way to Vert’s condo when he saw your GPS signal suddenly shoot off down the highway.

Now, he was chasing you.

“I am in a car, Bucky! But it’s not what you think—we got kidnapped by the damn car! It’s driving itself! Just trust me!” you shouted, barely able to steady your voice over the roar of the engine and the rush of panic pounding in your chest.

Bucky floored the gas, weaving through traffic. The city lights blurred past him. His eyes flicked between his phone and the road, heart thundering as he tried to keep up. “Can you open the door?”

You looked at the door handle and yanked it hard. Nothing. “No! I already tried kicking the window too—it’s hard as rock!” you cried out, frustration and fear seeping into your voice.

Vert cursed beside you, gripping the dashboard. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have asked for the car to be customized with reinforced windows.”

Bucky overheard that through your speaker. “Alright, listen—just stay still. The car’s moving on its own, and we don’t know if it’s heading into a trap, the river, or a wall. All we want is for it to stop.”

“Not helping, Bucky!” you snapped, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I’ll do my best to follow you,” he said, pushing his car past the speed limit. His jaw was tight, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. If he could fly, he’d tear the roof off your car and pull you out himself. But right now, your runaway vehicle was far ahead—getting faster.

Still, maybe this wasn’t just a kidnapping.

Maybe the car was taking you to the source. To the one responsible.

That thought chilled him even more.

You clutched your phone, voice barely above a whisper now. “Bucky… promise you’ll find me?”

“I will.” His voice was firm, unwavering.

“Me too, right?” Vert added from the driver’s seat, still gripping the steering wheel even though it didn’t do a thing.

“Yup,” Bucky replied, with far less conviction.

Your car sped on, weaving past cities and streetlights until eventually, you left civilization behind. Forest replaced buildings. The world grew darker, quieter—until finally, the car slowed.

Then stopped.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

You both stared out the windows. A dimly lit cabin stood ahead, surrounded by towering pine trees. The headlights revealed chipped paint, overgrown weeds, and broken fence posts—a house straight out of a horror movie.

Lurking in the shadows outside were figures—at least five of them—each wearing the same balaclava with a skull pattern. Silent. Motionless. Watching.

You froze, gripped by sheer dread.

Vert whispered, “I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather stay in the car.”

“Same,” you muttered, feeling your hands shake.

The doors clicked.

Opened by themselves.

The cold night air rushed in like an uninvited guest.

“Now what?” you whispered, heart pounding.

Before either of you could react, two masked figures yanked open Vert’s door and dragged him out by force. He kicked and shouted, but they overpowered him easily.

You screamed and tried to fight back when hands reached for you—but strangely, they didn’t pull you. They just stood there, watching, waiting for you to step out on your own.

Your breath trembled. Why weren’t they dragging you out too?

The tension snapped as one of them reached inside again—more forcefully this time.

Then the two of you were pushed toward the cabin’s porch. The wooden planks creaked underfoot. One figure opened the door.

You stepped into the dim interior.

Warm light flickered from a fire burning in the hearth. Shadows danced across the log walls.

Then you saw her.

A figure standing alone by the fireplace.

Her posture relaxed, but there was something off. Calculated. Like a predator toying with its prey.

She turned slowly to face you.

And in that moment, your breath caught.

Because you knew that face.

"Selena?" you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. Disbelief gripped your chest like a vice.

Selena smiled sweetly, as if nothing was wrong, as if you weren’t just kidnapped by a car and brought to a cult-like hideout in the woods. Her eyes sparkled with an eerie kind of joy—delicate, deranged.

"You must be thirsty from the long ride," she said softly, almost motherly. She turned to one of the skull-masked figures beside her and gestured. "Give her some water."

In less than a second, a glass of water appeared on the small wooden table in front of you—crystal clear, with a tiny pink umbrella floating on top. Your stomach turned. You couldn’t even lift your hand to touch it.

Seeing your hesitation, Selena’s expression hardened just slightly. "Put it down," she instructed flatly. The masked figure obeyed, retreating without a word.

She sat across from you, hands folded on her lap, smiling gently again. "I know you're scared. I know this is all a shock," she said softly. "But I did this for you. You deserve the best."

You stared at her, heart pounding. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Before she could answer, Vert scoffed loudly from the corner. His arms were crossed, his posture tense. "This is the best? You kidnapped us in a damn self-driving death trap."

Selena didn’t even blink. She turned her head toward him slowly, then back to you. "They don't understand. But I do. All of this... this house, the followers, the silence, the protection... it's for you." Her eyes welled with twisted emotion. "So you can stay. Forever."

Your heart dropped.

"What... followers?" you whispered.

She looked at the masked figures standing like statues along the wall. "Them. All of them. Your fans. Our fans." Her voice grew breathy, almost romantic. "I built this for us. A safe place where no one can hurt you again. Where no one can take you away from me."

Your blood ran cold.

This wasn’t a hideout.

This was a cult.

A cult of your own fans.

"You’re fucking insane!" you suddenly screamed, trembling with fury and horror. "You're the reason Dolly and Jack are dead!"

Selena leaned in, gently wiping the tear that had escaped down your cheek. Her thumb lingered far too long. "Shhh... it’ll be alright. You’ll see."

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted outside.

"There’s an attack!" someone shouted.

Selena immediately stood up, eyes wide. "Is it him?"

Your heart leapt into your throat.

"Bucky..." you whispered, hope cracking through your fear like sunlight through storm clouds.

Selena laughed, short and sharp. "He’s totally outnumbered. He wouldn’t dare hurt civilians."

"Civilians?" Vert barked, incredulous. "You kidnapped us!"

You rose to your feet, stepping forward. "You don’t know him."

Selena turned to you slowly, her voice trembling. "What?"

You looked her dead in the eyes, your voice like steel. "Just like you don’t know me at all."

The words struck like a dagger. Selena flinched, blinking rapidly. Something inside her shifted—her smile cracked.

She felt it.

You were no longer hers.

She couldn’t reach you anymore.

Outside, chaos exploded. Screams pierced the air.

"Aargh!" "Someone’s shooting!" "My leg!" "RUN!"

Selena spun around, panic setting in as the masked figures—the loyal fans she thought would protect you, worship you—began to scatter. Some ran into the woods, others threw off their masks in fear, no longer committed to the cause.

She hadn't expected this.

She hadn't expected him.

She hadn’t expected you to hate her.

And now, her world was collapsing around her.

Suddenly, everything went still.

The screaming stopped. The gunfire ceased. Only the distant crackle of firewood and the faint rustling of wind outside remained.

Then the front door creaked open.

Bucky stepped inside, his presence dominating the room. The low hum of tension followed him like a shadow. He held a sniper rifle casually in his hands, as if it weighed nothing, his finger resting near the trigger.

His sharp eyes scanned the room until they locked onto Selena.

A small, cold smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Hello, Stanley,” he said darkly.

The name struck like lightning.

Selena’s face twitched. Her pupils dilated with sudden rage. "Shut up!" she screamed, voice cracking, feral. She lunged forward, grabbing a knife from the table, the blade flashing under the dim cabin light.

But she didn’t make it far.

Bucky moved in a blur. With a single strike of his arm, he sent her flying across the room. Her body slammed against the log wall with a sickening thud.

“Urgh!” she groaned, crumpling to the floor.

Within seconds, the police stormed in through the broken windows and open door, weapons raised. The masked followers were tackled, cuffed, and dragged out into the night one by one. Screams returned—only now, they belonged to the cult.

You and Vert were quickly pulled outside by officers and examined by paramedics. Emergency lights painted the woods in flashing red and blue, sirens wailing in the distance.

Wrapped in a foil blanket, you sat on the back of an ambulance, trembling.

Bucky approached silently, his rifle slung over his back now, eyes locked on you.

You looked up at him, voice weak. “You kept your promise.”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he crouched down and gently tightened the blanket around your shoulders. His touch was careful, like he was afraid you’d break. You were still shaking.

Then, his eyes flicked toward a squad car, where Steve was slamming the door shut on a handcuffed figure.

His voice dropped low. “You want me to kill him?”

You blinked, confused. “Him?”

Bucky nodded toward the squad car. “Selena’s real name is Stanley.”

You and Vert turned at the same time.

“What?” you both gasped.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “He pretended to be a woman so he could get close to you. Your company only allows female managers and assistants to work with female talents—he exploited that.”

Vert exhaled sharply, nodding. “That’s the policy. It’s for safety, for comfort. No male staff allowed around our female artists unless authorized.”

You stared blankly. The information hit you like a brick wall.

Selena—Stanley—was a man? And he’d been so close to you all this time? Dressing you backstage, holding your hand during panic attacks, whispering encouragement…

Your skin crawled.

Your breath hitched.

You couldn’t get enough air.

The paramedic turned urgently toward his partner. “She’s having a panic attack!”

Everything became noise. Too loud. Too bright. Too fast.

“We need to get her to the hospital now.”

They tried to lift you from the bumper of the ambulance, but something stopped them.

You were clutching tightly to Bucky’s jacket, knuckles white.

Tears streamed down your face as you gasped, “Stay with me.”

He looked down at you, voice steady, calm, grounding.

“After what you’ve been through…” he said, gripping your hand gently, “…I won’t leave you.”

And he meant it.

As chaos swirled around you—sirens, shouting, arrests—Bucky stayed by your side.

And this time, you knew you were safe. The nightmare is over.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of machines and the occasional murmur from the staff. Bucky stood just outside, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on the door to your room. Even though the doctor was with you, he couldn’t take his gaze off you for a second. The tension in his posture, the way his jaw tightened every time the door shifted, showed how much he was guarding you—even from a distance.

Vert stood beside him, his feet shuffling in the sterile hallway, his voice breaking the silence. “You only see her, and even leaving me behind.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered briefly to Vert, his voice flat and without empathy. “You’re still able to walk and breathe, so you’re fine.”

Vert snorted softly, leaning against the wall with a deep sigh. “Son, I want to enjoy my old life. I don’t want to die because of a fanatic cult.”

Bucky flinched at the word son. It struck him unexpectedly, as if something had just rattled loose inside him. He swallowed the discomfort, his gaze hardening, still focused on the door.

Vert, undeterred, added with sincerity, “But I owe my life to you. If you hadn’t saved us, I’d probably be in the sea right now.” He trembled as he recalled what had happened today, the near-death experiences, the fear. “Is there anything you want? I’ll give you anything.”

Bucky remained silent for a long moment, his eyes still on you, his thoughts far from this conversation. Finally, he spoke, his voice low, steady. “There’s something I want. And you have to keep your promise.”

Vert looked at him, his expression softening, still unsure. “Anything.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver. “Make her retire from music.”

Vert’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, processing the request. There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke, his voice quiet but resolute. “I understand.” He paused, glancing at the door where you were. “But I’ll ask her first. Music is her life. If she wants to quit, I’ll accept it. But it has to be her decision.”

Bucky nodded once, as though that was the only answer he needed.

But Vert seemed hesitant now, his gaze lingering on Bucky. Bucky, ever observant, noticed the hesitation in his stance—the way Vert fidgeted with his hands, the way his eyes flickered nervously to the side.

Bucky narrowed his eyes and asked, “What?”

Vert looked conflicted, as if the words he was about to say carried weight, more than he had anticipated. “I know I’m asking too much,” he started, his voice trailing off. “But I’ll pay for it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Huh?” His confusion was clear.

Vert took a deep breath, his face wrinkled with unease. He didn’t want to ask, but something seemed to push him forward. “I just need a strand of your hair.”

Note : The next update will be the last chapter 😊

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seoulmatez · 3 days ago

Text

𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓌𝓁

boothill happens upon your conversation with a friend back home — a conversation that leaves you considering what exactly you're meant to do with these feelings of yours.

• boothill x f!reader ﾉ 2k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ non-sexual partial nudity ﾉ light teasing ﾉ petnames (darlin')

previous part ♡ masterlist ♡ next part

It’s late—you know so because the sky has turned to a deep navy. You can hear the crickets chirping through the open window, feel the cool night breeze whisper against your skin. Beyond those telling signs, your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. They’re screaming at you to close them but you know that if you do, you’ll fall asleep in a second. You can’t do that now, not when you’re on the phone giving your weekly update to your friend back home.

“So,” her voice crackles over the line, “how are things in farmville?”

You snort at Meg’s nickname for the little town you’ve come to know as a second home. As much as she pokes fun at the idea of having a ranch to run away to, she’s been supportive of your decision to retreat here for solace. She keeps you in the loop when it comes to the drama unfolding in the office and listens attentively when you tell her what you’re up to on the farm.

You have a feeling she might be offended that you didn’t tell her this bit sooner.

“Fine.” You draw the word out, rolling onto your other side on the couch as if repositioning will give you enough time to stall. Despite not being able to see her face, you imagine that the woman is wearing an expression that says something along the lines of I know you’re hiding something. Even through the phone, she can see through you. “I might have gotten a concussion a few days ago.”

She gasps and you can hear her slap her hand over her mouth. You’re sure if she could, she’d reach through the phone and shake you by the shoulders before thinking better of it and rushing out a string of apologies. Though, she can’t, so she settles on questioning you instead. “What happened? Are you okay? Why the hell are you just now telling me?”

You relay the series of events to her—how it happened, boothill finding you, your visit to the doctor, and boothill playing nurse since then. Her worry seems to dissipate as you explain and by the time you’re done, she’s laughing.

“What are you giggling about?” you ask her, but a little part of you already knows. Boothill’s name always seems to make its way into your conversations and since the start of these weekly calls, Meg has held onto the belief that you’re harboring a crush on the farmhand. You brush her off every time she suggests that you like him but like a leech, the thought always latches on and lingers.

“Probably hard to deny your feelings now, huh?” You can hear the smile in her voice. You pucker your lips in annoyance. You didn’t think telling her about the way Boothill makes you feel would result in Meg throwing it back in your face at any given moment. Though, you suppose you can’t be surprised. She’s frustrated that you’ll admit those feelings to her and not him, that you won’t act on them. “He’s already taking care of you like you’re his girlfriend—how romantic!”

“It’s not romantic,” you tell her, shaking your head, “he’d do that for anyone.”

“Even better!” Meg squeals. The shrill sound makes you pull the phone away from your ear and you only return it to its former position when the woman lowers her voice. “If he’s like that with everyone, that means he isn’t trying to impress you. He’s just a compassionate, caring guy who happens to have a thing for you.”

You chew on your cheek as you contemplate her words. You’ve never doubted that he’s a good guy—you’ve seen too many instances of his big heart in action to think otherwise, though, the part about Boothill having a “thing” for you is a bit harder to believe. Sure, he’s called you pretty numerous times, unintentionally held your hands on a couple of occasions, but that means nothing, at least when it comes to whatever feelings he might have for you. You’ve convinced yourself that most of the things he does that make your heart flutter or your cheeks burn are simply to get a reaction out of you—a little embarrassment for the sake of his entertainment.

“Ugh, when are you going to be brave and spill your guts to him?” Meg’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Never! I’m not telling him anything.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath to ground yourself. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here and, more importantly, I have no idea if he even likes me.”

“And you’ll never find out if you keep running away.”

You’re about to tell her that you aren’t running away or avoiding anything but you press your lips together before the words can hit the air. Because you have been—you can recall a number of times you have in the past and you’re even thinking about it now, leaving without coming to terms with your feelings or figuring out if Boothill reciprocates them.

“I’m not—” Not running away? Not going to tell him? Not ready to tell him? You huff out a sigh, one that’s a mixture of frustration and confusion. “Not now, Meg.”

“That’s fine,” she assures you, her voice soft. “I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I know.” You nod even though she can’t see you.

She’s right. You’ll regret it if you don’t say anything, if you go home without facing your feelings head-on. The what ifs and what could have beens will follow you there, mercilessly haunting your mind.

“It’s getting late,” you tell Meg, “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Sure,” she hums. There’s a brief pause like she wants to say more but she settles on, “Good night.”

“G’night.” You pull your phone away to end the call and toss the device on the other end of the couch. You should go upstairs and get in bed like you planned to but all these thoughts so fresh in your head make you feel like falling asleep won’t come easy tonight. Slumping against the arm on the couch, you let out a groan, one quiet enough to not wake your grandpa and Boothill upstairs but loud enough to grant you the slightest bit of relief.

Though, the sound is cut off by another. It comes from the kitchen and you sit up to peer over the back of the couch to see if you’re hearing things—you’d prefer it that way. Your fantasy comes to an end when you see Boothill standing at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and closing the door once he’s finished.

He meets your gaze and shoots you a smile before uncapping the water and taking a few gulps. It’s strange seeing him at this hour; he usually sleeps early so he can wake up with the sun. You rarely ever see him wearing anything but his jeans and his top of choice but the look is traded in for pajamas now—if you can call nothing but a pair of boxers pajamas.

You gasp at the sight and turn around. He just wanders around the house half-naked? Carelessly risks running into you while wearing nothing but his underwear? You might not have heard him but he certainly must have seen you stretched out on the couch or at the very least heard you talking to Meg on the phone.

The call.

You quickly turn around to face him once more.

“How long have you been there?” The question comes out rushed but you’re frantic to know if he was around to hear you talking about him.

He shrugs and swallows, setting his bottle on the counter before leaning against it. “I don’t know. Long enough to hear you’re having some boy troubles.”

The confession makes your heart jump into your throat. You choose not to expand on it, instead reprimanding him for eavesdropping. “It’s rude to listen in on conversations you aren’t part of.”

“My apologies.” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I just didn’t wanna interrupt.”

You stare him down in an attempt to read his expression and the look in his eyes. His perpetual smile is in place like usual but nothing else about his countenance seems knowing. He’s either very good at hiding it or he didn’t pick up on the fact that he was the one you were talking about.

“Want some advice?” Boothill speaks up, tilting his head in a question of its own.

You look at him for a second before a laugh bubbles up from your chest, permeating the air. Boothill’s smile slowly falls and that’s the last you see of him before turning your back to him. It seems a little more polite to laugh at him if it isn’t in his face.

He doesn’t stay at his place in the kitchen, feet carrying him to the back of the couch. You’re still giggling when he gets there. He’s never heard you laugh like this before—not at anything he’s said or done. As captivated as he is by the sound, he’s a touch more curious as to what brought it about. A cushion in between you, he leans over the back of the couch to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry.” You try to clear the humor from your voice but it lingers with your explanation. You turn your head to look boothill in the eye. “It’s just—what do you know about problems of the male variety?”

“Hello?” He straightens up and gestures to himself and it’s only then that you remember how…undressed he is. That’s enough to sober you up from your humor. “You’re looking at a man, sweetheart.”

You don’t need him to tell you that—you’re more than aware of that. You just meant that he doesn’t seem like the type to help people out of romantic hardships, rather, he’s the one who causes them. Strangely enough, though, you consider hearing his perspective. After all, he is the subject of your “boy troubles” as Boothill called them.

“So, how about it?” He rounds the couch and plops down on it beside you, leaving a safe amount of space between the two of you. You hold his gaze, light gray irises glowing like stars in the darkness of the living room. “Wanna hear my opinion?”

Your heart rate quickens and you can’t tell why. Because he’s this close to you and practically naked? Because those gray eyes are boring into you, urging you to hear him out? Because his advice could be the courage you need to admit your feelings or the very deterrent to keep you from doing so?

Maybe you aren’t quite brave enough to spill your guts yet but it’s time for you to stop being so scared of the what ifs. “Okay, go for it.”

That seems to be the answer boothill was looking for, if his growing smile is any evidence. He doesn’t waste any time sharing his insight. “I say throw caution to the wind, tell him how you feel. And if he doesn’t feel the same way, well then, that’s his loss. Because you, darlin’, are a catch. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

You know Boothill isn’t one to sugarcoat his words. Every word he says, he means. Is that the case here, too? Any man would be lucky to have you—would he feel the same if that man was him?

“I'm headin’ to bed.” He groans as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head, mouth falling open in a yawn. You watch him silently, pondering his words. He doesn’t comment on your silence, doesn’t bother to tease you about your staring. All he does is offer you a wink before telling you, “Sweet dreams.”

Just as quietly as he appeared, he’s gone.

You let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Instead of following Boothill’s lead and going to sleep, you rest your head on the arm of the couch and turn your eyes up to the ceiling. Your heart is still beating wildly against your rib cage but it’s not bad nerves this time around, it’s anticipation.

Courage it is.

sua here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#scribbles ᝰ.ᐟ #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill fluff #hsr fluff #boothill x you #hsr x you #— honkai star rail.

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insomniac4000 · 2 days ago

Text

ChrisMD- Wedding Woes

The problem with being two internet-famous people in love was the internet part.

There was ChrisMD; The Youtuber. Known for football, free kicks, chaos with his mates, and his occasional vulnerable chatty videos about his mental health, and of course his short stature had somehow managed to keep his engagement to Y/N two million subscribers on Tiktok superstar, travel vlogger, and Instagram queen almost entirely under wraps for eight months.

That was a miracle in itself.

They had told their friends in phases: George Clarke first, who accidentally threw a cushion across the room and screamed when Y/N held up the ring during a game night. Then WillNE and Harry Lewis, who immediately began placing bets on who would cry more during the ceremony (odds were on Chris). Reev had cried when he found out. Theo Baker filmed a vlog that never aired where he just talked about how happy he was for them for ten minutes straight.

But they had kept it tight. Incredibly, miraculously tight.

Except now, three weeks away from the wedding, the pressure was mounting and they were both worried about fans catching on. Certain corners of the internet had ears sharper than any dog, eyes sharper than any owl, more cunning than any fox. They knew things, they found out things, they could be relentless. They were watching them. Always. And Y/N was exhausted.

She stood in the kitchen, steaming cup of coffee in her hands as she was deep in thought. She felt Chris’s arms snake gently around her waist from behind, his voice low. “Still thinking about it?”

Y/N didn’t answer for a beat. Then: “It’s like we’re fugitives.”

He chuckled into her shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. I’ve always wanted to be in a spy movie.”

“Chris.”

“I’m serious. We’ve got code names. Secret locations. George almost booked his flight under ‘Mr. Clarksworth’ like he was in Mission Impossible.”

Y/N sighed, leaning back against him. “It’s just not fun anymore. I didn’t think I’d care, but… they don’t know when to stop. I hate hiding. I hate lying.”

Chris turned her around, his expression gentler now. “We’re not lying. We’re just protecting it, protecting us.”

“They think we don’t trust them they’re still our fans.”

“Do you trust seven million strangers with knowing the time and place of our wedding?”

Y/N frowned. “…Fair point.”

Chris pulled her into a hug. “We’re doing the right thing.”

She let herself be wrapped in it for a moment. “I just wanted one thing… one thing that was just ours. But it’s like even when I’m not filming, I’m still being watched.” People often argued as she was a public figure that she wasn’t entitled to any privacy but she disagreed. Just because there were some aspects of her life that she felt comfortable about sharing that didn’t mean her whole life should be an open book.

Chris didn’t argue, in fact he wholeheartedly agreed with her. They only soft launched their relationship after four months because someone found out by studying Instagram backgrounds and recognising they were in the same place, twice. That was all it took. One of the main reasons why they fell in love was because they were on the same page, they understood each other. She knew him beyond free kicks and being short. He knew the Y/N who cried when she was overwhelmed, the one who needed quiet walks with no cameras, the one who didn’t want to feel like her entire life was up for review in the comments.

“Hey,” he said softly. “If it gets worse, we can cut more people. Smaller wedding. We can even just elope. Seriously. I’ll marry you in a shack on the beach if you want.”

Y/N looked up at him, amused despite herself. “A shack.”

“With a dog as a witness.”

“A dog?”

“A goat, then. Whatever Cabo Verde’s got.”

She finally smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me.”

“I do.”

He kissed her forehead, and for a moment, it all melted away.

Despite the tension, the operation was going surprisingly well. Their friends were incredibly supportive; George had filmed three weeks worth of his Podcast in advance, Arthur and Bach announced a season break for a month so no suspicions would be raised there. Will had a plan to set his Instagram location to constantly bounce between London and Madrid to throw people off. Her best friend and fellow content creator had a bunch of grid posts ready, some from the hen which had already taken place in Malta a few weeks before which would hopefully throw people off the scent, but even so the pressure was bubbling.

Two weeks until the big day, Y/N had a proper meltdown.

It was 1 a.m., and they were packing in their bedroom, surrounded by suitcases and crumpled lists. Chris was folding shirts. Y/N was staring at a list of last-minute confirmations from the wedding planner. And then, without warning, she burst into tears.

Chris was beside her in a second. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

“I just…” she sobbed, “I can’t; what if someone leaks it? What if it pisses it down?What if the flowers don’t arrive and the cake melts and I trip walking down the aisle and some idiot with a drone films it and I end up on MailOnline as ‘Influencer Bride FAILS Wedding’?”

Chris bit back a laugh and instead pulled her into a hug. “First of all, you could fall face-first into the cake and I’d still marry you. Second, we’ve got this. Everyone’s been so amazing. We’ve made it this far. And third—what if it’s perfect?”

She sniffled against his chest.

“What if the flowers are beautiful, and the sun sets at the perfect moment, and you walk down the aisle and I’m crying like a mug and everyone’s just... really, truly happy for us. And no one ruins it. Because we didn’t let them. But most of all, it will be perfect because I’m marrying you.”

Y/N pulled back, her eyes glassy. “That was disgustingly sweet.”

“Thank you, I try.”

She exhaled shakily. “I just hate this side of it. The guessing. The pressure. People thinking they’re owed every part of us.”

Chris nodded. “We owe them great content. We don’t owe them this.” He kissed her head, it was her absolute favourite kiss and always calmed her down.

The flight out was like a covert operation

All guests were told to stagger their flights where possible and arrive through different airports. Everyone was instructed not to post until after the wedding.

George, Bach and both Arthur’s arrived together and pretended they were shooting a platform roulette when the recording had actually taken place a few days beforehand. The Sidemen had an airtight excuse; they just posted that JJ and Tobi were in Dubai, a planned diversion. Even Freezy played along, posting photos of him “in Italy” while sipping cocktails on a veranda in Santa Maria.

Y/N and Chris flew separately, Chris going through Frankfurt, Y/N via Lisbon, meeting secretly in a quiet corner of the Cabo Verde airport before being whisked away in a blacked-out van.

“This is insane,” Y/N muttered, laughing despite herself as she flopped into the seat. “Feels like we’re in a spy movie.”

Chris leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Worth it though. Hi I’m Bond. Chris Bond.”

“You’re so corny,” she giggled, he sent her a cheeky grin in return, the type that made her heart melt.

The villa they were staying in the night before was everything they’d dreamed of.

Perched on a cliff with whitewashed walls and bright bougainvillaea, it had gorgeous views of the sea, warm breezes, and an air of tranquil privacy. Local chefs were preparing fresh food. The planner had delivered everything on time. The cake was perfect. The dress was here.

No one had leaked a thing.

The night before the wedding, Y/N stood barefoot on the balcony, her curls bouncing in the breeze. Below, fairy lights twinkled in the garden where guests were laughing over cocktails.

Chris joined her quietly. “Hey.”

She turned, smiling softly. “Hi.”

He reached for her hand. “Tomorrow’s the day.”

“Tomorrow, I’m going to marry you.”

They stood in silence for a while, just holding hands and watching the waves crash.

“I’m glad we did it this way. Despite all the stress. Y/N whispered. “We did it. We really kept it quiet.”

Chris pressed a kiss to her temple. “Tomorrow, we get to celebrate. Not for them. For us.” They toasted glasses of champagne.

The wedding was perfect.

No drones. No paparazzi. No fans screaming. Just laughter, family, friends, elegance, sunlight, and the sound of waves in the background.

Y/N walked down the aisle barefoot, veil trailing in the breeze. Chris’s hands shook as she approached, eyes already glassy. George tried not to cry. Reev failed miserably.

Their vows were quiet, private things. Promises made not for content, not for cameras, but for each other although Chris couldn’t help but add a little joke about the number of subscribers he had.

At the reception, they danced under string lights while the sea sparkled behind them. The food was phenomenal. Harry got too drunk and gave a speech about true love that ended in tears. Liv gave them matching friendship bracelets “to commemorate your ultimate collab.” Becky forced everyone to do a shot, even Chris’s nan, who was a little bit too willing to comply.

No one checked their phones. No one streamed. No one leaked a thing. It would be posted soon, in their own time. When they were ready, maybe after the honeymoon but for now it was their little secret.

#chrismd #chris dixon #chrismd fic #chrismd x reader #chrismd imagine

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squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame · 2 days ago

Note

jiyongs gf surprising him with getting her 🍒 pierced without him knowing!

✨️🍒Cherry Jewels🍒✨️

Character: Gdragon/Jiyong x fem!reader

Summary: Above✨️🍒✨️

Warnings: Mentions of nipples, needles, and boobs, MDNI, also sex

You’re stretched out on his bed, bare skin under one of his oversized white shirts, legs tangled in silk sheets that still carry the faint scent of his cologne. He’s finally coming back from Tokyo after a week-long shoot, and you’ve been buzzing all day—half nerves, half anticipation.

The front door opens. A beat. Then his voice calls out, “Babe?”

“In here,” you say, playing it casual. Even though your heart is thudding like you just ran a marathon.

Jiyong appears at the doorway, wearing a hoodie and sunglasses indoors like the icon he is. When he sees you, stretched and soft in the late afternoon light, he smiles like he’s already won.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, walking over and crawling onto the bed beside you.His lips find yours easily. Hungry. Familiar. He deepens the kiss like he’s got time to make up for. Hands brushing down your sides, the shirt sliding up slightly—He freezes.

Pulls back just an inch. “Wait… what’s this?”

His fingers hover near your chest, where the thin cotton of the shirt doesn’t quite hide the subtle gleam beneath. You bite your lip, your cheeks heating with a thrill you didn’t expect.

“Surprise,” you whisper.

He lifts the hem slowly, reverently. Eyes darkening the moment he sees the silver bars, delicate and gleaming against your skin.

“Baby…” His voice is husky, almost disbelieving. “When did you—?”

“Couple weeks ago,” you grin. “Wanted to surprise you.”

His gaze drags up to meet yours, half-lidded and blown wide. “You really like torturing me, huh?”

You laugh, only for him to lean in and kiss your collarbone—then lower, tongue tracing along the curve of your chest like he’s rediscovering you.

“Remind me to never leave you alone too long again,” he mutters against your skin. “You’re dangerous.”

He lifts his head slowly, lips just barely brushing your newly pierced nipple, and his voice is low—almost a growl.

“God, you look so hot like this. You did this just for me?”

You nod, breath catching. “Well… mostly for me. But yeah. I thought you’d like it.”

“Like it?” He chuckles, dark and dangerous, as he slips the shirt up and over your head, discarding it somewhere behind him. “Babe, I’m obsessed.”

His hands slide along your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make your back arch. He’s drinking in every inch of you like it’s the first time, eyes locked on the metal bars now glinting under his soft bedroom lights.

“You’ve been walking around with these for weeks without me knowing?” he murmurs as he bends down again, lips skimming over the sensitive skin surrounding one of the piercings. “You’re evil.”

The warmth of his tongue sends a jolt straight through you—but it’s the way he does it. Slow. Careful. Torturous. Like he knows how tender you might still be, but can’t resist tasting anyway.

You whimper when his mouth closes around one, his tongue swirling, lips soft but insistent. His hand slips down between your legs, and you’re already wet—obviously.

“Of course you are,” he whispers smugly, feeling it. “You like showing off for me, huh?”

“Only you,” you gasp.

He kisses down your stomach, unhurried, like he’s savoring the process. And when he finally spreads your legs and lowers his mouth, you nearly cry out.

Every flick of his tongue is practiced and precise, and he moans softly into you like he’s the one being touched. When your thighs start shaking, he doesn’t let up—just grips tighter and keeps going, eyes locked on you with worship and hunger all at once.

And later—when he’s finally inside you, hips rolling slow and deep—he keeps his hands on your chest, thumbs brushing over the piercings like they’re his new favorite thing.

“You’re all mine,” he breathes against your mouth, voice shaking a little. “Every part of you.”

And you are—utterly, completely his.

#top bigbang #bigbang #t.o.p bigbang #g dragon #bigbang x reader #daesung #dong youngbae #jiyong #kwon jiyong #gdragon #gdragon x reader #g dragon x reader #ubermensch

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delayeddrabbles · 2 days ago

Text

LAST CALL (obx post s3) request

concept: Rafe is waiting around while Sofia and her male coworker are packing up. Sofia’s coworker is teasing her about Rafe always hanging around, picking her up after work, never leaving the bar to sit elsewhere. Rafe takes the giggling and shoving to be flirting and sulks in the car, mumbling something about how she should be more careful, especially if customers treat her that same way when he’s not around. Sofia is furious, and this forces them to discuss being exclusive.

a/n: I've resurrected my writing blog again. This one-shot is long at about 4k words, and the dividers belong to @omi-resources. possessiveness, jealousy, emotional immaturity, and some toxic behaviour. swearing. sexual references. No smut. proofed by @araybiaaa @lostsyren @cherubfille

Sofia can feel the chill of this lingering distance between them even after all these months. It's in how Rafe always keeps her at arm's length. No closer, no further. He's never fully relaxed. He's never quite affectionate enough. It takes him weeks to even want to sleep and cuddle.

She's a guest in his house, never truly a part of the furniture. He'll play the gracious host, fetching her a towel or making her tea, but it begins to grate on her. The more months roll by, the more uncertain she gets about where they stand.

She knows where he keeps his favourite cereal bowl, his Dyson, and the spare batteries. She could walk the length of his new home blindfolded, but he still seems to see her as something set apart. Something distinct. Foreign. She's not a part of his life but simply passing through. There’s no point getting comfortable. That's why it bothers her so much when he dares to step into hers.

It happens one late spring Saturday evening. Rafe arrives, as always, for the last hour of her shift and slowly nurses a drink at the bar till she's done, pacing himself just enough to get a buzz but still drive them home.

He keeps to himself, shoulders tense, eyes down, ring tapping on the bar. At first, she thought it was simply shyness, but tonight she noticed how he turns his back when old school friends walk by or pretends he's heading out soon when his fellow developers offer a seat at their table. The Kook from his drunken summer afternoons with the boys is nowhere to be seen. Instead, he shrinks, he’s awkward, loitering like a kid waiting for their mom to finish talking so they can leave. A familiar, unnerving twist tangles in her gut.

Not again.

"Trouble in Paradise?" Greg drags her attention away from Rafe and back to stacking chairs.

"Something like that," Sofia murmured as she shook the tension out of her cheeks, relaxed her brows, and pushed herself back into packing up. The sooner she’s done, the sooner Greg can mop. The sooner they’re done, the sooner she could sink into a deep, hot bath in Rafe's beautiful, luxurious tub and shake off this day.

Rafe isn’t Colin. He’s not going to hide you from his friends. There’s nothing to worry about.

"Don't worry," Greg shimmied closer with a boyish grin and glimmering green eyes as his voice dropped to a cheeky whisper. "He's into you."

A bolt of giddy nerves shot through her, and Sofia swiped at him. A giggle tumbled from her lips as her spirits lifted. "Shut up!” Her fingers caught in the edge of his curly dark hair as she shoved that proud smirk away. She covered her hot cheeks as she pointed a warning finger at the younger server. “You know nothing, remember? You pinkie promised me!"

"And I take pinkie promises very seriously." Greg straightens with broad shoulders, a serious, stiff upper lip, and a fake tie he pretends to fix, and Sofia can't help but laugh again. "I'll never tell a soul what I saw until you two are ready for people to know... Doesn't mean I can't have opinions."

Greg had unfortunately been the first victim of Rafe’s unique ability to talk Sofia into reckless behaviour. He'd stumbled in on them during one of the many cocktail parties at the club in the coat closet Sofia had been supposed to be manning. They’d calmed him down and sworn him to secrecy. Rafe had wanted to offer him a Benjamin before Sofia had shot that down.

"What opinions?" Sofia squints at Greg, fighting the blush and grin that threaten to flood her face. It was a relief to finally get to talk about Rafe to someone. To gush and giggle and gossip.

"Well..." Greg fully sets aside the mop now to give the matter his full attention, propping a foot up on the wooden chair between them so he can lean down to her level. " I think you've got him whipped."

"I do not! Look at him. He won't even come and say hi!"

Greg immediately waved at a staring Rafe, who scowled and turned back to his drink.

"Oh, he wants to eavesdrop so bad right now!"

"Don't be mean!" Sofia nudged him again.

"I'm serious! He's here every Saturday like clockwork. Every late shift you have, he picks you up, and he drops you back again. He's always here. Always hanging around. Asking to sit in your section even if it's the shit one under the porch. I’ve even seen him get distracted by you when he's here with those loser friends of his.”

“You notice a lot.”

“I get bored. Point being. He wants you...bad"

"I..." Sofia’s smile slowly fades as she searches the worn boards of the deck for reassurance. His words ring false in her ears. Rafe’s never that open. He’s never that obvious, at least not to her. He’ll pick and choose what he invites her to. He’ll tread so carefully. Something cold and heavy slithers through her belly. "I don't know..." she sighs with a half-hearted shrug and turns back to setting chairs up on the tables so he can clean. A weight settles in on her shoulders and cheeks again. “Maybe you’re right.”

"Well, how long has this thing been going on?"

"Six months… give or take?"

"Then it must be serious."

"Yeah, you'd think that but...I don't know..."

It'd been a strange few months. Rafe had blown into her life like a palm frond in a storm, stumbling, jaunty, and unexpected. The first three months had whisked by before she could even comprehend them.

"It's weird… different..." Sofia couldn't quite put this unshakable dread into words. "He's different."

The sex was fun and hot, and surprisingly easy. Their time together felt natural and calm and bubbling with flirtation, like floating downstream on a hot summer’s day.

This whole thing could easily have just been chalked up to cuffing season and impending winter blues. They could've drifted apart while she was away with family for Christmas, but they didn't. They could've called it quits in the depths of January, and no one would've blamed them, but they hadn't. Before she had really had time to process what had taken root between them, Ward had died, and all socially acceptable exit ramps for her had immediately disappeared.

What were you supposed to do when the-person-you're-sleeping-with's parent dies? Back off? Press closer? Send flowers? How were you supposed to even grieve someone that half the town already believed was dead?

Things had shifted and deepened so sharply and swiftly. She saw him unravel when no one else did. She stayed over more and more. They kept to themselves more and more. That enclosed space, that intense amount of time together, gave her a crash course in Rafe Cameron, and now she felt dangerously close to falling for him completely. She could feel it coming, daunting and inevitable like a king tide slowly approaching. Overpowering and haunting and strangely beautiful. She'd had no chance to run.

He had. Why hadn't he taken it?

"Look..." Greg continued to flit around her as she worked. "Remember when you did that half day on New Year's so you could go to some stupid Kook bullshit on a boat.”

“Yeah

“I was restocking the glasses, and you clocked out and ran to quickly get changed?"

"I remember"

"I caught him staring at your outfit. Openly, Sofia. In public. Way before you even realized. He was all..." Greg dramatically imitated Rafe, playing it up for dramatic effect. First, he was grouchy and sullen and standoffish. Then he pretended Rafe had drooled everywhere at the sight of her and fallen right off his stool, and Greg mimed Rafe getting a semi with a spare rag at his crotch as a tent. The ridiculousness of it caused Sofia to break down into breathless, stomach-aching laughter. "You've got nothing to-"

"Everything all good over here?"

Sofia's heart lurched as she tried to catch her breath. The pair leapt apart, half expecting a lecture from their manager for slacking, only to find Rafe towering over them. White shirt pulled tight by his crossed arms.

How long had he been standing there?

"Ah….” Sofia tried to respond as giggles still tremored in her voice, “Ah yeah..." Rafe was just as stern and disapproving as Steve would’ve been, but he hid his disdain behind that plastic smile and glassy, impenetrable eyes. She could see the white of his knuckles and the taut muscles in his jaw. " We’re good. Totally fine"

Those sharp eyes stayed trained on her as his jaw twitched.

“Good.”

Slowly, he stepped between the two of them and twisted his back to shield her from Greg. The invasion of his personal space forced Greg to retreat. A rather obvious hand slid along the small of the back, and the cool half-empty glass in his hand sent goosebumps up her skin. Sofia was caught between the shiver down her spine and the anger curling in her fists. His free fingers came to rest on her hip as he ducked to press a firm, purposeful kiss on her temple.

"We were just messing around.”

A soft, unconvinced hum vibrates against her side as Rafe shrugs and lifts his glass from her hip and over his shoulder to wave it at Greg. Once Greg takes the glass, Rafe goes straight back to paying him no mind, acting as if his presence here is no longer required. She sees his blue eyes squint to study her, try to catch her in a lie, but there's none to be found.

"We're almost done," she tries again, knowing how immovable and stubborn he can be at the best of times, let alone when he's like...this. "Then we can go"

Rafe mulls it over with a toss of his head and a debating pout before he quickly mutters, “I'll wait in the car," and gives her a curt nod and immediately marches straight for the parking lot.

God, the Camerons had a knack for making you feel like you were the one in the wrong! Like a kid in the principal's office. If he didn't cool off, if he was going to continue to snip and snarl, then that was his problem. She’d find her own way home.

Being free to leave was one of the benefits of being a guest, after all.

Once she'd finished her shift, Sofia found Rafe sitting in the car still, disappointingly, sitting in a juvenile sulking silence. She refused to play along, as he pulled out of the country club drive and sped through the balmy night to his house.

"Did you eat? Manny gave me leftovers?" She offered him a bite, between ravenous mouthfuls of roast vegetables that threatened to tumble over and stain his immaculate leather seats.

He refused.

"Is the ice machine full? My feet are killing me!"

A nod.

"Can we stop to get fruit? I want smoothies in the morning."

He quietly obeyed.

It went on like that until they finally finished their silent shopping and settled back into the car. She finally caved, cursing under her breath before asking. "¿Ya estás?"

Are you done? Are you ready?

If he pretended not to understand her right now, she was getting out and walking home. All the way to the Cut.

She saw him actually consider continuing his silly little game for a moment, and a surge of rage rushed through her. His blue eyes narrowed in the moonlight as he bristled, and the irritation still crackles in the air around him.

"He flirted with you..." he stated as firmly and calmly as he could, but she could still hear the restrained anger rattling on his tongue, "right in front of me...and you let him."

"He wasn't -" Sofia did her best to swallow her indignation. There was no point in having two hot heads in this car.

"I'm not an idiot. He was laughing and...and strutting around! He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knows we're -" Rafe tripped on his own words and straight into the very conversation he'd been avoiding for months.

"We're what, hm?" Sofia swung around on him instantly with tight arms folded across her chest. Rafe's mouth slammed shut. "He did nothing wrong, and you were a dick to him! Shoving your drink in his face like some servant."

"That's his job!"

"No! He's a bus boy who wipes tables and scrubs floors!” Perhaps she wasn’t going to be able to be the calm one this time. “You wanna wave your drink at anyone? Then do it at me. That's what I am. That's my job! Or did you forget who you’re dealing with?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying."

"God, you completely blanked him..."

"He pissed me off!"

"He wasn't even talking to you!"

"Yeah...” He muttered darkly, turning up the AC and tugging at the front of his shirt that no doubt was trapping hot, humid air against his skin. “He was talking to you, and you flirted."

Sofia’s eyes widened as they finally hit that bedrock. His mind was hurtling so quickly she could barely keep up with him, let alone untangle her own messy emotions. "I what?"

"You heard me," he bit back as he turned the car onto his street.

"No, I didn’t!"

"Yes, you did! You touched his hair and laughed at his jokes and batted his arm all cute and eh!" he pulled a face as he mocked her movements and giggles.

"Oh! so I can't laugh now?"

"Not when you know you're encouraging a guy’s thoughts!”

"What thoughts? That I'm single?"

" He was into you."

"I wasn't flirting, " Sofia huffed, dejected and amazed, flopping back against her seat again. She shifted to stare out the window as the car wound through the bends of the long coastal road, whizzing past rows upon rows of tall hedges and camera-adorned fences. Maybe she was too low. Maybe she didn't belong. They turned around the last bend before his house as she finally broke the silence. "What's the time?"

"What?"

"What's. The. Time?"

"1:30,” Rafe answered as he pulled into the drive and turned to wind down his window.

" That's too late to wake my parents..."

She felt his head whip around and heard the seat creak and the rustle of his shirt against the seatbelt.

"You want to go home? We're literally right outside!"

She turned to him and shrugged, "I know."

"Sof..." He groaned and let his head fall into his hands. Clearly, the thought of him driving her home to the Cut was excruciating. He couldn't stand to be in the car with her for a moment longer. Maybe he wasn't the drive you to the airport kinda guy.

A knot rose in her throat as pain welled in her chest.

"Never mind. It's fine." She grumbled and waved the idea away, "Just open the gate. I need to sleep."

Sofia marched straight inside to fill the mop bucket Rafe's never touched with ice for her feet and strip out of her clothes for a shower. Her dream of a relaxing, elegant bath slipping from her clutches, now her mood has sunk.

"Sof." Rafe appears in the doorway, unannounced and uninvited, and she can't help but groan in irritation. "You can't just ignore my question."

"I didn't hear a question. I heard an accusation," she snipped, slipping out of her white polo and socks.

"I know what I saw." He dug his heels yet again, and Sofia sighed and kicked off her teal shorts to stand tall and straight and meet his eye.

She stood there, bare and cold in her underwear and it got no reaction from him. No sympathy. No attraction. Just folded arms and hard grey eyes.

"If you're so sure you know what happened, then why are you even asking me?" She shrugged, letting her hands slap against her thighs as they fell. " You made a scene at my place of work. You came in, throwing your weight around like some caveman chasing off my friend. You've made your point. I'm yours, and everybody knows it! What? Now you want me to admit that i'm a cheat too?"

"Flirting isn’t-"

" It is to me! So don't throw that word around like that. And you wouldn't be so mad if it didn't mean something to you, too. I can't both yours and not yours at the same time! You can't have it both ways. " She sees his retort die on his tongue and she sighs and turns on the water "Now, I'm going to take this shower and ice my feet because I've just come off a massive shift which you don't seem to give a shit about and then when I'm not tired and sore and gross anymore then maybe we can talk. Ok?"

"Fine"

Wearing his shirt felt like giving him a win. Why had she been stupid enough to concede that he'd successfully marked his territory? Admitting he had some kind of claim on her felt like letting him justify his actions.

However, the worn Led Zeppelin shirt currently folded under her pillow still called to her, in spite of herself. The shirt was a ratty old thing covered in bubbling fabric and holes at the seams where he'd grown too fast too quickly. It was a poorly chosen gift from Rose to impress a boy who was deep in his rap and dubstep era and wouldn't like rock for at least another five years.

Sofia had rescued it from his donations box during the move and clung to it ever since. It was soft and loose and made her feel like her old Pogue self again, wandering through record stores and thrift shops and squeezing every last use out of everything she owned. Somehow between the gifts and the mansions she could feel that girl fading.

Sofia slid the faded black shirt on and padded gently down the stairs towards the distant sound of banging and the glow of the kitchen light spilling into the hall.

She finds him surrounded by an explosion of mismatched Tupperware scattered across the white stone countertop and the designer wood and resin chopping boards covered with messily cut uneven slices of fruit.

She leans against the doorway for a moment to take in the view. The boy who was waited on hand and foot his whole life is standing in his kitchen at 2:00 am, cutting her fruit. Meal prep and school lunches weren't exactly in his vocabulary. The sight brings a soft smile to her face and warms her heart. A soft peace washes over her.

"I needed to clear my head," he explained, feeling her watching. He's quick to cover the gesture up in practicality and selfishness.

"Here..." she quickly crosses the kitchen to reach around him and help him repack the banana properly. "This'll brown if you don't..."

“Just let me do it…”

“No, it’s fine. I can help!”

"Stop!" The clatter of the knife slamming down onto the stone startled her. Sofia stumbled back as he turned on her with a heavy, heated sigh. Like she's a nagging wife he can't shake. "God! Can you just not correct me for one second! Fuck...."

She flinched at that curse, her fingers stuck in rigid, tight claws, and her heart pounding. Hot shame quickly melted the cold panic. "I... I didn't..."

His eyes run down over the shirt, and it somehow angers him further. Ok, so the fruit wasn't the white flag she'd thought it was. They were still very much at war.

"This whole night, you've been acting like I'm always wrong. Like I’m crazy! Like I'm seeing things that aren't there…"

Shaken by his outburst, Sofia fumbles for her words, a knot lodged in her throat, and tears pricking her eyes. Her voice is barely a whisper, "I... I don't think you're crazy."

"Yeah, well, everyone else does! " He gestures to the window with an erratic, forceful hand and suddenly surges forward. "You took his side!" There's a crack of pain in his voice. "He was hitting on you, and you just laughed!"

"Hey!" She captured his flailing wrist and pulled it tightly against his side. "Hey...” She softened her voice and loosened her grip. “I'm sorry…I'm sorry.” She lifted onto her tiptoes and pulled him into a tight hug. He stiffened at first, but she held firm. “I...." Her eyes search the room for the right words to soothe him as her calves begin to ache. "I didn't mean to make you feel like this. " She gently rubbed his back, and slowly she felt his muscles unwind and his weight rest against her as she sank back down onto her heels, and he folded with her. "It was just a stupid joke. He was being an idiot and making fun of you, and I should've stopped him, and I didn't, and I’m sorry for that. It wasn't flirting. It was...he was cheering me up."

"He was making fun of me?"

"Yeah...I felt weird about... this. You and me. And...and so he was trying to convince me that I had nothing to worry about.”

“You were worried?”

“Yeah..." she pulled back just enough to lift his gaze to hers "We never talk about us, Rafe. We just carry on like this is normal. Like nothing needs to be said."

"What would need to be said? You know everything."

“I don’t. We’ve been coasting, baby. You’ve had a lot going on, and I get that, and it’s fine, but this thing with me won’t just iron itself out on its own. We actually have to talk about it.”

“Do we have a problem?”

“No…” she smiled endearingly at the confused look on his face as she stroked his cheeks. “The opposite. I'm not saying I want to break up. I"m saying i want to stay. I want this to work.

"You know I'm not good at this shit…" he ducked his head in shame, mumbling that admission.

“I know, but I need you to tell me what you’re thinking…Try that at least…”

"Ah ...yeah, I mean. It’s been bothering me… I thought I could just wait it out. Follow your lead but then that asshole kid-" she perched a chiding brow and he pulled himself back from the grumbling rant he wanted to slip into. His eyes lifted back to hers again. "I want this. We’ve gotten through some gnarly shit together and you haven’t quit yet, even when you probably should’ve...”

“Rafe…”

“But I can't-... That’s all I can really say right now. Promising any more than that it-...I want you here. Now. And there’s no one else in the picture.”

Sofia had braced herself for a holding response. For him to kick the conversation down the road another few months. She hadn't prepared herself for him to jump straight to exclusivity without her having to probe him. It caught her off guard, provoking a flip in her stomach.

“No one else?" she stammers fighting a beam that wants to burst forth on her flips.

Rafe ducked his head for a moment, no doubt hearing the excitement in her voice, and thankfully, he eased the tension. "Nah," he shrugged, scrunching his nose with a teasing nonchalance.

Sofia laughed freely now, wiping away stray tears. Relief flooded her as she tugged him into a warm m deep kiss that he melted into. She knew she was owed a thousand apologies, for the accusations, the raised voices, the time wasting, all of it, and yet each gentle touch, each tender peck was enough. it showed in small ways, in quiet ways, that he cared. That he understood what a blessing she was in his life, and that she could leave at any moment. That her heart was fragile and precious and not to be trifled with.

"Let's get you to bed."

playlist

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docile-dove · 2 days ago

Text

Even Your Scars Are Mine

Tw: Drugging, Knife play, forceful carving on skin, STALKINGGG, mention of harming others (killing), yandere, insane, kissing without consent, breaking in your house

You triple-checked the lock.

Then again.

Deadbolt, latch, even the small wooden wedge you shoved under the window earlier. Every part of you was on edge, paranoid — and not without reason.

He had been watching you. Calling from unknown numbers. Showing up outside places he shouldn’t be. And always smiling that same soft, unshakable smile. The one that said you belong to me, even if he never said it out loud.

But you knew. You’d seen it in his eyes. You turned off the lights and backed toward your bed, clutching your phone in one hand, the other still trembling slightly.

You didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t think you could. But your body betrayed you — slowly dragging you down into exhaustion, until your thoughts blurred and your grip loosened. And that was his chance.

Something sweet.

That’s what woke you first — a faint, artificial scent. Medicine? You hadn't noticed it was a prick from an injection. It curled into your lungs, light as smoke, but wrong. You shifted, groggy, trying to focus, but your limbs were slow… disconnected.

You blinked. Your vision swam. You were lying down, but the room looked wrong. Tilted. Wobbly. Shadows where there shouldn’t be any. And then—A figure. Leaning over you. Looking down at you.

“Wha—?” your voice cracked, dry and weak.

“Oh, you’re waking up already?” he whispered, voice warm, soft — disturbingly gentle. Your chest seized with panic.

No. No, you locked the door. You locked everything.“I know,” he murmured, as if reading your thoughts. “You tried so hard to keep me out. The wedge under the window? Clever. But you forgot the fire escape. Not your fault — most people don’t look up when they’re scared.”

“I… I made sure…” you croaked weakly. “Made sure I couldn’t get in?” he said, finishing your thought with a soft chuckle. “You’re cute when you think you can hide from me.”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Your heart thundered in your chest as your limbs refused to listen.

“What did you do to me?” you whispered, terror crackling under your voice.

"Just a little something to help you rest,” he said, brushing your hair back tenderly. “You’ve been so tense lately. Always rushing away from me, avoiding my eyes, changing your number… You’re tired, right? Let me take care of you now.”

He sat beside you on the bed, so calm, so confident — like he belonged there. “I missed you,” he added quietly, pulling something small and metallic from his coat pocket.

The moment you saw it — thin and sharp — your blood ran cold.

“No…” you breathed. “No, don’t—”

“Shhh.”

He touched a finger to your lips. “I’m not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you. This is just… something special. A way to show you how serious I am.”

You tried to scream, but it came out as a broken whimper. And then the blade touched your skin. He started slow — just below your ribs — pressing down with surgical precision. Not deep enough to kill, but enough to burn.

Your whole body flinched, but you couldn’t move. "You always wear those big sweaters,” he murmured as he carved, his voice calm, focused. “No one will see this. It’s just for us. Just for you and me.”

You felt the blood first — warm, slick, trickling in tiny streams down your side. Then came the pain, delayed but sharp, flaring as he etched the first initial. You bit down a sob. Arching your back in pain.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, pausing to look at you. “You’re doing so well. So brave. Just few more letters, and it’s done, my darling..”

Your body was trembling now, a sick mix of fear and helplessness. Your mind screamed at you to fight, to kick, to do something — but the drug was still heavy in your veins, not allowing you to move an inch.

“I locked every door,” you gasped through clenched teeth. “I made sure—” You were still caught up with how he entered, you were scared, you didn't know what you were saying anymore.

“And I still found you.”

He smiled, brushing your tears away with a blood-stained thumb. “Because nothing keeps me from you.”

He finished the final stroke of the blade, then leaned back to admire his work. His eyes softened.

“There. Perfect. Now no one else can have you. Its like.. we are bounded by blood.. you have my name on your body now. Hopefully it cut well enough to be permanent. Or..I'd have to do it again, deeper.” He coos at you.

You wanted to disappear. You wanted to rip his initials out of your skin. You wanted to wake up and find this was just a nightmare. But he leaned down, kissed the wound — slow, reverent, possessive.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured against your skin. “And I’ll protect you from everything. Even yourself.”

Then he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close like a lover in a fairytale. Gentle. Loving. Delusional. And all you could do was lie there, frozen, bleeding, and in pain.

His lips brushed the fresh wounds, soft and gentle. The sting of the contact made your breath catch in your throat — not from the pain, but from the intimacy of it. He licked your blood, his tongue caressing your skin deeply.

It wasn’t a casual gesture. He kissed you like he meant it. Like he believed what he was doing was beautiful and sacred.

You flinched, instinctive and small, but he didn’t scold you for it. No. He just smiled, lips still close to the blood.

“I know it hurts right now,” he whispered, “but one day… you’ll look at those letters and feel safe. Loved. Because you’ll remember who you belong to.” (Yeah, hell nah that's a nightmare)

You shut your eyes. Not to hide the tears — they were already slipping free — but to try and pull your mind anywhere else. Anywhere that wasn’t this bed, this room, this moment. But his voice kept you tethered.

“Do you know why I had to do this?” he asked softly, almost kindly. His hand reached for yours — cradling it like something breakable.

“It’s because people… they don’t respect boundaries. Not when it comes to you.”

You stayed silent, breath trembling.

“I saw him. The one who smiled at you during lunch. You smiled back.”

There was a pause. His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice, sweetheart? That it wouldn’t hurt?”

“I wasn’t—” you started, voice hoarse, “I didn’t do anything…”

“I know,” he cut in, his tone firm but still gentle. His lips kissing yours like a lover would.

“You’re perfect. You're my goddess. They’re the problem.”

He let go of your hand, then slowly slid his palm up your arm, trailing warmth over your skin.

“I’ve tried to be calm. I’ve tried to wait for you to see. But they keep getting in the way. So now…” He leaned in, his forehead pressed lightly to yours. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Now, if anyone even thinks they have a right to you… I’ll gut them infront of you, so you'll know what happens next time you try to talk to someone.”

Your blood ran cold. His breath brushed your lips as he added, “No second chances. No hesitation. One touch, one word, one look — and I’ll make sure they never see daylight again.”

You stared at him, throat dry. “You’d kill someone?”

He tilted his head, like the question didn’t make sense. It was like you asked if the sky was blue or not. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? I’d burn the world down if it meant you’d be safe. If it meant you’d stay with me.”

The terrifying part wasn’t the words — it was the certainty in them. He wasn’t joking, he didnt look smug. He was just… stating a fact.

“But I don’t want that,” you whispered. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt…”

He touched your face gently. “Oh...my sweet summer child. That’s what makes you so good. You care about everyone. You’re kind. That’s why I have to do this for you. You won’t protect yourself from people like him. But I will.”

Tears slid silently down your cheeks as your lips trembled. He kissed one.

“I’ll protect you from everything, my love,” he murmured. “Even from yourself.”

Then he settled beside you under the covers, wrapping you in his arms like nothing was wrong — like this was just another night.

As if the blood on your skin wasn’t still warm. You wanted to scream. To run. But the drug still held you down. So you did the only thing you could do.

You closed your eyes.

#yandere x reader #yanblr #yandere #yan blog #yancore #yandere male #male yandere #yandere tendencies #yandere community #obsessive yandere #obsessive love #yande.re #noncon drugging #knife k1nk #yandere x darling #yan bf #stalker bf #tw stalking

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mrs-delaney · 11 hours ago

Text

Hide | LA Introduction | Nine.One

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC) Word Count: 14.4k Requested:No | Yes Warnings: Mild language, emotional vulnerability, intimate moments A Few Quick Notes: 🎵 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it's been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any platform. Please respect my writing. 🌴 Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me! 🏠 Requests: Open

Author's Note: The LA chapter is here!

After the electric tension of Vegas, we follow Joe and Riley as they land in LA and step into her world together for the first time. From the moment they touch down on the tarmac, everything shifts to something quieter, more intimate, yet infinitely more consequential.

This chapter explores what happens when those carefully constructed walls continue to fall away completely. In the sanctuary of Riley's Laurel Canyon home, Joe discovers a different facet of her - not the soulful, haunted New Orleans Riley he first fell for, but equally vibrant and alive in her own way. As she tells him, "My house in Louisiana is where I go to hide. This one's where I go to make noise." Cold chicken on the floor, candlelit baths, and whispered confessions create a space where vulnerability isn't just allowed but embraced.

But the real revelation comes at Sad Banger Labs, where Joe witnesses Riley in her creative element - commanding the room, solving musical puzzles that stumped everyone else, and laying herself bare through her music without hesitation. For a man who's built his life on control and calculation, watching her surrender completely to the creative process forces him to confront his own carefully maintained boundaries.

As eccentric friends arrive bearing ridiculous drinks and endless questions, Joe finds himself at a crossroads: retreat back to the safety of his structured world, or lean fully into the beautiful chaos that is Riley's life? The decision he makes might just reveal more about his feelings than he's ready to admit.

Thank you to everyone who’s been following along—this chapter’s a big one. We’re deep in it now, and I’ve loved writing Joe and Riley as their separate worlds start to merge in ways that are both messy and intimate. The moments get quieter, the stakes get higher, and what they’re building starts to feel like something they can't live without.🏡🎸✨

Drop me your favorite moments, your thoughts, your theories - I want to hear it all!

Taglist: @wickedfun9@starsyoongi@amiets2@palmettogal508@throwaway12356123@lilfreakjez

---

The wheels touched down with a soft screech, and the familiar lull of Los Angeles warmth met them before they’d even stepped off the plane. It wasn’t the same dry burn of Vegas—this was softer, saltier. The sun hung low, washing the tarmac in amber as they deplaned—gilding everything it touched the gleaming handrails, a technician's distant silhouette, sunglasses propped carelessly on heads as they stepped into California light.

The buzz of Vegas still clung faintly to them—perfume, exhaustion, something unspoken—but the mood had shifted. Calmer now. Quieter.

Riley stepped off first, sunglasses already in place, her overnight bag slung across one shoulder. Joe followed behind her, duffel in hand, gaze flicking between the hangar and her back like he was still adjusting to the light.

Pete, Andy, and Haley followed behind in a slow, shuffling formation—less a cluster, more a collective hangover in motion. Still warm with each other, still easy, but moving like the last couple of days had wrung them out.

“Jesus, it’s aggressively sunny,” Pete muttered, shielding his eyes with one hand. “Feels like punishment.”

“I’ll take it,” Haley mumbled, yawning into the crook of her elbow. “Better than the blacked-out casino void. My soul needs a green juice and a nap, in that order.”

Two black SUVs waited just beyond the hangar, idling in the heat. A driver opened the rear door of the first one, and Haley immediately beelined toward it, Pete and Andy flanking her like sleep-deprived bodyguards.

“I call window,” she muttered, sliding in without pause.

Andy followed with a grin, Pete tossing his bag into the back before ducking in after them. There was a faint chorus of complaints about the sun, hydration levels, and the tequila from the night before.

Joe didn’t have to say anything. One glance passed between them, enough. Riley gave the slightest nod.

They peeled off from the group wordlessly, stepping into the second SUV, the door clicking shut behind them with the soft finality of a bubble sealing shut.

The AC hit sharp and cold. Riley leaned back with a sigh, legs tucked slightly to the side. Joe set down his duffle and slid into the seat beside her—close, but not quite touching.

The silence held between them, not awkward, just full. Weighted in a way that felt like exhaling after holding your breath too long.

“You good?” she asked, without opening her eyes.

“Yeah,” Joe said, after a second. “Just tired.”

“Same.”

But neither of them reached for their phones. Neither turned away. They just sat there, quiet, as the SUV pulled away from the hangar and melted into LA traffic—together, finally, without the noise.

The SUV moved smoothly through traffic, LA rising around them—billboards and palm trees blurred by late sunlight. Outside, the city was loud. Inside, it didn’t need to be.

Riley shifted slightly, curling her bare foot beneath her. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, not looking at him when she said it. Like it was just a truth. Simple and steady.

Joe glanced over, taking her in—the tangle of bracelets at her wrist, the sun catching in her hair, the faint crease between her brows she always got when she was tired.

“Me too,” he said, voice low.

She turned her head then, resting it lightly against his shoulder. He let out a quiet breath and leaned in, his temple brushing hers for a moment.

Her fingers brushed against his on the seat between them. Without thinking, he turned his hand over, let her find his palm.

They stayed like that the rest of the drive.

As the SUV curved up through the hills, the city slipped away behind them. Things felt quieter up here—not silent, just different. The noise fell back. Trees took its place.

Joe sat forward slightly as the car pulled into a narrow driveway tucked between ivy-covered stone and wild brush. Riley’s house emerged slowly, not all at once. Like it didn’t care about being seen.

It wasn't what he expected. Not the sleek, modern glass box most LA musicians seemed to favor, but something with character. The gray-shingled house nestled into the hillside, surrounded by lush greenery and mature trees that offered privacy from the road below. Curved stone steps wound up from the driveway to the main entrance, the landscaping artfully wild rather than manicured—drought-resistant plants interspersed with strategic lighting that would illuminate the path at night.

He didn't say anything as they approached the black privacy gate, but Riley caught the look on his face—part impressed, part curious, all Joe.

"She's got good bones," Riley said with quiet pride, nodding toward the house as she punched in the gate code. "Built in the 70s, but I've been fixing her up room by room."

Joe took in the details as they walked up the steps—the warm lights glowing from inside, the glimpses of canyon views between trees, the thoughtful balance of security and serenity.

"It feels like you," he said finally, and she could tell he meant it as a compliment. Not flashy or trying to impress, but authentic and unexpected in the best way.

Joe paused at the top of the steps, taking in the view that stretched out below them—a slice of the city visible between the trees, golden in the late afternoon light.

She shot him a crooked little smile as she unlocked the door. "Welcome to Laurel Canyon."

Inside, the temperature dropped a few degrees, the house cool and shaded despite the LA sun. It smelled faintly of orange peel and old record sleeves, layered with something smokier—maybe an overworked candle or the last stick of nag champa she’d forgotten about halfway through burning.

Riley dropped her bag in the entryway without ceremony and kicked off her shoes. The hardwood creaked beneath her steps as she moved into the kitchen, already opening cabinets like she needed movement to unwind.

Joe stepped in more slowly, taking it all in.

The space was a riot of color and texture—plants hanging from every available hook, mismatched rugs layered across the floor, bright vintage posters sharing wall space with framed polaroids and setlists. A neon sign shaped like a cherry glowed softly above the archway that led into the living room, where a velvet couch in deep gold sagged under a pile of patterned throw blankets.

It wasn’t like NOLA. It wasn’t like anywhere he’d ever lived.

And yet.

“You okay?” Riley asked from the kitchen, her voice softer now.

Joe looked over, still holding his duffle. “Yeah,” he said. “Just… taking it in.” His gaze swept the room—vibrant colors, mismatched furniture, open windows letting in golden canyon light. “It’s different than New Orleans. Less haunted. Less… dead things.”

Riley snorted softly, not quite laughing. “Yeah. I leave the taxidermy to New Orleans.”

“You hungry? I think I’ve got leftover Thai, half a rotisserie chicken, or we can order something. I also have tequila, a watermelon La Croix, and two bites of a weed brownie that’s definitely past its spiritual expiration date.”

Joe smiled faintly, finally setting his bag down by the door. “Let’s start with water.”

She grabbed two bottles from the fridge and tossed one gently over her shoulder. “Catch.”'

Joe caught it without looking, cracked the cap, and leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter, eyes still tracking the space. He took a long sip, the cold hitting the back of his throat, then exhaled like it grounded him.

“This place feels like your brain,” he said finally, glancing at her over the bottle. “In a different way than New Orleans.”

Riley arched a brow. “Messy and loud?”

“Creative,” he corrected. “Alive. Like it’s got a rhythm I don’t understand yet.”

She tilted her head, like she hadn’t expected that. “It’s a lot,” she admitted, “But I like it. My house in Louisiana is where I go to hide. This one’s where I go to make noise.”

Joe nodded slowly. “It fits.”

There was another pause—comfortable this time.

“Okay,” Riley said, straightening. “We can nap. Or shower. Or sit on the floor and eat cold rotisserie chicken with our fingers like raccoons. Dealer’s choice.”

Joe didn’t answer right away. Just stepped past her to the fridge, nudging her gently aside with a hand on her hip like he’d done it a hundred times. He grabbed the chicken and a La Croix, popped the can with a hiss, then headed toward the living room.

“You coming?” he tossed over his shoulder halfway to the couch.

Riley laughed, caught off guard. “So eat like raccoons’ it is, then.”

Riley sank onto the rug beside him, folding her legs beneath her. The rotisserie chicken was cold, straight from the fridge, and neither of them seemed to care. Joe tore off a piece with lazy ease and held it out to her.

She took it without hesitation, popped it into her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully, watching the last of the sun bleed through the gauzy curtains.

“This is the life,” she said, licking a bit of salt from her thumb.

Joe raised an eyebrow, grabbing another piece. “Cold chicken on the floor?”

She smiled, slow and a little sleepy. “Cold chicken on the floor with you.”

He didn’t say anything to that—just handed her another bite, a quiet kind of agreement in the gesture.

They didn’t talk much after that. Just passed pieces back and forth, eating with their fingers, the container between them, sunlight stretching gold across the rug like it had nowhere better to be.

They finished the chicken without fanfare, fingers greasy, mouths full. Neither of them said much. There was nothing that needed to be said.

Eventually, the container was empty save for a few bones and scraps, and Riley set it aside with the ease of someone who’d done this before. She stretched out a little on the floor, back hitting the rug, arms overhead. The sun was almost gone now, just streaks of honey-colored light cutting through the living room, casting long shadows across the mismatched furniture.

Joe watched her for a second, then stood—slow, quiet—and offered a hand. She took it without asking why. He gave a gentle tug, guiding them toward the couch without a word.

The couch sagged beneath them as they sank into it. Riley curled up first, legs folding easily, back nestled into the cushions like they knew her. Joe sat beside her, unsure if he should move, but she didn’t give him the chance to overthink it—just tugged gently at his arm until he shifted down beside her. She fit herself against his side like it was second nature, cheek resting on his shoulder, one hand tucked between them.

It was quiet for a long time.

Joe felt her breathing slow, the weight of her body softening with sleep. Her hair tickled his jaw. One of her rings pressed lightly into his side.

He stared up at the ceiling, barely seeing it. Not because he was lost in thought—but because he wasn’t, for once. Because everything he needed to think about was already right here.

She murmured something in her sleep—nothing he could make out—but her fingers curled against him like she was trying to hold on even without realizing it.

Joe stayed still long after Riley had dozed off beside him, her breathing soft and even against his chest. The house had gone quiet around them—no music, no city noise filtering in from the canyon. Just the creak of wood as the sun shifted and the distant hum of someone’s sprinklers kicking on a few hills over.

It should’ve felt peaceful. It did, in part.

But under it—threaded just beneath the comfort—was something tighter.

He didn’t know how to hold this.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. He wanted this version of her—barefaced and barefoot, curled up in his arms with trust in her bones. He wanted this room, this silence, this stretch of time where everything felt suspended, like the rest of the world didn’t get a vote.

But then he thought of everything waiting outside this house.

Of what it meant to stay.

Of the way she looked at him sometimes—like she was searching for a version of him she wasn’t sure would show up.

And underneath all of it, the quiet truth he didn’t know how to say out loud: She scares the hell out of me.

Not because she was chaotic. Not because she was loud or wild or famous or fiercely herself.

But because she saw him. And she expected something of him. Not performance. Not perfection. Just… real.

And he wasn’t sure he’d ever learned how to give that.

He glanced down at her, watched the way her lashes fluttered when she shifted in her sleep, how her hand stayed curled against his chest like she was still holding onto something even now.

He wanted to keep her.

But some part of him—deep and old and brittle—kept whispering, What if you can’t? What if you try, and it’s not enough?

Joe exhaled, careful not to wake her. Let his head rest against the back of the couch.

And for now—for this quiet, late-afternoon breath of peace—he let himself keep holding her.

* * *

The room had gone dusky, golden light bleeding into blue. Riley blinked awake slowly, eyes adjusting to the shifting colors. For a moment, she didn’t move. Her cheek was pressed to something warm—Joe’s chest, rising and falling in steady rhythm beneath her ear.

She shifted slightly, just enough to glance up. He was asleep, jaw slack, hand still loosely resting on her lower back. It looked like he hadn’t moved at all.

Her gaze softened.

“Hey,” she whispered, barely louder than a breath. “You awake?”

A pause. Then a low, gravelly murmur: “I am now.”

She smiled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His voice was thick with sleep. “Could’ve stayed like that for a while.”

“We did. We crashed.”

“Dreamed you made me share the couch with a haunted taxidermy squirrel.”

Riley snorted. “Bold of you to assume that squirrel wasn’t real.”

Joe finally turned his head toward her, elbow propped beneath him. “This is gonna sound dumb.”

She looked over. “Try me.”

“I think that might’ve been the best nap I’ve ever had.”

That made her smile—tired and real. “Not dumb.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a simple, instinctive thing. “You make it easy to stop moving.”

She didn’t say anything to that, but her hand found his under the blanket, fingers slipping between his.

After another beat, she murmured, “Want to take a bath?”

Joe blinked, brows lifting slightly. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was soft. “I’ve got a clawfoot tub. Big enough for two. I light candles and pretend it’s romantic.”

He looked at her for a long second, something tender passing through him.

“Do I get music?”

“Obviously.”

His hand squeezed hers. “Then yeah. Let’s do it.”

Riley stretched, bones clicking lightly as she sat up. “Give me two minutes to make the bathroom slightly less terrifying.”

Riley padded into the bathroom, flicking on the small overhead light—then immediately turning it off again. Too harsh. Too sterile.

Instead, she struck a match and began lighting candles—one on the counter, a cluster on the floor near the tub, a few balanced on mismatched saucers along the windowsill. Fig and vetiver. Tobacco flower. That one she’d bought at a flea market labeled Sunday in June that just smelled like warm linen and something smoky.

The room shifted with each new flame—light softening, shadows stretching and curling up the tile like they were settling in for the night.

She turned on the water, twisting the antique brass handles until steam began to rise. The tub, deep and clawfooted, groaned slightly as it filled. She leaned over the edge, trailing her fingers through the stream. Warm enough. She tossed in a bath soak that turned the water cloudy with milk and lavender, then set her phone in a little ceramic dish on the shelf and scrolled for a playlist. Something soft. Something old. Something that wouldn’t demand attention but would fill the room.

By the time Joe appeared in the doorway—shirt slightly wrinkled, eyes still heavy from the nap—the bathroom was glowing.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “This feels like a spell.”

Riley smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Then mission accomplished.”

Joe stepped in slowly, eyes tracing the edges of the space. “Do I need to know the safe word before I get in?”

She laughed under her breath, grabbing two towels from the shelf. “It’s ‘rotisserie.’”

He huffed a quiet laugh, toeing off his socks. “Noted.”

Then, after a beat, he looked up at her, deadpan. “Wait—did you say rotisserie?”

Riley grinned. “I sure did.”

Joe shook his head, smiling to himself. “Jesus.”

Joe pulled his sweatshirt off in one easy motion, letting it fall wherever it landed. Across from him, Riley was already shimmying out of her pants, her shirt tossed somewhere near the sink, her hair coming loose from where she’d tied it up earlier. Neither of them said anything—they just moved, unhurried, peeling away the layers of the day like it was instinct.

Some song she’d queued up earlier spilled softly from the Bluetooth speaker—slow and warm, something with a steady bass line and lazy vocals, the kind of track that made your bones feel heavy in a good way.

She slid her underwear off last, then stepped carefully into the tub, water sloshing slightly as she lowered herself in. Joe followed a breath later, the hot water biting at first, then easing into something almost too good to speak through.

She leaned forward to make space and he settled behind her, legs bracketing hers, his arms resting gently along the rim of the tub.

Neither of them spoke.

There wasn’t a need.

The steam carried the layered scent of her favorite candles—amber, patchouli, and something citrusy—and the bath soak she’d clearly gone heavy-handed with. The air smelled like crushed flowers, spice, and something unplaceable, like the color pink if it had heat. Heady, a little overwhelming, but not in a bad way.

Riley let out a slow exhale, her back softening against his chest. Joe adjusted slightly to fit around her better, one of his knees bumping hers beneath the water. She didn’t flinch. Just leaned into it, like this wasn’t the first time they’d done this. Like it was normal.

His hands, still damp, drifted to her thighs—light, not suggestive, just grounding. One stayed there. The other lifted, fingers dragging lazily through the condensation on her arm, tracing a line he didn’t even realize he was drawing.

Riley’s voice came after a long beat.

“You ever do this before?” she asked quietly. Not teasing. Just curious.

Joe made a low sound in his throat. “You mean sit naked in a flower-scented cauldron while… whatever this is plays in the background?”

She smiled, eyes still half-closed. “That’s the one.”

“No,” he said, brushing a thumb across her damp skin. “But I’m not in a rush to get out.”

“You?”

Riley turned her face slightly toward his, not quite looking at him. “Not like this.”

He didn’t press. Just shifted a little closer, his chin finding a place against her shoulder. His breath was steady now. Slowed. Her breathing matched it.

The song changed.

Neither of them noticed.

Joe’s fingers drifted lazily along the inside of her forearm, his touch featherlight, like he was tracing something only he could read.

Then, after a long stretch of quiet-

“Tell me something about you nobody knows.”

Riley’s eyes opened, just barely. “Like what?”

“Anything,” he said, voice low, close to her ear. “Something you’ve never said out loud. Doesn’t have to be big."

She let the silence stretch again. Let it breathe.

“I used to write letters I never sent,” she said finally. “To people who hurt me. To people I missed. Sometimes to versions of myself I was trying to kill off.”

Joe didn’t respond right away. Just nodded slowly behind her, his hand finding hers beneath the water.

“You still do that?”

“Not lately,” she said. “Lately I’ve just been trying to live in the parts I used to write about.”

He pressed his mouth to her shoulder—soft, careful. “That’s the most Riley Carter thing I’ve ever heard.”

She smiled faintly. “Your turn.”

“What, a secret?”

“Something real.”

He was quiet for so long she thought he might deflect. But then—

“I’m scared I won’t know how to be happy when this is over,” he said. “Football. The noise. The structure. I don’t know what version of me exists without it. Or if I’ll even like him.”

“I’ve spent my whole life chasing this thing—training for it, sacrificing for it, building my entire identity around it. And then one day it just… ends. And I don’t know what happens after. What I’ll do. Who I’ll be. How will I be happy when the thing I’ve given everything to is gone.”

Riley shifted slowly in the water, the soft slosh breaking the silence as she moved to face him fully. Her knees slid to either side of his hips, the space between them closing until she was straddling him—chest to chest, steady and close, the water rippling gently around them.

Joe’s hands found her thighs on instinct, but there was no rush in his grip. Just connection. Curiosity. Like he was letting her take the lead in something unspoken.

“You don’t have to know who you are without it yet,” she said softly. “You just have to be open to finding out.”

Her hands cupped his jaw, fingertips damp against his skin, grounding him with their warmth. “I’ve rebuilt myself more times than I ever wanted to. After Ethan. After label shit. After losing myself trying to be what other people needed. But I always found my way back. Eventually.”

Joe didn’t speak, just watched her—eyes steady, something fragile and raw flickering behind them.

“I’m not saying it won’t suck sometimes,” she added, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “But it’s less scary when someone’s willing to walk through it with you.”

He exhaled, like the weight of her words cracked something open inside him. His hands slid up, resting lightly at her waist.

“Would you walk through it with me?”

Riley’s expression softened, her eyes dark and steady as she leaned in until their foreheads touched.

"Yes."

They didn’t move for a while.

Riley’s forehead rested against his. Joe’s hands traced lazy patterns on her thighs beneath the water, slow and unhurried. The candles flickered, music low and unfamiliar, the kind that hummed beneath your ribs without demanding attention.

He kissed her—not hungry, not desperate. Just once. Soft and sure. Like a promise whispered into skin.

And when the water started to cool and her fingers wrinkled, they rose without speaking, drying off in the quiet hush of candlelight. Joe handed her a towel like he’d done it a hundred times. She bumped his shoulder with hers on the way out.

Riley padded out of the bathroom, towel wrapped lazily around her torso, still drying her hair with the other as she moved barefoot through the soft glow of the bedroom. The air was cooler out here—her skin prickled as she passed through it, but she didn’t rush.

She paused at the edge of the bed and sat, letting the towel fall slightly lower on her thighs, fingers idly combing through damp strands. The room was quiet except for the low hum of city life beyond the windows and the faint thump of Joe’s footsteps approaching.

When he finally appeared, it was slow—towel slung low on his hips, hair damp, jaw shadowed, eyes already on her like he’d been waiting for this moment since they’d stepped out of the tub.

Riley watched him cross the room, her gaze unapologetic. “Come here."

Riley watched him cross the room, her gaze steady, unapologetic.

“Come here,” she said, low.

Joe didn’t answer. Just tilted his head, towel still clutched in one hand, like he was considering something. But he didn’t move. Not yet.

Her breath caught—but only for a second. She’d seen him before, had him before, but he still managed to knock the wind out of her in quiet, deliberate ways.

Then he stepped toward her, bare except for the towel, calm and unhurried. He stopped just close enough that her knees grazed his thighs, the space between them charged and humming.

“You’re staring,” he said, voice quiet and amused.

"I am. "

Her hands slid up his sides—slow, deliberate, reverent. Thumbs grazing just under the towel at his hips.

“Baby,” she murmured, voice warm and sure, “let me take care of you.”

Before he could answer, she rose—still damp, towel clinging to her curves—and guided him gently by the hips, turning him until he sat at the edge of the bed. He let her, muscles loose, gaze locked on her like she was the only thing holding him together.

Riley stepped between his knees, palms gliding up his chest, fingertips brushing water from his skin like she wanted to remember every inch of him this way—soft, quiet, unrushed.

Joe’s hands found her waist instinctively, but she didn’t settle in his lap. Not yet.

“Let me,” Riley whispered, and there was something in her voice—firm, tender, steady. She kissed him once, slow and lingering, then lowered herself to her knees in front of him.

His breath hitched.

She didn’t tease. Didn’t draw it out like a performance. This wasn’t about power or control—it was about care. Her hands moved with quiet confidence, fingertips tracing the lines of his thighs, her mouth warm and sure as she took him in. Joe groaned, head tipping back, one hand sliding into her damp hair. Not guiding—just grounding himself. Like he needed to touch her to stay tethered.

She moved slowly, deliberately, eyes flicking up to his face, taking in every stutter in his breath, every twitch of muscle. He was quiet, but his body told her everything—how close he already was, how much he was holding back.

When she felt his thigh tense beneath her hand, she pulled back, her palm wrapping gently around him.

“Come here,” he said again, voice wrecked and reverent.

This time, she rose without hesitation, crawling into his lap, knees bracketing his hips. His hands gripped her thighs, eyes dark and open, like he couldn’t believe she was real.

She straddled him slowly, eyes locked on his. There was no coyness, no need to perform. Just that same quiet certainty that had settled between them like steam.

Joe’s hands slid up her back, wide and warm, fingers pressing into her damp skin like he needed to feel every inch. Her hands framed his face for a beat, her thumbs brushing over the faint shadows under his eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

He nodded once. “Yeah,” he said. “Especially right now.”

She kissed him again—longer this time, slower. Letting it deepen as she shifted her hips against him, both of them gasping at the friction, the heat, the way it felt like something they’d been moving toward all day.

Riley reached between them, lining him up. Joe’s breath caught in his throat, and then she sank down, inch by inch, her eyes fluttering shut as he filled her.

They both stilled.

Her hands rested on his shoulders, his forehead pressing to hers. The air between them pulsed with heat and silence—so full, it felt like it might burst.

“Bird,” he said, barely more than a breath. “I feel like I’m… in over my head.”

His eyes met hers, unguarded in a way he rarely let himself be. “Like I’m gonna drown in this.”

Riley didn’t look away. Her palms slid slowly up his chest, steady. “Then hold onto me.”

She pressed her lips to his, soft and sure, her movements slow and grounding. “I’ve got you, baby. Just stay here with me.

Joe’s eyes fluttered shut, the tension in his jaw softening as her rhythm steadied them both. One hand slid up her back, needing to touch more of her, like proximity alone might be enough to keep him from unraveling.

Riley leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, breath mingling between them. Her voice was a whisper, barely there. “You’re right here.”

His lips parted, a soft, broken sound escaping as she rocked against him again, slow and sure. “You feel…” he started, but didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, her fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I know,” she breathed.

And she did.

Every inch of him. Every tremble in his breath. Every place he was still learning how to be held.

They moved like that for a while—quiet, close, tethered. Nothing urgent. Nothing loud. Just breath and skin and the slow recalibration of two people trying to meet in the middle of something that scared them both.

Joe’s head dropped to her shoulder as she rolled her hips again, slow and precise. A low, unfiltered sound rumbled from his throat—raw and grateful. Riley felt it in her chest more than she heard it, the vibration sinking deep.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, brushing her lips over the shell of his ear. “We’re okay.”

His grip tightened at her waist, not to control, but to ground. She was guiding this—had been from the beginning—and he let her. Needed her to.

Riley’s breath hitched when he kissed her neck, open-mouthed and reverent. There was no angle, no performance. Just need. Just closeness.

“I don’t want to come yet,” he murmured, the confession wrecked and boyish against her skin.

“You won’t,” she said softly. “Not until I say so.”

Riley kept her pace slow, deliberate, like she was memorizing every flicker of tension in his body and smoothing it down with each movement. Her hands slid into his hair, anchoring him to her chest as she moved—steady, patient, unwavering.

Joe breathed her in like it was oxygen. His hands traveled up her back, over her ribs, fingers splayed like he needed more surface area just to hold on.

“Bird,” he rasped again, quieter now, voice thinned out with feeling. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She smiled into his hair. “Then I’ll go with you.”

That broke something loose in him—a soft sound caught halfway between disbelief and devotion. His arms wrapped fully around her, holding her flush against him as she moved, his mouth finding the swell of her breast, her collarbone, the center of her throat. Kisses more like thank yous than anything else.

The pace picked up, barely—but enough. Enough for the heat between them to start cresting. Enough for her to feel his restraint start to slip.

“You close?” she asked against his jaw, lips brushing his skin.

He nodded, eyes squeezed shut, voice wrecked. “Yeah.”

Riley kissed him—deep and full and grounding—and said, “Then give it to me.”

Joe groaned, low and guttural, the sound punching out of his chest as his grip tightened. His hips bucked up into her once, twice, before the rhythm broke entirely. He buried his face in her neck, body jerking beneath her as he came hard, breath ragged against her skin, holding her like she was the only thing tethering him to earth.

She didn’t stop moving—not until he softened, until the tremor in his arms settled, until she felt the shudder in his breath ease into something gentler. Only then did she slow, easing them both back down.

They stayed like that for a while. His arms still around her. Her head bowed, forehead resting against his. Their breathing fell in sync again, like it always did.

Eventually, Joe let out a long exhale. One hand came up to brush her hair back behind her ear, fingers lingering at her jaw.

“You okay?” she asked softly, barely above a whisper.

He nodded, looking up at her with something quiet in his expression. Something raw. “Yeah. Just…” His thumb brushed her cheek. “I’ve never been that far gone. Not with anyone. And I feel like that every time—with you. Like it can’t get deeper… but it does.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I feel it too.”

Her voice was steady, but her gaze wavered—just for a second.

“That’s what scares me, Joe,” she admitted, her voice low but steady. “Because if it keeps getting deeper… what am I gonna do if you wake up one day and decide I’m too much? Or this is?”

She didn’t pull back. Just looked at him, raw and open, like the truth was safer here than anywhere else.

“You’ve seen how I am. The chaos. The noise. I don’t come quiet. “I don’t come quiet. And I see you struggle with that. We’ve been in this bubble—yours and mine, just us—but what happens when it bursts?

Joe didn’t flinch. He didn’t deflect or try to talk her down.

He just looked at her—really looked—and said, “Then we don’t let it burst.”

His thumb brushed along her jaw. “Or if it does, we ride it out. I don’t want perfect, Riley. I want real. And this? You? This is the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”

A pause. Honest. A little scared.

“I don’t always know how to carry it. But I’m trying. Because I want you. Not the version that fits neatly into my world. The real one. The wild one.”

He leaned in, forehead pressed to hers. “I’m not letting go. Even if I have to figure out how to hold on better.”

Riley’s voice was barely a whisper. “Help me hold onto this, Joe.”

He stilled, forehead still resting against hers.

“Remember this,” she said, her fingers curling lightly around his wrist. “Remember how we are here. That’s what matters when the noise comes. This—” her breath hitched, “—this is what matters.”

Joe didn’t answer right away. Just pulled her in until there was no space left between them.

“I’ll remember,” he murmured against her skin. “I swear to God, I’ll remember.”

* * *

Joe woke first.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft silver of moonlight spilling through gauzy curtains. The air still held traces of the bath—amber and patchouli, floral spice, something citrusy clinging to their skin like a memory. It smelled like her. Like comfort. Like something sacred.

Riley was curled against him, one leg tangled between his, her hand resting warm and open over his chest. Her breathing was slow and even. Steady. Joe didn’t want to move. But then—

His stomach growled. Loudly.

He glanced over at the clock. 12:08 a.m.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

Riley stirred, her voice rough with sleep. “You okay?”

“I think I’m starving,” he muttered. “Like, actual survival-mode starving.”

She smiled without opening her eyes. “Should’ve eaten more chicken.”

“You inhaled it.”

“You’re the one who fed me the chicken, babe. Should’ve saved yourself a piece.”

Joe groaned softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Baby, let’s go raid the kitchen. I’m starving.”

Riley sighed dramatically. “You had your chance with the chicken.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm tighter around her waist as he sat up. “And I gave it to you. Like a gentleman.”

Fine, Joseph,” she said, letting him pull her up. “But lower your expectations—there’s not much left in there.”

They made their way to the kitchen, bare feet soft against tile, the mood lazy and warm.

Riley popped open the fridge and held up a takeout container triumphantly. “Leftover pad Thai. Look at us winning.”

She hopped onto the counter, settling in with an exaggerated sigh as Joe peeled back the lid.

Without saying a word, he reached in and twisted his fingers into the cold noodles, pulling out a small tangle and holding it up to her mouth.

Riley raised an eyebrow—but didn’t hesitate. She leaned in, lips brushing his knuckles as she took the bite, chewing slowly.

“Still good?” he asked, already reaching for another.

She swallowed. “Cold. Slightly tragic. Perfect.”

Joe grinned, took a bite for himself, and groaned. “Okay, I know I’m starving, but this is good as fuck.”

Riley nudged his arm with her knee. “Okay, don’t hog it. Give me more.”

He smirked, twirling another bite around his fingers with exaggerated care. “Say please.”

She leaned in, all mock sweetness. “Feed me, baby please.”

He popped the noodles into her mouth, laughing under his breath. “So demanding.”

She chewed, grinning around it. “You’re into it.”

Joe stepped in closer, close enough that his knees brushed the cabinet, and wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb—gentle, unthinking.

“I am,” he said. “I’m into all of it.”

His hand lingered for a second, thumb brushing just beneath her lip before falling away. His voice lowered—not heavy, just honest.

“I don’t want this to be undefined,” Joe said, voice quieter now. “I know we haven’t said what we are, and maybe there isn’t a perfect word for it, but… I’m in it. With you.”

Then her mouth curved, slow and a little shy. “You’re in it, huh?”

Joe nodded once. “Yeah. All the way.”

Riley set the container down beside her, legs still swinging gently from the counter. “You sure? Because this”—she gestured vaguely between them, the kitchen, the lingering scent of candle smoke and bathwater on her skin—“is easy when it’s just us. But it won’t always be like this.”

“I don’t know what the other parts are gonna look like,” he said, stepping between her knees, voice low. “But I know I want to figure it out with you. That part’s simple.”

Riley searched his face, quiet for a beat. “So what are we calling this?”

Joe’s lips twitched. “I don’t know. Feels a little high school to say ‘girlfriend.’”

She snorted. “Please don’t.”

There was a pause—just a flicker of hesitation, something tender folding in beneath the teasing.

“I want you to be mine, Riley,” he said, voice low. No performance. No bravado. Just truth.

Her expression softened. “Then I’m yours.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “And I’m yours.”

The air between them felt quieter after that. Like something had settled. Like something that had been floating finally landed.

They didn’t talk much after that.

Just passed the container back and forth between bites, too lazy and warm and full of something softer than hunger to do anything else. Riley licked sauce off her thumb like it wasn’t the most distracting thing he’d ever seen. Joe fed her the last clump of noodles with his fingers, and she let her head drop against his shoulder like that’s where it belonged.

They cleaned up half-heartedly—leftovers back in the fridge, lights dimmed, bare feet brushing on tile.

And then, back in bed, it was easy again. Familiar. She curled into his chest, one leg tossed over his hip, her breath already slowing. Joe lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other around her waist, thumb sweeping lazy circles against her spine.

His thoughts weren’t loud. Just… steady.

I don’t want to leave this.

I don’t want to lose her.

I think—I think I’m falling for her.

The realization landed quiet. No fireworks. Just a certainty that settled deep in his chest like it had always been there, just waiting for him to notice.

He blinked at the ceiling for a long time, then let his eyes close.

And finally, everything went still.

* * *

The sun was already filtering through the windows when Joe stirred, the kind of hazy, late-morning light that made everything feel slow and forgiving. Riley was still curled beside him, one arm draped across his stomach, her breath warm against his side.

For a long moment, he didn’t move.

He just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process the fact that this—whatever this was—felt different than anything he’d ever known to want.

Eventually, Riley blinked awake, her voice low and scratchy with sleep. “What time is it?”

Joe reached for his phone. “Almost ten.”

She groaned into his skin. “That’s early.”

He huffed a laugh. “It’s really not.”

She shifted, stretching against him, the sheet slipping off one shoulder. “You getting up?”

“Yeah,” he said, but made no move to go.

She tilted her head up, eyes still heavy. “Shower with me?”

It wasn’t a question that came with expectation. Just one that said I want you close a little longer.

Joe brushed a hand down her back, slow. “Yeah. Okay.”

It was late morning and already warm, light pouring through the frosted bathroom window in lazy stripes. Riley twisted the faucet, steam rising quick, curling into the space between them.

Joe didn’t say anything—just watched her for a beat, then followed.

They stepped into the heat like it was a continuation of everything they hadn’t said aloud but both knew now. No tension, no nerves. Just that quiet, grounded thing between them. The one he’d finally named.

He stood behind her, arms loose around her waist, chin tucked to her shoulder. The water ran over both of them, washing away whatever sleep still clung to their skin.

It was late morning and already warm, light pouring through the frosted bathroom window in lazy stripes. Riley twisted the faucet, steam rising quick, curling into the space between them.

Joe didn’t say anything—just watched her for a minute, then followed.

They stepped into the heat like it was a continuation of everything they hadn’t said aloud but both understood now. No tension, no nerves. Just that quiet certainty between them. The one he’d finally named.

He stood behind her, arms loose around her waist, chin tucked to her shoulder. The water ran over both of them, washing away whatever sleep still clung to their skin.

He kissed the back of her neck. She reached for the shampoo.

They took turns like that—wordless. Her lathering his hair, fingers massaging slow while he tipped his head into her touch. Him dragging a soapy palm down her spine, rinsing away bubbles with a tenderness that made her throat ache.

When she turned to face him, he didn’t try anything. Just pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes.

It was quiet. Easy. Safe.

By the time they stepped out of the shower, the mirror was fully fogged, steam curling toward the open door. Riley wrapped herself in a towel and disappeared into the bedroom, and Joe followed, padding barefoot toward the corner where his duffel sat slouched against the wall.

He crouched down, pulling it open and sorting through the contents without much thought—muscle memory from years of travel. Hoodie, black tee, soft cotton boxers. Familiar.

“Hey,” he called, digging through it. “You mind if I throw some laundry in later?”

“Not at all,” Riley said, already rifling through a drawer. “Give it to me now and I’ll put some on.”

Joe looked up. “You don’t have to—”

“I need to do some laundry anyway,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Toss it here.”

Joe handed over the bundle without a word. Riley took it, already walking backward toward the hallway with lazy purpose, towel slung over her shoulder, hair still wet and dripping down her back.

She didn’t bother with clothes—just wandered barefoot to the laundry room in black panties and a faded bra, the kind that looked well-worn and lived-in, like it had survived more than a few wild nights and late mornings.

He watched her disappear around the corner, the quiet hum of normalcy settling into the space she’d left behind.

A second later, he heard the click of the washer lid and the muffled thud of clothes hitting metal.

Then the low hum of water filling the machine. The soft squeak of her footfalls on tile as she padded back toward the bedroom.

As she passed, Joe reached out—just a light brush of his fingers along her hip. No reason. No words. Just the instinct to feel her in motion, to keep her close in the quietest way.

Riley didn’t pause, but her mouth twitched like she felt it, like maybe she’d been waiting for it too. She disappeared into the closet.

She came out of the closet mid-step, tugging her Nirvana tee down over her ribs, the checkerboard pants already on. A blue cardigan hung open and loose around her shoulders, and her hair was still damp, tucked beneath a worn trucker hat that read bad decisions club in hot pink.

Joe glanced up from tying his shoes.

He didn’t say anything—not because he was shocked, but because he was looking. Really looking. Like he was filing it away. Color and confidence and something else quieter beneath it all.

“That what rockstar casual looks like?”

Riley smirked as she adjusted a stack of bangles on her wrist. “Something like that.”

He didn’t say anything else, just let his eyes linger for a beat longer than necessary—like he wasn’t in a rush to look away.

She adjusted a stack of bangles on her wrist, head tilted as she looked over at him. “You ready? Because not for nothing—I’m starving, and I want to hit somewhere before we go to the studio.”

Joe stood, smoothing a hand over his shirt. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The Bronco sat in the the garage, black and dusty in a way that made it look lived-in, not neglected. Like it had seen canyons and coastlines, late-night getaways and gas station snack runs. Joe recognized the type instantly—rugged, low-key, not flashy. It suited her.

He rounded the passenger side just as Riley tugged the door open and tossed her bag inside. “Don’t judge the crumbs,” she said, climbing in. “I basically live in this thing.”

Joe just grinned and shook his head, settling into the passenger seat. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The engine rumbled to life with a satisfying growl. She backed out of the drive one-handed, flipping her sunglasses down with the other.

They didn’t talk much on the drive—just a comfortable quiet, the windows cracked to let in the breeze, Riley’s playlist low in the background. Something jangly and warm with a fuzzy guitar line.

As they hit a red light, Riley grabbed her phone from the console and fired off a quick voice text.

“Scout, can you do a grocery run for me? Like, actual groceries. We’re running on fumes here.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “‘We?”

She didn’t look at him. “You ate cold chicken on the floor and Pad Thai straight out the fridge. You live here now.”

Before he could respond, she turned the wheel sharply and slid into a small parking lot tucked between two buildings with graffiti-covered walls. The kind of spot you only knew about if someone cool told you.

Joe started to unbuckle, but Riley touched his arm lightly.

“Stay here,” she said casually, already climbing out. “I’ll be back with the goods.”

He watched her go—checkered pants swishing, vintage tee half-tucked, powder blue cardigan catching the breeze.

The Bronco door slammed shut and Joe looked up just as Riley rounded the front of the car, arms full of brown paper bags stacked nearly to her chin.

“Did you rob the place?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“No,” she said, setting the bags down between them. “You look like you can eat a pretty good bit. Plus, I gotta make sure my boys are fed.”

Joe leaned over, already eyeing the containers. “What’d you get? Can I have first pick?”

“Absolutely, baby,” she said without hesitation, unlocking the top bag like it was a treasure chest. “Knock yourself out.”

She started listing casually, wrist-deep in takeout bags. “Couple breakfast burritos, sweet potato hash, banana bread, something called a ‘moon muffin’ I didn’t ask questions, and—oh—there’s a tub of fruit because I guess I felt guilty.”

Joe leaned over the bags. “Pass me a burrito?”

“Good choice,” Riley said, handing one over and grabbing one for herself. “These are like, barely legal, they’re so good.”

He unwrapped it as she pulled out of the lot, one hand on the wheel, the other keeping her burrito steady in her lap. The Bronco rumbled down sun-drenched side streets, canyon air filtering in through the cracked window.

They drove in silence for a bit, the kind that didn’t need filling. Just chewing and sunlight and the crinkle of foil.

“How far��s the studio from here?” Joe asked, glancing sideways as he peeled back another layer of foil.

“Not far,” Riley said, mouth full. She took a swig from her iced coffee and wiped her hand on a napkin. “Daniel texted me while I was inside—he’s already there.”

“Daniel—drummer, right?”

“Yup,” Riley said, flicking on her blinker. “You’re gonna love him. He reminds me of you, actually.”

Joe glanced over. “Yeah?”

She nodded, eyes on the road. “Not the loudest guy in the room, but he notices everything. Doesn’t miss a beat. Literally and metaphorically.”

Joe took another bite, glancing over at her. “So basically… you hijacked a metal band and made them do pop?”

Riley grinned. “Yup. Dragged ’em kicking and screaming into the light. Now they pretend to hate it, but you should see how seriously they take synth settings.”

Joe looked over at her, a corner of his mouth tugging up. “Can’t decide if that’s impressive or terrifying.”

Riley shrugged, unapologetic. “Why not both?”

Riley cut the engine with a soft click. Joe took a long look around, his eyes scanning the place. The tall trees and the sprawling driveway gave the property a quiet, serene vibe. It looked like it belonged in a magazine spread—sleek, modern, but with a lived-in warmth. Pete’s got taste, he thought.

Riley caught his gaze. “Wait till you see the studio,” she said, smirking. “It’s a vibe.”

They made their way up the short path to the studio. Joe couldn’t help but be curious. As they approached the entrance, he spotted a sign hanging over the door in bold letters: Sad Banger Labs.

Joe stopped in his tracks, eyebrows raising. “That’s what SBL stands for?”

Riley grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “Yup and the studio in Louisiana is called the Swamp of Sadness.”

Joe’s mouth dropped open. “WTF?”

She just shrugged, her smile mischievous. “You gotta have a name with a little character, right?”

He shook his head, half-laughing, half-shocked by the absurdity of it all. “Only you would have a studio called the Swamp of Sadness.”

“Well,” she said, pushing the door open, “there’s a little sadness in every banger.”

Joe followed her inside, the door swinging shut behind them, and immediately, he was hit with the sounds of what could only be described as organized chaos. The space was a mix of eclectic furniture, instruments strewn about, and a wall of windows that flooded the place with natural light. A low hum of conversation, some distant laughter, and the soft scratch of a guitar greeted him as they stepped further in.

“Welcome to Sad Banger Labs,” Riley said, a touch of pride in her voice as she gestured around the room.

Joe smiled, feeling the energy of the space. “This is… wild,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “In a good way.”

Riley nodded, clearly at home here. “Yeah, I think so. You’ll see. It gets better when everyone’s around.”

As they walked further into the studio, Joe couldn’t help but wonder how he had ended up in this world—so different from his own, yet somehow exactly what he needed.

* * *

Riley stepped into the studio with the food bags in hand, her steps light but purposeful. The atmosphere was warm, filled with an easy kind of energy, a comfortable chaos. Pete and Daniel were already there—both sitting around, their heads turned toward her as she entered.

Daniel, ever the easygoing guy, was the first to greet Joe with a wide grin. “Hey, man,” he said, standing to extend his hand. “Glad you could make it. We’re all pretty stoked to have you around.”

Joe grinned back, shaking his hand firmly. “Appreciate it, man. Riley’s told me a lot about you guys.”

Riley tossed her bag onto a nearby counter, then pulled out a couple of the food containers. “I come bearing snacks. You’re welcome for my service.”

Pete greeted Joe warmly. Joe nodded in appreciation, looking around. “This place looks really cool, man.”

Pete smiled, without even looking, grabbed a breakfast burrito from one of the bags, and stuffed it into his mouth. He swallowed quickly, wiped his hands on his pants, and turned to Joe. “Thanks, man. I spent a lot of time getting it right. Being on the road so much, I wanted to come home to a place that felt like peace. You want a tour?”

Joe chuckled, still surprised by how laid-back everything felt. “Yeah, man, I’d love that,” he replied, accepting another burrito from Riley.

Pete grinned. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Joe followed Pete out of the studio, still holding his burrito, and took in the rest of the house. The walls were a mix of raw, exposed brick and polished wood, with colorful rugs scattered across the floors. Plants in all sizes and shapes lined the shelves and corners, adding a touch of life to the space. There was an easy, lived-in vibe to it, the kind of place you didn’t just visit—you became a part of it.

As they walked through, Pete pointed out different sections of the house. “Over here’s the kitchen,” he said, waving toward an open space with a butcher block island, shelves of mismatched dishes, and an espresso machine that looked like it cost more than Joe’s first car. “Pretty simple, but it gets the job done. Not much of a chef, but I know my way around a grill.”

Joe took it all in, nodding as they moved into a cozy-looking living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that led out to a back patio. There was an old record player in the corner, with a couple of vintage albums stacked nearby. The whole place had a soft, earthy feel to it, like it was made for someone who loved both comfort and style.

“I like this,” Joe said, offering Pete a smile. “Feels… real. Not trying too hard.”

Pete gave him a knowing look. “That’s the point. I’m not into the whole ‘perfect’ vibe. I’m want to feel something when I walk through the door.”

They continued through the house, and when they reached the back patio, Pete pointed to a fire pit surrounded by mismatched chairs. “This is where the magic happens. Can’t tell you how many nights I’ve sat out there after a session, just chilling. You get a nice breeze through the canyon, too. It’s… well, it’s home.”

Joe stopped and looked around, impressed by how everything fit together so effortlessly. “I get it,” he said quietly. “It’s like this place has its own heartbeat.”

“Exactly,” Pete said with a grin. “So, what do you think? You feel the vibe?”

Joe nodded, still processing the calmness of it all. “Yeah, I do. It’s got something.”

They headed back inside, where Riley was already chatting with Daniel, her energy just as easygoing as the space they were in. Joe felt a weight lift from his shoulders as the atmosphere wrapped around him like a blanket. The low hum of music filled the background, blending seamlessly with the sound of Daniel showing Riley something on the drum kit. Their laughter floated through the room, light and unhurried, as they shared a moment of musical discovery. It was a comfortable, lived-in feeling—nothing rushed, nothing forced.

Riley looked up, catching his eye as he stepped back into the room. Her smile was soft, knowing, like she’d already figured out how he’d be feeling here. She gave him a subtle nod, like this place had a way of settling things without saying much at all.

“You wanna hear something we’re working on?” Andy asked, a spark of excitement in his voice.

Joe nodded, intrigued. “Yeah, man. Let’s hear it.”

Riley glanced over her shoulder, her smile widening when she saw him. “It’s totally different from anything we’ve ever done,” she said, her voice filled with anticipation.

Daniel leaned forward, glancing up. “Play the one we just finished, Riley.”

Riley turned her head slightly, just enough for Joe to catch a brief look—calm, but with a depth that told him this song was different. Her fingers hovered above the controls, then she pressed play.

The first chords hit softly, and Riley’s voice, raw and unguarded, filled the room.

I spent years becoming cool

And in one single second, you can make a decade of my efforts disappear…

Joe leaned forward slightly, the words sinking into him, like she was speaking directly to him. There was no doubt that Riley had been here before—wounded, torn down. The pain was real, and it hurt to hear it come from her like this. But it wasn’t just her ex anymore. It was bigger than that—it was about vulnerability, about the fear of giving all of yourself to someone and getting nothing in return.

I’m just waiting at the bar, and you rip open all my scars

By saying something like, ‘Didn’t know you were here.’

Joe’s chest tightened. The words didn’t leave him. They clawed at him, reminding him of the times when he’d distanced himself, built walls just so that he wouldn’t have to feel that same vulnerability. He wasn’t sure if Riley realized it, but she had written this for herself—and for him, too. She was singing it like she had nothing left to hide, nothing to lose.

I always knew I was a martyr and that Jesus was one too

But I was built from special pieces that I learned how to unscrew…

The words felt heavy, like she was dismantling herself piece by piece, for the sake of something bigger. And for the first time, Joe realized how much she had already given, how much she had sacrificed, and how often he’d held back. Could I ever be as brave as this?

And I can always reassemble to fit perfectly for you

Or anybody that decides that I’m of use

Lonely is the muse.

Joe couldn’t breathe for a second. Lonely had been her muse. Maybe it had been his, too, but in a different way. He built his walls, turned inward, shut himself off from anything that might make him feel too much. He had always thought that would keep him safe, but now, hearing this, he realized how much he’d been running from—how much he hadn’t let himself feel, because feeling made him afraid.

Riley’s voice was steady, but he could hear the cracks in it, the parts of her that had been broken wide open, laid bare. What had he been doing?

I’ll be a wind chime in the window, catching life you throw around

And I will tear apart your bedroom, I’ll call you in the night

I will exist in every second just to decorate your life.

She was in pieces, but she was still there—still giving, still offering everything to someone who would take it. And here he was, holding back from the one person who might understand all the parts of him he kept hidden.

And when you’re done, you can discard me like the others always do…

And I will nurse my wounds until another artist stains me new.

He wanted to say something, to apologize or to make it right, but the song wasn’t about that. It was about how she had always been the one to give, to share, and still came back for more, only to be tossed aside. Had he been doing that to her, too?

The song wound to a close, and the silence was thick in the air. Riley didn’t move, and neither did Joe. He wanted to say something—he needed to—but he couldn’t quite find the words.

Pete, who had been listening quietly, was the first to speak, breaking the tension. He looked over at Joe with a wry grin and said, “Now you see why we call this place Sad Banger Labs.” He shrugged, giving everyone a bit of brevity, like the weight of the moment had to be lifted somehow. “Some of these songs aren’t just bangers—they’re real damn sad.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, but not the kind of tension that dismissed the seriousness of the moment. It was like the air had just been cracked open—enough room for them all to breathe again.

Joe chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, he turned toward Riley, his gaze holding a mix of gratitude and something deeper. She met his look without hesitation, understanding something unspoken, something that was still unresolved, but now felt a little less heavy.

Riley smiled at him, a little softer now. “Yeah. But it’s the only way to get anything real out.”

Joe gave her a quiet nod.

The door to the studio swung open with a bang that made Joe flinch. Andy Fox burst in, a whirlwind of energy and color, his hair pulled back in a messy bun with random strands escaping around his temples.

"Sorry I'm late, but I brought reinforcements!" he announced, dropping his guitar case with a thud.

Behind him stood a striking figure—tall, elegant, with skin that gleamed like polished bronze under the studio lights. They wore a flowing kimono-style jacket covered in intricate embroidered birds over a simple black tank and leggings.

"Dex, babes!" Riley called out, her face lighting up. She crossed the room in quick strides, throwing her arms around the newcomer.

"Riley Carter, you absolute vision," Dex replied, voice rich and melodic. They held Riley at arm's length, studying her face with narrowed eyes. "You look... settled. It's disturbing."

“Joe, this is Dex. One of my best friends since high school, current fashion terrorist, eternal drama queen.”

"And spiritual advisor to these lost souls," Dex added, sweeping a graceful hand toward the band members before turning the full force of their attention on Joe. "So this is the quarterback who's been stealing our girl away."

Joe stepped forward, extending his hand with an easy confidence that surprised even him. "Joe Burrow. Nice to meet you."

Dex shook Joe’s hand—firm, brief—then took a step back and looked him over.

“Well. I see what you meant about the jawline,” he said to Riley. “You didn’t oversell it.”

"Dex, stop terrorizing him," Riley laughed, but there was no real warning in her voice.

Andy had already positioned himself on the couch, legs sprawled out as he tuned his guitar. "Ignore Dex. We all do. Though they're right about your face."

"I'm just saying," Dex continued, finally taking Joe's still-extended hand and giving it a firm shake, "I approve. And I don't approve of most things."

Pete snorted from behind the mixing board. "The highest compliment. You should be honored."

Joe caught Riley's eye across the room—her expression half-apologetic, half-amused. But there was something else there too: a quiet pride, like she was pleased to see how easily he seemed to fit into her chaotic world.

"I'll take it," Joe said with a subtle nod, feeling strangely at ease despite the theatrical energy swirling around him. "Though I'm still waiting on Riley's official review."

Riley's eyes widened slightly, a delighted surprise crossing her face at his playful comeback. She bit her lip to hide a smile, but failed.

“Oh, I like him,” Dex said, glancing at Riley. “He’s got more going on than the press lets on.”

Daniel, still focused on his drumsticks, said without looking up, “Dex, chill. You’re gonna scare him off.”

“Please,” Dex said, waving a hand. “He can handle it. Now, who's going to catch me up on what we're doing today? And where is Nick? He promised to bring those pudding cups I like."

"Somebody help me with this shit before I drop it all over the driveway!"

Pete groaned and pushed off the mixing board. "Every time," he muttered, heading toward the door.

Joe followed, partly out of curiosity, partly to be useful. Outside, a beat-up Jeep with faded red paint was parked haphazardly, its back hatch open. Nick was awkwardly balancing two trays of drinks while trying to grab a stuffed paper bag.

"Jesus, Nick, did you buy out the whole place?" Pete asked, taking one of the trays.

Nick shrugged. "Everyone texted their orders after I was already there. What was I supposed to do, say no?"

Joe smoothly took the second tray and the overstuffed bag before Nick could argue.

Nick gave him a once-over, then nodded. “Nick. You must be Riley's new man.”

“Joe.”

“Cool.” Nick didn’t elaborate. “Thanks for the assist.”

They carried everything inside, where the drinks were immediately swarmed by waiting hands. The trays held an absurd variety—green juices, coffee drinks topped with foam art, something blue that glowed almost unnaturally, and several plain iced coffees that looked out of place among the designer concoctions.

The rest of the room descended on the trays. There were vibrant green juices, layered smoothies in glass jars, protein balls in wax paper, and an alarming blue drink no one wanted to claim.

“Mango turmeric?” Riley called, not turning from the drum kit where she was talking with Daniel.

“On the counter,” Nick replied. “Labeled RC with a heart, because I’m emotionally available like that.”

Nick looked at Joe.

“Figured you were more of a clean-eating type of dude, so I got you a green juice. This one’s actually got apple in it, so it’s got a sweetness to it.”

Joe took the bottle, fingers curling around the condensation. “Thanks for thinking of me, man.”

Dex was already halfway into their drink when they glanced up, deadpan. “Did you get my chia pudding?”

Nick reached into the bag without looking and handed over a small container. “Yeah. Right here. Calm down.”

Around them, the room started to refocus—sound swelling back into motion. Pete was back at the board, head tilted as he fine-tuned a mix. Andy crouched beside his amp, twisting knobs until the feedback softened. Daniel tapped out a rhythm on the edge of his snare, loose and instinctual.

Riley moved easily through the space, all muscle memory and unspoken direction. A hand on Andy’s shoulder. A glance over Pete’s screen. A soft laugh shared with Dex. She was the current that tied it all together—chaotic, alive, grounding.

Joe caught her eye from across the room. She raised her brows in silent question. You good?

He nodded, green juice in hand, shoulder braced against the couch like he’d been there a hundred times. Somehow, even with the wires and the noise and the ridiculous drink orders—it felt…right.

* * *

Riley was on the floor beside Andy, legs crossed, bass resting against her thigh, notebook open in front of her. Her blue cardigan had slipped off one shoulder, the Nirvana tee beneath it soft and threadbare. The checkered pants bunched at her ankles, Converse kicked halfway off. She looked relaxed—but focused, eyes flicking between the page and Andy’s hands like she was chasing something in real time.

Andy strummed a sharp progression, jagged and fast. Riley gave a nod, tapping the neck of her bass lightly in time. “Little less crunch on that last bar,” she said.

Daniel, already behind the kit, jumped in with a driving rhythm—snare hits landing crisp and fast, setting a pulse that pushed the room forward. Pete adjusted a level on the board without comment.

Riley didn’t speak again—just leaned in and started to play, fingers moving with instinctive precision. Then her voice came in—no mic, no cue, just raw and unfiltered.

“One eye open and one eye closed,” she sang, the line hitting like a confession more than a lyric. “’Cause I’ll hang myself if you give me rope…”

The room leaned into it, the track building itself around her. Andy followed her rhythm, layering guitar over the bassline, while Daniel’s snare kept pace with the storm of it. Riley’s voice climbed, fierce and unflinching:

“I lost all my faith and lost all hope / That everything means anything at all—”

Joe didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched as something unspoken pulled itself from inside her and filled the room.

The music swelled—messy, emotional, loud. And she didn’t flinch from it. She owned it. A gut-punch of a chorus with too much truth in it to be anything but real.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

The last note hung in the air for a heartbeat before Andy let out a victorious shout.

"Holy shit! That actually worked!" He spun toward Pete with wild eyes. "Tell me we got that."

Pete was already nodding, fingers flying across the board. "Got it. That bass line finally locked in with everything else." He shook his head, something between disbelief and admiration in his expression. "Three weeks we've been stuck on this."

Riley set her bass down with a satisfied grin, the instrument still humming faintly from her final note. "Funny how it just took the singer to figure out the bass part," she teased, quirking an eyebrow at Pete.

Pete rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his smile. "Yeah, yeah. Never gonna hear the end of this, am I? Riley Carter saves my bass line."

"Put it on my tombstone," she replied, already scribbling something in her notebook. Her voice had filled the room moments before—not for recording, just working through the melody as she played, letting the words find their place in the new arrangement. Raw, unfiltered, laying herself bare without hesitation.

Daniel tapped his drumstick against the rim of his snare, a quiet punctuation to their breakthrough. "It's the right feel now. Everything's breathing together."

The celebration spread through the room—Pete's grudging admiration, Andy's uncontained excitement, Daniel's understated approval. They'd been chasing this sound for weeks, and somehow, today, Riley had unlocked the missing piece.

Joe remained still, caught in the afterglow of what he'd just witnessed. The music had stopped, but he was still hearing it—feeling it—like some part of it had burrowed beneath his skin. The way her voice had wrapped around those bass notes, the way her fingers had found a pattern that transformed everything else...

This was Riley—familiar and still not. The one who curled against him on the couch, laughed over cold Thai food, who dozed off in the bath with her foot pressed to his thigh. That version lived in him now—intimate, familiar. But this? This was something else. She was all sharp edges and instinct, commanding the space without needing to try. Solving creative puzzles in real time while the rest of them scrambled to catch up.

Joe had spent his entire life in locker rooms, in huddles, watching elite athletes find solutions under pressure. He'd seen the triumph of execution up close. He knew what focused expertise looked like.

But this was different.

Riley didn't just perform or execute. She invented. Every note pulled from somewhere deep and intuitive, offered up without the safety net of certainty. The confidence in her voice as she sang, the way her fingers moved with both precision and abandon—it wasn't just talent. It was liberation.

A kind he'd never allowed himself.

On the field, Joe calculated. He mapped trajectories, analyzed defenses, made split-second decisions based on years of disciplined study. Even in the most chaotic moments, he maintained control. His greatness came from never fully surrendering to the moment.

But Riley surrendered completely. And somehow came out stronger for it.

He watched her high-five Andy, laughing as Pete promised revenge for showing him up on his own instrument. She was completely at ease in this space of creation and breakthrough. How did she move so fluidly between vulnerability and confidence? How did she dare to fail, to experiment, to reveal herself so completely—and then shake it off like it was the most natural thing in the world?

Something uncomfortable stirred in his chest. In football, improvisation was a last resort when the plan failed. Here, it seemed to be the whole point—the willingness to try, to be wrong, to look foolish in pursuit of something authentic.

Riley glanced up then, catching his eye across the room. Her smile was radiant, triumphant—she was riding the high of creative breakthrough. Instead of questioning his silence, she simply blew him a kiss, confident and playful, before turning back to demonstrate the bass line again for Pete, who watched with focused attention.

Joe felt the corner of his mouth tug upward in response, automatic and genuine. But beneath it, the questions remained. In his world, perfection was the goal. In hers, perfection was the enemy of the real. And he wasn't sure he knew how to bridge that gap, even as he found himself desperately wanting to try.

The front door creaked open, and a familiar voice called out before she even stepped inside.

“Don’t stop the magic on my account.”

A second later, Haley strolled into the studio, sunglasses still on and iced coffee in hand like she owned the place.

She held up the drink like a trophy. “I heard y’all finally broke through?”

“We nailed the bridge we’ve been stuck on for weeks,” Riley said, accepting the coffee with a grateful sigh. “It’s still rough, but it’s there.”

Haley dropped into a chair, tucking one leg underneath her. “Play it for me.”

Riley glanced toward the soundboard. “Pete?”

Pete gave a low whistle as he cued it up. “Get ready to be impressed. Fucking Riley nailed the bass.”

The track rolled through the studio, low and pulsing—still raw around the edges, but undeniably alive.

Riley crossed the room with unhurried ease and settled into Joe’s lap like it was second nature. He didn’t flinch, just adjusted to make space, one hand slipping instinctively to her waist.

When the final note faded, Haley tipped her coffee in Riley’s direction. “It’s the bass for me. Dark, heavy, perfect. Makes the whole thing crackle.”

Riley smirked. “What can I say? I’m clearly a better bass player than Pete.”

Pete didn’t look up. “Keep talking like that, and I’m retiring.”

Andy smirked, tuning a string. “Can’t wait for the tell-all where Pete admits you’ve been ghostwriting his bass parts for years.”

Haley took a sip of her iced coffee, giving them a lazy once-over. “Y'all are disgusting.”

Riley smirked but didn’t move from Joe’s lap. “You say that like you didn’t take a redeye from Vegas just to be part of it.”

Haley took another sip. “Okay, but if you start feeding each other, I’m out.”

Joe didn’t miss a beat. “That ship sailed.”

Riley just smirked, leaning into him. “Should’ve left when you had the chance.”

Haley rolled her eyes but smiled into her coffee.

Across the room, Dex looked up from their phone, eyes gleaming. “I just texted everyone. Told them we’re doing an impromptu takeout potluck tonight.”

Riley blinked. “You what?”

“They’ve been dying to meet your man,” Dex said innocently, locking their screen with a flourish. “Figured we’d make a night of it.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “A potluck?”

“With takeout,” Dex clarified, as if that made all the difference. “Everyone just brings their favorite spot."

Riley turned to Joe, her voice dropping so only he could hear. "Hey, we don't have to do this," she said, her eyes searching his. "We can go home. I will totally understand."

There was genuine concern in her expression—not pity, not worry, just a simple recognition that this wasn't what he had signed up for. Her fingers brushed his arm lightly, a silent reassurance that whatever he chose would be okay.

Joe glanced around the room—at Dex already thumbing through delivery apps, at Pete and Daniel debating Thai versus pizza, at the casual chaos of it all—and found himself hesitating. This wasn't his world. These weren't his people. This wasn't how he'd planned to spend his first night in LA.

And yet.

"Do you want to?" he asked quietly, meeting her gaze.

Riley's brow furrowed slightly. "Do I want to what?"

"Go home." His voice was steady, curious rather than pressured. "Because if you want to go, we'll go. But if you want to stay..." He shrugged, the gesture small but significant. "I'm good either way."

Riley studied him for a moment, like she was trying to read between the lines. "They can be a lot," she admitted. "And they're definitely going to ask you awkward questions and probably try to embarrass me with stories I'd rather you never hear."

The corner of Joe's mouth twitched. "Sounds like my kind of night, actually."

A slow smile spread across her face—part relief, part something warmer. "You sure?"

"Yeah." He nodded, more certain than he'd expected to feel. "I want to see this part of your life. Meet your people."

Riley's expression softened. "Okay," she said, her voice carrying a note of quiet pleasure that made his chest tighten. "But the second it gets weird—"

"We can reenact a fire drill and flee the premises," Joe finished for her.

She grinned, nudging his shoulder with hers. "You're learning."

Across the room, Dex called out, "Riley! Tell Joe we need his food order. And don't let him get away with something boring like plain chicken."

Joe reached for Dex’s phone, scrolling through the Thai menu they had pulled up. He glanced at Riley, then back at the screen. “I know we just had leftover Thai last night,” he said, “but I think I want the drunken noodles. Thai hot. And maybe those crispy pork ribs.”

Dex’s eyebrows shot up. “Thai hot? Not ‘American hot,’ but actual Thai hot?”

Joe gave a casual shrug. “I like when my food fights back a little.”

“Respect,” Dex nodded, adding it to the order. “That’s how I order it too. Most people can’t hang.”

Riley leaned against Joe’s shoulder, peeking at the screen. “Add an extra order of spring rolls. And some of those chili-lime wings.”

“Done and done,” Dex said, fingers tapping efficiently. “Nick’s getting sushi from that place on Sunset. Pete’s getting pizza. Daniel says he’s ordered something mysterious he won’t reveal, and Andy’s predictably handling dessert.”

“By ‘handling dessert,’ you mean he’s got those weird mushroom chocolates, don’t you?” Riley asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Among other things,” Dex replied with a slight grin. “Don’t worry, I made him promise to clearly label everything this time.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at Riley.

“Long story,” she muttered. “Involves Haley thinking she was getting a regular brownie and instead spending four hours convinced her houseplants were judging her life choices.”

“They probably were,” Pete called from across the room without looking up from his phone.

Daniel’s quiet laugh drifted over from the drum kit. “To be fair, it was the best mix session we’ve ever had. Got three tracks done that night.”

Riley shook her head, but her eyes were bright with amusement. “See what I mean about stories I’d rather you never hear?”

“Too late,” Joe said quietly, just for her. “I’m already taking notes.”

While they waited for the rest of the food and the slow trickle of friends Dex had summoned, the studio settled into a kind of anticipatory lull. Dex had migrated to the couch, legs tucked under them as they scrolled through delivery updates. Pete adjusted something at the board. Daniel spun a drumstick between his fingers, aimless.

Andy, mid-stretch with a guitar across his lap, glanced over at Riley. "Hey, why don't you lay down some vocals while we wait?"

Riley tilted her head, considering it. "Which track?"

"The one we just fixed," Andy said, already strumming softly. "I want to hear it with actual lyrics, not just your mumbling."

Riley rolled her eyes. "I wasn't mumbling. I was workshopping."

"Workshopping," Andy repeated with exaggerated air quotes. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Daniel tapped a quiet rhythm on his knee. "I'd like to hear it too. With the real words."

Riley glanced at Joe, something almost shy crossing her face—not embarrassment, just a flicker of awareness that this was different territory. He'd never really seen her work like this, seen the process unfold in real time.

Joe gave a small nod of encouragement. "I'd like to hear it."

Riley studied him for another beat, then slipped out of his lap with an easy grace, smoothing her cardigan back over one shoulder. “Okay,” she said, voice lighter now. “One take. It’s still messy.”

Joe watched as she crossed the room toward the mic, the whole energy of the studio subtly shifting with her.

Riley stepped up to the mic without fanfare, slipping the headphones over one ear. Pete gave her a quick thumbs up from the board, but she was already adjusting the mic height herself, flipping a few switches on the preamp without asking. Muscle memory.

Joe sat back on the couch, watching as she pulled her hair into a quick twist and tucked it behind her collar. No hesitation. No nerves.

Just Riley in her element.

The track cued up low in her headphones, and she waited through the instrumental lead-in, eyes closed, hand tapping silently against her thigh to stay with the rhythm.

Then—she began.

“One eye open and one eye closed…”

Her voice wasn’t showy or slick—it was textured. Raw in a way that made the lyrics feel lived-in, like she wasn’t reciting them but rememberingthem. Every note felt intentional, even when it cracked slightly on a breath. Especially when it did.

When the first verse faded, she pulled the headphones off and turned to the board. “Nick, take the second pass I just did and lay it under the lead—low mix, a little left pan.”

Nick nodded, already moving. “You want any delay on the back end?”

“Yeah. Real light. Just to give it a little float. Let it catch on the ‘you liar’ line.”

Pete adjusted a few levels, eyes flicking between her and the board. “You stacking harmonies?”

Riley was already nodding. “Give me one more pass—I’ll ghost the chorus and then layer a harmony behind the second verse.”

She was still barefoot, still wearing those slouchy checkered pants—but she commanded the room like she owned it. Because she did.

Joe watched her move through it like second nature, her hands shaping the air as she gave quiet direction, layering takes like brushstrokes. This wasn’t a performance. It was construction. Precision built out of chaos. Emotion built on intention.

He’d never seen anything like it.

And in that moment, he wasn’t thinking about football. Or press. Or the noise.

He was just thinking, She’s the most capable person I’ve ever met.

Riley pulled her headphones off and stepped back from the mic, stretching her arms overhead with a quiet exhale.

“That’s a start,” she said, half to herself.

Pete tapped a few keys, looping the last few bars. “I liked the grit on that second pass—felt lived-in.”

“Yeah,” Riley murmured, already moving toward the board. “Double that line in the pre with the low octave and shift the last chorus up a half-step—see if it breathes better in the high register.”

She leaned in beside Nick, pointing to the waveform with her pinky. “You can pull the reverb here but keep the delay tail—it’s too clean otherwise.”

Nick adjusted without hesitation. “Got it.”

Joe watched from the couch, quietly stunned. Not by the music, though that was good too—but by the way she moved through it. Fast, clear, in control. She wasn’t performing. She was building something. Like her brain ran on rhythm and instinct and messy, brilliant order.

It wasn’t lost on him that she hadn’t looked over since stepping behind the mic. Not in an avoiding way—just fully locked in. Present. He kind of loved that.

The door creaked open behind them and Dex’s voice floated in.“Guests incoming. Pete, it’s your house—help get the food laid out.”

A second later, voices started trailing in—new people, laughter, the unmistakable rustle of takeout bags and the clink of too many drinks. The studio’s quiet hum gave way to something louder, looser. The night was about to shift.

Riley pulled her headphones off again and looked across the room, eyes locking with Joe’s—bright, flushed, lit from the inside with that post-creation glow.

She crossed to him without hesitation, barefoot and easy, the space folding around her like it belonged to her.

She leaned in, bracing a hand on his knee as she bent to kiss him—soft, unhurried, nothing performative about it. Just hers.

Then, with a half-smile against his mouth: “You ready to meet my friends?”

Joe looked up at her, thumb brushing instinctively along the edge of her wrist. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think I am.”

#joe burrow #jiley #hide fanfic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fluff #nfl fan fic #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction #joe burrow series #joe burrow smut

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sodapopper · 2 months ago

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Hi hello I’m just thinking about the time Ponyboy compared Bob & Randy to Soda & Steve and recognized that if Steve died, Soda would react the same way Randy did—lose the will to fight—whereas if Steve lost Soda, he would become angrier and fight even MORE.

#who’s going to take one for the team and put this in their vietnam fics #too tired to have a deep thought about this #but it’s interesting #the deep thoughts are there. they’re just hiding from me #the outsiders #sodapop curtis #steve randle #bob sheldon #randy adderson #the outsiders movie

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classyrbf · 24 days ago

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classmate!gojo part 3!

classmate!gojo who has been watching you from afar for the past week now. His eyes are always gravitating towards you in class, trying to catch any other possible connection. He’s try so hard to convince himself that you’re not his mystery girl, but at this point he should just accept it. The photo of your nails was proof enough, not to mention how much of a rush you were in. Neither of you have texted or exchanged photos since then, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t driving him crazy. Every single day since then he can’t get you off of his mind, getting so hard from the thought of you that he has to sneak away to rub one out to your pictures or videos. He just can’t help himself.

He watches you in class, in the cafe area, even sees you walking on campus, doing normal things. He would have never guessed in a million years you were the one he sought after so badly. You hide it so well. But he knows deep down under that good girl persona you have, there’s a slut waiting to caught, waiting to be fucked and used like you told him all those times over text. He’ll make you break. He sees you sitting on a bench on campus just scrolling through your phone, knowing this is the perfect time to execute his plan.

He finally breaks contact, sending you a video he took of himself last night.

gojo: i miss you

it was simple, but he was hoping it’d work. He watches intently, a small smile spreading across your face, though he’s unsure if it’s because of him

gojo: send me something, yeah? miss seeing you, baby

and like clock work, he sees you get up, heading towards the bathrooms inside one of the campus buildings. What else to do but follow. He sees you slip into the bathroom, and now he finally has you where he wants you.

you enter the bathroom, riddled with excitement that he finally texted you. Maybe he didn’t catch on that you were the one sending him photos. Good, it means you can have more fun. You enter the stall, replaying the video of him jerking off, putting the phone close to your ear so you can his moans. You smile, your hands finding themselves under your skirt, rubbing your clit through your clothed pussy. Little do you know he’s standing right outside the door, waiting for you.

You unbutton your shirt and grab onto your tits, massaging them in your hand while you send him a video. Quickly, you send him another of your wet panties, still rubbing your clit.

you: missed you too. can you tell?

and gojo can’t believe it when he receives the videos, chuckling to himself at how slutty you can be. He saves the videos nonetheless and puts his phone back in his pocket, the bathroom door opening, you walking out, completely caught off guard. Your heart thumps against your chest, mouth hanging open like you want to say something but nothing is coming out. All you know is that you can’t stop staring at him. He’s smirking at you, eyeing like a piece of candy as he moves closer towards you, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “I know you’re little secret.” You’re frozen, unable to do a thing. You couldn’t even deny it at this point. “Give em to me,” he demands.

“W-what?” You blink, voice barely above a whisper. He moves back, a smug smile on his stupidly pretty face. God, he smells so good. And his whispering? You’re even more wet than before. He knows what he’s doing to you.

“Your cute little panties. Give them to me.” He’s so casual about it and makes you even more nervous yet more intrigued. You turn to go back into the bathroom but he grabs your arm. “No, no, no. Do it right here.”

“But—” you look around to see if anyone else is around.

“What? Scared of getting caught? Sure weren’t thinking about that when you sent me all these videos and pictures. So, hand them over.” He watches as you slightly bend over, reaching under your skirt and gently pulling your panties down, letting them fall to your ankles. You sheepishly pick them up, they’re coated in your slick, an embarrassing sight. He grabs them from you, chuckling at the wet stain. “Wasn’t so hard, right?” He shoves them into his back pocket.You shake your head no, unable to keep eye contact with him. All the confidence you had over text has completely disappeared in the presence of him. What were you even thinking? He’s Gojo Satoru. “Thank you for these, baby.” He steps closer towards you, cornering you against the wall. “Send me something else later on tonight. Oh, and make sure to stop hiding that pretty face of yours too, okay? I wanna see everything.” He grabs your chin, tilting it up so you were looking at him.

“Why don’t you just fuck me already? We’ve both been waiting long enough,” you abruptly ask. It was taking everything in you not to drop on your knees and let him fuck your face.

“I can fuck you right here if I wanted to. You know how’ve riled up you’ve gotten me for all these weeks? I get so hard thinking about you that it hurts. I can’t fucking cum if it doesn’t involve you. You’ve taken over my mind, made me go on this chase to figure out who you were. So, if I wanna make you wait a little more, then I’ll fucking do it.” He gritted his teeth, gripping your chin slightly tighter. “Remember, only good girls get rewarded.” He smirked, pulling away from you before walking out of the building like nothing happened.

previous part

#—☆classyrbf #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo smut drabble #gojo satoru smut drabble #jjk smut drabble #jjk x reader smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk gojo

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rqnarok · 6 months ago

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summary: old man!logan finds himself having a breeding kink.

cws/tags: smut, mdni! old man!logan. fem!reader. heavy breeding kink. dom/sub dynamics. unprotected p in v. pet names. not proofread.

Logan’s younger self would not approve of this idea.

Hell, it would not even cross his youthful, unbound, and liberated version. Younger Logan would have brushed off the idea - dodging it like a bullet - revolting against it.

Having a kid? A noisy five-year-old child running around the house, screaming and kicking everything in sight? Yeah, fuck no.

He’d even hate just thinking about it.

But now that years have gone by and he’s almost hitting 200 years of age–a lot has changed in how he sees things, alright. Suddenly he’s not that idealistic-insufferable-annoying fuck anymore.

The heavy feels of his own body, his poor visions, his utter tiredness and wounds are slowly tended by settling down with you. Living in a small countryside home just outside Texas is the life Logan needed all along.

So he just can’t fucking help it when he sees how you act with those children at the Barbeque party. How you treat them with such care as if they’re yours.

The smile plastered on your face after you give each one of them a cookie is Heaven sent for Logan. He’s too focused on being mesmerized by your acts that he almost does not realize how his trousers feel tighter.

He quickly hides his bulge whilst embarrassed of himself, thinking ‘M fuckin’ old for this shit. But who gives a fuck anyway?

Oh, he in the past would not approve of this at all.

“Fuck. You’d look so fuckin’ good with y’r belly swollen with my child.” Logan grunts out, thrusting his girth into you as his mind fills up with visions of you carrying his child.

The images themselves make Logan go feral—growling when he feels how your velvet walls manage to clench around him.

“A-ah! Please!” The high-pitched noise you let out is almost humiliating as you bounce yourself on top of your husband, making the head hit your gummy spot every time you fall down.

“Hm? Y’want that, Little Missy? Want me t’give you a baby?” His calloused fingers rub shapes on your sticky skin, guiding your hips as he tries to search for the answer in your eyes.

You reply with a frantic nod, your mind feels empty as his tip deliciously kisses your cervix. The thought of being full of his seed, pregnant and giving him a baby—makes your eyes roll back in pleasure.

With one movement, Logan manages to manhandle you to a new position, his cock never slips out from your heat, “Want this old man t’give you one? Make you a momma?”

The sound of his full balls slapping against your ass makes you squeeze your eyes shut.

Now clearly hearing the obscene moans emitting through the dim room, “Yeahyeahyea—W-wanna be a momma—”

While you wonder how he still has this much stamina at that age, Logan leans down to your ear and buries his face on your neck, “Pretty wife. Gonna make the cutest goddamn babies, y’know tha’?”

His palms hold your thighs spread open to reach deeper inside you, “Let me fill ya’ up real good.”

Logan’s eyes flicker to watch your pussy swallow his cock in and out. The sight alone makes him throw his head and let guilt wash him over for a minute.

He feels perverted—corrupting you by plugging his cock to the hilt as if it is trying to mold your insides. A dilemma growing.

You could feel how his thrusts steadily became desperate, “L-Lo.” Whining out, your fingers crawl into his back to pull him tighter.

He can’t fucking wait to have you round up. Shit. You’d be so dependent on him—need him at all times. And he’d fulfill everything you ask him to do. Logan would never even let you move an inch.

Everything caught up to him as an acute wave, “F-Fuck. There ya’ go, baby.” Logan mutters - his hands shake slightly as they lose their grip on your thighs.

His cock never pulling out, “D’ya think it takes, pretty?” You could feel him deep inside you—how your walls are painted by his thick ropes of cum.

Logan gives lazy circles of his hips before pressing a sweet kiss on your lips, whispering several ‘I love you’s’ before lowering himself so his face could level with your pussy.

“Fuck.” The older man has never seen a far more beautiful sight than this. Watching his cum begin to leak out of you makes his cock twitches again.

The scruffy feel of his beard scratches your inner thighs as he leans closer—dragging the tips of his fingers along your folds before plugging his digits back inside.

“Logan-n!”

A deep rumble comes out of Logan, “Shh. Be a good girl for your husband, yeah? Need’a to make sure it takes.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #old man logan x reader #old man logan #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #deadpool and wolverine #logan by nina <3

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julymusings · 22 days ago

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AND A KISS FOR GOOD LUCK !

i only have you. take care of yourself for me. i take care of myself for you.

cw: descriptions of scars/bleeding/wounds

Leaning closer to the mirror, Jason picks at the skin of his cheek until he feels that familiar dry sting on his face and the thin stickiness of blood under his nails. It elicits barely a wince, he’s so used to the feeling. He watches blood flood inside the abrasion, the flushing, half-healed pink turning to a watery red.

He hears your footsteps approaching softly, but doesn’t look away from his reflection. He moves his attention to a fresh mark on his chin where the raised, jagged edges of the new scar have just started to scab— an undercover job; one where he had nothing but a thin layer of armor underneath his clothes, his helmet stashed away somewhere in the rafters. The skin is peeling at the corners, and he tugs at the bits of flesh.

“Jay.”

He finally tears his eyes away from the mirror; you’re standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. Your lips droop into a frown, teeth biting on your bottom lip.

“Hey,” he says. He focuses somewhere between your forehead and eyebrows.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is neutral, gentle.

“These fuckin’ cuts,” he mutters. “They’re itching like crazy.”

It’s a half-truth; yes, they do itch like crazy, and it does make him want to claw his skin off sometimes. But that’s not why he’s doing it.

It has become second nature for him, scratching and tearing and aggravating the wounds on his face. Something he does when he’s antsy, or idle, or deep in thought. Just as every other time you find him like this, you shuffle forward and place your hand over his.

Reflexively, he interlaces his fingers with yours, a small, guilty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Can I help?” You ask, softly, while leaning against his side. You place a kiss on his shoulder, over the fabric of his sleeve; the shine of your lip balm leaves a mark.

“It’s nothin’ to worry about, baby. It’s almost midnight. I have to head out soon.” The back of his hand haphazardly wipes a single swipe across his cheek, but all it does is smear the blood over his face. His jaw tightens momentarily, and you can tell it burns.

“Come here,” you say, sliding yourself between him and the wash basin. You cup his face between your hands, dragging your thumb along his chapped bottom lip.

“You chew on your lips too much, Jay.”

He exhales slowly, sagging into your hold. On another day, he’d chuckle or playfully roll his eyes with a kiss to the pad of your thumb. Tonight, he can’t even meet your eyes.

You hop up unto the bathroom counter and pull him close to stand between your legs. There’s a clean washcloth hanging from the towel hook, and you run it under warm water, then wring it out. Jason flinches slightly when you reach out to his face, but settles back into your touch without argument. With soft strokes, you wipe away the thin line of blood, then drag the cloth across the rest of his face, careful not to aggravate the fresh mark on his chin. He remains still the whole time, gaze fixed on the mirror behind you.

“Does it sting?” You ask. He shakes his head.

“Can you look at me?”

Reluctantly, he raises his eyes to yours.

He doesn’t say it, but his eyes say enough, say the harsh assault on himself that sits on his tongue, fighting to break through his teeth.

“You’re so beautiful, Jason.” You trace your fingers along the lines of his features.

“You don’t have to do that.” He turns his face to the wall, trying to hide the frustrated tears that threaten to spill over. It cracks your heart in two, seeing the loveliest person you know blind to his own beauty.

“Jason,” you whisper, voice filled with desperation for him to hear all the words he won’t let you say. “Baby.” It’s a wish; a plea.

He’s never been good with words like these, starving for kindness with a mangled stomach. You learned this the hard way, after trying to force-feed him the intensity of your affection, thinking it would help him when it only made him sick. Now you dole it out in silent, digestible amounts; a squeeze of his hand here, a kiss to the forehead there.

He says nothing, but turns his head back to you. For now, it’s enough.

“What’s that for?” He nods to the bottle of opaque white water you plucked from your side of the sink.

“Rice water. It’s good for your skin, especially if you’re marinating under a sweaty helmet for hours,” you tease.

He grumbles out something along the lines of it’s well-ventilated, but nonetheless, he places his hands on either side of you to lean down towards your eye-level. You rub the solution between your hands and massage it into his face. He always seems to relax when your hands are on him; his eyes flutter shut and his lips part with a relieved breath.

You can’t help yourself—he really is so beautiful—and you steal a kiss to his nose.

“What’s that for?” He opens his eyes at the sound of you unscrewing yet another bottle.

“Oil. For the scars,” you say, tentatively.

His fingers twitch against the counter, but after a moment, he nods. You dab some of the pink oil onto your fingers, and carefully rub it into the jagged marks that decorate his chin, his cheeks, his jaw. He stiffens when you make contact with them, and you’re not sure you hear him exhale until after you pull away.

The bottle is replaced by a small tube of lip balm, and Jason tilts his head. “More?” One of his hands rests on your thigh and strokes up and down.

You tsk at him. “Can you just trust me?” You don’t give him a chance to argue before squeezing the tube and spreading the balm across his lips. His protests are muffled behind his mouth, which he keeps shut so you can work.

“Now I’m done.” You hop down from the sink, and he trails after you into the hall; you know he needs to stop at a safe house before starting his patrol, so you don’t let him linger in the bathroom with his hands on you— similar situations have made him very late in the past, and you’re not interested in getting another earful from his team.

His duffel bag of weapons and gear is already on the living room floor, ready for him to grab and go. A familiar thread of nerves and lonely pining run through your body.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few hours.” Jason lifts the bag with one hand, and pushes a stand of hair behind your ear with the other.

“You better.”

He leans in to peck your lips, but you throw yourself at him for a fiery, desperate kiss straight out of a Hollywood movie. It surprises him enough to make the bag hit the ground as he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss you back with matching fervor.

He’s panting when you release him, face burning red and chest rising rapidly. Try as he might, he can’t hide the shy, flustered grin stretching across his face. “And what was that for?”

You shrug. “For good luck. Obviously.”

He blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Obviously.”

You run your hand up his arm and squeeze on his bicep. “Stay safe. Please.”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“I will.”

heyyyyy guys. so lots has happened. we hit 1k😱😱I feel like a real life influencer now. Hey what’s up you guys welcome back to my YouTube channel, today’s video we are going to be fantasizing about emotionally unavailable men!!! U should totally check my recent post and participate in the celebration

This is based on this ask , read it for some more background, and the quote is from gabriela mistral’s letters to Doris Dana 👍🙏also this was not proofread don’t judge me🙏🙏

Thee divider is by cafekitsune I don’t feel like finding the post to link it I’m SORRYYYYY

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healmydesires · 7 months ago

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cross that line ꕤ (l.h)

part two

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

summary: For a long time, you were content hiding your feelings, but lately, the longing for someone you can’t have has become unbearable. Despite knowing he could never be yours, you still cherished the sweet ache in your heart whenever he smiled or gave you a warm, platonic hug. Then, one day, everything changed.

genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)

word count: 14k (14k on the dot to be precise but yeah uhm. sorry. I swear I'm normal)

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, thunderstorms, idiots in love, mutual pining, assumed unrequited love, jealous!reader, reader is described as shorter than logan, emotional!reader, miscommunication kinda, inexperienced/virgin!reader, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom logan, ok… just in overall bye, logan is soft for reader, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation, major size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, oral fixation. some daddy kink? breeding kink aaaaa sorry. I wrote this while ovulating. they’re both FREAKS. scent kink? lots of pet names. this is high key sweet and turns filthy. logan is worshipping his sweet girl ok! reader is a mutant. reader has hair, no further description though. this is not beta read sorry!

a/n: GUESS WHAT!!! user healmydesires is back with another self indulgent fic about a new blorbo! I’ve been having all random kinds of scenarios about logan in my head and I just didn’t know which type of story to go with. until I felt like there weren’t much of inexperienced/virgin reader fics for logan and tbh… that’s kinda my brand (I’m high key kidding but lowkey that’s what I love to write the most) if you’ve read my works so. I thought I’ll write what I WANT to read. so this is high key self indulgent. english isn’t my first language so pls bear with me <3 also ngl.. a lot of it is just smut 😭 I literally wrote this while ovulating… EDIT (19/09): I kinda edited it a bit because it had a lot of grammar mistakes and I'd often jump from present tense to past tense so ye

this goes without saying, but if you don't like it don't read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

Being roommates with your best friend had its perks. You were together almost all the time, sharing both the big and small moments. As fellow teachers, you could easily swap teaching tips, lend each other a hand with tasks, or offer guidance when you were feeling stuck. Your tall best friend effortlessly reached the top shelves, and you both enjoyed laughter-filled moments during movie marathons. Sharing responsibilities became more fun too—splitting chores like cooking and laundry felt easy and natural. Plus, there was comfort in knowing your best friend was always dependable, ready to support you whenever you needed it. And whenever you were in need of a hug, your best friend was probably already ready to envelop you in his warm embrace.

But it also had its disadvantages.

Especially considering that Logan Howlett, your best friend, was quite the menace.

Logan had always had a rugged handsomeness that effortlessly made people swoon all around him. It wasn't fair how pretty he was. He had always been lucky with finding partners—or rather, when it came to finding bed or sexual partners. He'd often bring those one-night stands or partners to your shared apartment only to have sex with them. Logan had never been the type to stick with one person, always preferring flings over long-term relationships. Or so you thought.

You, on the other hand, had always craved a long-term relationship. You dreamed of finding your true love—someone to share adventures with, to have fun with, and to dive into deep, meaningful and random conversations. You loved the idea of being with someone who let you be your true self, where you could spend hours talking about the most random things—discussing your favourite TV shows one minute, and passionately criticising capitalism and the world the next. You were all about affection, from kissing to being held, but you also longed to hold your partner close and make them feel cherished, just as much as you wanted to feel loved in return.

Unfortunately, you had never had the chance to experience anything like that.

It wasn't like you had never had the chance or had the opportunity to explore and possibly experience a potential relationship. You had just never been really interested in creating a relationship with a stranger.

Plus the thing was, your best friend wasn't just your best friend. You had been in love with Logan for god knows how long.

Charles Xavier was the one who had introduced you both, years ago. You remembered that day very vividly.

You had just arrived at the Xavier Institute, and the professor had offered you a two-sided job, to be a teacher at the school and be part of the X-Men.

You'd always done your best to keep your powers hidden, but being welcomed into a school designed for people like you—a mutant—felt incredibly liberating. That's why you hadn't hesitated when Charles Xavier invited you to his school. You'd always known you were powerful, with the ability to control and manipulate water, but you had kept your abilities a secret, not wanting to be treated any differently in a world that didn't really like or understand people like you.

As the professor took you around the grounds, you couldn't help but be impressed by how big and beautiful it all was.

You were so captivated by the mansion's grandeur and stunning architecture that you didn't even notice a guy casually leaning against the nearest wall outside of Charles's office. But the moment your eyes met his, it felt as if time itself stood still. Looking into Logan's eyes, you felt like you could drown in them. You had never seen anyone so effortlessly handsome.

Completely entranced by him, you almost forgot to introduce yourself. Your body heated up in the moment, and the professor definitely noticed. Logan Howlett gave you a knowing smirk, making the warmth inside you intensify even more.

That day you both became friends, though you still didn't quite understand why, given how different you both were. Logan was gruff and blunt, while you, though capable of being direct, tended to choose your words more carefully. He was passionate and strong-willed and opinionated, and sometimes he let that get the best of him. You were deeply in tune with your emotions, while he always seemed to hold back, keeping certain feelings tightly guarded. Logan was never one to be very straightforward with his emotions. He would rather keep most of them to himself, and didn't want to seem too vulnerable. Communication was something you valued and needed a lot, but Logan, by contrast, didn't seem to rely on it as much. You were an overthinker, always caught up in your thoughts, and he would often step in to ease those worries of yours.

You could say that opposites attract.

Over time, your friendship grew, and one day he asked if you'd like to move in with him into a new apartment near the institute. He craved a bit more peace and genuinely enjoyed your company. It seemed like a good idea, so you thought, why not?

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with your roommate. All you knew was that one day, you were suddenly overcome by an emotion so intense, it was unlike anything you'd ever felt before. It hit you all at once. Before Logan, you'd never really had a serious crush, never experienced feelings this powerful for anyone. You often told yourself it must have started shortly after you moved in with him, but deep down, you knew that wasn't the truth. This feeling had been quietly growing from the very first moment you met him, slowly building until it became impossible to ignore.

It was funny, you thought, how life had a way of bringing you things—and people—you never realised you needed. People like Logan, who became so essential that you couldn't help but wonder how you had ever lived without them. People like Logan Howlett, who somehow managed to be both your saving grace and your greatest temptation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A few months into your roommate arrangement, you still couldn't get used to Logan constantly bringing one-night stands to your shared apartment. It was pure torment.

As you ate cereal at the kitchen island, one of Logan's many one-night stands quietly slipped out of the apartment. You rolled your eyes, as Logan routinely walked them through the apartment to the door, their faces often adorned with sly smiles as they fluttered their eyelashes at him. A knot of anger twisted in your belly as you watched them play with the collar of his shirt, their fingers lingering while he made no move to pull away. You'd never felt such intense rage before. He responded with a grunt as they would casually give him a goodbye kiss.

You hated experiencing feelings like these. It was a gross emotion, a heavy sensation that felt thick and tar-like, clinging to your chest and making you ache with its heavy weight.

Anxiety? Sure, you were often more anxious than most mutants, but that wasn't the feeling you had at this moment. Maybe it was jealousy? You disliked how that emotion fit so easily on your tongue, leaving a bitter taste.

Each time you witnessed these scenes unfold, jealousy and frustration would wash over you. Or how you'd feel utterly awful whenever you accidentally overheard them having sex.

As Logan reentered the apartment and closed the door behind him, you couldn't help but snort. “So, what number are we up to now?”

He stared at you for a moment, before chuckling and shaking his head with a smirk. “Not sure, lost count.” He shrugged, grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen island, and took a bite.

“What was their name?” you asked, staring daggers at your bowl of cereal.

Logan shrugged again. “I don't know, and honestly, I don't care,” he replied curtly before walking away.

You couldn't understand how he could be so nonchalant about this situation.

It wasn't just jealousy; you longed for any kind of affection or love from Logan, more than you ever thought possible. You were grateful to be his best friend and you knew it might seem foolish to hope for a chance with him, but you couldn't help yourself. Deep down, you feared you'd always feel this lonely, believing you could never fall for anyone but him. He was everything you craved and needed in life.

You felt foolish, constantly embarrassed and rejected. More than anything, you felt hurt, knowing that you were the only one to blame. It was your own feelings that had caused all this pain.

The thought of him one day falling in love with someone else made your stomach sink, but you pushed and suppressed your sadness aside daily. It didn't really matter—Logan was free to date whoever he wanted. He was your best friend, only his best friend.

One day, you'd have to come to terms with the fact that he would always be just your best friend.

You just hoped that one day it would become easier to deal with these feelings.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It was the middle of a cold winter night — the air cool against your skin, even with your large pink puffer jacket to keep you warm. The thick curtain of night enveloped the sky, painting it a deep midnight blue, with stars twinkling like the clearest diamonds. Despite the cool ambient air, you found yourself relaxing, your shoulders gradually easing.

“You see that there?” you pointed up at the starlit sky, leaning unconsciously into Logan's warmth as you both lay on the grass of the X-mansion grounds. “That's the Pleiades. People often mistake it for the Little Dipper, but it's just a star cluster.”

Logan hummed, but his eyes were focused on you, how you gazed up at the stars with an awestruck expression. A gentle smile tugged at his lips, as he enjoyed how you looked so endearing as you were so engrossed in the stars that you loved so dearly.

He glanced up at the part of the sky you were pointing to, located the cluster of stars you had mentioned. He studied it for a moment and thought he had seen something similar to the Pleiades before, but never illuminated in the night sky like this. Logan's gaze then returned to the earth, settling back on the grass where he lay beside you.

“Beautiful,” Logan whispered as he stared at you. “Truly beautiful.”

You were too busy gazing up at the sky to realise that he wasn't talking about the sky.

For as long as you could remember, you had loved the night sky, finding its dark embrace profoundly comforting. More than that, you adored the stars—coming out at night to bask in their radiance, with their distant coldness soothing your soul.

You had always felt so mesmerised about the universe, especially the stars and the moon. They appeared beautiful, glittering magnificently beside one another as they hovered in the upper stratosphere.

“Why did you bring me out here, Lo?” you finally asked, looking up at your best friend. You noticed him smirk down at you and saw a fleeting hint of hesitant insecurity in his green eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

He shrugged against you, still grinning. “I know how much you enjoy stargazing, and I'm aware you've had a rough week, so I wanted to give you a chance to relax for a bit.”

You softened as you gazed up at him. Logan was right—you had been having a rough week. The children had been sweet, but the workload had been overwhelming. You couldn't help but appreciate how Logan was always looking out for you.

“Thank you…” you whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He winked before he looked back up at the sky. “Why don't you show me another constellation?”

You giggled as you pointed out another cluster of stars, but more often than not, Logan found it hard to focus on the stars. After all, he had a bright light of his own by his side daily that captured all of his attention.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A year had passed since you moved in with Logan, and autumn was already around the corner. The temperature was gradually dropping, and the air became crisper. The trees' leaves were starting to fade from vibrant greens to tamer shades of bronze and gold. You had always loved this time of year—it was that perfect season where you could bundle up in layers when you were outside, then retreat indoors in the evenings, getting cosy with a hot chocolate and a good book.

It was during seasons like this that you found yourself wishing you could cuddle up with someone, enjoying a movie or simply each other's company. But it wasn't just anyone you wanted by your side—it had always been Logan for you.

For the longest time, you were content in just keeping all your feelings hidden. Lately, though, the longing had been getting harder to bear. Wanting someone you knew you couldn't have was starting to feel unbearable, slowly eating away at you. And even though you knew he could never be yours, it didn't stop you from savouring the sweet ache in your heart every time he smiled or when he pulled you into a warm, platonic hug.

All the stupid fluttery feelings in your stomach every time his eyes would catch yours, or the way your heart beat fast whenever you were in close proximity to him. You knew it had been years since you'd known Logan, but you couldn't help the effect he always had on you. The way he left you yearning for more. But, of course, you tried to bury those feelings down deep, reminding yourself that Logan could never feel the same way about you as you felt about him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

One lazy afternoon, with no classes scheduled for you to teach, you found yourself by the lake on the X-Mansion grounds, practising your water bending. The water flowed seamlessly around you as you moved your arms, bending it effortlessly to your will. As you went through each movement, you could feel a pair of eyes on you, observing every precise motion, your muscles tensing with each fluid shift. A light sheen of sweat formed on your brow, and your face held a fierce look of concentration as you focused on perfecting your stance and movements.

Several moments had passed, and the person watching you still hadn't spoken a word. By now, you were almost certain it wasn't just anyone—it had to be Logan. Anyone else would have said something by now, maybe greeted you or asked about your training. But not Logan. He had a way of lingering in silence, watching you in that quietly intense way of his, never feeling the need to fill the space with unnecessary words.

“Well, are you just going to stand there and stare, or do you plan on saying something?” you asked, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Logan grunted, “I think I'll just keep watching. I quite like the view from here.”

A flush of warmth spread across your face, butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach at his words. You hesitated for a moment, pausing your movements before he spoke again.

“Don't stop on my account, sweetheart.”

You knew he was wearing one of his signature grins, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it off his face. As you grew more flustered, a wave of frustration built up inside you—how could this man always have such an effect on you? An idea sparked in your mind, a mischievous smirk tugging at your lips. Deciding to continue your water bending practice while he watched, you let the water flow effortlessly around you, fully aware of his eyes tracking your every move.

Once a peaceful stillness settled in the air, you saw your opening. Without warning, you spun around with swift precision, bending the water toward him and drenching him in seconds.

Logan stood there, completely perplexed as you broke into a fit of giggles. He was drenched from head to toe, and you knew it wouldn't be long before he sprang into action. Sure enough, just seconds later, he smirked again, though this time it carried a sharper edge. “You think this is funny, bub?”

“Yeah, I kinda do,” you replied between laughs, unable to contain yourself.

But then, Logan's grin turned devious, and with a determined march, he began closing the distance between you. Your eyes widened in realisation, and without thinking, you bolted away.

“You're not getting away with this, princess,” he called out, his voice low as he gave chase.

He moved swiftly through the gardens, but you were quicker, slipping just out of sight every time he got close. His eyes darted around, scanning the area, frustration slowly turning into determination. You could hear him muttering under his breath, his footsteps getting louder as he searched for you. Your heart raced as you ducked behind a tree, trying to stifle your laughter. The thrill of the chase had adrenaline coursing through your veins.

For a moment, you thought you had lost him, but then he sniffed and just as you peeked around the tree, you saw him spot you from across the grove. His eyes gleamed with mischief as a smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “I got you,” he muttered before he moved towards you with renewed speed. You tried to slip away again, but it was too late—he had you cornered.

Soon enough, two strong arms caged you in, trapping you between the tree and his chest. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you tried to back away, only to realise there was nowhere to go. “Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the familiar playful glint in his eyes making your heart race even faster.

You squirmed, trying to find a way out, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you in place without being overbearing. “Logan! Let me go,” you protested, laughter bubbling up in your throat despite your attempt to sound serious.

“Thought you could get away that easily, huh?” he teased, leaning in so close that you could feel his wet clothes and the warmth of his body. The heat from his proximity spread across your own, making you acutely aware of how close you were. You bit your lip, your cheeks becoming hotter as his smirk widened. The sight of your flustered expression seemed to delight him, his satisfaction evident in his playful gaze.

“Well, this is cosy,” you remarked, but your voice barely rose above a whisper. There was a tremor in your tone, one that matched the rapid beat of your heart.

“Hm, I think so too,” he responded with the same teasing tone. You gazed up at him with bright eyes as the golden hour of evening cast a warm glow around you both. It took all his willpower not to look away, not to acknowledge the tension that hung thick in the air.

You shifted against the tree, searching for a different way to elicit a reaction from him. Your touch light, almost accidental, but it sent a shockwave through him, his breath hitching in his throat. You could feel him stiffen, sensing the tension as he reacted to your contact.

He leaned in, just enough that he could feel your breath against his skin, just enough that the space between you became almost non-existent, and just enough to hear your breath hitch.

Logan closed his eyes, as he pressed his forehead against your own. Every time he tried to speak, the words got tangled up in the mess of emotions swirling inside him. All he could think about was how close you were, how your touch burned through him, how the smell of you, that unique soft scent of yours, filled his senses and made him want to lose himself in you.

“Lo—”

Before you could finish, Ororo's voice rang out, calling your name. You felt a wave of disappointment wash over you as you realised your moment with Logan was interrupted. You had forgotten about the promise to cook together with her and Jean, and your friend's timing burst the bubble of what you thought might finally be a shared moment with him.

He grunted in frustration, pulling away from you and looking off to the side. Ororo, Jean, and even Scott soon found their way to you, their presence drawing closer. As they approached, each of them wore a grin that suggested they had noticed the tension between you and Logan. The air was thick with unspoken understanding, and it was clear that your friends had picked up on the charged moment that had just been interrupted.

You cleared your throat and stepped reluctantly away from Logan, trying to regain your composure. You forced a smile as you addressed your friends, saying, “Sorry to keep you guys waiting.” You then walked away with Jean and Ororo towards the mansion, though you couldn't help glancing back over your shoulder. Each time you looked, a hint of longing appeared on your face as you cast a final, wistful glance at Logan.

As you walked away, you heard Scott remark, “You look wet.”

Logan responded with a huff, “Fuck off, Summers.”

You couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if your friends wouldn't have interrupted you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It had been Friday evening, and you were in your office at the institute, finishing up grading the last of the papers while waiting for Logan. The two of you had plans to head home together, but he had yet to come and find you. Growing impatient, you decided to look for him yourself. You grabbed your bag and jacket before going out of your office, closing the door silently behind you. The smell of stew wafted through the mansion as you jogged down the stairs from your office to the kitchen. You quietly approached and paused when you saw him with Jean. She was chopping vegetables, while Logan leaned against the island, holding a cup of coffee.

“I don't see why you don't just do it. Everyone can see how perfect you two are for each other,” Jean had sighed.

Your eyes widened and you bit your lip nervously as you instinctively hid behind the wall. You truly hoped Logan wouldn't smell your scent while hiding, considering his heightened sense of smell. You knew you shouldn't be eavesdropping, but your curiosity had gotten the better of you. Jean's words had left you intrigued about what they were discussing.

Logan huffed, “I've already told you—” he tried arguing, but Jean cut him off mid-sentence.

“Logan, come on,” Jean said pointedly. “You keep denying it, but everyone here has seen the two of you dance around each other for years. You can't honestly tell me that you're just friends. Friends don't act the way you two do with each other.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Logan asked, tilting his head to the side. Your stomach churned as you realised they were talking about the two of you. Silently, you pressed your back against the wall and shuffled further behind it, continuing to listen.

“It means that friends don't stare at each other longingly, or they don't flirt with each other, and they certainly don't cuddle together while sharing the same bed,” Jean said, emphasising her point as Logan began to argue. “Besides,” she continued, “you've known her for a while now. There's no one you've been more comfortable with than her. We all know you'll look after each other and be happy together. So why haven't you done anything about it? All we want is for you both to be happy,” Jean concluded.

You bit your lip at her words, feeling a mix of hope and nervousness churn in your stomach. With trembling fingers, you held your breath, waiting for Logan's response. When you heard him sigh, you felt your world begin to crumble around you.

“Yeah, but Jean, it's not like that. We are not like that. We're just friends,” Logan had replied. You had pressed your teeth harshly into your lip, biting down so hard you feared you might draw blood. It was the only thing keeping you from sobbing out loud. Logan's words replayed over and over in your mind. While you had always known he felt that way, hearing it confirmed so casually had left your heart breaking.

Not wanting to listen any longer, you silently turned and hurried toward the main entrance, trying to be as quiet as possible. Once outside, tears flooded your vision as you ran to the mansion gates, searching through your bag for your phone to call a cab. Since you hadn't brought your car and had driven in with Logan that morning, calling a cab was your only option.

When the cab finally arrived, you slid into the backseat and gave the driver your instructions. As he drove you home, you took a deep breath, struggling to swallow the lump in your throat. Your breath came in labored gasps as you fought to keep from breaking down in tears. Your mind was running a mile a minute as you tried to process his words. Silently you let the tears flow down your cheeks.

When you arrived at your building, you paid the cab and noticed your phone buzzing incessantly. You quickly silenced it as you entered your apartment, not bothering to look at who was trying to contact you.

Once you entered your bedroom, you broke down just then as you let out a choked sob while stripping off your clothes. With great effort, you managed to put on your pyjamas before climbing into bed. Soon, you would let your destructive thoughts take over. Deep down, you knew you shouldn't have eavesdropped on their conversation and jumped to conclusions, especially since Logan wasn't done speaking with Jean. But you couldn't bear to stay and listen any longer. You felt too vulnerable as you let his words echo inside your head.

You had been ignoring all the texts from your friends and the calls from Logan specifically, too drained to even hold a conversation.

Eventually, you felt sleep overtaking you, utterly exhausted from a long workweek and an emotionally draining evening.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That same night, you had jolted awake to the sound of a loud rumble. Outside, storm clouds loomed ominously over the city, with thunder crackling through them every few minutes. The storm had been raging outside your apartment, with thunder booming so fiercely it shook the windows. Curled up in your bed, you had whimpered softly, clutching a thick blanket tightly around you—not just for warmth, but for comfort and a sense of protection.

You had never liked thunderstorms, and by now, you must have tried a thousand different ways to distract yourself from them. You'd put on headphones to drown out the noise, but the knowledge of the storm outside still fed your anxiety. Thunderstorms always had a way of making you feel small and utterly helpless.

You felt a tightness building in your chest as you trembled beneath the sheets. Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing and calm yourself down. In moments like these, you felt truly helpless. You knew you shouldn't feel ashamed for being this terrified, but you couldn't help it.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the song playing through your headphones, desperate to drown out the storm. Moments later, you felt the bed dip. Slowly, you opened your eyes and found Logan sitting at the end of your bed, his soft gaze fixed on you with a look of quiet concern. A wave of relief washed over you just at the sight of him. Part of you wanted to ignore him and continue being upset with everything that had happened earlier that evening, but you couldn't find the power to do so. After all, he probably didn't even know why you were upset and who were you even kidding, he was everything you needed.

He was sitting there shirtless, dressed only in a pair of grey sweatpants. His hair was tousled from sleep. If it weren't for the sheer terror you felt because of the storm outside, you knew your cheeks would be burning at the sight of him like this. You noticed his mouth moving and, reluctantly, you slid one headphone off your ear to hear him.

“W-what?” you squeaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Sweetheart,” Logan whispered cautiously into the darkness.

At the sound of his voice, the tears that had been brimming in your eyes finally spilled down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, I feel so stupid,” you whispered, taking off your headphones and quickly trying to wipe your tears away, embarrassed by your emotions and the fact that you were terrified by the storm.

Seconds later Logan was climbing up the bed and he was lying right next to you. His strong arms wrapped around your shaking form almost immediately, holding you tightly.

“Shhh it's okay sweet girl, I've got you,” he whispered softly as he kissed your temple. Warmth spread through you at the action and you melted into his embrace.

“I hate being scared of them, Lo,” you mumbled into his chest as he squeezed you tightly.

“It's okay princess, I got you. I won't let anything happen to you.” His hands, surprisingly soft, were stroking your skin in a soothing manner as he continued to press soft kisses around the top of your head.

As Logan held you, you felt yourself slowly begin to calm down. Even though the storm showed no signs of letting up, his presence made you feel much more at ease and secure. Logan meant everything to you—he was your anchor.

“Please, stay,” you whispered as the last few tears slipped down your cheeks.

In the dark, Logan whispered your name and tightened his embrace. “I'm not going anywhere, baby girl.”

As Logan held you close, you felt your body relax gradually. He gently ran his hand through your hair, pulling the covers over both of you and adding an extra layer of warmth.

You reflected on how he often spoke to you and the way he treated you with such care. You couldn't help but overthink his sweet and gentle treatment. You knew you were more emotional and needed extra reassurance and patience, but you had never considered that he might actually have feelings for you beyond friendship. You often felt like a burden to your friends and especially to Logan. You were fairly certain you were the only one he treated this way. His teasing sometimes seemed like it could be flirting, and despite your attempts to deny it, deep down you sensed that you were somehow special to him.

But another part of you couldn't shake what he had said earlier that night to Jean. You felt deeply conflicted and confused about everything happening between the two of you. The uncertainty and mixed emotions left you struggling to understand his true feelings, unsure of how to navigate the situation.

So you did what felt best to you, which was communicating. Even if you hated confrontation so much, you hated being unsure even more.

“Lo?” your voice trembled as you whispered against him.

“Yeah, sweet girl?” He said gently.

You took a little longer to respond, lost in your own thoughts, overthinking everything. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest. Sensing your hesitation, Logan spoke up again, breaking through your spiralling mind.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice lingering in the air as your eyes fluttered open. His head was tilted slightly, worry etched across his face.

“'M-am fine… I just—” you stuttered, your voice cracking. Logan stared at you, waiting patiently for you to finish. “I need to talk about something, or-or it will probably eat me alive if I don't.”

Logan's brow furrowed as his concern deepened, but he remained patient, waiting for you to continue.

“I- I overheard you and Jean earlier tonight…” your voice barely above a whisper.

Recognition settled over him at your words. He sighed shortly after. “What exactly did you hear?”

“You said…” your voice faltered, cracking slightly before you took a deep breath, closing your eyes. “You said we weren't like 'that,' and that we were just friends. After hearing that, I couldn't stay. It hurt too much.” You paused, your words tumbling out in a rush. “I know I shouldn't have eavesdropped, and I'm sorry... I just—” Your voice trailed off as you buried your face in his chest, your rambling finally coming to an end.

He let out a deep sigh, pulling you closer into his embrace. One of his hands gently cupped your cheek, causing your breath to hitch at the contact. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady but filled with warmth. Slowly, you opened your eyes, tears welling up as you met his gaze. Logan's expression softened, and he let out a soothing sound. “Angel, if you'd stayed a little longer, you would've heard the rest of the conversation.”

“W-what?” You squeaked, your heart pounding against your chest as you anxiously waited for him to continue.

“First of all,” he began, locking eyes with you as he spoke, “I told Jean that I couldn't tell you how I felt because I never thought you'd feel the same way. I figured you were better off not knowing how I feel about you because…” His voice faltered for a moment, a heavy sigh escaping him before he continued, “I've always believed I didn't deserve someone like you. Someone so beautiful, so patient, intelligent, caring and so sweet.”

“Lo—” It was difficult to process everything he had said. You had been so sure that he didn't feel anything more than platonic for you, so hearing that he did was overwhelming and you needed to let it sink in. “I just thought... you know, with all the people you've had over in the past, you wouldn't feel anything for me,” you said, your sadness making it hard to finish the sentence and your nerves bracing for the words you had been dreading to hear.

“I know it sounds stupid, but I kept convincing myself that if I would have meaningless sex with random people that I would get over you. That if I told you how I felt, I’d lose you,” he went on, his vulnerability tugging at your heart. “That’s the last thing I want. You mean too much to me to risk that. I love you, and the thought of losing you—even if it meant not having you the way I wanted—was unbearable.”

Tears welled in your eyes, slowly slipping down your cheeks as he poured out his heart, leaving you in disbelief. You hiccuped through your tears, “You... y-you love me?”

His expression softened further as he took in your puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Gently, he used his hands to wipe away the tears that were slipping down your cheeks, handling you with far more tenderness and care than you had shown yourself earlier.

“Of course I do,” he replied softly. “In every universe, there's no one I love more than you.”

“Logan, you deserve me. Just as much as I deserve you,” you said, cupping his cheeks as tears continued to stream down your own. “You don't have an idea how much I love you.”

Logan smiled softly before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His arms tightened around you as he began to pepper your face with tender kisses. You couldn't help but giggle against him, feeling the tension between you both melt away bit by bit. The tears slowly came to a stop.

As the emotional intensity of the moment subsided, you felt a sense of relief and contentment. The storm outside seemed to fade into the background as you basked in the warmth of your newfound understanding. You knew that challenges would still come, but facing them together felt infinitely more manageable now that you had acknowledged your feelings for each other.

After placing a final kiss on the tip of your nose, he pulled back, his gaze filled with such deep affection that it left you feeling overwhelmed—but in the best possible way.

Logan caressed your face with fondness as he admired you. “You’re beautiful.”

You’d feel flustered instantly. “You’re so handsome Logan.” You whispered timidly.

“Really?” He’d smile down at you.

“Yes,” you whispered, continuing to meet his gaze shyly, your heart racing as his touch lingered on your skin.

You felt his hand slip beneath the hem of your nightshirt, his fingers tracing the soft skin of your back. A shiver ran down your spine at his touch, drawing his playful gaze as his eyes glinted mischievously. Your breath hitched when his other hand brushed against your bottom lip, sending warmth flooding through your body as his touch became more intimate, exploring you with quiet intensity.

“Do I make you nervous?” he teased with a devious grin.

“I guess you do,” you admitted, biting your lip bashfully.

“And why's that?” Logan asked, leaning in even closer. You could feel his breath against your lips, his nose brushing gently against yours.

There’s a moment of silence as Logan’s face moves closer and closer to your own, both unable to verbalise just how desperate either of you feel for each other.

His hands are warm as they wander all over your back, underneath the soft fabric of your pyjamas. Your eyes flutter close as you enjoy his attention. You feel yourself get lightheaded by his affection and by the close proximity of your bodies.

As your eyes remained locked with his, the intensity between you grew. You found yourself studying every detail of Logan’s face—the small moles scattered across his skin, his beautiful green eyes, the rough stubble along his jawline. Your gaze drifted from his eyes, down the slope of his nose, until you were irresistibly drawn to his lips. His mouth looks so inviting.

How much you’ve dreamed of having them on your own.

You swallowed dryly at the intensity behind his eyes, your heart beating madly in your chest. A flare of heat rushed to your cheeks as you resolved to reveal the truth. You didn’t want to keep it from him any longer, especially with him looking at you as if he was about to devour you.

“B-because I—” you finally spoke as you stumbled over your words. You felt weak in his presence, but in the best way imaginable. Heat spreads through your body, a feverish sensation overwhelming your senses. Your heart raced, refusing to calm down, and your limbs trembled uncontrollably. It wasn’t the kind of fever that came with illness, but a warmth—tingling, like anticipation coursing through your veins. You whimpered as the same warmth settled between your thighs. “I need y-yo—”

Before you could finish your sentence, his lips crashed onto yours, kissing you with an intensity and passion that left you trembling and helpless, while soft whimpers escaped your throat. He’d tug your body fully closer against his own as his mouth claimed yours.

All your thoughts overwhelmed your brain, disabling any rational understanding of what was going on. Gradually, you leaned into Logan, melting into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back.

Logan groaned as he continued to kiss you with a fierce intensity, giving everything he had. You felt his tongue tracing your lips slowly. Knowing what he wanted you parted your mouth slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue inside and swirl it around yours.

You absorbed all his passion, savouring the warmth of his closeness and the sensation of his rough yet soft hands holding you tightly. You didn’t want to ask how this was happening, nor did you dare question whether it was real or just a dream.

One of his hands roamed over the bare skin of your back beneath your pyjama shirt, leaving goosebumps in his wake, while the other explored the tender curve of your neck. He held you with such tenderness as his mouth continued to move ferociously against yours.

You whimpered against him as warmth and wetness continued to pool between your thighs, your pussy throbbing as his voice rumbled with a chuckle. “You okay there, kitten?” he asked softly, his voice low as his lips brushed against your jaw.

You knew he could smell your arousal, knew he could hear how fast your heart was beating. You bit your lip, trying to stifle another sound, and you tried to bury your face into his chest, feeling the heat spreading across your face and body. Logan was having none of that, his lips quickly reunited with yours. He groaned softly, a deep rumble in his chest, as you trailed your tongue out to seek purchase in his mouth, and he opened for you without hesitation. His hands gripped at your waist and brought your body flush against his.

You wanted Logan to consume your very being. Claim you as his completely.

Soft little noises of pleasure kept leaving your mouth as he continued to kiss you. His lips pressed against yours, guiding the kiss with a gentle control that made you melt into his embrace. You surrendered completely, letting him lead as you revelled in the sensation. He was so good at kissing that all you wanted was to stay in this moment with him forever.

He pulled away after what felt like hours to breathe, his warm pants fanning across your heated face. He was still holding your face with one hand, and his thumb on your cheek moved a little, stroking your skin with so much tenderness. Murmuring against your lips, he said, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. I love you so much.” before delving back in for more.

You whimpered as he nipped at your bottom lip, then gently swiped his tongue over it to soothe the sting. You gasped, and Logan seized the moment to explore the inside of your mouth with his tongue once again. As the kiss grew more heated, you moaned, feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

Surprisingly, you completely forgot about the storm that’s raging outside.

Logan devoured you, pouring all his love into you and claiming your mouth and kissing you with so much passion, your body shuddered with want, from the need for him. He moved his lips with yours and swirled his tongue with your own. His hand then moved to tangle in your hair as he pressed his body to yours completely.

Your hands moved to bury in his hair as well. When you pulled at his hair it was a bit rougher than you intended to and it tips his head all the way back and he lets out a loud, wanton moan that makes your whole body flush with arousal. You whined as he finally pulled away, as he left your body flush and panting and craving so much more.

His mouth then moved from your lips to your cheeks as he whispered his love for you again and again. He started trailing long, hot kisses down your jaw and neck. You whimpered pitifully as he suckled lightly on the side of your neck, tilting your head back instinctively to bare more of your soft skin to him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re everything.” He groaned as he bit down gently on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You cried out, impulsively grinding your hips against his own, desperately searching for some much needed friction against your throbbing clit. “You’re mine.” He’d growl against your skin.

You gasped, your eyes flying open when you felt his erection pressing against your pussy. You moaned as your core started clenching around nothing, begging for some attention, his attention.

Logan groaned as you continued to grind against him, grasping your hips into his hands to halt your movements. You whined in protest, as he then rolled you both over, hovering above you as he pinned your arms gently against the mattress.

“So needy.” He chuckled as a devious smile would grow on his face. “Does your sweet little pussy want some attention?” He grinned when you whimpered underneath him, before he continued. “I can always smell how much you need me.” He growled before he rolled his hips against yours again. “This virgin pussy is always begging for me to fill her.”

You didn’t have time to become embarrassed as high pitched whimpers slipped past your lips as he continued to grind against you. You’ve craved this man so bad, and now that he was yours you didn’t want to hold back anymore. He intertwined your hands together as he moved his big straining and clothed cock against your now soaked panties.

“Love those little noises you make for me, such a good girl.” He moaned against the skin of your neck as he pressed open mouthed kisses and licks across your skin.

You whined as he gave you a particular hard thrust. You could feel how massive he felt as he rubbed his cock against your clothed folds. You couldn’t deny that it made you nervous but all you could think about was that you needed and wanted him to take you so bad. More wetness would pool down your heated cunt as you fantasise about him filling your tiny pussy with more than just his cock. “Ah, n-need yo-you Lo…”

Suddenly everything became overwhelming, the temperature in the room rising quickly, the feel of his thick cock thrusting against you, the feel of his touch as it wandered all over your skin and the fact that you were going into a foreign but intimate territory with your best friend had you feeling hot all over.

His features softened as he took in how overwhelmed and flustered you looked. He slowed down his movements and one of his hands would move to hold your face as he slowly leaned down to peck your lips. “You’re okay baby girl, I’ve got you. I will take good care of you.” He whispered against your lips. His low voice sent a new wave of arousal down your body. “Tell me what you need, kitten.”

“You, I need you, Logan. I've always only needed you,” you whimpered against his lips as you reconnected them. His hands gently caressed your thighs, and your mind became hazy with intense lust and overwhelming love for him. Your brain instantly turned into mush as you continued to kiss each other passionately.

The kiss then increased with an intensity that had you gasping for breath. You rolled your hips into his, rubbing your throbbing clit against him for some friction against your core. You moaned into his mouth as you rubbed against him. The front of his sweatpants strained as he moved along with you.

As you kept losing yourself in the kiss, you felt his hands wander up your thighs up to the hem of your shirt. His fingers brushed delicately over the sides of your ribs, moving up and down your skin repeatedly, his fingertips mapping out every dip and curve as they wandered all over your skin.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, admiring you, making you glance up at him shyly from beneath him. He pulled away just slightly only for him to hold the hem of your shirt, and you could tell what he was about to ask before he opened his mouth. You bit your lip and nodded vigorously, causing him to chuckle breathlessly. “You want me to take this off?” He questioned as he tugged at the fabric gently.

You nodded bashfully, unable to use or trust your voice during that moment.

He smiled softly, his hands gently brushing under your shirt before hooking his fingers into the fabric. Slowly, he lifted it, and you raised your arms to help him slip it off.

You felt heat rising on your skin the way his eyes roamed all over you, taking in every little detail. The way Logan was looking at you, eyes filled with nothing but love, adoration and lust, made you feel so alive.

He discarded the piece of clothing to the side and began mouthing along your collarbone with affection. You trembled underneath him as he showered you with his attention. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered repeatedly as his mouth travelled all over your exposed skin.

His large hands moved to the curve of your waist where it met your hips and clutched it, holding you tight as he littered damp kisses and nips to your shoulders and any skin along the way down to your breasts. You whimpered as he traced the tip of his nose over the swell of your breast.

He smirked as he looked up at you, breathing in through his nose as he inhaled your scent and you couldn’t help but shiver when he exhaled warmly through his mouth and onto your nipple. “Fuck, baby girl, you’re so hot.”

Then, he wrapped his lips around one nipple, teeth just skimming your skin as he sucked and licked with passion.

“L-Lo,” you mewl as you try to grind your hips against him, your cunt seeking friction as it throbs with need.

“Feeling good kitty?” He quipped back as he grins up at you. You felt your skin flush with heat as you just stared down at him. Lust was written all over your face and he had no trouble reading your expression. So he resumed licking, long, lavishing licks with the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple as the other hand which was occupying your other breast, travelled all the way down to your panties.

As his fingers slipped underneath the band of your lacy underwear, down to where you needed him the most, his mouth fell open to unleash a loud groan onto your nipple as he felt your wetness, sliding his fingers between your soaked folds.

He explored your wet cunt patiently. Heat overwhelmed your senses as Logan continued to litter soft kisses all over your chest. Your hands found his head, running your fingers through his hair as his mouth continued to wander all over your naked skin.

Logan’s lips moved slowly down your body, kissing every little place he could find on your skin while his hands traced along.

Soon, he would retreat his hand from your heat, leaving you a whimpering mess. He then leant forward, his face meeting your sex, breathing in the smell of your pussy, running his nose against the damp patch on your underwear. You whimpered as he inhaled your scent. “Fuck kitten,” he growled as he couldn’t seem to stop smelling you. “This pussy smells so good, I can’t wait to taste ya.”

A devious smile played on Logan’s lips as he looked up at you through his eyelashes. “I am sure you taste just as good as you smell, if not better.” He groaned before taking your underwear between his teeth, while pulling it off your legs slowly. A shuddering breath left your lips, speechless as you watched him take off your lacy panties, becoming needier the longer you watched him. Logan kept looking at you as he slid down your body, pulling it off of you when it reached your ankles.

Once he took them off completely he gently pushed your legs wide for him, whimpering as the air hit your wet slit. He took a moment as his eyes took over you, your glistening centre clenching around nothing as he continued to stare at your wet hole. The man between your legs would moan at the sight. Not much later, Logan smirked as he kissed all the way up to your leg, taking his sweet time to give your body the attention you deserved. He pressed soft kisses from your ankles up to your knees, his hands moving along with his mouth, caressing the insides of your thighs as he gradually moved up your legs.

His lips lingered on your thighs, licking and sucking some kisses on your soft skin, Logan’s lips were so close to where you needed him the most yet he felt so far away.

“So pretty,” he murmured as he guided your legs over either of his shoulders.

You were about to beg as his lips detached from your thigh, only for moments later to feel him nuzzling against your pussy, smearing your juices across his lips and opening you up to his skilled tongue.

You gasp and squirm at the contact of his wet tongue.

He then pulls back for a second, “pussy tastes so good,” he moaned before his fingers moved to spread your outer lips for him. “But I think I'm gonna play with my girl for a bit.” Logan smiled as he slid a finger inside of you, watching the way your body squirmed at the sensation, moaning against the pillow next to you as you tried to muffle yourself.

You moaned as he moved his thick and long finger inside your tight walls. “So wet for me baby girl, you’re literally dripping on my finger,” he said before he pressed some kisses on your pubic bone, making you buck your hips in response. “Easy, kitty, we have all night.”

“L-Logan, please please I need more. Need your mouth and just. More. Pleaseeee need you so ba—” your whining got cut off the moment you felt his lips wrap around your clit, sucked it into his mouth, coaxing a loud but broken moan out of you. “F-Fuck!”

You felt like screaming, you didn’t know what to do with your hands, feeling so lost and overwhelmed with the pleasure Logan was giving you already. He dove between your legs, licking a stripe up through your folds and teasingly dipping his tongue into your entrance along with his finger before he travelled up to your clit, spreading your lips with his wet appendage before sucking your button into his mouth.

The whine that came out of you only drove Logan to seek out more of those heavenly sounds. As his one single digit pumped in and out of you, you couldn’t help but appreciate that his fingers felt so much more pleasurable and thicker than your own. As bliss overwhelmed your senses, you felt your whole body start to tremble.

Your core began clenching around his finger, begging for more. He pumped his finger in and out of you at a leisurely pace. Instinctively you tried moving your hips, slowly, grinding against his hand and mouth as he moaned. He gave you an intense look as he continued to fuck you with his finger. His eyes couldn’t seem to stay in one place as he admired how beautiful you were underneath him.

You were panting heavily, barely able to think straight, your mind turning hazy as he slowly slipped a second finger inside your tight channel.

Logan moved them slowly at first as your pussy tried to adjust to the addition. The stretch was overwhelming but oh so satisfying. Little whimpers left your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. He moved his face back to meet yours, engulfing you in a passionate kiss, swallowing all your little mewls.

You gasped, his tongue slipped inside your mouth, kissing you with so much passion, giving you everything he had to offer. “That feels good doesn't it, princess?” Logan groaned as his thumb made contact with your clit. You bucked your hips and nodded quietly. “Use your words pretty girl,” he taunted while he curled his fingers inside you as he played with the sensitive spot inside you.

“Yes, please please Lo, feels… so good.” You moaned loudly.

Soon his lips travelled all the way down your body as whines and whimpers left your trembling lips, silently begging for more — all while he was still finger fucking you.

Logan inhaled your scent as soon as he leaned forward, but didn’t let you wait in anticipation much longer. He wet his lips before his head dipped between your legs, warm tongue licking a slow stripe across your outer lips, all the way up to your button.

“Ah, fuck!” You cried out, your hips bucking off the mattress.

Squeaky, senseless noises bubbled up from your throat wantonly. Your hips stuttered against him and he just sighed like there was nothing in the world he'd rather do than this, eating you out on your bed.

You were a mess of his name, chanting and stuttering over and over again like a prayer. Your eyes squeezing shut to the point of tears, his mouth licked up your clit, as he continued to finger you while one of his other hands was holding your hip, pinning you to the soft sheets as you bucked into him, trying to urge him to do more.

The way he build up your arousal by pumping his fingers in and out of you, curling up ever so slightly to find the spongy spot inside of you. The familiar coil in your belly continued to build up as Logan suckled on your sensitive bud. Your abdomen tightened as he began quickening his pace again, his fingers hitting into that sweet spot with precision, had your toes curling as you clenched your thighs around his head.

Logan was lapping at you with determination, moving his fingers continuously as he slowly got you to the edge.

“Oh, my—”you whimpered, trembling digits sinking half into his brown hair and the other against your teeth, as you tried to silence yourself. “Fuck, aahh Logan, f-fuck…”

He moaned against you as his lips sealed around your clit and you bucked your hips at the action. Warmth spread throughout your whole body as he began talking you through it. “Fuckin’- you taste so good. Feels so good. You’re just… everything.”

You whimpered as he continued. “Come on,” he grunted as he pumped his fingers faster in and out of you. “Come on baby, cum for me.”

“Ah, d-daddy,” You gasped loudly as your whole body trembled even more, the hot familiar feeling continued to spread all over your body, your body tingling, your hips moving at their own accord against Logan’s hand and face. Totally unaware of the word that slipped past your lips as your body tensed as he called you ��a good girl’ and shortly after you came against his mouth and around his fingers.

“That’s my girl.”

Your whole mind felt like exploding and all you could see were stars. You felt so overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and emotions you were experiencing. Your body still trembled as you felt yourself come down from your high.

As you slowly came back to your senses you felt him gently pull his fingers out of your pulsing hole. But you still felt Logan’s mouth on you, licking and sucking at your pussy and it didn’t feel like he was gonna stop any time soon. You whined as he moaned against you while he licked against your tight entrance, licking up your release, his tongue prodding your slick hole.

“‘S too much.” You whimpered at the overstimulation.

Logan ignored your pleas, moaning against your heat as he continued to eat you out. The man you adored so much between your legs kept sliding his tongue up and down your sensitive slit. Your little mewls and other noises of ecstasy spurred him on, to move his lips back up to your clit, sucking the nub softly between his lips.

“You love having daddy eat your sweet pussy don’t you?” He smirked, looking up at your flustered and embarrassed face as he continued licking your soaked cunt. “No need to be embarrassed, baby. I like it.”

The walls of your pussy clenched furiously, the empty feeling inside you intensifying with every lick, and as your wetness trickled out of you, your core practically begged him to fill it up.

“Oh sweet girl.” Logan tutted as you began grinding your hips against his face as moans kept spilling from your lips. “You’re so sensitive, kitten.” He chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your clit.

Eventually he leaned down, finally slipping his tongue into your entrance, he curled the muscle upward to brush your walls, the sight of your fingers bunching the fabric of the sheets in a tight grip encouraged him to do it again and again.

Writhing below him, you felt him lick up and press against a sensitive spot inside that had you seeing stars, while your hips bucked against his face uncontrollably. Your fingers moved once again, gripping onto his dark hair rather harshly as you pushed your hips against his face shoving his tongue deeper inside your hole.

“Please,” you begged. “‘M close.”

“Please what?” He taunted as he continued to lick your heat.

“P-please,” you stuttered and paused before finishing timidly. “Daddy.”

“Good girl,” he said before plunging his tongue back inside you as his thumb came up to press against your little bundle of nerves. Moments later, the tension snapped inside your lower tummy, cumming with a loud whine, your hips stuttered as your vision blurred. You cried out his name, your voice unable to remain steady.

Your hips stuttered until the final waves of aftershock pass. As you slowly came back down to reality again while you tried to catch your breath, you heard him praising you softly while he continued to lap at your wetness gently. You whined and nudged him away with your leg, only to react with a chuckle.

“Taste so good, baby. Could eat your sweet pussy all day.” He grinned as he licked the wetness off his mouth. Logan smirked, holding eye contact with you as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth.

You giggled as he licked his fingers clean, feeling slightly embarrassed by the action. Trying to hide your flushed face, you lazily raised your hands to cover it, but Logan wasn’t having any of it. With a gentle smile, he placed tender kisses all over your hands, pulling them down slowly. Then, he leaned in closer, pressing sweet kisses to your nose, your forehead, and both your cheeks before finally capturing your lips. Each kiss was playful, filled with warmth, as laughter bubbled softly between you, his grin widening against your mouth.

He pulled away with a satisfied sigh, a warm smile spreading across his face as he reached to touch the side of your neck, tracing his fingertips up and down.

You exhaled as you melted at the feel of his touch and kissed his thumb as it came to trace across your lips. Your shaky legs wrapped around his hips, and with a playful gleam in your eyes, you gave his thumb a tender lick, holding his gaze as you rubbed your still sensitive heat against his clothed cock.

“F-fuck, you can’t just do that kitten.” He groaned as his hands came to hold your hips, stilling your movements.

You whined, pouting as you looked up at him. “Why not?”

“It’s hard to control myself around you.” He grunted as he started grinding his cock against you. Your gaze wandered downward, following the line of the vein near his V-line as it disappeared beneath his grey sweatpants. You couldn’t help but whine underneath him as he continued to grind his covered cock against your growing wetness. You gasped after giving you a particular hard thrust, that’s when you realised and felt he wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath them. He felt massive. “I’ve been trying to control myself for years. I think I’d have to control myself a bit longer.”

“W-why?” you hiccuped as he kept rutting his hips into yours.

“Don’t wanna hurt ya.” He mumbled, as his cock strained against his sweatpants.

“But I know you won’t.” You said, your voice steady, filled with all the confidence you could summon. You watched as his jaw clenched, his grip tightening slightly as he held himself back, resisting the urge to just take you like he always wanted.

“How are you so certain?” His breath hitched when you tightened your legs around him.

“I-I, because I trust you.” You continued to stutter as you both rolled your hips against each other. His eyes darkened with desire, but you could tell he was trying to restrain himself, fighting against what he truly wanted, even though the tension between you was nearly unbearable. Still, you held his gaze, unwavering. “Because you love me.”

Logan groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to keep control, every muscle in his body tense with the effort. You could see the conflict etched across his face, the battle between what he wanted and what he was trying to hold back. His grip on you tightened slightly, a sign of the restraint still lingering in him, though it was slowly slipping away. His breathing was ragged, and for a moment, you thought he might give in. But then, he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay still, clinging to the last shred of restraint that hadn’t left him yet. “You don’t know how hard this is,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice thick with desire. “How difficult it’s been, every day since I met you, trying to hold back while being around you.”

“I think I do, Logan,” you whispered, gazing up at him. “Maybe not in the exact way you feel it, but I’ve struggled too, convincing myself daily that I could never have you. And now, realising I could’ve had you from the start—it’s almost unbearable.” You bit your lip, noticing how his expression softened. “That’s why I don’t want us to hold back anymore. I don’t think I can endure it any longer. Please, I need you, Logan. I love you, and I’ll always want you—”

Your words were cut off as Logan surged towards you, cupping your face as he kissed you passionately. His lips moved fervently against yours, as if he was trying to make up for every moment of restraint. Making up for any lost time. The intensity of his kiss made your head spin, your heartbeat quickening as you melted into his embrace. His hands then started roaming around your body, his hold on you tightening occasionally, pulling you closer, while his breath grew heavy as you felt every emotion as he kissed you. You clung to him, pouring out every feeling and emotion out with every heated kiss.

“I love you,” Logan murmured between tender kisses, breathlessly whispering your name.

Your own hands began wandering all over his body and eventually down his solid chest until your fingers met his abdomen, slipping momentarily underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. With a mix of urgency and desire, you tugged at them while whimpering underneath him as you continued to kiss him deeply.

“Just relax, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispered softly after pulling away from the kiss. He eventually took it upon himself to slowly peel back, shuffling a bit to rid himself of the last piece of fabric on his body. He tossed it aside, fully exposing himself to your hungry eyes.

Your breath hitched, your eyes wide. Fuck, he was massive. Long and thick in all the right ways. Just as you thought, the vein between his V Lines moved down to his cock. A spark of heat shot down to your pulsing core as you imagined how he would fit or fill you up. But it was also accompanied by a twinge of nerves.

Logan chuckled as he moved closer to you, his lips chasing your own as he enveloped you in another sweet but deep kiss.

The two of you kissed languidly for a moment, treasuring the heat of each other's bodies as your lips slot together with ease, but soon enough the kisses become deeper, more frantic and hands start to grip tighter and legs tangling together.

It's like you're both starved, this insatiable hunger for each other.

You couldn’t help but roll your hips against his to feel his thick cock. You whined as it turned slick as you kept grinding yourself against him, and he had no trouble gliding his hips against you and rutting it into your clit.

You gasped openly into his mouth, desire growing quickly. You were so wet. Logan swallowed your whines with his lips against yours, hips rolling against you. He kissed you full with fervour, his grip on you intensifying heatedly.

He held his length in his hand as he kept rubbing the head of his cock from your entrance, up to your clit, circling until you were squirming underneath him, and back down. The thought of his thickness finally entering your pussy made you wetter by the second, turning you more on. Logan swallowed your little mewls with his mouth, his hips rolling with yours.

You were trembling against him, full of anticipation. His body covered your whole body with his. You writhed against him, wishing he was just in you already and filling you up and consuming you with pleasure once again.

“P-please, Logan.” You stuttered, your body trembling underneath him as you waited for his next move.

Logan hummed as he concentrated while circling your clenching hole teasingly. You arched your back slightly as you whined, silently begging to finally fill your pussy the way you’ve always wanted him to do.

“Relax, baby girl.” He whispered after he licked and kissed underneath your ear.

“Please d-daddy, I-I need you.” You whimpered in anticipation. Logan would grunt loudly before nudging the tip of his cock against your soaked hole. Your legs trembled underneath him, a mix of nerves and excitement. “Want you to fill this little pussy. Need you t-to fill it with more than your cock. N-need your cum.” You whispered seductively against his ear as his last bit of restraint snaps.

At your words, Logan gradually put more pressure on your entrance making you whimper underneath him, once he finally slid his tip inside you, a gasp elicited from the both of you.

You’re aware this was just barely the tip of him, but you couldn’t help but feel the stretch burn already. Logan slid in so slowly it was agonising. You cried out as he gradually pushed more of his pulsing cock inside your own clenching hole. He was so big.

You tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly as you whined underneath him. He panted along with you, his warm breath fanning over your face while he kept his forehead pressed against yours. The stretch stung, but his pace kept it bearable. He guided himself a centimetre further, then another, another, until you were digging your nails into his scalp, a gasp spilling from your lips.

His hips stilled instantly once he heard the pained noises falling from your lips. Tears began to prickle at your waterline, a combination of discomfort and the overwhelming feelings that were coursing through you.

“Doing so good for me baby,” he praised as he peppered your face with gentle kisses. “You’re doing so good for me.”

“Please,” you whimpered as your eyes fluttered close.

Logan continued to move almost painfully slow, letting you adjust to every centimetre of him. After a couple of seconds you were able to relax more into it. You whimpered, clutching his shoulders at the stretch, the heat in your abdomen growing as your walls fluttered around him, pleasure beginning to bloom in your stomach.

“So full…” you whined.

“Such a good girl,” he grunted softly. You think there wasn’t a possibility to get more wet but as he utters those words you felt your heat get even more wet. He leaned down as he kissed your lips gently, as he filled you up bit by bit. He hoped the sweetness of his embrace would soften the sting.

You’re trembling as you canted your hips up, begging for him to fill you to the brim, while you gripped the bedsheets between your fingers. “Please Lo, need more. I can take it, daddy.” You whimpered as you involuntarily and repeatedly tightened around his thick cock.

He groaned at your desperate whines, losing his composure momentarily as he thrust the rest of his length all the way inside your tiny hole. The head of his dick kissing your cervix once he bottomed out. You cried out as you were trembling underneath him, trying to adjust to his size while your pussy kept pulsing around his cock.

“Fuck, so fuckin’ tight.” He hissed as he let you adjust to his cock.

His lips came to press soft and tender kisses all over your face as he let you relax. Tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes as you continued to adjust around him. You felt so full, as if he was made for you, and only you. The feeling of him filling you up so completely had you seeing stars and digging fingernails into his shoulders. You felt one of his hands finding your hand, lacing them with yours as the other one reached up to your face.

His breathing was heavy as you squeezed his cock repeatedly. Small whimpers left your lips as you squirm underneath him.

You needed more.

You hadn’t even realised your eyes had drifted shut until you slowly opened them, gazing up at Logan with a soft, pleading look. “Please, Logan.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated deep in his chest.

“Need more.” You whispered.

“Aww, does my sweet girl need me to move?” he teased, tilting his head with a playful smirk.

“Need you, please.” You begged as your pussy clenched around his thick cock rather hard which made him groan above you. “Please, I need you to fuck me so bad.”

His breath hitched as he exhaled shakily, before nodding quietly. Slowly, he started moving inside you, gentle but deep. One hand reached down to play with your clit, while the other one went to intertwine your fingers together, holding your hand tightly.

The sting hurt for a while, but it easily morphed into a more pleasurable feeling as he moved against you. You’re so overstimulated from all your previous orgasms that the sensation he was giving you was mixed between pain and pleasure.

He grunted as he dropped his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin just below it. Soon enough the pain would completely disappear and all you could feel was pure bliss.

Slowly, you were getting used to his girth, anticipating it every time he pulled out of you before moving forward. Your legs are splayed open on either side of his hips as he ground his cock into you. The angle was so good, gradually he would pick up his pace, leaving you a whimpering mess underneath him. As he fucked into you in languid strokes, the sound of slick skin and your noises of pleasure could be heard in your bedroom.

“How do you feel?” he whispered against your ear.

“Feels so good.” You moaned as you tightened around his cock, this time voluntarily.

You whimpered as he picked up the pace, angling himself in a certain way inside you. He finally leaned down to wrap his arms around you, the action elicited a gasp out of you as you grab at the sheets around you, as he fucked you harder and faster.

Every time he’d thrust inside you, his pelvic bone would drag along your throbbing clit, making you cry out his name in pure ecstasy.

“You’re taking me so well, sweet girl. Doing so so, good for me.” He whispered against your skin as he moved to nuzzle his face against your neck.

Soft grunts fell from Logan’s lips whenever he hit a specific deep spot inside you. You whimpered as his lips moved back up to your lips, enveloping them in a heated kiss. You melted completely against him, holding you close to him as he fucked you. He snaked one of his hands down between your conjoined bodies finding your clit as he rubbed two fingers over the sensitive nub.

At a certain point you felt him slide into a pressure point in your core and coupled with the way his fingers circled your clit, it had you clenching like a vise around his dick. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head from the pleasure he was providing you. The whimpers that fell from your lips became higher pitched as he picked up his pace.

“Feeling good, kitten?” He groaned, as his lips curled into a mischievous smile as he admired the way your face twisted in pure bliss. Too overwhelmed by the new experience. Filth and praise continued to come out of his mouth as he fucked you. “This pussy was made for daddy.”

His mouth covered your own instead as he swallowed all your little noises of pleasure, you could feel the tightness return in your belly, the tight coil that pulls tighter with every movement and every touch.

Your whimpers, gasps of pleasure and pants increased as ecstasy and warmth overwhelmed your senses.

“Taking daddy’s cock so well, baby.”

His hands couldn’t get enough of you, sliding around your hips and lower back, wanting to feel all of you, touch you everywhere. You whimpered at the feeling of his speed, feeling another orgasm coming so close, eyes tightly shut and legs locked bruisingly around Logan’s hips. He could feel it too, in the way you clenched and squeezed around his length, and he began to drive even harder into your pussy as he tilted his hips gently, searching for the one place that he hoped would blow your mind.

“Ah, daddy—” you hiccuped as he fucked you so good you felt like a blabbering mess. “Need you to come inside my pussy...”

“Is that what you want?” He growled as you pulsed around him. “Can’t believe it… it’s your first time and you’re already begging for me to cum inside. So filthy. You’re close aren’t ya?”

You nodded furiously as your arms trembled as they wrapped around him, your nails digging in his back as he moaned on top of you. The feeling of the coil tightening in your belly, was tingling down to your legs, ready to snap at any moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, cursing under his breath when you purposefully tighten your walls around him. “Bet you’d look even prettier with my cum inside your pussy. All full and messy.”

“Please…” you moaned as you thought about him filling you up. “Please Lo, baby, daddy… please fill this pussy up.”

He grunted as he buried his face into your neck as he fucked into you, making the whole bed rattle at his force.

“You want to cum pretty girl?”

You nodded frantically at his words while your eyes fluttered close as you bit your lip harshly. You were bucking up beneath him, nails digging into his skin even more as his hand moved back to your clit as another came to intertwine your hands together, pinning them to the bed. He rubbed your clit with enough pressure to ensure you’ll cum around him.

“Cum for daddy.” Logan demands softly.

And when he finally nudged against that spot inside you coupled with his deep voice– you were exploding, shattering, and detonating all at once, as you cried out his name. Blood was rushing so wildly in your ears that you couldn’t possibly hear the way you wail and sob as he crashed his lips onto yours, swallowing all your noises. Your head lolled back, your back arching violently as you twist and contort in pleasure underneath him.

“That’s it, good girl.” Logan moaned in your ear as your walls spasmed and pulsed around his cock, begging him to cum inside, desperate for him to fill you up the way he promised.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pushing himself up as he thrust deeper into you, the head of his cock hitting your cervix repeatedly. “You want me to fill this pussy up? Make it all messy?”

You were still in a daze but you were able to understand him so you nod vigorously at his words, whining even more at the sensitivity. Your pussy squeezed around his cock in anticipation. “Please…”

“Fuck, take it baby.” It washed over him instantly, hips stuttering into you as he grew desperate, eyes squeezing shut when he felt his cock throb inside of you before hot spurts of his seed splashed along your walls, painting them in ribbons of white. The warmth of his seed filled you up and spread inside your pussy. The feeling made you whimper, limbs limp on the bed as he shallowly thrust into you, making sure you took every last drop.

His warm cum filled you up deeply, the mild heat of it settling deep inside you and causing you to squirm under him. Logan panted as he let his body slump against yours. He rested on top of you, trying to steady his breath. His cock was still nuzzled deep within you, still half hard as it kept his cum from leaking out.

It was a blurry haze when you came back to your senses, your whole body was aching whilst simultaneously feeling the most relaxed you've ever been, equally as exhausted as it was energised, and you didn’t bother trying to question why. Just pure contentment.

Once both of you caught your breaths, Logan leaned his forehead against yours before kissing you tenderly.

“That was…” He breathed, smiling tiredly at the complete dopey mess he's made of you; hair all over the place and eyes lidded heavily, heated skin glowing and your lips looking swollen from all the kisses you’ve both shared.

“Oh yeah, that was mind blowing.” Your voice came out hoarse, still recovering from the height and volume it had gone, and you cleared your throat gently before you smiled up at him.

“I love you.” He whispered before he captured your lips in a deep and lazy kiss. You could feel his soft mouth smiling against yours as you whimpered against him. You felt yourself melting against his embrace as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I love you too.” You whispered back against his mouth.

You shifted slightly when you felt that he was still hard inside you. Biting your lip, you squeezed purposely around him at the realisation. Logan groaned at the feeling, his large palms sliding up your sides in a soothing manner.

“Don’t do that.” Logan grumbled but you saw a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Why not?” You giggled as your hands trailed through his hair.

“Makes me wanna fuck you again.” Your boyfriend mumbled.

“Hm, that’s kind of the point.” You continued to giggle.

Logan chuckled as he pulled his head back, looking at you with a mirthful smile.

Before you knew it, he pulled out only to man handle your body in the position he wanted you to be. Manoeuvres your body until you’re on your tummy. His hands came to hold your hips, pulling them up, your ass in the air for him.

He kneads the flesh of your cheeks before spreading them apart for him. Your body slumps slightly forward with exhaustion but Logan is quick to grip your hips, holding you in the same position. “Oh kitten, I’m not done with you yet.” He tutted.

Your cheeks flushed with heat as you prepared yourself for a long night filled with passion.

thank you for reading 🩷🩷🩷

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x you #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fluff #hugh jackman #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman x reader #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x you #my writing

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underskz · 6 days ago

Text

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility.

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both.

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that just you can’t quite itch yourself, barely sated by these comments.

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession.

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight.

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon.

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get.

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university.

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well.

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession.

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch.

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain.

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place.

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day.

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find.

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now.

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars.

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing.

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it.

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down.

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera.

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy.

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy.

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more.

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!”

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might.

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone.

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain?

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route.

You always do.

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request.

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall.

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others.

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation.

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home.

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > <

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing.

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball.

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box.

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.”

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table.

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay.

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.

“Need to charge my phone!”

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back.

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months.

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins.

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word.

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore.

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh.

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head.

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him.

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it.

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher.

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start.

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out.

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now.

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down.

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together.

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him.

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!”

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop.

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.”

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site.

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue.

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air.

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly.

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind.

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start.

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out.

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes.

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous.

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again.

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked?

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this.

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth.

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up.

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.”

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more.

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare.

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.”

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.”

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible.

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped.

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust.

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm.

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly.

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage.

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips.

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you.

“I’m still gonna stream.” The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums.

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his.

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape.

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.”

You blink.

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss.

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee.

“Okay.” You grin at him.

#mark x reader #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #nct smut #nct 127 smut #– miki writes #– mark

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