#to the little things like how the glow of his eye lights up that little spot near it

[rafecameronssl4t]

What's ours || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off this scene in s4 ep6!!!!

Warnings: angst!!!

Word count: 2, 458

A/n: HAD to write abt this scene

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Rafey?" your voice rings out as you step out of the shared bedroom, the soft sound of your bare feet padding against the wooden floor. "'M out here on the porch," his voice calls back, low and calm, carrying just a hint of warmth. A smile spreads across your lips as you pick up your pace, excitement bubbling in your chest. Sliding the glass door, you step onto the porch, the late afternoon sunlight casting a golden glow across everything it touches.

There he is, lounging casually on the couch, his polo clinging to his broad shoulders and biceps in a way that makes your stomach flutter. "Hey, baby," Rafe greets, his smile wide and genuine, the kind that always has a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room. "Hey," you murmur, your eyes locking with his. You pause for a moment, giving him the chance to drink in the sight of you.

With a playful glint in your eye, you do a small twirl, letting the flow of your new dress spin out around you, the fabric catching the evening light. You watch Rafe’s reaction carefully, feeling a thrill at how his gaze moves down your figure. "What do you think?" You ask, the words soft but full of a quiet confidence. "It looks good," Rafe says after a beat, his eyes lingering on you for a fraction longer than you expect.

There’s a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips, and when he leans back against the cushions of the couch, his eyes never leave you. "You look good," he adds, his voice deeper now, like the words are heavy with more than just praise. You beam at his words, crossing the porch to close the distance between you. "Where you going lookin’ all pretty?" he teases, spreading his legs slightly as he pats his thighs, his grin turning sly.

The gesture is an open invitation, and you happily accept, settling onto his lap. Your arm slides naturally around his shoulders, and his hands find their place on your knee, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "Just shopping with the girls," you explain, playing with the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. "There's this new boutique that just opened up—" You’re cut off by the sound of the front door creaking open and a hesitant voice calling out, "Hello?"

Your brows furrow as you glance at Rafe. "Were you expecting someone?" you ask, your voice laced with curiosity. Rafe exhales a sharp breath, "Yeah," he admits nonchalantly. "Sarah." Your surprise is instant, and your voice reflects it. "Sarah? She agreed to meet up with you?" He chuckles, the sound warm and a little cynical. "Yeah, well… desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess." Before you can process his words, Sarah’s footsteps sound on the porch, slow but deliberate.

Your eyes shift to the doorway, and soon enough, her figure appears. She glances at you briefly as you move to sit beside Rafe, her gaze cool but not unfriendly, before turning her attention to Rafe. "Hey," he greets her with exaggerated enthusiasm, clapping his hands together with theatrical flair. "Thanks for showing up. Good work." Sarah doesn’t miss a beat, rolling her eyes as if she’s heard this act too many times. "Please, stop," she says flatly.

Rafe grins even wider, running a hand through his buzzed hair, clearly enjoying the reaction. You shift slightly, about to stand to give them space, but Rafe’s hand tightens gently on your waist, silently urging you to stay. "I don’t want to argue, Rafe," Sarah sighs, crossing her arms as she looks at him. Her tone is exasperated, but there’s something softer beneath it. "We already have enough people against us."

An awkward silence settles over the porch, the only sound being the occasional chirping of birds in the trees. The air grows heavy with the weight of unspoken things, a tension that seems to hum between them. You clear your throat, trying to ease the tension. "Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea, maybe?" you offer, your voice polite, even as your eyes flicker between Sarah and Rafe, sensing the undercurrent of frustration.

Sarah’s eyes meet yours, her gaze flicking over the space with an almost detached interest before she shakes her head. "No, thanks. I don’t plan on staying long." You nod, the smile on your lips soft but understanding. There’s something about the way she holds herself—tired, wary—that makes you feel a strange sense of empathy. It’s clear she’s not here for pleasantries.

"Kiara mentioned…" Sarah starts, her voice uncertain as she scans the porch, her eyes flitting from the furniture to the surroundings, clearly uncomfortable. "That you might be able to help." She directs the latter half of her sentence at Rafe, her gaze lingering on him, but there’s a hesitation in her tone, a quiet pleading buried beneath the words. Rafe pulls at the sleeve of his polo, his fingers tugging at the fabric.

He doesn’t look up immediately but instead turns his attention to the ground in front of him, gathering his thoughts. "Uh, no. No, not with the land stuff. You guys are on your own with that," he responds firmly, his gaze briefly flicking up to meet Sarah's. There's an almost apologetic edge to his words, but it's clear that he's drawing a hard line in the sand. Sarah’s expression falls, disappointment flashing across her face, her shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of unspoken words is pulling her down.

"Right," she mutters softly, the edge of frustration in her voice barely concealed. She pauses, taking a breath before looking back at Rafe. "Sorry," Rafe adds, his voice quieter, almost regretful, but the frustration is still evident. "But…" He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the papers scattered across the table before him, the flicker of something heavier passing through his eyes.

"But there's… there's something else I wanted to talk to you about," he says, his tone shifting. It’s not just business now—there’s a vulnerability that creeps in, something raw beneath the surface. You watch him, your eyes tracing the subtle movements of his hand as he runs his fingers across his lips, trying to gather the right words. You stay silent, your own gaze fixed on his profile, your heart picking up pace as you sense the shift in the air.

This is no longer just a casual conversation—it feels more like a breaking point, something much deeper. "So when…" Rafe starts, his voice faltering slightly, the words coming out with an almost painful deliberation. He takes a moment, his eyes lingering on the papers again, then he looks down at your left hand resting on his shoulder, his gaze momentarily softening when it lands on the ring you wear—the one his mother gave him.

"Dad died," he finally says, the words coming out like a slow exhale, as if speaking them is harder than he’d like to admit. You feel the change in his tone immediately, the sadness in his voice gripping you, and you instinctively start rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder with your thumb, your mind connecting the dots, knowing how touchy the subject of Ward’s death always is for Rafe.

"...the first time," Rafe adds, his voice quiet, as though even acknowledging that death was not the final one is too painful to process fully. "um, he said I got a quarter of what he had," Rafe continues, his voice distant now, lost in the past as he leans forward, flicking through the papers with a focus that feels almost obsessive. "Yeah, he said I got a quarter too," Sarah chimes in, nodding slowly.

There’s something tired in her voice, a recognition of the weight of their father’s legacy that neither of them ever truly asked for. "But you didn’t get it, did you?" Rafe’s words are sharp, his gaze intense as it locks onto Sarah. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a quiet demand for the truth. Sarah hesitates for a moment, the silence stretching longer than it should. You can see her thinking, weighing her words carefully before answering.

"No," Sarah says finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Yeah, well, good luck trying to get that from Rose's greedy paws," Rafe scoffs, the bitterness dripping from his words. "She's got that money locked down tight." Sarah’s brows knit together, "well, I keep trying to call," she retorts, her tone sharp. "She won’t even let me talk to Wheezie." She crosses her arms, her gaze flickering away as if saying it out loud makes the situation even more real.

Rafe leans forward, his elbows digging into his knees as his expression hardens. "Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying," he says, his voice rising slightly. He locks eyes with Sarah, a fiery determination in his blue gaze. "We’re a family, and I’m not—" He cuts himself off, inhaling deeply as he shakes his head. "I’m not even allowed to talk to my own sister? That’s not fair, Sarah. You know that."

Sarah’s jaw tightens, and she slowly nods, her lips pressed together as she looks down. "And then Rose," Rafe continues, his arm gesturing wide as his frustration boils over. "She just gets to keep all that gold for herself? What gives her the right? That’s not what Dad intended." His fist slams into the wooden coffee table with a resounding thud, causing Sarah to flinch in her seat. The tension spikes in the air, and you instinctively place your hand on his shoulder, your touch firm yet gentle, hoping to ground him.

"That’s not what Dad wanted," Rafe repeats, his voice cracking slightly as he pounds the table again. Sarah visibly recoils this time, her discomfort palpable. "And it pisses me off!" Rafe’s voice rises, his anger spilling out unchecked. But before his hand can connect with the table a third time, you reach forward and grab it, your fingers curling around his. "Rafe," you say softly, your voice calm but firm. His eyes dart to you, and for a moment, the fire in them dims.

He exhales sharply, leaning back slightly as he glances at Sarah, who keeps her gaze down, avoiding his. "That’s our money, okay?" Rafe insists, his tone quieter but still edged with frustration. Sarah lets out a shaky exhale, her hands fidgeting in her lap as Rafe sighs heavily, running a hand over his buzzed hair. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, until you place your palm on Rafe’s thigh, your thumb brushing soothingly against the fabric of his shorts.

He glances at you, and you offer him a small, reassuring smile. He manages a faint one in return before looking back at Sarah. "I don’t know about you, but I really—I need that money," Rafe admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability. Sarah’s gaze snaps to him, her expression hardening. "And what about the gold cross you stole?" she counters, her tone sharp and accusatory.

"It was gold-plated," Rafe shoots back with a shrug, rubbing his eyes as if the conversation is draining him. "It was a good score. It’s not endless. It’s not like the Merchant gold, so..." His voice trails off, exhaustion creeping in. "I’m so sorry to hear that," Sarah says, her words laced with sarcasm. Rafe exhales through his nose, standing abruptly, "I don't know. I was just thinking, um." Both you and Sarah track his movements as he walks to the porch railing, gripping it tightly before turning to face her.

"You know, you and me," he starts, gesturing between them, "we try to get Wheezie back." Sarah’s eyes narrow in disbelief. "How?" she asks, her voice flat, as if she’s waiting for him to say something ridiculous. "I don’t know, but..." Rafe admits, pacing back to the table. He moves the glass in front of him before perching on the edge, leaning closer to Sarah. His proximity makes her shift uncomfortably, but she doesn’t move away.

"And then we try to get the money back," Rafe continues, his voice steady and resolute. You can see the determination etched into his features, the way his jaw sets and his eyes gleam with a fervour you know all too well. He pauses, his gaze fixed on Sarah. "Which is why we need to work together," he says, his tone almost pleading now. "Just like Dad taught us. We align our interests." Sarah’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the table as Rafe quietly watches.

"I just thought, you and me," Rafe begins again, his voice softer. "We can get back what’s ours." There’s a beat of silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Sarah bites her lip, her gaze darting to Rafe, then away again. "Look, I’m trying here—" Rafe says, but Sarah cuts him off, rising to her feet abruptly. "No," she says firmly, shaking her head. "I’m sorry."

She turns and strides off the deck, the sound of the front door slamming shut echoing behind her. You stand, moving to where Rafe is still perched on the table, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing gently as he lets out a frustrated groan. "Can’t she see that I’m trying?" he mutters, his voice laced with annoyance. "Like seriously—" "Shh," you murmur, your thumbs massaging the tense muscles in his shoulders.

"I know, baby. I know you’re trying." You move to stand in front of him, slotting yourself between his legs as he rests his forehead against your stomach. Your manicured fingers run through his buzzed hair, the rhythmic motion calming him as he exhales deeply. "When will she realise that we’re on her side here?" he whispers, his voice tinged with despair.

"You just have to give her time," you reply softly, your fingers stilling for a moment. "She wants to trust you, but she can’t just yet, Rafe." He tilts his head to look up at you, his blue eyes glassy. "I’ve already lost Dad," he says quietly, his voice cracking. "I don’t want to lose her—I don’t want our family to fall apart." Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in his tone. You cradle his face gently, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you hold his gaze.

"Listen to me, Rafe," you say, your voice steady and full of conviction. "You won’t lose Sarah, and your family won’t fall apart." His lips press into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "How can you be so sure?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just know," you reply softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Because I believe in you."

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1974 - ...but it was never meant to be

chapter summary: You and Logan have been living in the Canadian Rockies for almost 6 months, enjoying the peace and solitude that comes with it.

word count: 8.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is just fluff, at least until the end... but we're finally hitting the movies! and sorry for it being a bit shorter than the others, there are some ideas i'm saving for a future chapter :))

(p.s. the first sentence about the hotel in nyc is going to be very important to remember for a future chapter...)

warnings/tags: fluff, origins!logan, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, (beginning of) x-men origins, character death

series masterlist - chapter 5 → chapter 7

Leaving was easy once you got past the one incident. You and Logan had stopped that day at a hotel a bit out of New York City only to be found by your father’s men.

But what happened was almost like magic. Logan, your Logan, took them all out with claws. At first you were bewildered, shocked at what you just saw. But now, after 6 months of living in the Canadian Rockies, it was normal.

Normal.

Mornings would start with the soft light streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over your shared space as Logan brewed coffee and you stretched, enjoying the easy comfort of it all.

Logan had found work quickly enough as a lumberjack, something that kept him outside and busy, and it suited him. Meanwhile, you’d stumbled upon a small animal shelter in the nearby town. You’d started going once or twice a week, helping out with the dogs and occasionally picking up shifts to keep yourself busy and connected to some semblance of normal life.

The routines you fell into together were quiet, steady, and for the first time in a long while, you felt grounded. Though you missed New York sometimes, especially the volunteer work at the retirement home, the silence of the woods and the small town was a peaceful change.

Not only were things peaceful, but Logan had started opening up to you in the quiet of your cabin, usually in the early morning or after one of his nightmares. It started with little things—details about his mutation, his healing ability. Then, as the days blurred into weeks, he told you about his age and the wars he’d fought in, his voice quiet, words weighed down with old memories.

One chilly morning, you found him staring out the window, his gaze distant as he sipped his coffee. You moved up beside him, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Hey, you alright?”

He looked down at you, a flicker of a smile breaking through the shadows. “Yeah. Just… thinkin’,” he murmured, his voice rough but calm.

“Anything you want to talk about?” you offered, watching his face closely.

Logan considered this for a moment, then took a long breath. “I think… just realizin’ how long it’s been since I had somethin’ like this,” he finally admitted, a glint of honesty in his eyes. “It’s been a hell of a road, darlin’.”

You reached out, resting your hand on his forearm. “I don’t need to know everything, Logan. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He gave a short nod, letting his hand rest over yours, a simple gesture that spoke volumes. He didn’t say anything, but his fingers wrapped around yours, holding them a moment longer than necessary.

---

Life in the cabin wasn’t extravagant, but there was a certain charm in the simplicity. Nights spent by the fire, mornings with the scent of pine and fresh coffee, and the comforting weight of Logan’s arm draped over you as you both drifted into sleep. But there were also the little bumps—like the time you tried making him dinner.

It had been a stew recipe, something you thought would be foolproof. You’d stirred, added spices, tasted… but when you served it, the look on Logan’s face was priceless.

He took a spoonful, eyebrows lifting as he held back a chuckle. “This a new recipe?”

“Okay, I get it—it’s not great,” you sighed, laughing a little as you took a bite yourself. “Alright, yeah, maybe it’s terrible.”

Logan chuckled, setting his spoon down. “It’s not so bad. I mean… it’s got heart.”

You nudged him, rolling your eyes. “Heart doesn’t mean it’s edible, Logan.”

“Maybe not,” he smirked, “but I’ll still eat it.” He winked, lifting another spoonful as he pretended to struggle through the bowl, making you burst into laughter.

---

Late one night, Logan awoke from one of his nightmares. You knew, even before he’d fully come to, just by the way he stiffened beside you. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, and you reached out, fingers brushing his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whispered.

He looked down at you, the muscles in his jaw tight. But after a moment, he nodded. “It was a long time ago. Just old ghosts.” He paused, exhaling heavily. “There’s been a lot of violence. Stuff… I don’t ever want you to have to see.”

“I know you’ve seen a lot,” you murmured, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “But you don’t have to go through it alone, Logan. Not anymore.”

Logan’s hand covered yours, and he turned his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes soft but searching. “You’ve been more than I deserve, Y/N,” he said quietly.

Your heart twisted, and you reached up to cup his face. “Logan, I don’t care what you’ve done or where you’ve been. All that matters is who you are now.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. “Then I’m one lucky man,” he whispered, his voice low.

He held you close that night, your presence calming the echoes of a past that seemed finally willing to rest, if only for a while.

---

One day you were trying to make something simple, roast chicken and potatoes before Logan got back from work. You diligently checked the oven, making sure that nothing was burning, until Logan came home, wrapping his arms around your waist as you stood up from the oven.

Logan’s hands settled warmly around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he looked over at the oven. The familiar, steady weight of him grounded you, even as you felt your heart give a quick little skip at the simple, domestic gesture.

“Smells good in here,” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear as he took in the scent of roasting chicken and herbs. “Didn’t know you were this fancy in the kitchen.”

You let out a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Fancy might be a stretch. I’m just hoping it doesn’t come out dry.”

His arms tightened just a bit, pulling you closer. “Even if it did, I’d still eat it,” he said, a hint of that playful glint in his voice. “Means a lot, havin’ you here. Feels like… home.”

A warmth rose in your chest, one that went beyond the physical, and you leaned back into him, a smile tugging at your lips. “You know, I could get used to this too.” You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. “Long days, quiet dinners, just us.”

“Us,” he echoed, his voice softer, thoughtful. There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes, something unspoken yet weighty. His thumb brushed small, slow circles along your hip, as if anchoring himself in the moment, and he gave you a slight smile that didn’t quite mask the intensity behind it.

Logan was quiet for a moment, and you felt a shift in his posture, almost like he wanted to say something but was holding back. He looked at you in that way he sometimes did—like he was seeing more than just you standing there in your small, cozy kitchen. Maybe he was seeing all the days stretching ahead, those simple moments you’d have together, and the weight of that left him speechless.

“Logan?” you asked, brushing a hand along his arm.

He blinked, then smiled, the intensity in his gaze easing back into something gentler. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ how lucky I am.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”

The kitchen fell into a comfortable silence, with just the faint hum of the oven and the quiet, steady beat of Logan’s heart against your back. In the quiet of your little life together, things felt simple, natural. Here, there were no expectations, no obligations—just the two of you, building something real out of those little, ordinary moments.

But later that night, as you drifted off beside him, Logan stayed awake, lost in thought. His hand brushed over the small velvet box in his drawer, the ring that had waited all this time, the one that had been meant for you once before. He ran his thumb along the edge, thinking about when the right time might be—or if he’d even have the chance. For now, though, he’d savor each day, each quiet moment, holding on as tightly as he could.

---

You lay nestled between Logan’s legs on the couch, your head resting comfortably on his chest as you read, while he watched TV, idly sipping his beer. His free hand drifted up and down your arm absentmindedly, and you could feel the faint rumble of his quiet breaths beneath you. There was a calm in the cabin tonight—a peace you’d found only since being with him.

“What’s got you so hooked?” he asked, glancing down at your book with a smirk. “Looks like you’re deep in it.”

You tilted the book so he could see the cover, Jaws. “It’s a book about a shark.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “a shark, huh?”

You turned back to the book, keeping a small smile hidden. “Kind of. It’s a little deeper than just a shark, though.”

“Deeper than a shark, huh?” Logan smirked, shifting slightly to glance down at you, looking mildly amused. “Didn’t think a fish story could be that interesting.”

“It’s not just any fish, Logan,” you said, letting your hand rest on his as you settled back into his warmth. “This shark’s on a whole other level—a menace, basically unstoppable. And there’s all this tension between the people in the town, like who’s responsible, what to do, whether they even believe it’s happening.”

He gave a soft grunt of understanding, taking a sip of his beer. “Guess I can see why you’re hooked. Townsfolk fighting over a monster they can’t get rid of… kinda familiar.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, a glint of curiosity in your eyes. “You got experience with monsters, Logan?”

“More than you’d believe, darlin’,” he murmured, his eyes holding that far-off look he sometimes got when his mind slipped somewhere else, somewhere harder. But his grip on you stayed gentle, grounding him here.

There was a moment’s quiet, then he smirked, leaning down closer. “But I could take out your shark, no question.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, closing the book and giving him a look of mock skepticism. “A great white shark, Logan. One that can bite clean through a boat. I think even you’d have some trouble with that one.”

He snorted, giving you an exaggerated look of disbelief. “I’m tellin’ ya, I’d have it done in five minutes.”

You laughed, poking his chest. “I’d like to see that. You, in the water, with a shark. You’d probably scare it off.”

“Probably,” he chuckled, his tone playful but carrying a hint of something genuine. “But I’d do it for you.”

His words caught you off guard, softening the teasing banter into something warmer, something real. You looked up at him, and the light in his eyes held a familiar steadiness, a promise you hadn’t expected. You felt a smile creeping up, one that made your heart beat a little faster.

“That’s sweet of you, Logan. But don’t go risking your life over a shark.”

He shrugged, giving a small grin. “Risking my life’s kinda my thing.”

With a smirk, you shifted to put your arms around his neck. “I don’t need you to fight any sharks. I just need you here, safe, preferably not trying to tackle any more sea monsters.”

Logan’s hands came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “Don’t worry, darlin’. For you, I’d stay outta trouble… or at least, try.”

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours softly. You melted into him, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath you, the steady beat of his heart, a promise in every kiss, every touch.

When you pulled back, he let out a small sigh, looking at you with a softness that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

“Now,” you murmured, your voice quiet as you tried to keep the mood light, “how about you let me finish reading this book before you start making any plans to fight sharks?”

“Fine,” he chuckled, leaning back into the couch, his arms still loosely around you. “But I’m just sayin’, the offer stands.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting back to lean against his chest, your book in hand. But even as you returned to the words on the page, the comfortable silence between you filled every corner of the cabin, your heart warmed by the man beside you.

---

When Logan came home and removed his jacket, the sound of music drifted to his ears, mingling with the low hum of a vacuum. The cabin was warm, a sharp contrast to the biting chill outside, the smell of pine and faint wood smoke greeting him like an old friend. The soft glow of late afternoon sun streaked through the windows, and as he stepped further in, he caught sight of you.

You were standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old flannels that hung loose on your frame, the hem brushing just below the tops of your thighs. The vacuum roared in your hand as you cleaned, entirely oblivious to his arrival.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you. Something about this—a simple domestic scene—made his chest tighten, a warmth blooming there that he couldn’t quite name.

“Y’know, you’re not supposed to wear clothes that fit me better than they fit you,” he drawled, his voice cutting through the vacuum’s roar.

Startled, you turned it off with a quick flick of the switch and looked up, a sheepish smile spreading across your face. “Logan! You scared me,” you said.

“Didn’t mean to,” he replied, his tone warm as he pushed off the frame and walked toward you. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor, and as he got closer, his eyes drank you in, lingering on the way the flannel gaped slightly at the neck, exposing the soft line of your collarbone. “Got a habit of sneakin’ up, I guess.”

You laughed softly, setting the vacuum aside. “If you were a little less loud, I’d think you were some kind of predator.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he said, his grin spreading as he reached for you, hands settling at your waist and pulling you close, “if I wanted to catch you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled between you, his voice a low rumble that always managed to make your knees feel just a little weaker. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the solidness of him beneath your palms. “Good thing I’m not running then,” you murmured, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

He leaned down, his nose brushing yours. “Good thing,” he echoed, before his lips claimed yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. His hands slid lower, fingers splaying over the curve of your hips, pulling you tighter against him. The flannel you wore rose slightly under his touch, and you gasped softly into his mouth as his fingers found bare skin.

“Logan,” you breathed against his lips, your voice a soft plea.

“Yeah?” he rasped, his mouth trailing down your jawline, his scruff brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“Think you should let me finish cleaning,” you teased, though your hands had already slid up to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the dark strands at the base of his skull.

He huffed a laugh, his teeth grazing the delicate line of your throat. “Nah, think I got a better idea.”

With a swift move, he bent and swept you off your feet, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. You let out a startled laugh, clinging to him as he carried you toward the couch. “Logan, the vacuum—”

“Vacuum’ll be there later,” he cut in, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement. “Right now, you’re the only thing I’m worried about.”

He set you down gently on the cushions, his large frame hovering over you as he knelt on the floor, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the flannel higher. The intensity in his gaze sent a flush rising to your cheeks, your heart pounding in anticipation.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day,” he admitted, his voice thick, raw. His hands paused, fingers curling just under the hem of the shirt. “Mind if I show you how much?”

You nodded, breathless, and he smiled—a rare, almost boyish expression that quickly dissolved into something darker, hungrier. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt about where his mind was. His hands roamed freely now, skimming along the curve of your thighs, pushing the flannel higher and higher, exposing bare skin to the cool air of the room.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered against your lips, his voice thick, raw. His hands splayed across your thighs, gripping them as though grounding himself, his thumbs brushing along the tender skin there. “You’re a fuckin’ dream, darlin’.”

A shiver ran through you, anticipation building as his kisses trailed lower, down your jaw, your neck, leaving a path of warm, open-mouthed caresses. You gasped softly, your hands tangling in his hair as he moved further down, sinking to his knees before you, his broad shoulders nudging your legs apart.

"Logan..." Your voice was barely more than a whisper, already trembling.

“Shh,” he murmured, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed a kiss just above your knee, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. The intensity there made your breath hitch. “Let me take care of you.”

He kissed his way up your inner thigh, taking his time, each press of his lips deliberate, teasing. Your heart pounded as you felt his warm breath against your skin, so close to where you wanted him, needed him.

When his lips finally brushed against you, his tongue darting out to taste, you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that spilled from your lips. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer as he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue working you with an expertise that made your head spin.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your hands clutching his hair, your hips arching into him. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his tongue delving deep before retreating to flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you trembling, your thighs pressing around his head.

Logan growled against you, the vibrations shooting straight through your core, and the sound of it—rough, primal—only spurred you on. He was relentless, his lips and tongue working you with a fervor that left no doubt about how much he enjoyed this, enjoyed you.

“Logan, I—” Your words dissolved into a whimper, your body tensing as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His name was a mantra on your lips, each syllable punctuated by gasps and moans as he pulled you apart and put you back together with every stroke of his tongue.

When you finally shattered, the release crashing over you like a tidal wave, he didn’t stop. He worked you through it, his hands holding you steady as you trembled, as your body arched and writhed against him. Only when you were completely spent, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, did he pull back, his lips and chin glistening as he looked up at you with a wicked grin.

“You taste like heaven,” he said, his voice rough, gravelly, as he rose to his feet, his hands still resting on your thighs. “I could do that all night.”

You laughed breathlessly, leaning back against the couch, your body still tingling, your cheeks flushed. “You’re insatiable.”

“Says the woman who was just beggin’ me for more,” Logan teased, his voice a low rumble as his lips brushed against yours. His kiss was slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding into your mouth with practiced ease. The taste of him mixed with the remnants of your own release sent a thrill racing through you, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, keeping him close.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You sure you’re not tryin’ to kill me, darlin’? Feels like every time I get my hands on you, I lose a few more pieces of myself.”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, your fingers idly playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”

Logan huffed a laugh, the sound deep and almost self-deprecating. His thumb traced lazy circles on your thigh, his gaze locked on yours. “For you, maybe not. For me? I’m startin’ to think I wouldn’t mind it.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, a quiet confession that made your chest tighten. You reached up, brushing your thumb along the rough edge of his jaw. “I wouldn’t let that happen,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. “You’re too important, Logan. To me.”

His expression softened, the hard edges of his usual demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me, Y/N.”

“Maybe you should show me,” you said, your voice carrying a teasing lilt, though the heat in your eyes betrayed how serious you were.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, almost mischievous grin. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Maybe. But you don’t seem to mind.”

He let out a low growl, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips. “You’re damn right I don’t.”

In one fluid motion, Logan had you lifted, his hands firm as he repositioned you to straddle his lap. You let out a surprised laugh, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself as you settled against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, the solidness of him grounding you in a way that felt almost necessary.

“See? Told ya I had better plans than cleanin’,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he spoke.

You tilted your head, giving him more access, a soft hum escaping your lips. “I think I’m starting to agree.”

Logan’s hands roamed over you, calloused fingers exploring the soft curves of your body with reverence. There was no rush, no urgency in his movements. It was deliberate, almost tender, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

His lips trailed a path along your neck, his scruff scraping against your skin in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he admitted, his voice low, almost like a growl.

“I could say the same about you,” you whispered, your fingers trailing down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

Logan’s hands gripped the hem of the flannel you wore, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he slowly lifted it. He paused, his gaze flicking up to meet yours, seeking permission.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, taking in the sight of your bare skin bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice thick with something between awe and hunger.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but the look in his eyes kept any hint of self-consciousness at bay. “You’re staring,” you teased, though your voice wavered slightly under the weight of his gaze.

“Can’t help it,” he said simply, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just beneath your ribs. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Y/N. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of lookin’ at you.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way. You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that was slow and deep, your hands threading through his hair as you pressed yourself against him.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he shifted beneath you, the hard press of him against your core drawing a soft gasp from your lips. He swallowed the sound with a groan, his grip tightening as he began to rock you against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure racing through you.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Just let me take care of you, darlin’.”

His hands moved to your waist, guiding your movements as he kissed you again, his lips moving against yours with a deliberate slowness that left you breathless. Each roll of your hips against him was maddeningly slow, the steady build of tension making you ache for more.

“Logan, please,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you tried to quicken the pace.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. “Patience, Y/N. I’m not in a rush.”

You huffed in frustration, though the warmth in his gaze softened the sharp edges of your need. “You’re cruel,” you muttered, though the slight smile tugging at your lips betrayed your words.

“Cruel, huh?” he echoed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hands slid down to cup your ass, squeezing gently as he shifted beneath you. “Pretty sure you’ll be thankin’ me when I’m done with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound dissolving into a soft moan as he bucked his hips against you, the friction sending another wave of heat coursing through you.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice a mix of exasperation and longing.

He grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Yeah, darlin’? What do you need?”

“You,” you said simply, the single word carrying a weight that seemed to hang in the air between you.

Logan’s expression softened, his teasing demeanor shifting as something deeper flickered in his gaze. “You’ve got me,” he said, his voice steady, his hands firm on your hips as though anchoring you to him.

Your heart stuttered at his words, the raw sincerity of them making your chest feel impossibly tight. You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his as your fingers slid down his chest, the fabric of his shirt rough under your touch. “I’m glad,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips found yours again, the kiss unhurried and deliberate, his hands roaming up and down your thighs. The heat of him seeped into your skin, grounding you as you moved against him. The friction was maddening, a slow burn that made you ache for more.

“Darlin’,” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick and strained, “you’re makin’ it real hard to take this slow.”

“Maybe I don’t want slow,” you countered, your tone teasing, though the way your breath hitched betrayed your own urgency.

Logan chuckled low, the sound vibrating through you as his lips moved to your neck, trailing kisses along your skin. “Trust me, you do,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your pulse point just enough to make your thighs tighten around him. “I want to feel every second of this.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your fingers tightening in his hair as he took his time exploring every inch of you. Logan’s hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you slightly as he shifted on the couch, settling back further into the cushions.

The new angle pressed you more firmly against him, drawing a gasp from your lips that he swallowed with another kiss. “Fuck,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone softer, though the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

“More than okay,” you replied, your voice trembling as you shifted your hips, testing the pressure between you.

Logan growled low in his throat, his grip on you tightening as his hands slid up your back. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he said, his words heavy with reverence.

You didn’t reply, too caught up in the way he was looking at you, as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. “Off,” you said simply, your voice breathless but firm.

He smirked, obliging without hesitation as he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Your eyes raked over him, taking in the broad expanse of his chest, the scars that marred his otherwise flawless skin.

“Like what you see?” he teased, though there was a hint of vulnerability in his tone.

“Always,” you replied, your hands trailing over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of old wounds. “You’re beautiful, Logan.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands sliding back to your waist. “Don’t think anyone’s called me that before.”

“Well, they should have,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his collarbone.

Logan’s hands tightened on your hips, guiding you as you moved against him, the steady grind of your bodies making your head spin. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, though the words were laced with affection.

“Not likely,” you quipped, a soft laugh escaping you.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shifted again, one hand moving to undo the button of his jeans. Your breath hitched as you realized what was coming next, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now, his gaze searching yours.

“Logan,” you said, your tone steady despite the way your heart was racing. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

He nodded once, his hands steady as he slid his jeans down just enough, freeing himself. You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you as you took him in, your cheeks flushing at the sight.

“Come here,” he said, his voice rough as he guided you closer, his hands firm on your hips.

You moved slowly, adjusting yourself over him, the heat of him against you making you tremble. Logan’s hands were steady, his thumbs brushing soothing circles on your skin as he guided you.

When you finally sank down onto him, the feeling was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and fullness that made you moan softly. Logan groaned, his head falling back against the couch as his hands gripped your hips tightly.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice raw. “You feel... Jesus, darlin’, you’re perfect.”

You didn’t reply, too caught up in the way he felt, the way he filled you completely. You braced your hands on his shoulders, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as you began to move.

Logan’s hands guided your movements, his grip firm but not controlling as he let you set the pace. His lips found yours again, the kiss deep and consuming as you rocked against him, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

The steady rhythm built slowly, the intensity growing with each roll of your hips. Logan’s hands roamed over you, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair, grounding you in the moment.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You met his gaze, your heart skipping a beat at the way he was looking at you. It wasn’t just lust—it was something deeper, something that made your chest ache in the best way.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrust upward, matching your movements.

The new angle sent a wave of pleasure crashing over you, a soft cry escaping your lips as you clung to him. “Logan,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

“Right here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the strain in it.

The intensity between you grew, the slow, deliberate pace giving way to something more urgent as your bodies moved together. Each thrust, each kiss, each touch pushed you closer to the edge, the tension building to an almost unbearable peak.

When you finally shattered, it was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Logan held you through it, his hands steady on your hips as your body trembled, his name falling from your lips in a breathless mantra.

He followed moments later, a low, guttural groan escaping him as he buried his face in your neck, his grip on you tightening as he found his release.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your breaths mingling as you clung to each other, the world outside forgotten.

“You okay?” Logan asked finally, his voice soft, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“More than okay,” you replied, your voice muffled against his neck.

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you go anytime soon.”

“Didn’t plan on going anywhere,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips as you leaned back to look at him.

Logan’s expression softened, his hands moving to cup your face. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N,” he said, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your tone steady despite the warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right I am,” he said, his lips curving into a small, almost boyish grin.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together on the couch, the rest of the world fading away. For now, there was only this—only him.

---

You turned off the water that was filling the bathtub and dipped your hand in to test the temperature of the water. The water was just right—hot, with steam gently rolling off the surface. You stood, wiping your hands on the towel, just as you heard the front door creak open and close with a soft click. Logan’s footsteps padded quietly through the cabin, but you could still feel that familiar presence, that comforting weight of him even when he wasn’t yet in sight.

You barely had time to turn around before he appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of you standing by the tub. “Now this is a surprise,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Thought you’d like a soak after all that work you did today,” you replied, a little smile tugging at your mouth. You stepped aside, gesturing toward the water. “Go on, it’s ready.”

Logan’s gaze softened, though his smirk never quite faded. “So you’re spoilin’ me now, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him. ��Can’t have you overdoing it. You might be practically indestructible, but a hot bath never hurt anyone.”

He chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off. “Got a point there,” he admitted, tossing it onto the nearby chair. You tried not to stare, but you couldn’t help your eyes drifting over the familiar planes of his chest, scars crisscrossing his skin like a map of all the years he’d survived. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t mind—just kept undressing as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Logan stepped into the tub, easing himself down with a contented sigh as he settled into the water. He leaned his head back, his eyes fluttering shut as the steam rose around him. For a moment, you simply watched him, a fond smile on your lips.

“Good?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

He cracked one eye open, glancing at you with a lazy grin. “Better than good. You joinin’ me?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “This one’s all yours. I’ll go make us something to drink.”

Before you could turn, Logan reached out, his wet hand catching yours. He looked up at you, his expression softer now. “Stay, darlin’. Least for a bit.”

His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, and you found yourself nodding, unable to refuse him. You sat down beside the tub, close enough that you could still feel the warmth of the water, and he let his hand rest in yours.

Logan kissed the top of your hand, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Sure ya don’t wanna join me? Promise I don’t bite."

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Uh-huh. That's what they all say."

He chuckled, his fingers still wrapped gently around yours, as if he was savoring this quiet moment between you. “Could use a little company, that’s all,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving your face.

“This is supposed to be a bath for you.” You replied, your own eyebrow quirked.

“I’d enjoy it more if you were in here with me.”

You raised an eyebrow at Logan, the corner of your mouth quirking into a teasing smile. “Is that right? Well, maybe if you’re lucky.”

Logan’s smirk deepened, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the side of the tub. “Oh, come on. I’m always lucky when it comes to you.” His voice was a low murmur, pulling you in with that familiar, lazy charm he always seemed to have.

“Uh-huh, says the guy who tried to convince me he could take on a shark,” you shot back, crossing your arms, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re just full of bold ideas, huh?”

He chuckled, giving a shrug. “I stand by that. But I’m talkin’ serious here.” His hand reached out, fingertips grazing your wrist in a way that sent a warmth through you. “No sharks, no messin’ around. Just you, right here.”

The sincerity caught you a little off guard. The tension settled into something deeper as you looked at him, his hand steady on yours, like he was holding onto more than just the moment.

“I guess… I could keep you company,” you said softly, the lightness of your earlier words giving way to something quieter. You slipped out of your shirt, feeling Logan’s gaze follow you, his eyes dark with a warmth that made you feel both nervous and excited.

Sliding into the water, you settled in close to him, leaning back as his arms naturally came around you. The water was hot, relaxing every part of you, but it was Logan’s touch, the gentle press of his fingers tracing over your arm, that made you feel completely at ease.

“See?” he murmured against your hair, his lips grazing the top of your head. “Told ya this was a good idea.”

You hummed, closing your eyes as you leaned into him. “You did. Guess I should listen to you more often.”

Logan’s hand slid along your shoulder, trailing down your arm with a steady, careful touch, like he was trying to memorize every inch. You felt the warmth of his breath against your neck, followed by the soft press of his lips just below your ear. The tension of the day melted away, leaving you relaxed and content in his embrace.

For a few moments, you both just stayed there, the only sounds the quiet rustle of water and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. Logan’s fingers traced small, lazy circles along your arm, his other hand holding you close against him, anchoring you to him like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“So,” you murmured, breaking the silence, “this isn’t so bad, right?”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Could get used to it,” he said, his voice rumbling against your back. “Peace and quiet. Just the two of us.” His hand dipped below the water, wrapping around yours.

You squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “Thought you’d be the type to get bored out here, all this peace and quiet.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug, though his thumb continued to brush over the back of your hand. “Can handle a bit of quiet if it means you’re here,” he said softly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

You smiled, tilting your head to look at him, your faces close. “Guess that makes two of us.” You felt a strange flutter in your stomach, the weight of those unspoken words lingering between you both.

Logan’s eyes flicked down to your lips, his gaze soft and intent. “You gonna kiss me, or do I gotta ask real nice?”

“Always so impatient,” you teased, but you leaned in, closing the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss. His hand moved up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepened the kiss, slow and unhurried, like he was savoring every second. When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little heavier, your forehead resting against his.

Logan looked at you, a small, crooked smile on his lips. “See? Worth the wait.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but there was no denying the truth in his words. “You really know how to charm a girl, you know that?”

“Only got one girl I’m tryin’ to charm,” he replied, his voice rough but warm.

Your smile softened as you nestled back against him, letting the silence settle over you both once more. The warmth of the water, the feel of his arms around you—it felt like a small eternity in that moment, like nothing else in the world mattered except this.

---

Trying to turn the conversation away from what Logan told you, about Stryker coming to visit him about a ‘mission’, you started to talk about your day, with Logan’s head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“The stray was matted but Tina started calling him Wolf. Said the dog reminded her of another animal.”

Logan hummed, his eyes still closed, “lemme guess, she showed you a picture of the animal from her book.”

You giggled, “yeah, she did. Gotta admit that dog looked quite similar to the wolverine in her book.” You tilted your head downwards to look at him, “Reminded me of you. Grizzly, sometimes dirty.”

Logan opened one eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah? Grizzly, huh?”

“Maybe a little.” You grinned, your fingers drifting through his hair in slow strokes. “Not just the dirty part, by the way. Wolverines are pretty fierce, don’t let much stand in their way.”

He let out a low chuckle, closing his eye again, seeming to relax further under your touch. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment, comin’ from you.” There was a slight pause, and his voice softened a bit. “Not everyone’s a fan of the grizzly type.”

You scoffed lightly, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. “Well, good thing I am. You know, even wolverines have a soft side somewhere.”

Logan huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? Don’t think I’ve got much of that left, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh, you definitely do.” You brushed a thumb gently along his temple. “Trust me. Like today—taking the time to help out with that old couple’s truck, even after a full day’s work.” You smiled down at him, admiration clear in your gaze. “I see it, Logan, even if you don’t.”

He tilted his head a bit, opening his eyes and looking up at you, his expression unreadable for a second before he sighed, a smirk breaking the moment. “Keep sayin’ things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

Logan’s gaze softened, but he kept his usual, laid-back tone. “Guess I’m lucky you put up with me, huh?”

“You know it.” You winked, letting your fingers trail down to his jawline, and you felt him relax a little more, like he could melt under your touch. “Plus, someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

“Not an easy job,” he muttered, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he leaned into your hand, his voice barely above a murmur. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N.”

The two of you fell quiet for a moment, the warmth in his gaze making your heart beat just a little faster, and you couldn’t help but lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. When you pulled back, he just looked at you with that familiar mix of amusement and something else—a depth you didn’t need him to explain.

You shifted slightly, a small smile still on your face. “Now, about that dog—think you could convince Tina to bring him around here?”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted, a smirk tugging at his lips again. “Bringing a stray mutt up here? You sure?”

“Why not? He’d be a good watch dog for you when I’m not around,” you said, with a wink.

He chuckled, a bit softer this time. “Guess I’ll think about it.” Then, his eyes crinkled with that familiar spark of humor. “But only if you promise not to call me Grizzly in front of anyone else.”

You laughed, leaning back against the couch, his head still in your lap. “Deal.”

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, and you just let yourself soak up the comfortable silence, the simplicity of Logan resting there, perfectly at ease. And as your hand drifted gently through his hair again, you couldn’t help but wonder if this—these quiet moments—might be what you’d both been needing all along.

---

You were driving down a narrow road, the trees thickening as you made your way toward town. The familiar hum of a cassette player filled the car, and you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm. It had been a good week—a small but sweet milestone with Logan, half a year together, and you’d even managed to keep things peaceful in that cabin of his. Tonight was supposed to be simple, a little surprise you’d planned: a tiramisu. Probably the only thing you could bake to perfection.

You rounded a curve, smiling to yourself when—

The sight in the distance made your stomach twist. A figure stood in the middle of the road, dressed in black, unmoving, watching you with an unsettling focus. You slowed the car, blinking to see if you were imagining things. But no—he was still there, large and unflinching in the middle of the narrow path.

As you approached, your heart hammered against your ribs. Something about him was familiar, but not in any way that felt safe or warm.

You pressed on the brake, bringing the car to a cautious stop. The man took a slow, deliberate step forward, his face coming into view under the faint sunlight streaming through the trees. His eyes were cold, almost amused, and his mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

It was him—Victor. The man Logan had mentioned a few times, enough to make you know he wasn’t someone you’d ever want to meet, much less find waiting for you like this.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice deep, mocking, and calm in a way that was anything but reassuring.

You tried to keep your face calm, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Just heading into town,” you replied, voice steadier than you felt. “Is there…something you need?”

He tilted his head, like he was sizing you up. “Logan ever mention me?”

A chill crawled up your spine, but you kept your expression guarded. “Maybe once or twice.”

Victor took another step forward, his gaze raking over you with a twisted curiosity, almost like he was toying with the idea of letting you go—but only almost. “See, I’ve been meaning to have a little chat with him,” he drawled, his tone venomous, “and here you are, just making it easy for me.”

You felt a pulse of dread, instinct telling you to turn the car around and get out of there, fast. But you knew better than to provoke him. “Logan’s not here,” you said, hoping that would be enough.

He smirked, that same cold expression never leaving his face. “I’m aware,” he murmured, taking another slow step toward you. “You think he’d leave someone like you on your own if he thought you’d be safe?”

Your heart raced, a knot of fear tightening in your throat. You wanted to say something, anything, to stall him, to get yourself out of this, but nothing came to mind. The realization was dawning, and from the look in Victor’s eyes, he knew it too. There would be no bargaining, no reasoning with him.

"Didn't think Logan would be the type to leave someone behind. Guess I was wrong," he said, sounding amused.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, refusing to give in to the fear swirling in your chest. "Logan’s not here," you repeated, your voice firm.

"Like I said, I know," Victor replied smoothly, taking another step. His eyes traveled over the car, then over you, a twisted curiosity behind them. "But I figure, maybe you can pass along a little message for me."

Every instinct told you to run, but the car blocked you in, and Victor was only feet away. "What do you want, Victor?"

He grinned, his sharp teeth glinting under the dim light. "Simple. Tell Logan I said 'hi'... if you get the chance."

The dread in your stomach crystallized as he lunged forward. You tried to move, to react, but he was too fast. His hand closed around your throat, lifting you out of the car as though you weighed nothing, and you fought, kicking, clawing, anything you could think of to get free.

"You know," Victor’s voice was disturbingly calm, "he’s been through a lot. But there’s always that soft spot, that weakness he can’t seem to shake."

Desperation flared within you, and you kicked harder, one foot making contact with his chest. It only made him laugh, and he tightened his grip, his face drawing close enough that you could see the cold cruelty in his eyes.

"You’re just like all the others," he murmured, voice almost thoughtful. "Maybe a little more stubborn, but that’s hardly new."

Black spots began to dance at the edges of your vision, your breath coming shorter and shorter. You knew there was no getting out of this—not with him, not with a monster like Victor Creed.

But Logan...

---

Logan walked through the vegetation right by where he and the other guys were cutting apart a tree. He stopped short once he saw the head of an animal laying on the yellow grass.

“What you doing, Logan?” One of the guys asked from behind.

Logan looked around before seeing large scratch marks on a tree trunk, lined with red. “Y/N.” He whispered, before running down the hill and through the forest.

Once he hit the clearing, he could see the truck on the side of the road. Logan reached the car, his hands gripping the window frame as he scanned the empty interior. “Y/N…?” His voice was rough, the crack of worry breaking through, echoing in the quiet forest.

His eyes darted down to the disturbed earth, faint scuff marks in the dirt telling him where you might’ve been dragged. His heart hammered as he followed the path into the trees, every step growing heavier with dread as he moved through the dense underbrush, the silence unsettling.

And then, in a small clearing, he found you.

You were lying there, so still, your skin pale against the forest floor, hair fanned around you like a dark halo. Blood flecked the ground, stark and terrible against the greenery. He staggered, dropping to his knees beside you, reaching out with trembling hands, one of them clenching briefly before he let himself touch you.

“Y/N…” he whispered, voice breaking as he cupped your face, his fingers brushing a smear of dirt from your cheek. Your eyes were closed, lips parted just slightly, as if you’d been trying to say his name. For a split second, he could almost pretend you were just asleep, and that any second you’d open your eyes, make some joke, or reach up to tug him down to you.

But there was no warmth, no spark, nothing.

Logan’s breath caught, and he pulled you close, his arms cradling you as if he could shield you from the reality already etched into his heart. The rage simmered below his skin, burning through the grief, fueling the ache with something primal. He rocked back, jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his face buried in your hair, trying to hold on to any last trace of you, the faint scent of you still lingering, even as everything around him felt like it was falling apart.

“You… You were supposed to be safe here,” he whispered against your hair, voice hoarse. “I shoulda been here. I shoulda…” His words trailed off into silence as he sat there, unmoving, clutching you in his arms as if the weight of his grief alone could pull you back.

He looked down at you, his thumb grazing over your cheek one last time, as though trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. “Y/N… I swear… I’ll make him pay.” The last words came out like a promise, a vow laced with the kind of anger only a man like Logan could bear. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before letting out a long, broken breath.

When he finally tore his gaze away from you, his eyes turned cold, a new resolve searing through him.

This wasn’t over.

umm... sorry??

i tried to make a different version of how logan got the name 'wolverine' to try and fit reader's personality, since she probably doesn't know about the myth kayla did.

next chapter will be x2!

[goldfades]

baby time. | JOE BURROW⁹ [007]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your son's birth!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | mentions of birth (who would have thought!?), not too descriptive, joe being the sweetest baby daddy EVERRR, maisie being the coolest aunt, mentions of water-breaking, descriptions of contractions, idk what else but... it's pretty soft!

APRIL 9TH, 2022

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. The kind where the quiet hum of the fan filled the room and the soft rhythm of Joe’s breathing set a peaceful background to your restless tossing and turning. Pregnancy sleep was its own brand of chaos—you were hot, then cold, then uncomfortable, then starving. The baby wasn’t even here yet, and they already had your schedule on a tight leash.

Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor a small relief against your aching feet. The bedside clock glowed faintly: 3:27 a.m.

Joe stirred beside you, murmuring something incoherent before settling back into his usual sprawl. He looked so peaceful, one arm flung over his head, the other draped protectively over the empty side of the bed you’d just vacated.

You shuffled toward the bathroom, rubbing a hand over your belly as if to soothe the little one nestled there. "Let’s not make this a nightly thing, okay?" you muttered. The baby gave a single, emphatic kick in response.

Just as you reached for the bathroom door, it happened—a warm gush that stopped you in your tracks.

For a split second, you froze, your sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Did I…? No, it couldn’t be. But the dampness spreading down your legs told a very different story.

“Oh, no,” you whispered, wide-eyed.

Your water had broken.

The realization hit like a bolt of lightning, and panic surged through your veins. You weren’t ready. The baby wasn’t ready. Nothing was ready.

“Joe,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood there, utterly frozen. Then louder, more urgent: “Joe!”

He shot up immediately, eyes wild with the disorientation of someone ripped from deep sleep. “What? What’s wrong?” His voice was thick, his hair sticking up in every direction.

“My water,” you stammered, gesturing vaguely to the puddle on the floor. “It broke. It’s happening. The baby’s coming. Right now.”

Joe blinked at you, his brain clearly lagging behind your words. Then his eyes darted down, taking in the scene.

“Oh, shit,” he said, throwing the covers off and leaping out of bed. “Okay, okay. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you said, though your trembling hands and rapid-fire breathing told a very different story. “I’m just… processing.”

“Processing is good,” Joe said, nodding like a man trying very hard not to freak out himself. “Processing is great. Let’s… uh, let’s get to the hospital.”

He darted to the closet, yanking out a duffle bag you’d packed weeks ago. Thank God for Maisie, who had insisted on the just-in-case preparations.

“Where are your shoes?” he asked, rummaging through the closet like it was a black hole.

“I don’t know!” you wailed, clutching the dresser for support as another wave of panic rolled through you. “Joe, I can’t do this. It’s too early. What if something’s wrong? What if—”

“Hey, hey,” he said, dropping the bag and crossing the room in two long strides. He cupped your face in his hands, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “You can do this. We can do this. Everything’s going to be fine.”

His voice was calm, steady, and just grounding enough to slow the whirlwind in your head. You nodded, taking a shaky breath.

“Good,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Now, let’s get you out of these wet clothes, okay?”

A flurry of activity followed—Joe helping you into fresh leggings and one of his sweatshirts, both of you scrambling to gather last-minute items. The whole time, you couldn’t stop glancing at the clock. Was this really happening? Right now?

By the time you made it to the car, Joe had shifted into full quarterback mode, his focus laser-sharp as he buckled you in and started the engine.

“You good?” he asked, glancing over at you as he pulled out of the driveway.

You nodded, clutching your belly as the first faint contraction rippled through you. “I think so.”

The drive to the hospital felt both endless and impossibly fast. Joe kept glancing at you, his hand gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You okay?” he asked every few minutes.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your voice wavered as the contractions grew stronger. “Just keep driving.”

When you finally pulled up to the hospital, everything blurred into a chaotic rush—nurses, wheelchairs, bright lights, and a flurry of paperwork that Joe handled while you focused on breathing through the increasingly intense waves of pain.

“This is it,” he said softly as the nurse wheeled you toward a delivery room, his hand warm and steady on your shoulder. “We’re going to meet our baby.”

And just like that, the panic ebbed, replaced by a strange, calm anticipation. Because no matter how unprepared you felt, you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t doing this alone. Joe was there, and you were a team.

The hospital room was a blur of sterile white and cold tile floors, softened only slightly by the hum of machines monitoring your every breath and beat. You hadn’t even been in the room for an hour, but it already felt like days. The contractions were still mild, coming in waves that tightened your belly and sent a ripple of discomfort through your lower back.

Joe stood by the window, his phone pressed to his ear, his face tight with concentration. The fluorescent light overhead cast sharp angles on his features, making the exhaustion in his eyes more pronounced. He ran a hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time, a nervous tic that betrayed the calm front he was trying to keep up.

“Yeah, Mom,” he said, his voice low but insistent. “Her water broke a couple hours ago. We’re at the hospital now.”

You could hear Robin’s voice on the other end, shrill with concern even though she was hours away in Athens. Joe flinched slightly, pulling the phone an inch from his ear as he glanced back at you.

“She’s okay,” he assured her, though his eyes flicked nervously toward the monitors beeping steadily by your bedside. “It’s early, but the doctors aren’t worried. They said everything looks good so far.”

You shifted on the bed, trying to find a position that didn’t make your hips feel like they were being pried apart. Easier said than done. Joe noticed immediately, his brow furrowing as he mouthed, You good?

You nodded, even though you weren’t entirely sure it was true.

“Mom, I gotta go,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I’ll keep you updated, okay? Love you. Bye.”

He hung up and exhaled sharply, dragging a chair closer to your bedside and sinking into it. His hand found yours automatically, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a steady rhythm.

“My parents are driving up right now,” he said, managing a small, wry smile. “Mom’s freaking out, of course. Told me to tell you she loves you and to hang in there.”

You smiled faintly, though your heart clenched a little at the thought of your parents, who were currently halfway across the country on a long-awaited vacation. Timing really was everything.

“They’re gonna feel so guilty about missing this,” you murmured, wincing as another contraction started to build.

Joe squeezed your hand. “They’ll be here soon enough. And Maisie’s on her way—she’ll probably get here before I even figure out how to fold that damn swaddle blanket.”

That managed to pull a weak laugh out of you, even as the contraction peaked, forcing you to close your eyes and breathe through the sharp wave of pain. Joe immediately sat up straighter, his free hand hovering uncertainly over your leg like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said through gritted teeth. “That one was just… a little stronger.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Should I call the nurse?”

You shook your head, exhaling shakily as the contraction ebbed. “Not yet. They said this could take a while.”

Joe’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked like he wanted to argue, but the sound of the door opening cut him off. A nurse bustled in, her smile professional and calm as she checked your vitals and updated the monitor.

“Everything’s looking good,” she said brightly, glancing between you and Joe. “First babies can take their time, though, so try to relax as much as you can. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you again.”

Relax. Right.

The door had barely swung shut behind her when Joe’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. He snatched it up, glancing at the screen. “Maisie’s downstairs. I’ll go grab her, okay?”

You nodded, watching him go with a mix of relief and unease. As much as you appreciated his constant presence, the nervous energy radiating off him was almost suffocating. Maybe Maisie would help diffuse some of the tension.

Maisie arrived like a whirlwind, her hair pulled into a messy bun and a to-go coffee cup in one hand.

“Oh my God,” she said, rushing to your side. “You look… okay, actually. Better than I thought you’d look after your water broke in the middle of the night.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward despite the ache in your back.

Joe reappeared behind her, carrying a paper bag you could only assume was filled with the snacks Maisie insisted on bringing every time you so much as sneezed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, plopping into the chair Joe had vacated and immediately taking over the hand-holding duties. “Is it bad yet?”

“It’s… manageable,” you said, though another contraction building in the distance made you wonder how long that would last.

Joe stood by the window again, arms crossed as he stared out at the dark parking lot below. Maisie glanced at him, then back at you, lowering her voice.

“How’s he doing?” she asked, her tone laced with concern.

You sighed. “He’s trying. But you know Joe—he doesn’t like not being in control. And this… well, this is definitely not something he can control.”

Maisie nodded knowingly, squeezing your hand. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. To distract him and annoy him until he forgets how stressed he is.”

You laughed softly, but the sound was cut off by the sharp onset of another contraction. Maisie’s grip on your hand tightened, her expression shifting to one of fierce determination.

“Breathe through it,” she coached, her voice calm and steady. “You’ve got this.”

Joe turned from the window, his eyes darting to you as if he could feel the shift in the room.

“Another one?” he asked, stepping closer.

You nodded, focusing on the slow, measured breaths Maisie was guiding you through. When it finally passed, you leaned back against the pillows, utterly drained.

Joe brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his touch gentle. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You managed a tired smile. “I’m just trying to survive the night.”

Joe glanced at Maisie, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. For once, they seemed to be on the same team, united in their shared mission to get you through this.

And as the clock ticked past four in the morning, you realized just how long this night was going to be.

┈┈┈

Time in the labor room felt elastic, stretching and warping with every contraction that rolled over you like a storm. By now, the initial nerves had morphed into something heavier, grittier, as the reality of what lay ahead began to sink in. The monitor beside you beeped steadily, a metronome marking time in an endless loop as the contractions grew stronger and closer together.

Joe hadn’t sat down in what felt like hours. He hovered near your bedside, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking like he was ready to throw a block or tackle someone if it would make this easier for you. His hand was a near-permanent fixture in yours, and though he winced every time you squeezed too hard, he never once pulled away.

The nurse entered again, her calm professionalism a steadying presence in the chaos. “How are we doing?” she asked, pulling on gloves as she approached.

“How does it look like we’re doing?” you managed, the bite in your voice softened by the sheer exhaustion that clung to every word.

Joe rubbed soothing circles into your back with his free hand. “She’s hanging in there,” he answered for you, though his voice was tight with worry.

The nurse smiled, unbothered. “Let’s see where we’re at.” She glanced at the monitor, then moved to check your progress. “You’re about six centimeters now. Things are definitely moving along, but we’ve still got a little ways to go.”

Six centimeters. You wanted to cry, both because of how far you’d come and how much farther you still had to go.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Joe asked, his tone almost desperate.

The nurse tilted her head thoughtfully. “Walking can help speed things up, if she’s up for it. Otherwise, we’ll just keep monitoring and let nature take its course.”

Walking sounded like the most impossible thing in the world, but the thought of lying in this bed for several more hours wasn’t much better. You nodded weakly.

Joe sprang into action, gently untangling your hand from his to help you sit up. The shift in position sent a sharp wave of discomfort through your lower back, and you sucked in a breath.

“Easy,” he murmured, his hands firm but careful as he steadied you. “Take your time.”

Maisie appeared at the foot of the bed, her expression a mix of concern and determination. “You’re a warrior, babe. Let’s do this.”

With their help, you managed to swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, though your knees wobbled like a newborn fawn’s. Joe wrapped an arm securely around your waist, holding most of your weight as you shuffled toward the door.

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit in the eerie way only hospitals managed, and you could feel the curious stares of passing nurses and doctors. Every few steps, a contraction would stop you in your tracks, forcing you to cling to Joe as you breathed through the pain.

“You’re doing so good,” he said softly, his lips brushing your temple.

You didn’t have the energy to respond, but you leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence.

By the time you made it back to the room, the contractions were coming hard and fast, leaving little room to breathe between them. You collapsed onto the bed with a groan, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the nurse reappeared to check on you again.

“You’re at eight centimeters,” she announced, giving you an encouraging smile. “We’re getting closer.”

“Closer,” you echoed faintly, as though the word had lost all meaning.

Joe crouched beside you, his hand brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “You’re almost there, babe. Just a little longer.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, though there was no heat behind the words.

Maisie snorted from her seat in the corner. “He’d probably pass out if he had to do half of what you’re doing.”

“Not helping, Maisie,” Joe said, though his lips twitched upward for the briefest moment.

The tension in the room ebbed slightly, replaced by a flicker of warmth. But it didn’t last long. Another contraction ripped through you, stealing the air from your lungs and making you cry out. Joe immediately shifted closer, his hand gripping yours like a lifeline.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice steady even as his eyes filled with helplessness. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

You tried to focus on his voice, on the grounding sensation of his hand in yours, but the pain was relentless, all-consuming. By the time the contraction finally subsided, you were trembling, tears streaming silently down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joe’s grip on your hand tightened. “Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve got this.”

Maisie appeared at your other side, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “He’s right. You’ve already done the impossible—this is just the final push, literally.”

You managed a weak laugh through your tears, though it quickly dissolved into a sob as another contraction loomed on the horizon.

Joe leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re gonna meet our baby soon,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Just hold on a little longer.”

And so you did. With every ounce of strength you had left, you held on, clinging to Joe’s steady presence as the hours stretched on. Time lost all meaning, the only markers the intensifying contractions and the quiet reassurances of the nurses who moved in and out of the room like clockwork.

By the time the nurse announced you were fully dilated and ready to push, exhaustion weighed heavy on you, but there was a spark of determination in your chest.

Joe’s hand never left yours, his voice never wavered. And as you braced yourself for the final stretch, you knew that no matter how long or painful this night turned out to be, you weren’t facing it alone.

And finally, the time had come.

The world seemed to narrow to a single, blinding focus as you pushed, every ounce of energy you had left poured into this final effort. The voices of the medical team swirled around you—encouraging, instructing—but all you could truly hear was Joe.

His voice was steady, firm but soft, like a lighthouse in a storm. “You’ve got this, baby. You’re so close. I’m right here.” His hand gripped yours with unwavering strength, grounding you when you felt like you were splintering apart.

Another push. The room tilted slightly, your vision swimming as exhaustion tugged at your every muscle. But then—then—there was a shift in the air, a crescendo of activity from the doctors, and suddenly, the sound you’d been waiting for burst into the room.

A cry.

A wail so raw and new that it seemed to rip through every other sound, anchoring you firmly back to reality.

Joe’s breath hitched beside you, a sharp inhale as he straightened up, his eyes wide and unblinking. “He’s here,” he whispered, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “He’s here.”

Maisie, who had been pacing like a caged animal near the back of the room, let out a sob so loud and unrestrained it made one of the nurses jump. “Oh my god, oh my god! It’s a boy! He’s really here!”

Her tears came in rivers, and she pressed a tissue to her face, smearing mascara into a black mess. “I’m never going to be normal again!” she wailed, though her voice cracked with joy.

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you felt the weight of your baby being placed on your chest. The tiny, warm bundle shifted against you, his cries tapering off as he rooted instinctively. His skin was pink and wrinkled, his hair a dark tuft of softness.

You could barely see through the tears streaming down your face, but none of that mattered. “Hi,” you choked out, your voice cracking. “Hi, baby. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Joe leaned over you, his face inches from the baby’s, his own tears spilling freely now. His hand trembled as he brushed a finger against the baby’s tiny fist, which curled immediately around it. “Hey, buddy,” Joe said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

It was 7:09 a.m., and the sun was rising outside the hospital window, casting the room in a golden glow. Time seemed to stop for a moment, the three of you cocooned in a bubble of love and relief.

Maisie sniffled dramatically from her corner. “He’s going to be the quarterback of my heart forever.” She clutched at her chest like she was physically overwhelmed. “I’m gonna buy him so many tiny football jerseys, you don’t even understand.”

Joe let out a wet laugh, shaking his head as he kissed the top of your hair. “Maisie, give it an hour before you start planning his draft.”

“Nope. I’m in it for life,” she shot back, though her voice wavered with emotion.

The baby stirred against you, his little nose scrunching up as he adjusted to the strange, new world. Joe pressed another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his eyes shining as they met yours.

“You’re amazing,” he said, his voice cracking. “I can’t believe you did that. He’s here, and he’s ours.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. “I can’t believe it either. Look at him, Joe. He’s perfect.”

Joe nodded, his jaw tightening as another wave of emotion hit him. “Yeah. He really is.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, the chaos of the world outside fading into nothingness. It didn’t matter that you were exhausted, or that your body ached in ways you hadn’t known it could.

What mattered was the tiny life cradled against you, the miracle you and Joe had created together.

Your son.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[girlsoutlate]

thinking about nikto that is more a glorified guard dog than human, let alone your lover.

fem reader, animalistic language, mentions of past sex between reader and nikto, unwanted sexual remarks made about reader (nikto sorts them out dw), nikto is a FREAK

you're too nice for him. not soft, you couldn't be with him. he would get over-excited and greedy. you were firm, but never too strict. you had to give your mutt some leniency, he'd never dreamed being spoilt by a beauty like you. with kindness and patience you coaxed him from being brash and hypervigilant to pathetically obedient.

some small part of nikto is confused at the change, how could a thing like him be doted on by someone like you? his mind just as warped and scarred as the stretched skin that covered his body. compared to your angelic self he almost felt ashamed of believing he was deserving of your love. almost. but he didn't question your compassion, for once the world had given him something good.

instead of returning to his bare kennel of a flat, he returned home to you. the glow of your presence had seeped in to your now shared home, an array of your trinkets as well as belongings scattered about. as he opened the front door his pale eyes latched onto your supple body, surrounded by halo of light from the bulb behind. gliding down the hallway your features changed to furrowed brows and slightly parted dewy lips as you took note of his bloody knuckles and ragged breathing. meeting his eyes through your lashes you brought a manicured up to pet the side of his masked face. he lent in to it, rubbing the harsh material of his mask against your smooth hand. "nikto, are you okay?" you asked, melodic voice soothing the never-ending raucous in his head. you didn't ask what happened, it was typically for a good cause, even if he got a little too enthusiastic. you just wanted to make sure your loyal dog wasn't too injured. besides, a little roughing up can be quite beneficial.

nikto could deal with comment and looks towards himself. he had always had to deal with them. from his hazy childhood memories, to his return from torture. but no one could whisper your name without a bark of threat from nikto. more often than not he followed through. you were closely guarded in niktos heart at all times. his devotion to you was not a secret, and neither was your existence to those close enough to him. instead, your name was the holiest prayer a sorry man could utter. your existence proof that there was sanctuary. so, if anyone acted maliciously towards you they better pray your forgiveness extends to them. because niktos bite was worse than his bark.

thats what happened earlier today. some dolts commented on your salacious body when you dropped off some documents nikto left at home. it made his blood run hot. their unrestrained remarks over your full curves and cherubic face pervaded his ears. he hated it. hated hearing them jest about the fat of your ass. that was for him to sink his fangs in to. or when they fantasised of using your plush tits for their own pleasure. they were for nikto to nuzzle at and suckle on. he almost gutted them right there when they innocently complimented your gossamer hair to your face. that was for nikto to snatch when he mounted you, desperate to show you he was good enough to have you like that. back arched while stray strands of hair fell across your shoulder blades, muscles quivering with pleasure. the plumpness of your ass bounced and rippled off his narrow hips, his mushroom tip kissing your cervix with more aggression each time. chanting your name with a growl he pawed the fat of your hips, stretchmarks littered with bites and bruises. nikto fucked you with fervour, he was all yours. it made it that much more unfortunate when you pulled him aside just before you left base, asking if he heard the comments too.

so when he came home half an hour later with bloody knuckles you didnt ask what he did. you could count on your dog to protect you, he was more than happy to serve you. it gave his life a further meaning from death and war. you gave him a meaning. he replied to your concerned question with a husky grunt. gesturing him to follow, you turned and walked down the hall with the soft pad of his footsteps just behind.

"sit." you said, nodding towards the kitchen table "i put our dinner in the oven to stay warm, we'll eat after i've patched up your hands". he gave a short nod. he thought you were so selfless, choosing to look after him first rather than yourself. as you picked up the first aid kit off the counter that was always in easy reach, nikto let out a soft growl that was only reserved for you.

"moya lyubov, missed you"

thanks for reading!! likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, i hope you enjoyed it :)) i am more than happy to give this apart 2 if your heart so desires

this is my first time writing anything resembling smut so i hope it isn't too cringe LOLL felt like i had a bloody brain aneurysm when i wrote it for like the fifth time

[daisymbin]

Oh sorry i forgot to mention the genre i meant #15 fluff with wonwoo thank youuu🥰

thank you for coming back to clarify!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // wonwoo's m.list

fluff prompt #15: "you're my favorite person, you know that?

the night was unusually cold, the chill creeping into the room despite the thick blanket draped over both of you. the only light came from the faint glow of the lamp on the nightstand, casting soft, golden hues over wonwoo’s face as he leaned back against the headboard.

you were curled up beside him, a book forgotten in your lap. the quiet was comfortable, filled only with the sound of his steady breathing and the occasional rustle of the blanket.

“it’s nice like this,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

you turned your head slightly to look at him. “what is?”

“just… us,” he said, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested against his arm. his voice was quiet, contemplative. “being here with you. no distractions, no rush to be anywhere.”

“you’re not usually this sentimental,” you teased gently, though your heart was already starting to race.

he chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “maybe you just don’t notice it.”

“or maybe you hide it well,” you countered, a smile tugging at your lips.

“maybe,” he said, his tone light, though his eyes were serious as they flicked over to you.

you could feel the shift in the air, the way his words hung between you like something unspoken. “wonwoo,” you said, your voice soft.

“hmm?” he murmured, his gaze meeting yours.

“what’s on your mind?”

he hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against yours. “just thinking,” he said finally.

“about?”

he looked down, his thumb tracing lazy patterns against the back of your hand. “you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

your breath hitched, and you tilted your head to get a better look at him. “me?”

he nodded, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the sheets. “yeah. i was just thinking about how… about how much i like this. how much i like… us, & how different everything feels with you. better, i mean.”

“better?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

he looked up, meeting your gaze again. “yeah,” he said, his voice steady despite the way his heart was racing. “like, even when everything else is a mess, when i’m with you, it doesn’t feel so bad. it feels like… like i can breathe.”

your expression softened, and he saw the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “wonwoo…”

“i mean it,” he said, his tone earnest. “you make everything better. you’re… you’re my favorite person, you know that?”

your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just stared at him, your eyes searching his face.

“your favorite person?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

he nodded, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “yeah. you’re the person i want to talk to when something good happens, and the person i want to see when things are hard. you’re the one who makes everything feel a little less heavy.”

your lips parted, but no words came out. he watched as your eyes shimmered, and his chest tightened.

“sorry,” he said quickly, pulling his hand back. “that was probably too much—”

“no,” you interrupted, your hand darting out to grab his. “it’s not too much.”

he stilled, his gaze dropping to where your fingers curled around his. “it’s not?”

you shook your head, your grip tightening slightly. “no. it’s… it’s exactly what i needed to hear.”

he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, relief washing over him. “yeah?”

you smiled, and this time, it reached your eyes. “yeah, and for the record, you’re my favorite person too.”

after a moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “sometimes i wonder what i did to deserve you.”

“wonwoo…”

“i’m serious,” he said, turning his head to look at you. “you make everything better, just by being here. i don’t think i’ll ever stop being grateful for that.”

your chest felt tight, your heart swelling with an emotion you couldn’t quite put into words. “you don’t have to deserve me,” you said finally. “we’re just… us. that’s enough.”

he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “yeah,” he said softly. “it is.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, but the affection in your gaze was undeniable. “come here,” you said, tugging on his hand.

he didn’t hesitate, shifting closer until there was no space left between you. you tucked yourself against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“thank you,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“for what?” he asked, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head.

“for being you,” you said simply.

he smiled, his heart feeling impossibly full.

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 21 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: In the small town of Ogallala, you and Arthur nurture feelings for each other that become increasingly hard to deny with each passing day and each word spoken.

Author’s Notes: Sorry this one took me so long. I couldn’t get it quite right for weeks, and part of me hates to part with it anyway because I’m getting so close to the end 🥲 Sexual content in this chapter. Chapter twenty-one of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Twenty-One: Love

Word count: 3726

This room was unlike the others. That airy barn had the memory of your childhood home and Beth on it, the last hotel room the sharpness of fear. You’d thought that that room would be the one to stay with you, but you tried to forget it now. Now, there was only this room, the safety in it, and Arthur. Maybe the latter two went hand in hand.

Your eyes found said safety in the growing darkness, watching him reverently in the low light. He’d lit a lamp earlier, and its golden glow reflected in his shining hair, his exposed skin, his gemstone eyes. You would never tire of that gaze. Normally, you found a smirk beneath it, but now his mouth matched his heavy stare—thoughtful and filled with something very close to desperation. It wasn’t difficult to guess why. Love did that to a person.

You had thought there would never be a feeling stronger than grief, stronger than the helpless agony that came with it. But love was the one thing to outweigh it. Rather, requited love was. Feeling wanted again was all your heart needed to stitch itself back together. To be loved was to be needed. And that triumphed grief every time.

You weren’t only thinking of yourself as you studied the man beside you. You thought of him and of how unlikely a match he was for you. But it was beginning to make sense. He, like you, was all wild animal, untamed, worth more than mankind could give. He wasn’t defined by the constructs of a normal personhood just as you weren’t. Neither of you were made for fleeting little relationships, if any at all. And perhaps that’s why it worked so well to be together, the feeling as natural as breathing. Because there were no expectations. He made sure of that, and you were too inexperienced and fond of him to form them. Being with a man emotionally or physically scared you before because it had always seemed confining. But you knew without a doubt that if you chose to go alone to the next town and never look back at this trip and all it brought between you, Arthur would let you. He wouldn’t hesitate. And because of that, he was freeing in a way no one had ever been to you. Not even your parents.

You were so caught up in his gaze and your thoughts that you were startled by the sudden sound of bootsteps opposite the door, flinching in his grasp as deputy badges and blood flashed across your vision.

“Easy,” he said lowly, pulling you in closer on the bed as the sound faded.

“Just…jumpy over the last time that happened.”

“Ain’t no law here to worry about,” Arthur said, stroking your hair.

He was right. And you were again reminded that this hotel room was very different from the last.

“I know,” you replied, though you couldn’t quite convince yourself after having lived through the hell that was the last town. That ringing gunshot that would never leave you be sounded again.

“Hey.” He lifted your chin so you would meet his eyes. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.”

Those words hit you like a physical blow. His protectiveness made you feel loved, but it was the truth of it that drove his point home. Because you had no doubt he would tear apart the world to keep you safe. Just as you had. You’d broken every moral you had just to keep him from harm. But you would do it all again. And, knowing Arthur, you bet he felt the same thing tenfold.

You smiled against his hand. “I know.” This time, you meant it.

After a moment and a smile so sure you wanted to keep it there forever, Arthur shifted. “Sit up.”

You did as he asked, watching as he reached for his journal. Thinking he meant to draw you again, you blushed. Especially as there was no coat this time, just bare skin between you only partially covered by a blanket at your hips. But to your surprise, he reached for your hair and tugged on that horsehair braid he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of, flattening it so that he could see the contrasting colors better.

“What is it with you and this braid?”

He shifted again so that he was far enough away to get the general picture of you sitting there, though that wasn’t saying much in the tiny bed. He was still close, and you watched his eyes focus in on your braid as he flipped to a blank page and readied his pencil, ignoring your question completely.

Wanting to know what it meant to him, you pushed. “Hard of hearing?”

“I heard you,” he said, still focusing hard on your hair. A few seconds passed as he began drawing. You didn’t think he would answer you until he shook his head, continuing to look down at his journal as he spoke. “I draw things so I don’t forget ‘em. There are a few moments I’ll never forget when it comes to you, but that braid, I want to remember even after it’s gone.”

You were warmed by the sincerity in this, but your curiosity got the better of you. “What moments will you never forget?”

Again, he took a beat to answer. “Looking at your side all bruised and bloody and my shitty attempt at stitches holding it all together. When you said ‘how could you’.”

You’d forgotten that. It had been months, and somehow his words had you remembering how the wagon you’d woken up in after he had stitched you up made your skin crawl. He went on, dispelling any further thought about it.

“The first time you let me touch you. The way you said ‘don’t stop’.”

This one made your heart race. He still pushed on.

“When I killed those wolves and came back in the tent to find you with that look on your face, like you were ready to die. The way you pulled me to you.” He stopped drawing and looked up at you. “That was the first time I felt like you really cared whether I was there or not. The first time you wanted my comfort.”

It was true. It was the first time you’d relied on him in your brokenness, the first time clinging to him felt like healing.

You smiled at him.

He went back to penciling in his journal. “And,” he said, drawing the word out in that drawl of his. “You asked me for that horsehair like it was the last gift you could give that horse. I knew it right then, the kind of woman you was. Thoughtful and tough as hell.”

You’d thought nothing of the act at the time, at least not in the way it would be viewed by Arthur. It was natural. Maybe that was why he admired you for it.

He went on. “I didn’t realize I enjoyed getting to know the woman you was before all this mess until then. Until I thought you would slip away again. But then you came out of that tent with this braid in your hair…”

He stopped and admired it, a smile turning his lips. “And you was still with me. And I was…relieved. Happy, even. That braid shows that strength of yours.”

For the first time since arriving in this town, you felt like crying. But not over any sadness. He had a way with words that surprised you. Your eyes fell to the page, to the way he had drawn part of your braid with such tenderness. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he meant every word.

Unable to voice your thoughts, or perhaps wanting to hold what he’d said in your heart a little longer, you teased him instead. “So, when you drew me in that barn, what were you trying to remember then?”

His smile turned into a smirk, one you were all too familiar with. “How good you looked in my coat.”

His gaze was hot on your skin, growing wanting as he watched you. And in seconds, his journal was pushed aside and forgotten, traded for his want of you, his need to touch you, his desire. To be that desire meant so much to you that your heart pounded a heavy beat in your chest, like it wanted to be loved by him too, craving that closeness.

Falling into him, you granted your heart exactly what it asked for.

~

The days bled together, and Arthur had no intention of moving on to the next town. As long as you wanted to stay here, he would stay with you. The only bit of business he attended to in the meantime was sending a letter back to the gang, thinking it was likely they’d made it to Denver a while back and would stay until they heard from him. The thought made Arthur smile—that wild bunch on the edges of town, restless and ready to bound out of there at a moment’s notice. They weren’t meant for staying in a big town like that just as he weren’t.

The only trouble with the letter had been what to put in it. Arthur hadn’t known what to say to the group he considered family. He was torn between staying with you and going back to them, knowing either would serve him well. But he was leaning toward staying, starting a life he had only ever dreamed of. Every time he considered it though, it felt too good to be true. It always was when he was younger, and who was he to deserve it now? Had he really changed at all? The truth to that was no, he hadn’t. Maybe he could be decent, but he still had a past on him that he didn’t want catching up to you. But so did you now, killing that deputy. All things considered, he was left feeling even more confused every time he pondered it. So, his letter had been short and nondescript, stating where he was and to write back when and where the gang inevitably moved. He posted the letter and left all thought of it behind him, knowing going in circles about it all wouldn’t do him any good. Instead, he returned to you and vowed to keep his mind on you, on this time you shared together and how right it felt. No matter that, like always, the town and its memories would soon be behind you both.

It wasn’t difficult to keep you in the front of Arthur’s mind. You were a gift, something he didn’t deserve. And all this time spent with you kept him sated like he never had been, his restless heart daring to settle for the first time since he was a boy.

The day had reached its end with the two of you still in bed. Arthur had done exactly what you’d asked of him those days ago, teaching you all the ways he knew how to pleasure a woman. But this was perhaps different, as there never was any meaning behind it until he met you.

Even worse was your blunt curiosity and the things you asked that got him so hard he could hardly see straight. He figured the worst of it was when you’d asked him to teach you how to pleasure him. He was wrong. It was moments ago, when you’d turned to him with a blush on your face and asked if you could ride him. Well, those hadn’t been your exact words, but that was all Arthur could come up with now as you made to do the very thing.

His hands found your hips in seconds upon you climbing on top of him. It took everything in him to be gentle.

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” you said in a voice close to a whisper.

He found a lazy grin sneaking its way across his face, for the way your shyness showed, for the way you climbed on top of him anyway. Sure as ever.

“What?” you said upon seeing his smile.

“I like you on top of me,” he said honestly. Because he did. Nothing turned him on more. But he couldn’t go on without teasing you at least a little. “I like you wantin’ to ride me.” He squeezed your hips with his fingers, tugging you closer. Your face went bright red at those words.

“What’s the matter?” he teased.

You kept looking from his eyes to his mouth like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. The smile on your face was timid, but it was blatant as the day was long that he’d called you out and you wouldn’t well deny it.

You wouldn’t meet his eye as you said, “I like it too.”

Arthur’s grin went wide, and he bucked his hips underneath you for good measure. Pure pleasure met him as he did, the movement against your slick like heaven.

You let out a little moan, bracing your hands on his chest as you made to line yourself up with him. He would never tire of the distracted look you got on your face, like his body and what he was doing to yours was all you could think about. It made a pride he could hardly contain take hold.

You reached your hand down and fisted him so gently he couldn’t stand it. That is, until the head of his cock slid into you, and you met his eye and sat completely, making him suck in a sharp breath. He still held your hips with gripping fingers, but it was all he could do not to focus solely on how deep he was buried in you, on moving fast and hard. Instead, he let you set your own pace as you watched him with a heavy gaze, your lips parting when you began to move up and down on him.

It was downright sinful, the feeling it brought him. He pulled you in tighter, moving his hands with your hips. Ignoring all else. He didn’t give a shit what he looked or sounded like, so long as you didn’t stop.

“Arthur?”

He met your eye, only able to do so since your tone had the hint of a question in it. You kept riding him, grating and slow, as you spoke. “I want to- oh…”

You drug the word out, your head falling back in your pleasured state. It was so goddamn arousing Arthur couldn’t take it anymore. He held you down against him and bucked upward, hard, making you moan for him as your breasts started bouncing with how fast he moved. Fuck, that did it.

“Want to what?” he gritted out.

You looked downright erotic, your heavy eyes falling over him like sex given form as you answered, “Want to feel your release inside of me.”

Arthur slowed his pace, your words hitting him so hard he knew he would spill inside you anyway if he weren’t careful.

“Ain’t too smart, darlin’.”

“I don’t care.”

In this moment, he didn’t either. He didn’t care about the consequences, even though it would normally bother him after Isaac. If anything, he was in a place to be with you, to raise a child with you if it came to that. So to hell with all his usual fear and regret.

“You sure?” he grimaced, still pumping his cock into you as deep as he could.

“Yes. If you are.”

Surprising himself, he was.

Arthur lifted you up and off of him, needing to do what he’d been wanting to for some time now. Of all the pleasure the two of you had wrought from each other, there was one remaining untried thing Arthur felt was a bit selfish but knew you would get just as much enjoyment out of as he would. And he did that now, turning you so that you remained facing the bed as he crawled behind you.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please…”

“Please what?” Arthur pushed your shoulders down to the bed gently, the head of his cock meeting your slick again. He nearly shook in anticipation.

“Please take me. Hard.”

If that weren’t encouragement enough, Arthur slid into you so deep you tightened around him. “Christ,” he grimaced. Then he moved. And he had to close his eyes and focus hard to keep his release at bay.

Arthur rocked his hips fast, knowing the second he watched how perfectly your bodies met, this would be over. So he focused on you first, on the sounds you made and what you seemed to like best. You moaned the loudest when he gripped your hips again and fucked you harder, so he kept on, letting you feel just how much you affected him as he drove deep.

“Arthur,” you whined, his name so needy on your tongue he almost lost it.

“That’s it,” he said lowly, taking one hand away and moving it around you, his finger coming down on those nerves that made you buck against him.

That really made you cry out. And Arthur felt a pride like none other, a protectiveness and a possessiveness that made him want to spend inside you, make you his. His grip on you tightened as his finger swirled against you.

In seconds, your pleasure rocked through you, making those inner muscles of yours flutter and work against Arthur’s cock. His eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure took over. Then it was all feeling, all you at his mercy, pleading his name like he was actually worthy of this.

For once in his life, Arthur let go of all the control, all the responsibility and sense he held so close. He released it like a breath and took you like a man should take a woman, for the sheer purpose of desire and need and maybe even love. He shuddered then slid home one last time with your name on his lips, spilling inside of you as you continued to come down around him. It was comforting and fitting and so incredibly right that his chest caught at the feeling.

“Yes,” you breathed. “God, yes.”

He wanted to repeat it back to you. But he stayed there silent, finally daring to look down at where you were met. And Christ, was it a sight, almost like he was meant to be there. He rolled his hips, unable to resist wanting to keep his spend deep inside you. It was primal and perhaps idiotic of him, but he couldn’t help it. He already wanted to do it all over again.

You both breathed heavy and refused to separate, caught there in this moment that, if you were lucky, would never have to reach its end.

But end it did, only because your body was giving out. He hadn’t realized how hard he took you until then, until your muscles protested enough to make you begin to fall to the bed. He slid out of you and caught you, letting you down slowly. He rolled you onto your back, meeting your satisfied gaze. “You okay? I didn’t mean to-”

“That’s all I ever wanted. And all I’ll ever want again.”

A smile turned his lips, catching him off guard. He never expected to smile after doing something so reckless, hope filling him where regret normally would.

“Good,” he replied. And you smiled back, the sight a tired thing. He leaned down and kissed you. When he broke away, the look you gave him hit him just as hard as all his arousal had. It was a look of complete trust. Like you’d found a home in him. He never thought he’d see the day a woman looked at him like that.

“Don’t know about you,” you said laboredly, “but I’m spent.”

He chuckled at just how spent he was, not bothering to reply as he wrapped you up in his arms to sleep. Nothing more than a man and the woman he loved, as normal a life as he could have ever imagined.

~

You and Arthur very much overstayed your welcome in the small town of Ogallala. Both of you mentioned leaving a time or two but could never quite convince yourselves to saddle up and do it. So you stayed, carving out a little life for yourselves filled with the ease of routine.

Eventually though, you could tell money was getting tight when Arthur began choosing dried meat over his preferred canned goods from the general store. It made you guilty enough to know it was time to move on. Maybe your end destination would be as kind to you as this town had been, and you wouldn’t have to worry about ending this precious time together. You hadn’t talked about it, but you were beginning to believe that Arthur would stay with you. So, holding onto that hope, you finally gave in to leaving.

“What, tired of my company?” he’d teased when you brought it up, both of you already at the stables visiting your mounts.

You shot him a look that warned of a swat to the arm but said, “Not even a little.”

That earned you one of those genuine smiles he rarely gave, like your words were healing him stitch by stitch. But he agreed, and the pair of you gathered up and mounted.

You watched the town slowly fall away into the distance as you left it, turning to look at it so many times Arthur laughed at you. “It ain’t going nowhere, you know.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s true.”

“That’s what you’re always saying.”

He shot you a smirk that could tear down the world and every forlorn woman in it. How lucky you were that he was yours. You thought of telling him so, of telling him how much you cared for him, but your heart began racing, and the words died on your lips. Instead, you opted to tease him right back—his and your form of endearment. And his resulting happiness made you know that it was just as special to him as saying those three precious words.

_________

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445 @meet-me-backstage @marygillisapologist @formula1mount @oziozzioslo @lunawolfclaw @c1gs-coffee @appalachiancowboy99

[hookhausenschips]

Crowning Moments: The Power of the Perfect Style

Summary: Part Two of Men Who Know Too Much

Drivers: Lando Norris, Franco Colapinto, Carlos Sainz, George Russell, Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen, & Oscar Piastri

Taglists

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Lando Norris – Fulani Braids with 1B Ombré Tips (British Grand Prix)

Y/N stood in front of the mirror in her hotel room, her freshly done Fulani braids gleaming under the overhead light. The golden cuffs and beads nestled perfectly along the intricate cornrows at the front of her scalp, transitioning into waist-length 1B ombré braids that darkened from brown to jet black. She tilted her head, inspecting every angle.

“I can’t believe you nailed this, Norris,” she said as Lando leaned casually against the doorway, smirking.

“Told you I’ve got an eye for these things,” he replied. “Now hurry up. The fans are going to riot if we’re late.”

The buzz outside Silverstone was palpable as the couple arrived at the paddock. The British Grand Prix always drew an enormous crowd, and the energy in the air was electric. Y/N walked beside Lando, her braids bouncing lightly with each step. Fans were pressed against the barriers, shouting his name—and hers.

“Y/N! Your hair looks amazing!”

“The ombré is so sleek!”

“You’re stunning!”

Y/N smiled, her cheeks warming as she waved at the fans. She wasn’t used to the spotlight being so focused on her, but the outpouring of love made her feel like she was walking a runway.

“See what I mean?” Lando whispered, leaning close as they headed toward the McLaren hospitality suite. “They love it. Told you to trust me.”

“I’m not saying you were right,” she teased, nudging him playfully, “but you might be onto something.”

As they stepped into the garage, the team greeted them enthusiastically.

“Y/N, those braids are unreal!” one engineer said, gesturing toward her hair.

“Thanks,” she replied, flicking one braid over her shoulder dramatically. “I had a little help.”

Lando, standing smugly beside her, interjected, “A little help? Try a lot of genius.”

Later, during the race, the cameras caught her sitting in the McLaren garage, her braids glowing under the sunlight streaming into the pit lane. Social media exploded with photos of her look, fans commenting on how effortlessly she stole the show.

When Lando returned post-race, sweaty but grinning after securing P2, he winked at her. “Told you, you’re the real star of the day.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I hate to admit it, Norris, but… maybe you were right. Just this once.”

Franco Colapinto – Pink and Black Butterfly Locs (Spanish Grand Prix, F2)

The vibrant pink tips of Y/N’s butterfly locs shone brightly under the blazing Spanish sun as she adjusted her sunglasses. The locs, a bold mix of black and hot pink, were an adventurous choice, but Franco had insisted. And now, as she strolled beside him through the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya paddock, she couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in a music video.

“Te dije que ibas a ser la estrella del día,” Franco said, grinning as his hand brushed against hers.

“You might be right this time,” she admitted, glancing around at the fans who were already pointing and whispering.

The moment they reached the paddock entrance, the reaction was instantaneous. Fans gasped and clapped, shouting compliments in both English and Spanish.

“¡Guapa!”

“Y/N, the pink is everything!”

“You look like a model!”

Y/N laughed, waving at the crowd. “They’re really hyping me up today, huh?”

“Por supuesto,” Franco said, his grin widening. “But who wouldn’t? Mira—everyone is staring at you, not me.”

As they passed a group of journalists, the cameras swiveled toward her. A reporter stepped forward.

“Y/N, we have to ask—what inspired this bold new hairstyle?”

Y/N smiled coyly, glancing at Franco. “Let’s just say I’ve got someone in my corner who has a good eye for these things.”

The two slipped away to the garage, where Franco’s team members were equally impressed. “That hair is insane, Y/N,” one of them said, giving her a thumbs-up.

Franco leaned closer, whispering, “Told you. You’re the reason half the crowd is here today.”

“Alright, alright,” she replied, laughing. “But if I find out there’s some girl who taught you about butterfly locs, it’s on sight.”

“Confía en mí, mi amor,” Franco said, placing a hand over his heart. “Todo esto fue mi idea.”

She smirked. “You’re lucky it worked out.”

Carlos Sainz – T1B/Red Ombré Medium Knotless Braids (Monaco Grand Prix)

Monaco’s glamour was unmatched, and Y/N felt like she fit right in with her medium knotless braids. The T1B roots seamlessly transitioned into a fiery red, mirroring Ferrari’s iconic color. Standing beside Carlos in the paddock, she adjusted the braids that framed her face, the red tips catching the sunlight like flames.

“¿Lo ves?” Carlos said, gesturing toward her hair as they walked toward the Ferrari garage. “I told you the red would be perfect. Matches the car, matches you.”

“You just like that I look like a walking Ferrari ad,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a grin. “But you look stunning. Everyone’s staring.”

And they were. Fans lining the Monaco paddock snapped photos and shouted her name.

“Y/N! You’re glowing!”

“The braids are gorgeous!”

“You’re the Ferrari queen!”

Y/N waved, her confidence surging as Carlos pulled her closer. Inside the Ferrari hospitality suite, the compliments kept coming.

“That red ombré is perfection,” one team member said.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, giving Carlos a sidelong glance. “Though I’ll admit, it wasn’t entirely my idea.”

“Entirely?” Carlos repeated, feigning offense. “It was all me, cariño. You just brought it to life.”

As the race day unfolded, the cameras frequently panned to Y/N, seated in the Ferrari garage. Social media buzzed with praise for her look, fans calling her the unofficial Ferrari ambassador.

When Carlos returned to the garage post-race, he leaned down, brushing a finger against one of her braids. “Told you. You’re the highlight of Monaco.”

Y/N smirked. “Maybe you’re better at this than I thought.”

George Russell – Deep Brown Alicia Keys-Inspired Braids (Singapore Grand Prix)

The humid Singapore night couldn’t dampen Y/N’s shine as she stepped into the Marina Bay paddock. Her deep brown braids, inspired by Alicia Keys, were styled to perfection. Thin braids flowed down her back, each strand adorned with golden beads and shells that jingled softly with her movements. The style was elegant and classic, a perfect match for the sophisticated night race.

George walked beside her, his tailored white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, exuding a quiet confidence. He glanced at her, his expression softening as he admired the way her braids glinted under the track lights.

“You look breathtaking,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

Y/N arched a brow, smirking. “You sound surprised, Russell.”

“Not surprised,” he corrected quickly, his lips twitching into a smile. “Just… impressed. Every time, you manage to outdo yourself.”

“Maybe it’s the hair,” she teased, running a hand along the length of her braids. “But don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Stylist. You’re still not picking my next look.”

“After this reaction, I might have to,” he said, gesturing toward the fans.

The crowd was buzzing as the couple approached.

“Y/N! Your hair is amazing!”

“George, she’s stunning—you’re a lucky man!”

“The beads are such a vibe!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, waving at the fans. She could feel their eyes on her, their admiration boosting her confidence.

“See what I mean?” George whispered, leaning in slightly. “You’re the real showstopper tonight.”

Inside the Mercedes garage, the team quickly chimed in with their own compliments.

“Y/N, those braids are flawless. Did George have anything to do with this?” one engineer asked, only half-joking.

“Not officially,” she said with a sly grin. “But he did suggest the style.”

George gave her a knowing look. “See? I have good taste.”

Later, as she sat in the garage, her braids gleaming under the pit lane lights, cameras frequently panned to her. Social media lit up, with fans dubbing her the queen of the night race.

“You’re trending again,” George said after the race, handing her his phone to show her the comments.

Y/N smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Guess I’ll let you pick my hair again someday… maybe.”

Charles Leclerc – T4/27 Pop Smoke Braids (Italian Grand Prix)

The roar of Tifosi filled the air at Monza as Y/N stepped out of the car. Her Pop Smoke braids were a work of art, the chunky cornrows flowing into a mesmerizing blend of T4 (dark brown) and 27 (honey blonde). The warm tones highlighted her features, and the intricate design gave her an effortlessly regal look.

Charles opened the car door for her, smiling as he offered his hand. “You’re going to steal the spotlight today, chérie. Not even I can compete with this.”

She chuckled, smoothing her braids down. “Please, Leclerc. The Tifosi only have eyes for you.”

As they made their way into the paddock, the crowd erupted. Fans waved Ferrari flags and chanted Charles’ name, but a significant portion of them were calling out to Y/N as well.

“Y/N! Those braids are incredible!”

“The honey blonde is perfect!”

“You’re the real Ferrari princess!”

Y/N gave Charles a look, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You hearing this? I might just be more popular than you today.”

Charles laughed, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s only because you let me pick the style.”

Inside the Ferrari hospitality suite, the compliments kept pouring in.

“Y/N, the braids are stunning!” one staff member said, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Merci,” Y/N replied, throwing Charles a pointed look. “Though apparently, this one’s taking all the credit.”

“And I deserve it,” Charles chimed in, his tone light but proud. “You wouldn’t have done it without me.”

During the race, the cameras frequently panned to Y/N, sitting in the Ferrari garage with her braids catching the sunlight. Social media exploded with praise for her look, fans calling her the “real Ferrari MVP.”

After the race, Charles approached her with a wide grin. “Admit it, I was right.”

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. “You were right. But don’t let it go to your head, Leclerc.”

Max Verstappen – T1B/Light Blue Lemonade Braids (Dutch Grand Prix)

At Zandvoort, the vibrant orange sea of Dutch fans was impossible to ignore, but Y/N’s lemonade braids somehow stood out just as much. The sleek cornrows swept across her scalp in intricate patterns, the ends dyed a bold light blue that popped against her dark skin. The playful yet edgy style perfectly suited the high-energy vibe of the race weekend.

“Je ziet er geweldig uit,” Max said as they walked through the paddock. His Dutch accent made the compliment sound even more sincere.

Y/N glanced at him, smirking. “Translation, Verstappen?”

“You look amazing,” he repeated, his eyes sparkling with pride.

“Thanks, but I’m still suspicious about how you even know what lemonade braids are,” she teased.

“I told you, I did my research,” he said, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter how I know—what matters is that everyone else knows you look perfect.”

As they approached the grandstands, fans immediately began shouting.

“Y/N! Love the blue!”

“Max, she’s outshining you today!”

“She’s got Dutch vibes with a twist!”

Y/N laughed, waving at the crowd. “They really like it,” she admitted, glancing at Max.

“Told you,” he replied smugly.

Inside the Red Bull garage, the team’s reaction was no different. “Y/N, those braids are a masterpiece,” one engineer said.

“They’re Max-approved,” she quipped, earning a laugh from the team.

Throughout the race, the cameras lingered on her, her unique style making her the talk of the paddock. Post-race interviews even included questions about her hair, but Y/N simply smiled and said, “Just something fun for Zandvoort.”

Later, Max pulled her aside. “So? Did I do good?”

She grinned. “You did great. But don’t think this means you’re in charge of my hair from now on.”

“Of course not,” he said, leaning closer. “Unless you’re stressed again.”

Oscar Piastri – Blonde and Auburn Bohemian Box Braids (Australian Grand Prix)

Under the bright Melbourne sun, Y/N felt like she was radiating a light of her own. Her freshly installed bohemian box braids blended shades of 613 blonde and 33 chestnut auburn, creating a striking yet natural gradient that framed her face perfectly. Loose, wavy strands peeked out between the braids, adding an effortless, ethereal touch.

Oscar was already waiting for her in the paddock, hands in his pockets, his boyish grin widening when he saw her.

“You look… incredible,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet awe.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked, turning slightly to give him a full view of the braids cascading down her back.

Oscar nodded, his ears tinged red. “Better than I imagined, honestly. The blonde suits you. And the auburn… it’s perfect.”

“Don’t sound too surprised,” she teased, stepping closer to him. “You’re the one who picked it.”

“Well, I didn’t think it could look this good,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a more serious tone.

The Australian Grand Prix was buzzing with excitement, fans cheering wildly as the couple walked toward the paddock. Y/N noticed several eyes lingering on her, some fans even holding up their phones to snap pictures.

“Y/N! Your hair is stunning!”

“Love the blonde—it’s giving goddess!”

“Oscar, she’s glowing!”

She exchanged a quick glance with Oscar, who seemed as unbothered as ever, though she caught the proud tilt of his smile. “Looks like you’re stealing the show,” he whispered.

As they entered the McLaren garage, the team didn’t hold back their admiration either.

“Y/N, those braids are insane,” one team member said, shaking their head in disbelief.

“Thanks,” she replied, tucking one loose strand behind her ear. “Oscar’s idea, believe it or not.”

“He has good taste,” another engineer quipped, earning a laugh from both of them.

During the race, the cameras couldn’t seem to get enough of her, capturing her seated in the garage with her glowing hair catching the sunlight. Social media exploded, fans praising her look and nicknaming her the “Golden Queen of the Paddock.”

After the race, Oscar returned to the garage, looking a little sheepish but undeniably pleased with his performance.

“Not a bad day,” he said, grabbing a water bottle and leaning against the counter.

“Not bad at all,” Y/N agreed, running her fingers through her braids. “And clearly, you’re not just good at driving. Who knew you had an eye for hair?”

Oscar chuckled, his usual calm demeanor intact. “Well, I figured you deserved something as incredible as you are. And I was right.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t let this go to your head, Piastri. But… thank you. I love it.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin softening. “Because you’ve just raised the bar for the entire paddock.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••

F1 Grid Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @lightdragonrayne, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @dhanihamidi, @xoscar03, @miarabanana, @decafmickey, @icecoldtires, @evesfile, @mellowluka, @bdreamalot99, @qxeenjen

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

A/N: writing these are so addicting (also I found this while looking up a gif for charles😂😂)

[rnakamura22]

22 nights

female prefect appearance written!!

The first thing Yu noticed was her room. She was in her room again. The dressing mirror she always used before she was sent to Twisted Wonderland. The golden locket in the shape of a clock, the surface with 22 numbers instead of 12 along with crystal, it was still there along with the NRC uniform. Yu carried her bags still, the dress mirror glimmering still.

Suddenly, the door opened and Yu saw her mother and father. Both of them looked thinner when she last saw them. They were both in shock and Yu couldn't help but understand. She was gone for a long time.

"Um....Hi, mom, hi dad. " that was all you could say awkwardly.

"YU!!" they both yelled and hugged her with all their might. Yu almost wanted to cry from how frail her parents grips were. Yu never noticed, nor did the three, the locket was glowing in a peculiar way, and on the dress mirror, a black swirl appeared, spinning as it was trying to suck in something, and disappeared a moment after.

From that day, Yu started to get back to her normal days before she was whirled off to twisted wonderland. Her school, her everyday life with her parents, and normal hospital trips to see if she has not gone through any damage.

Strangely, Yu 's locket's crystal had darkened a little.

One night, when Yu drifted off to sleep, she was in a beautiful flowerbed.

The dark sky glowed like velvet, with tiny stars sparkling like tiny diamonds, with a golden moon being the only light source.

Yu looked down at the ground. The ground was filled with purple flowers and the leaves being bright as emeralds, and she was dressed in a shiny black Mary jane shoe, white tights, a sky-blue dress with a white apron, and a cute black silk bow tying the upper part of her golden brown hair.

Suddenly, Yu felt someone tugging her blue dress. She looked and saw a doll. It had bright red hair, grey eyes, and was wearing a white coat dress with yellow buttons, yellow trim, and a red underlining with a card-suit pattern. long, black gloves. Seen under the coat is a white dress shirt with a frilled collar, and a red and black cross bow-tie around the neck. A gold, crown-shaped pin is placed where the bow-tie intersects.

Underneath the lapel of the coat on his left side hangs two gold ornaments, and printed on his coat is the symbol of Heartslabyul. Over the coat and around his waist is a striped, yellow and black sash, tied on his right side under a white pin, with red ruffles and a gold “H” in the center.

His pants are white to match his coat, with a red and yellow stripe on the outer seams. Over the pants are black, over-the-knee boots, with a gold, heart-shaped design on the boot collars, modeled after the Queen of Hearts'[6]. The boots have gold soles with high-heels, and red heart designs over the toe cap and heel.

His signature cape is worn over his left shoulder, and reaches the floor in length. It is black on the outside with red underlining and a large, white collar near the neck. The cape is seemingly connected to a checkerboard-patterned sash with yellow trim that wraps over the lapel of his coat. Placed where the sash and cape connect is a white rose, halfway covered in red paint, with a small golden crown rested on the doll's head.

Yu picked up the doll. It smiled!!!

"You kind of resemble somebody.....who could it be...?" she said. At that moment, the doll bowed!! As Yu was surprised, the doll hopped off of Yu's palms, and grew into a human boy's height, the face still the same.

Without saying anything, the doll took Yu's hand and started to dance into a graceful waltz, the mouth smiling. What surprised Yu even more, was that beautiful silver and gold instruments started to blossom from the flowerbed beneath her, as they played an enchanting melody, one flower being the conductor, one flower playing the flute, the other being a violin, etc. The time was so enchanting, it made Yu forget time and dance into a waltz.

For how long she danced, no one knew. It was when the moon disappeared and the sun began to show its face slowly along the skyline that she finally needed to go home. For some reason, the flowers beneath her looked frighting in difference to being shone with sunlight.

"I have to go home.." said Yu. The doll looked sad , and picked one of the fresh flowers and stuck it in her hair, but his face which looked cute before, now looked somehow lonely and .....angry.

"Why do you have to go.... but that doesn't matter. I will see you soon." As Yu began to lose consciousness, the doll, she couldn't see clearly, looked like grinning in a villainous way.

"Wake up Yu!! Are you OK?" It was the sound of her mother's voice that kept her awake. She was laying in bed, the locket still on her neck, and her skin dripping in cold sweat.

”What's this? You didn’t have this yesterday?"

Yu looked and saw that the purple flower the doll gave to her, had been set in a vase standing on the desk.

“Is that a Lobelia? How beautiful!”

Yu’s mother appreciated the flower. For some reason to Yu, it felt strangely ominous.

The meaning of a lobelia `Always lovely'' ``Attractive'' ``Malevolent'' ``The virtue of humility'' ``Secret demeanor''

Come, come, welcome to paradise. Sing, drink, and let the dance arise. Here’s a thirlling wonderland. The feast won’t end at your command.

Step to the beat of a crooked tune, Dance ‘til you crumble beneath the moon. And when the morning lights the skies, Truth or lies—you won’t realize.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Rooted Fates (Doctor Strange)

Summary: Stephen feels familiar with you but he doesn't quite know why.

WC: 1k

Warnings: none? soulmate au?

requested: Hello! May I please request a Soulmates AU fic of Stephen Strange and fem!Reader (who has healing magic & botanical manipulation) and they fall in love again in their current lifetime? (I love fluffy romantic soulmate AUs!) @groovy-lady

read on ao3!

---

The night was quiet in the Sanctum Sanctorum, save for the soft hum of arcane energy that lingered in the air. Stephen Strange stood in the dimly lit library, his fingers tracing the edges of a weathered tome, lost in its pages but distracted by something deeper—an almost unshakable feeling that something was missing. It was a sensation he couldn't quite place, like a persistent whisper he could never quite hear clearly enough to understand.

Then, the door creaked open, and a soft voice broke through his reverie.

“Stephen.”

He looked up, his sharp features softening slightly as he met your gaze. You were standing in the doorway, the faintest hint of a smile on your lips. The air around you seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow, a gentle aura that wrapped around you like a second skin. Your magic—botanical manipulation and healing—was always subtle but powerful, like the way a garden seemed to breathe life into a space.

You weren't just beautiful, though that much was obvious to anyone who’d ever looked at you. It was something else, something deeper. The connection between the two of you stretched beyond this lifetime, beyond this reality. And though Stephen didn’t understand it fully, he knew it was undeniable.

You closed the door behind you and stepped further into the room, the warm light from the candles flickering across your face. The flowers that had once been so bright and vibrant in your presence were now blooming softly in the corners of the room, their petals glowing faintly.

“Busy?” you asked, your voice carrying that familiar warmth that never failed to ease the tension in his chest.

“Not really,” Stephen replied, closing the book with a soft snap. He pushed it aside and looked at you, though his eyes held a distant curiosity. “What is it, Y/N?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing the room to stand before him. “You’re always lost in those books, Stephen,” you teased softly, your fingers brushing his. It was a simple gesture, but it felt like the entire universe had paused. The touch of your hand on his sent a ripple of recognition through his chest, as though some long-forgotten memory had awoken.

He blinked, his breath catching for a moment. He knew you, he knew you.

But not from this life.

A ripple of images flashed behind his eyes—another life, another time. The two of you, in a meadow filled with flowers, your hands entwined as you whispered secrets to one another. The feel of your breath on his skin, the warmth of your touch. It was a feeling of peace, of home, but it was fleeting, vanishing before he could fully grasp it.

“Stephen?” you asked again, your voice a little quieter this time, concern lining your features.

He blinked, shaking his head as if to clear the sudden onslaught of memories. “Sorry. I... I just had a moment.”

You frowned slightly but didn’t push him. Instead, you stepped closer, your magic wrapping around both of you like a protective cocoon, filling the room with the scent of fresh earth and growing things. “Is everything alright?”

Stephen swallowed hard, unsure how to explain what he had felt—the recognition, the weight of it. The connection between you wasn’t new, but it felt like something more than just fate. It was as if the two of you had known each other across lifetimes. He couldn’t put it into words, but the magic between you—the way it pulsed in time with his own heartbeat—spoke a truth his mind couldn’t yet comprehend.

“I think I remember you,” he said finally, his voice rough with the raw honesty of his admission.

You blinked, your expression softening with understanding. “You remember me from before, don’t you?”

The words hit him like a wave, crashing over him and pulling him under. Before.

“Yes,” he whispered, his hands shaking slightly as he reached out for you, his fingers brushing your wrist. “It’s all coming back now. We were... together before. Weren’t we?”

You smiled softly, your eyes bright with emotion. “Yes. We’ve been through this many times, Stephen. We’ve always found each other.”

Stephen’s heart stuttered in his chest. “How... how is that possible?”

You stepped closer, your hand resting gently on his chest. “We’re soulmates, Stephen. We always have been. I was always the one who healed you, and you... you taught me how to grow. It’s not a love that ends with each life; it simply changes, evolves.”

The weight of the truth settled around him, and he could feel the stirrings of his own magic responding to yours, the bond between you two undeniable. In this life, he had been so lost in his pursuit of power, in his quest to protect the world, that he’d almost missed the most important thing. You.

And now, with you standing before him, he realized what he had always needed, always longed for, even before he had understood the magic of it.

“You healed me before,” Stephen murmured, his voice thick with the depth of emotion he’d been holding back for so long. “You fixed me, even when I didn’t think I could be fixed.”

You smiled, your touch gentle as you cupped his face in your hands. “I heal because of you, Stephen. You taught me the importance of growth—of not just mending what’s broken but nurturing it so it can flourish.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “And now... now I understand. It wasn’t just about the magic. It was about us. All of this time... all of these lives. I was meant to love you, wasn’t I?”

You kissed him then, soft and slow, the magic between you building with every touch. There was no rush, no need for urgency, just the slow, steady rhythm of two souls reuniting after a long, long time apart.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling. “Yes. You were always meant to love me. And I was always meant to love you, Stephen Strange.”

As he held you, feeling the quiet power of your connection fill every corner of his being, Stephen knew this was just the beginning. In this lifetime, he would make sure to never let you go, to always nurture the love between you, to grow with you in every possible way.

After all, love was magic—and he had finally found his true spell.

[kaybug88]

Kirishima x Wife!Reader

Based on Teenage Dream by Stephen Dawes

TW: Disgusting fluff, a tiny bit of crying, pet name (baby), one slightly suggestive part, small bits of angst, small bit of swearing

WC: 3.6k

Blue - Song Lyrics

Red - Kirishima

Purple - You & Kirishima 

Pink- You

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Tonight, you were getting married to your best friend, and things couldn't be better. You two slowly dancing under the soft glow of the full moon and sparkling stars, the love-filled atmosphere being touched by softly glowing fairy lights surrounding you as music played from speakers carefully placed around the wedding. The night had been wonderful, and is still going wonderfully. Games had been played, jokes had been made, tears had been shed (and are still In the process of being shed), with everyone smiling at one point or another, whether it was from seeing the two of you so happy, or simply having a good time. You two were making small conversation as you swayed from left to the right, when the song Teenage Dream began to play. As the tune began to lightly sound from the speakers, you couldn't help but see memories flash in your mind's eye as the lyrics washed over you two.

-

“You think I'm pretty, without any makeup on.”

♡

“Stop, I look terrible!”

You said with a whiny tone, followed by soft giggles as you desperately tried to hide your face. You had just woken up in his room for the first time, and even though he's seen you after waking up, you simply couldn't help but still feel a little self conscious.

“Don't you ever say that again, you're the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen, no matter the circumstances.”

Kirishima said, admiring the way you giggled while he tried to get you to move your hands away from your beautiful face. He placed his soft hands on top of your own, slowly grabbing them and moving them away.

If he said he hadn't thought about marrying you one day at that exact moment, he'd be lying. The soft, dreamy orange glow of the morning sun leaked from the gap in his curtains shined on your gorgeous face, your soft eyes looked even softer with the morning glow highlighting the color, your hair slightly messy but still managing to look just fine to him, your lashes resting effortlessly perfect in place, and a gentle smile on your soft lips. The sight of you looking so effortlessly perfect would almost upset him if he wasn't dating you.

How in the world do you do it?

“Sometimes I wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

He said softly as he admired how truly divine you looked before pressing his lips to your own. Your sleepy eyes were filled with adoration from his comment, but when you felt his lips perfectly mold into your own, you couldn't help but be a little surprised. Your heart fluttered, and stomach doing flips as you let your heavy eyes fall, embracing his kiss while bringing your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

-

“You think I'm funny when I tell the punchline wrong.”

♡

“Baby! What do you call a fish without an eye?”

He excitedly said as he stepped into your room, your guys' favorite snacks and drinks in a white gas station bag for your movie night. He wore an idiotic grin on his lips, and eyes shone with clear giddiness. He looked like a child who was eager to tell you something they learned at school that day that was so incredibly mind blowing to their small brain.

“What?”

You asked, a gentle smile on your lips with your eyes softly rolling in a teasing manner, already knowing the answer to this common joke, but you wouldn't dare ruin the smile he was wearing, as he prepared to tell you the answer.

“A fish!”

He exclaimed rather excitedly, his smile only beaming even brighter when you broke out in a laughter he could never get sick of listening to. Your laughter was his favorite thing to hear, and if he could, he'd always make you laugh.

“B-baby, that's not how it goes.”

You managed to get out through gulps of air after your laughing fit. His smile faltering a bit when he heard that he had in fact, told the joke wrong.

“What?”

“Ei, it's ‘fsh’”

You corrected with a silly smile and a tiny giggle, moving over a bit so he could sit by you on your bed. You pat the seat next to you a few times, waiting for him to join you.

“Oh, 'm sorry. . .”

“What? No, baby! No matter what joke you tell me, wrong or right, will always be funny to me.”

You informed in a reassuring tone, pressing a kiss to his red cheeks, your action doing nothing to lessen the bright color. His cheeks were nearly the same color as his hair, getting a small laugh from you.

-

“I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, yeah, come down. Yeah, I was alright, but things were kinda heavy.”

♡

You've never held onto your boyfriend As tightly as you did now. You had just gotten back with your classmates from the Eri mission, and you had gotten hurt pretty bad, slipping into a coma shortly after the fight. He was injured badly himself, but he's never felt so scared in his life when he overheard some pros on the mission say they were unsure if you were going to make it, and how terrible it would be if you didn't make it through your coma.

“I hope that (L/N) girl makes it outta’ that coma. It’d be a shame if she didn’t-”

He stopped listening after that, and cried himself to sleep that night. When he heard you had woken up, he ran, there. In the most literal sense too, you had been in a coma for so long he couldn't waste any time he had with you. Everyone had viseted you while you were asleep, hell, even Bakugo did. However, Kirishima was there day and night for as long as possible. He was the first one there in the morning and last one there at the night.

“N- never, ever do so- somethi- ing so stupid li- like that aga- ain.”

He scolded you with flowing tears and a cracked voice as he held onto you. You had thankfully woke up after what felt like years, but in reality, had only been two weeks. Kiri was the first one there to ensure you were alright once he heard you were in fact, awake and alive.

“Can't promise, but I'll try extra hard, just for you.”

You rasped as you ran soothing circles on his back, your other hand running through his hair. Tears of Your own threatening to fall as well. You laid your head back with a sigh. You had heard him talking to you the entire time throughout your coma and knew he had been there with you as often as he could, which meant the world to you.

-

“You brought me to life, now every February, yeah, you'll be my valentine, valentine.”

♡

It was your guys’ first Valentine's Day together after you began dating, and you remember the special moment like it like it was yesterday.

“So, um, I know we've been dating for a bit now, and I wanted to know if you'd be-”

“I'd love to be your valentine, Eijiro.”

You sheepishly interrupted, finished the sentence for him, looking at him with complete Adoration. You wouldn't dare miss the excitement in his eyes, followed by his already red cheeks To flair up once more.

“I didn't even fini-”

“You don't need to.”

You interrupted again before pressing your warm, soft lips to his. Your Arms wrapped around his neck, lips failing to hide your smile as you felt his body relax and embrace the loving kiss. The warm fuzzy feeling you were getting completely counter acted the cold winter air.

-

“So let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love.”

♡

“I could get used to this. . .”

You quietly sighed, a small yawn following right after you spoke while you rested your head onto his stomach. It was the middle of a warm, summer night. The full moon shone similarly to a soft lamp and the stars dotted the sky like silver and gold glitter on a black paper.

“I could too.”

He replied softly, hands threading through your silky hair. His stomach rose and fell softly as you two admired the night sky. The soft blanket below you two was just big enough for you both to comfortably rest, but it felt like that only made it all the more enjoyable.

-

“Yeah, we can dance until we die.”

♡

You had just drug The poor red headed boy outside to dance with you in the warm summer rain. It was the middle of the night, but it only made it better. Rain clouds covered the moon light, leaving the streetlights to be the only source of light around you.

“If I get a cold, I'm blaming it on you.”

He scoffed softly as the two of you slowly danced in the rain, your clothes both hugging your bodies uncomfortably, water beginning to soak through your shoes and to your socks, but it was the last thing on each of your minds. His hair was begging to droop slightly from the rain which was quite cute to say the least. You giggled as he spun you around, bringing you back to his arms after a second.

“I'm okay with that.” 

You giggled with a slight shrug while you swayed from left to right. You each closed your eyes when you rest you foreheads on the other's, soft breaths being shared between you two.

-

“You and I will be young forever, ‘Cause you make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream.”

♡

“Sometimes I wonder what life would've been like if we had met when we were younger.”

He randomly said while you two were laying in the comfortable darkness and silence of your room. Blankets were laid on you two, and pillows thrown here and there, all to assure you're both comfortable.

“What makes you say that?”

You asked with a tired voice, eyes staying shut as he ran small circles on your back. His soft breathing was (and still is) one of your favorite things to fall asleep to.

“Not sure. . .”

He mumbles so softly it's almost inaudible. Almost.

“We're still young, and we have the rest of our lives ahead of us.”

What you said that night particularly stuck with Kirishima throughout your lives. When things got hard for him, he thought back to that memory and played it over to tell him things would be alright when things got tough.

-

“The way you turn me on, now I can't sleep.”

♡

“Baby. . . I don't think you realize what you do to me. . .”

He groaned as you stepped out of your bathroom wearing a new red lace set Mina had got you for your birthday. Across your chest was a giant, sparkly "RED RIOT".

“Like it?”

You giggled, doing a 360 to show it completely off. You knew he liked it. . . Okay, more than liked it.

“I don't just like it, I love it. If you want, I can show you just how much I love it.”

-

“Let's run away and don't ever look back, ever look back. My heart stops when you look at me.”

♡

The giggles that erupted from you were pretty much addictive. He simply couldn't get enough. They reminded him of a sweet, savory summer treat that he wished he could have all day, every day.

He too, was laughing as you each ran through the grass under the stars. Fireflies flew up from the grass wherever you two had stepped, creating a harmony of little, sparkling lights surrounding you two.

You slipped some time while you were running and Eijiro immediately ran towards you, falling beside you to make sure you were okay. You were alright, but couldn't help but get up and tackle him onto his back, earning loud laughs from him as you tickled Him. He managed to flip and tickle you, like you had done him.

"Ah! Stop, stop!"

You squealed, legs kicking in an attempt to get him off, and your arms flailing around to try and hit him.

"Not until you surrender!"

He cackled, relentlessly tickling your sides. He had no intentions of stopping until you gave up.

"Okay, okay! I surrender, you win!"

-

“Just one touch, now baby, I believe this is real, So take a chance and don't ever look back, ever look back.”

♡

“Glad to finally be out of U.A.?”

He asked with a huff after placing one of the last boxes in your apartment. You two decided to get an apartment and split the cost until you guys bought a house, even if he was rather against of splitting the cost. You managed to convince him to do 50/50 on the conditions that he bought groceries.

“Even with all the good memories we have there, it's nice to have our own place to create new ones..”

You replied as you set down a cardboard box with nothing but a large ‘E’ in thick black sharpie. After letting out a groan, you stood up, stretching your sweaty back and wiping the sweat from your forehead.

“I like that Idea. Making new memories here.”

He said so softly, it was inaudible, but he meant it. He couldn't wait to create new memories just for the two of you. Maybe even share the new memories with your future children. Sure, kids were way far into the future, but hey, it couldn't hurt to just think about them, right?

-

“We drove to Cali, and got drunk on the beach. Got a motel and built a fort out of sheets.”

♡

“This fort is gonna’ be hard to beat.”

Your boyfriend had said to you with a huff. It was your anniversary, and You two had made it a tradition to make a fort Every year, and this had to be your best yet. Neither of you two were sure how this tradition started, but it's fun, nonetheless.

“We say that every year, and then the next, we do it better.”

You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder. It had taken you guys over an hour this year to build your fort, and it was the literal definition of ‘awesome sauce’. It took up your whole living room In your guys’ new (and first) house. You looked over the whole fort, clear pride on your face.

“I can't wait to share this tradition with our kids one day.”

He said to you, bringing you closer by your waist. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, a slight beginning of a stubble tickling your skin.

“Kids!? Let's wait a bit before thinking about kids.”

You laughed, clearly a little flustered, feeling his face move away from your neck, and soon feel his lips press onto your head. In all honesty, you would love for your kids to be with him.

-

“I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece. I'm complete.”

♡

“Here's the perfect spot for a picture.”

He said excitedly with a large grin on his Face as he led you to a beautiful, red traditional Japanese arch. It was your birthday, and your best friends had surprised you with a small simple trip to your favorite garden. The specific friends with you were Bakugo, Sero, Mina, Kaminari, Jiro, Midorya, Uraraka, and Tsu. Everyone of them knew what was coming, everyone besides you.

“Oh- okay!”

You giggled as he stepped behind you, placing his hands on your hips.

“So, before we take the picture, what're our three rules?”

He asks, almost a little breathlessly. The question Catches you off guard, but you answer without hesitation.

“Feed me, care for Me, and never leave me.”

You answered with a smile, remembering The day you guys set said rules. You loved those rules, and they managed to keep your guys’ relationship strong all these years.

“Right, so what if I never broke any of those rules, specifically the last one?”

He asked, taking his hands off your hips and began to kneel down. You almost asked what this was about before turning around and seeing him holding the most gorgeous black and red velvet box, a diamond ring perfectly placed in the middle. You couldn't stop the immediate gasp That left your mouth or the tears that began to flow.

“(Y/N) (L/N), you're my everything. You were my first kiss and first love. You were there with me at my highest of highs, and lowest of lows. We've made it through thick and thin, sickness and health. Your laugh makes me smile, your touch ignites me, your smile gives me butterflies, and no matter how many times we kiss, I'll never get used to the feeling. Will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?”

He asks, his own tears threatening to fall. Your hand fell from your lips as you opened your mouth to speak. Your throat felt like it was

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes!”

You cried as you crouched down to hug him, sniffles leaving you followed by some laughs shared between you two. Your friends clapped and cheered around you. He couldn't dare believe any man would be as happy as he is now.

Everyone was happy, and most of them were crying, even Bakugo was crying but you wouldn't catch him dead admitting he cried during the proposal.

Midorya turned to face Bakugo after hearing a sniffle or two, and was shocked to see a single tear falling down his cheek.

“K- Kacchan, are you crying?”

“Hell no, I'm not. Fuck off, you Shitty nerd.”

-

“And Imma get your heart racing in my skin tight jeans. Be your teenage dream tonight. Let you put your hands on me, in my skin tight jeans. Be your teenage dream tonight.”

♡

“Like my new jeans?”

Your fiancé asked, strutting out of the bathroom to show you his new jeans. You looked up from the book you were reading and couldn't help but let out a loud, ugly laugh at what you were seeing.

“Eijiro! What in the world are you wearing?”

You cackled as he did a 360 and strutted towards you, hands on hips, lips pursed and sassily swaying his hips side to side as he walked towards you.

“Fashion, obviously.”

He informed, with a sarcastic scoff. You could tell he was trying not to laugh as he did his little fashion show.

“Well, I must say, they show-off your butt really nicely.”

You chuckled, standing up to wrap your arms around his neck. you two shared a small laugh before connecting your soft lips. You reach down and slap his butt, laughing against his lips.

-

“What're you thinking about, Love?”

Your husband asked, noticing how quiet You had gotten.

“Us.”

You answered softly, resting your head against his. As the end of the song began to play, you took your head off his chest and looked up to see his smiling face.

“Oh, ‘Cause you make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream.”

You both sang, swaying to beat of the song. This song hit you closer to home than you'd ever realized, but you wouldn't be complaining about it one bit.

“The way you turn me on, I can't sleep.”

You guys sang as he spun you, wonderful white dress flaring out around you, showing off each intricate design

He brought you back to his chest to sway once more for the final lyrics. You placed your foreheads together as you softly sang the song together.

“Let's run away and don't ever look back, ever look back.”

“My heart stops, when you look at me. Just one touch, now baby I believe, this is real, so take a chance and don't ever look back, ever look back.”

After the song finished, and the next began to play, you looked Into his red glassy eyes, flashing a toothy grin he closed his eyes and pressed his lips into yours. 

With every sound Around the both of you tuned out, you could focus on his beating heart. Things had turned out okay, and if you could, you'd choose to stay in this moment For the rest of your life.

—

“They're disgusting.”

Katsuki grumbled, wearing his burgundy red suit as he stood off to the side with their old friend group. He was desperately trying not to cry as he watched his best friend since their first year at U.A. kiss his wife, and girl he'd been crushing on since day one.

“Oh, give them a break.”

Mina scoffed from beside him, pushing him lightly, looking back to the newly-Wed couple. She refrained from pointing out the small sniffles coming from the explosive man beside her.

"Yeah, c'mon, don't be salty because you don't have that yet.”

Sero chuckled, backing up their pink friend. Next to him, Kaminari and Jiro were hand in hand, smiling softly at the dancing couple, simply drowning out the conversation beside them, and the angry grumbles from Bakugo.

“I'm going to give you that one day. Your dream wedding. Just you wait.”

Kaminari softly said to his girlfriend, who was looking up to him with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“I'mma' hold you to that.”

Jiro chuckled, leaning into his side as she held onto the blonde’s arm. Not only had life turned out to what You and Eijiro dreamed for, but everyone was getting to what they dreamed of too, even if it wasn't now.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

A/N: Stop, I'm actually so proud of this, and it's so stupid cute! If any of you want this same thing, but with a different character, I'd be more than happy to write something! Each person would get their own memories and proposal ;)

[therealcocoshady]

Hey coco I seen your latest story and I was wondering if you could do the complete opposite where reader and Marshall are in a long term relationship and they have sex and he’s in a rush and he doesn’t clean reader up at all and kinda leaves really quickly and reader feels like a hoe and gets in her feels about it .

A/N : thank you so much for your request ! I really liked the idea so I came up with a little something. I hope you enjoy it ☺️💕. Please don’t mind the title. I’m exhausted and I wrote the first thing that comes to mind 🤣.

The Birkin Diplomacy

CW : Eminem being a really sucky boyfriend and a cocky bastard 😅 ; reconciliation

Marshall leaned against the headboard, the low hum of the city filtering through the slightly cracked window of your bedroom. The sheets were tangled around your legs, still heavy with the warmth of your embrace. He pulled a hand through his messy hair, damp from sweat, as he exhaled. For a moment, he seemed present—his gaze fixed on you in the dim light, the edges of his sharp features softened by exhaustion. You studied him, your head resting on his chest. You couldn’t help but think there was something mesmerizing about your man. You always found him fascinating, but orgasm always gave him a nice glow. In the dim light of your room, he seemed even more ethereal. If it weren’t for his heartbeat, steady and strong, you could have sworn he wasn’t really. You basked in this delicious feeling for a while, catching your breath, enjoying the comforting feeling of his skin against yours. But then, right as you were about to fall asleep, he pulled away. 

« Gotta go, » he mumbled before getting up. « What? » you asked, propping yourself up on an elbow, in a voice edged with disbelief. He simply shrugged before answering, not exactly apologetic. « Late-night session. Dre’s in town. Can’t leave him hanging » he explained as he slid out of bed. How movements were quick, almost mechanical; as he started to put his clothes on. You frowned and watched as he moved around the room. You body was still aching from him, from your connection. You had given yourself to him completely, as you had always done and yet… He was leaving. You couldn’t help but feel your heart break a little. « Marshall… Can’t it wait? » you asked, your voice breaking slightly. « I feels like I barely see you, these days ». 

He sighed and looked at you. For a moment, it seemed like his icy blue eyes were softening. But then his shoulders sagged, and the weight of his responsibilities seemed to settle on him again. « You know how it is, babe. I’ve got work to do. We’re close to finishing the album ». And just like that, he was gone—out the door with a rushed kiss on your forehead, leaving you alone in your bed, body still marked by his touch. You stared at the ceiling, your chest tightening as frustration and hurt bubbled up inside you. Nearly two years of being babe. His girlfriend. His source of comfort and support. Almost two years of sticking with him through thick and thin. Two years of him calling you his princess, his queen… And now, he had you feeling like a cheap whore, your cozy bedroom reduced to a vulgar brothel. He didn’t even help you clean up. Yet, somehow, it was the fancy bracelet he had gifted you a couple of days ago that had you feeling dirty. When you had opened the box, you had been mesmerized by the way the diamonds caught the light but now, it felt like a bauble, a weak attempt at making up for the attention he didn’t give you. And if he thought you were one of these hoes that would turn a blind eye to their bed being empty as long as they had tiny things to look at, he was dead wrong. This, you were about to remind him of. 

The idea came to you as a sharp, defiant spark. Sitting up, you wrapped yourself in the sheet, your resolve growing stronger with each step toward the closet. Marshall had showered you with lavish gifts over the course of your relationship—designer handbags, sparkling jewelry, even a pair of limited-edition sneakers he’d bragged about snagging before anyone else. You gathered them one by one, piling them into an empty box from a recent delivery. Each item carried a memory, a moment when you’d thought you were his priority, his anchor. Now, they felt hollow, like symbols of a love that had become one-sided. Next, you opened the drawer where you kept a spare key to his house. Your fingers trembled as you placed it on top of the pile. You’d carried that key everywhere, a token of trust and commitment. Now, it felt heavy with the weight of his neglect. And for all you cared, he could give it to someone else. Someone who would be willing to put up with the disrespect. But that someone wouldn’t be you. You had many flaws, but being unaware of your worth certainly wasn’t one of them. The final touch was a deliberate act of rebellion. Pulling out your phone, you searched for the number of a high-end escort service you’d once overheard a friend joking about. You scribbled it down on a sticky note in bold, dark letters, then stuck it to the top of the box. « Here » you mumbled. « Now you can save on presents and have a cheap hoe ». 

The next morning, the courier arrived promptly. You gave the box one last glance, your heart thudding in your chest. A small part of you hesitated—did you really want to do this? But the memory of his hurried departure, of the way he’d made you feel so disposable, spurred you forward. « Delivery for Marshall Mathers, » you said, your voice steady as you handed it over.

Later that day, Marshall was at his studio, downing what seemed to be his hundredth can of Redbull, trying to stay awake. Dre had left the studio shortly before, and he was trying to go over the track they had recorded. He groaned as the receptionist came to him and handed him a package addressed to him. « Who’s it from? » he asked, his brows furrowed. She simply shrugged, mumbling something about a courrier. He sat the box on his desk and opened it slowly, his confusion growing with each item he uncovered. The bracelet, the earrings, the sneakers, the bags… All these were presents he had gifted you. His breath caught when he saw the key, glinting under the soft light of his studio office. But it was the sticky note that stopped him. A phone number. Of course, he didn’t waste any time and immediately took out his phone to dial it. 

His heart pounded as he hit the call button, curiosity and dread warring within him. The line rang once. Twice. « Hello, » a smooth, almost rehearsed voice answered on the other end. « You’ve reached Luxe Companions, Detroit’s premier escort service. How can I help you today? » He froze. « Wait—what? » he stammered, his voice pitching higher than usual. « This is Luxe Companions, » the voice repeated, professional and patient. « Would you like to make a booking? » Marshall’s mouth went dry as realization hit him like a freight train. His eyes widened, and his grip on the phone tightened. No. No way.  « Uh… nah, » he muttered, struggling to form coherent words. « I think I… uh… I think I got the wrong number. » There was a brief pause on the other end, as if the operator was used to this sort of reaction. « Very well, sir. If you change your mind, feel free to call back. » Marshall ended the call abruptly, dropping his phone onto the desk as though it had burned him. His jaw hung open as he stared at the offending sticky note, now armed with a whole new layer of meaning.

« She didn’t, » he said aloud, shaking his head in disbelief. « She wouldn’t. » But you absolutely had.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the office. His mind spun in a chaotic loop: you were pissed, and this was your way of making sure he knew it. The message was loud and clear now—if you don’t make time for me, someone else will. The audacity of it stung, but so did the truth behind it. He collapsed into a chair, still holding the note as if it might give him more answers. Less than an hour later, Marshall was standing outside of your door, the sticky note still crumpled in his fist. Maybe it was a side-effect of the exhaustion or the energy drink, but his lips were twitching with a mix of frustration and amusement as he knocked. He had to admit there was something about the audacity, the sheer, unfiltered nerve of your move. He wasn’t sure whether he was mad, impressed or both. 

The door opened just wide enough for you to peek out. Your eyes locked on him, cold and unyielding.  « What do you want, Marshall? » you asked, your voice clipped.  « Well, » he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, « I came to return this. » He held up the note. « Thought maybe you’d accidentally sent me the number to a… uh… high-end hospitality service. »  Your eyes narrowed, your poker face slipping just enough to show a hint of satisfaction. « Accidentally? No. That was very much intentional ».  He let out a chuckle and shook his head. « I figured. You really went there, huh? ». 

You pushed the door open a little more, standing tall with your arms crossed. « You left me in bed like I was nothing. No cuddling. No conversation. Just ‘wham, bam, thanks, ma’am,’ and out the door. » Your voice was calm but laced with venom.  He winced, raising his hands in surrender. « Okay, I get it. I was a jerk. A giant, oblivious, selfish jerk. But damn, sending me to call an escort service? That’s cold, Y/N. »  You couldn’t help but scoff at his audacity. « Was it, now ?! » you shot back, your tone sharp. « I thought it was rather creative ». 

Marshall bit back a grin, trying to stay serious. « Alright, look, » he said, stepping closer. « I know I screwed up. I know I’ve been all over the place, and I’ve been taking you for granted. That’s on me. But come on, babe. You really think I’d go through with calling someone else? ». You leaned against the doorframe, studying him. « I don’t know, Marshall. You’ve been treating me like an afterthought lately. I had to remind you I’m not some cheap hoe. »  At that, his lips curved into a slow smirk. « Cheap? Nah. You’re way too high-maintenance for that. »   Your eyes narrowed, but he pressed on before you could retort.  « Not to be that guy, but… Birkin bags aren’t exactly cheap »  He gestured to your living room, where the infamous orange box your bag had come in sat on a side table. « You’re not a cheap hoe, baby. You’re an expensive one. Top-shelf. »  The audacity of his words made your jaw drop. « Are you fucking serious right now? » you hissed, though your lips, betraying that you were fighting a smile.  « I’m just saying, » he said, raising a brow. « If I’m gonna grovel, might as well acknowledge you’re in a league of your own. »  

As much as you appreciated witty banter, your faint smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. You pulled back, crossing your arms over your chest. « You think this is some sort of joke? » you asked coldly. « You think you can insult me twice in a row and that a clever wording is going to make it ok? ». He blinked, caught off guard. « Woah, hold up » he started, but you cut him off.  « No, seriously, Marshall. You think calling me ‘high-maintenance’ or joking about Birkin bags is cute? I never once asked for any of that stuff. »   Your words hit him like a slap. The air between the two of you grew heavier as your frustration spilled over.  « Do you think throwing expensive gifts at me is some kind of substitute for actually being here? » you continued, your voice rising. « You waltz in with flashy things like it’s gonna make up for the fact that you’re barely present anymore. And then you have the audacity to crack a joke about it? Like I’m some gold digger you need to bribe? »  He opened his mouth to respond but faltered, realizing he had nothing to say that wouldn’t make it worse.  « You know what I value, Marshall? Time. Effort. Real things. Not overpriced bags or shoes or necklaces that just sit in a closet. If I wanted someone who could buy me things, I wouldn’t have chosen you. I wanted you. But apparently, that’s asking too much. »  

Your voice cracked on the last words, and you quickly turned away, your hands gripping the doorframe as you tried to regain some composure.  He stared at you, guilt gnawing at him. Every word you’d said was true, and he knew it. You weren’t materialistic—you never had been. The gifts had always been his way of showing love in the moments he couldn’t be there, an attempt to show that he thought you deserved the very best, but now he saw how empty they must have felt without his presence to back them up. « Hey, » he said softly, stepping closer but keeping his distance. « You’re right. I messed up. Again. »  You didn’t respond, your back still to him. « I thought the gifts… I don’t know… I thought they’d remind you how much you mean to me when I wasn’t around. But I see now that it probably just felt like I was buying my way out of being a better boyfriend. »  You turned to face him, eyes glistening but fierce. « Exactly. I don’t care about the money, Marshall. I don’t care about any of it. I would have loved you just as much if you’d been broke. What I care about is feeling like I actually matter to you. Like I’m not just here for when it’s convenient. » 

« You do matter, » he said, his voice thick with emotion. « More than anything. I know I’ve been screwing up left and right, lately, and you deserve way better than the half-assed version of me you’ve been getting. » You studied him, your walls still up, unsure if you wanted to believe him. « Words aren’t enough, Marshall. You know that. » He nodded with understanding. « I know, » he said quickly. « And I’m not gonna stand here and tell you I’ve got all the answers or that I’m magically gonna fix everything overnight. But I’m gonna show you, piece by piece, day by day, that you’re not just some afterthought to me. I can’t lose you. Not over this. Not over anything. »  The raw sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You wanted to hold on to your anger, to make him work for it. But there was something in his eyes—a mix of regret and determination—that chipped away at your defenses. Damn baby blue eyes. « You’ve got a lot to prove, » you said after a long silence.  « I know, » he replied, nodding earnestly. « And no more Birkin jokes, » you added sharply. He raised his hands in surrender. « Scout’s honor. »  For the first time in the conversation, your lips twitched into an actual smile. « You’re lucky I care about you, you know that? »  He exhaled in relief, stepping closer. « Nah, I’m lucky for a million reasons. But mostly because you’re still willing to give me a chance to fix this. » Your eyes softened, though you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. « Don’t make me regret it.»  

« I won’t, » he promised, taking your hand. « And for the record, you’re way more valuable than a Birkin bag. Like… priceless. Top-shelf, remember? »  You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull your hand away. « You’re really pushing it. » He couldn’t help but give you a shit-eating grin. « Yeah, but that’s why you love me, right? ».   

[beautification-tales]

The Wereslut part 2

A tale of periodic transformations

"Come on, Ginge, you've got to check this out!" exclaimed Brigitte, her eyes glued to the screen as a group of pirates fought with exaggerated flailing and yells.

Ginger rolled her eyes, the scent of popcorn and the warm glow of the TV the only comfort in the otherwise cold apartment. She knew full well what was going to happen next, having watched the episode a hundred times with her best friend. But she couldn't help the smile that crept onto her lips as she leaned in closer, the anticipation of their favorite scene building.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the dramatic music and the clanging of swords like a knife. Brigitte's enthusiastic "Who could it be?" was met with Ginger's knowing look. It was Sam, the neighbor who had a knack for interrupting their Friday night marathons.

Sam waltzed in, his cheeky grin lighting up the room. "Looks like the weebs are at it again," he said, tossing a bag of chips onto the coffee table. He was tall and muscular, a stark contrast to Brigitte's plush figure. His teasing was all in good fun, though, and the girls had grown used to his playful banter.

“Babe I told you tonight it’s girls night ok?” Ginger called out as Sam sailed through the doorway, a playful scowl etched on her face. She knew he was joking, but she couldn’t help feeling a little annoyed. “I just miss you babe.” Sam said with a shrug, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He knew that Ginger’s friendship with Brigitte was sacred, almost a religion in itself, and interrupting was like walking into a church mid-mass. But his curiosity always got the better of him.

“You are so lucky you are cute.” Ginger replied, approaching her tall boyfriend. She got on her tiptoes and pouted. Sam bent down and kissed her lips. “But seriously, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She glanced back at the TV, where the climax of the battle was reaching its peak. “Dinner and FullMetal Alchemist Brotherhood right?” Sam asked with a hopeful smile. Ginger nodded, her eyes never leaving the screen. “It’s a date.”

With a dramatic sigh, Sam kissed her on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.” He turned to leave, waving at the screen. “Take care of the Straw Hats for me!” he called over his shoulder, his laugh echoing down the hall. Brigitte turned to her best friend. “You didn’t have to make him leave you know.”

“I know, but we need our time, bestie,” Ginger said, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it in her mouth. “Besides, you know how he gets when he watches with me. After two episodes…. There isn’t much watching.” Ginger giggled at the thought of Sam's inability to sit through their anime binges without trying to have sex with her.

Brigitte nodded, her cheeks reddening slightly. “I totally get it. You guys have that kind of relationship. But, you know, I wish I had someone who was like that with me.” She playfully elbowed Ginger's side, causing her to spill some popcorn on her shirt.

“But seriously how did things change between you two? A few months ago you were crushing on him. Now he can’t get enough of you.” Ginger threw another piece of popcorn at Brigitte, who caught it with a grin. “What can I say, the universe finally realized I’m irresistible.”

“Come on you know I know you better than that. Remember Frank? You were a nervous wreck around him and he’s not even close to how hot Sam is. So what is the secret? Are you a witch now?” Brigitte said, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Huh? What? No! Me?” Ginger stuttered, her cheeks flushing. She paused the episode, turning to face Brigitte. “It’s just that Sam’s really into me, you know? And I figured out what makes him happy. That’s all there is to it.”

“I was joking but now I know you’re hiding something.” Brigitte said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Ginger felt a knot in her stomach, realizing she might have said too much. She also felt her burn mark ache as it typically does on the full moon. It was a secret she hadn’t shared with anyone, not even her best friend.

Ginger looked at her friend. She knew lying would be impossible as Brigitte was practically like a sister. Plus, she had always been terrible at keeping secrets. She took a deep breath and decided to tell part of the truth. “Ok a few months back. Sam came over to talk and we had sex… but like animals. It was like I was someone else that night.”

Brigitte’s eyes widened. “Oh my god Ginge, you gotta give me the details! What happened?” Her voice was a mix of excitement and shock. Ginger felt a thrill run through her as she remembered the night she had transformed for the first time.

“It was just... intense. Sam was being sweet like always and… I couldn’t help myself. I just let my instincts take over and next thing I know, we’re tearing into each other like it’s the last night on earth.” Ginger paused, her eyes glazed over with the memory. The burn mark on her hand began to throb faintly.

“Wow, that’s so not like you. It’s about time you got some though. At least one of us anyway.” Brigitte said, popping another piece of popcorn in her mouth. The crunch was loud in the suddenly tense silence. Ginger inhaled hard as her senses heightened in the moment. Her heart beating so fast as she massaged the mark on her hand. “You just need something to bring out the slut in you.” Ginger said licking her lips.

Ginger’s mind raced as she felt a familiar tingle throughout her body. It wasn’t a full moon tonight but the beginning feeling of pain and pleasure grew stronger. “You know what? Maybe we should call it an early night.” She said, trying to change the subject. “Oh no you don’t! You finally spill the beans and talk about being a slut” Brigitte shook her head knowing something was up with her friend. “I fucking knew you had something up your sleeve. How did you do it? Lingerie? You’ve been practicing BJ’s on bananas? Spill!”

“Mmmm all of the above and more.” Ginger said, her voice trailing off. The burn on her hand was now a constant pulse, a gentle reminder of the power that lay dormant within her. Ginger’s nails began to grow longer and sharper, a hint of the transformation that was slowly taking over. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that tonight. “I fucking took his cock and squeezed every last drop of cum out of it. You should have heard how he screamed my name.”

Brigitte’s eyes widened further, her cheeks turning a darker shade of red. “Holy porno Batman, you never talk like this!” She leaned in, eager for every detail. Ginger couldn’t help but feel a thrill as she revealed her deepest secret. “I was just so wild, Brige. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was like I had to have him, like my life depended on it. And after that, everything changed. He just couldn’t get enough of me. And I liked it.”

The room grew warmer, the tension thick as the scent of Ginger’s arousal filled the air. Her pulse quickened and her teeth grew sharper, Ginger enjoyed the feeling as she could smell her best friend’s excitement. She inhaled and closed her eyes as the animal within her took charge.

“It’s like I become someone else. Someone fierce, someone who knows exactly what she wants.” Ginger whispered, her eyes snapping open to reveal pupils dilated with desire. The TV flickered, the battle forgotten as the two friends locked eyes. “Someone who’s not afraid to take it,” she finished, her voice a seductive purr.

Before Brigitte could respond, Ginger leaned in, her sharp teeth grazing the soft flesh of Brigitte’s neck. She gasped, a mix of fear and arousal. Ginger’s grip tightened around her friend’s arm, the claw-like nails digging in slightly, leaving red marks. “What the hell, Gin?” she murmured, her heart racing.

Ginger clamped down as her fangs pierced her friends skin. Ginger closed her eyes as it felt so right to taste the flesh of her friend. Brigitte’s scream of surprise and pain woke Ginger from her trance as she pulled her teeth out and jumped back.

“Owww! That fucking hurt!” Brigitte exclaimed, pushing Ginger on her shoulder. Ginger’s eyes snapped back to normal, the painful throb in her hand subsiding. She looked tongued at her teeth, surprised to see them still human. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Are you okay?” she asked, genuine concern lacing her voice.

Brigitte rubbed her neck, her eyes wide. “What the actual fuck, Ginge? Did you just bite me like a vampire?” She was more shocked than scared, looking at her friend like she’d just sprouted a second head. The two girls stared at each other, the air in the room heavy with confusion.

Ginger’s eyes grew wide with horror. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just felt... I don’t know, something strange.” She took a step back, her hands shaking as she tried to understand the sudden, uncontrollable urge she’d had.

Brigitte closed her eyes as she breathed in slowly, her hand still pressed against the spot where Ginger’s teeth had grazed her skin. “I-I think I should go home,” she stammered, her voice shaking. She grabbed her bag and coat, her movements jerky and unsure. “Ah, yeah, maybe that’s for the best,” Ginger said, her own voice trembling. She felt a pang of guilt and confusion at her actions, unsure of what had come over her.

As Brigitte moved towards the door, Ginger reached out to grab her arm gently. "Sorry again about this. Forgive me.” she whispered, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

“It’s okay. It just hurts.. a lot. So next time you want to get kinky with me… Warn me. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Brigitte replied, her voice quivering as she tried to put on a brave face. Ginger nodded, her mind racing as she watched her best friend leave, the door closing behind her with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine.

Alone now, Ginger took a deep breath and sank into the couch. Her heart was pounding, and she could still taste the coppery tang of Brigitte’s blood on her tongue. She stared at her hand, the burn mark now pulsing in rhythm with her racing heart. What was happening to her?

Brigitte went down the stairs and got into her car. The cold air outside was a stark contrast to the heat that was still burning through Ginger’s apartment. The pain in her neck was subsiding but the memory of Ginger’s teeth remained vivid in her mind. She couldn’t shake off the feeling of Ginger’s teeth sinking into her flesh, the sharpness of pain giving way to a weird sense of warmth.

Once home, she tossed her bag onto the chair and flopped onto her bed, still in shock. She touched the bitemarks on her neck, feeling the slightest hint of arousal. It was weird but she couldn’t help but think of it as some kind of strange foreplay. She lay there for a while, trying to process the events of the evening. Her thoughts were interrupted by the throbbing pain in her neck growing stronger, pulsing with each beat of her heart.

Her eyes grew heavy, and she felt a strange lethargy wash over her. Her body begged for sleep, and she gave in, drifting off into a fitful slumber filled with vivid dreams.

The next evening, Brigitte awoke to the harsh light of day streaming through her bedroom window. Her neck was sore, and she touched the bitemarks again, feeling the roughness of the scabbed skin. She sat up, the events of last night playing back in her mind like a surreal movie. She knew she had to talk to Ginger about it, but what was she going to say?

Ginger had been her best friend since they were kids. They had been through thick and thin together, sharing every secret and every awkward moment. But this was different. This was something she couldn’t just laugh off or pretend didn’t happen. This was something that could change everything between them.

Brigitte took a deep breath and stepped out of her apartment, the cold night air hitting her face like a slap. She hurried down the stairs, her heart pounding in her chest. The thought of facing Ginger was terrifying, but she had to know. Was she okay? Was it some kind of weird kink she had stumbled into? Or was there something more?

When she arrived at Ginger's door, she paused, her hand hovering over the buzzer. What if Ginger had done it on purpose? What if she had some weird vampire fetish she hadn’t told her about? But she knew Ginger wasn’t like that. She was her best friend, her confidant. There had to be a reasonable explanation. With a determined nod to herself, she pressed the button and waited, her heart racing with anticipation.

The door swung open, and Ginger’s face fell when she saw Brigitte. "Oh, hey it’s not a good time tonight," she said, her voice shaky. "Sam and I have plans." Brigitte gave an annoyed look as she barged in. “Tough titties! We need to talk about this!” Brigitte angrily pointed to her bite.

As if on cue a knock on the door interrupted the tension. Ginger looked at the clock, surprised to see it was already 8 PM. She rushed to the door opening it. Sam was standing outside, looking as handsome as ever. “Tonight’s the night baby we are going to fuu oh hey Brigitte! You’re here too!” Sam said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Brigitte, noticing the redness around her neck.

“You have to go Brigitte. It’s late we’ll talk tomorrow.” Ginger’s voice was firm but her eyes were filled with regret. “No fuck that! Sorry Sam but your girlfriend bit me last night. It was definitely sexual so… What the fuck?!” Brigitte’s voice grew louder as she stepped into the apartment, noticing the candles and rose petals scattered on the floor.

“Plus it’s like still hurting like a bitch! Do you have rabies or something?” In unison Ginger and Sam answered Brigitte. “Or something.” They exchanged a nervous glance as Sam stepped into the apartment, his smile fading as he realized her puncture marks.

Ginger felt the burn on her hand grow hotter, the transformation starting to take hold. She knew she had to tell her, but how could she explain something she didn’t fully understand herself? The room spun as her body began to shift, the pain and pleasure mixing into a heady cocktail that made her knees weak. She leaned against the wall for support, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Too late to explain it.” Ginger whispered to herself, the transformation taking her over. Her body grew taut, muscles stretching and bones popping as she began to morph before their very eyes. Her skin shimmered and her eyes grew brighter, her short dull red hair lengthened and thickened into fiery waves that cascaded down her back. Her teeth grew sharp and her nails elongated into gleaming red claws.

Ginger moaned in pleasure as her breasts grew larger, the fabric of her shirt straining against the newfound weight. Her body was changing, and she could feel the power surging through her as her skin shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Her bra straps dug into her shoulders, a stark reminder of the human constraints that no longer applied to her. The burn on her hand had spread up her arm and across her chest, leaving a trail of fiery agony that only added to the exhilaration coursing through her veins.

Brigitte’s eyes widened in shock and pain as she watched Ginger’s transformation. The bitemarks on her neck burned like a brand, the pain searing through her body and bringing with it an unexpected arousal that made her knees buckle. She reached up to touch them, her hand shaking as she felt her own body begin to change. Her breasts swelled, pushing against the fabric of her sweater, and she could feel the weight of them in a way she never had before. Her skin grew warm, and she felt the sudden need to rip the fabric from her body.

Her eyes grew brighter, and she could see the room with a new clarity, as if the world had been painted in high definition. The colors were more vivid, and the sounds around her grew sharper. The scent of Sam’s aftershave filled the room, making her nostrils flare as she took in his musky scent. Her own body was responding in ways she had never felt before, and she knew that she too was becoming something more than human.

Brigitte’s transformation was more subtle but no less dramatic. Her once soft, plush figure grew taut and curved in all the right places. Her hips widened, and her waist narrowed, creating a figure that was both powerful and alluring. Her skin glowed with an inner fire, and her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. She had always felt self-conscious about her weight, but now she felt like she could take on the world.

Sam’s jaw dropped as he took in the scene before him. Two beautiful, powerful women, one his girlfriend and the other his girlfriend’s best friend, were standing before him, both of them oozing a sexuality that was almost palpable. His eyes darted between them, his body responding in a way that was almost painful. He could feel his cock swell in his pants, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out and touching them.

Ginger’s transformation was complete, and she now stood before him in all her glory, her fiery red hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of molten lava. Her eyes glowed with an inner fire that made him want to drop to his knees and worship her. And Brigitte, oh Brigitte, she looked like a goddess in the making, her skin a soft glow that made him want to trace every curve with his tongue.

Ginger growled “oh Sam life just keeps giving you gifts.”

[dummiebrat]

𝗣𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗸

Mistress!Agatha Harkness x Submissive!Rio Vidal

Word count: 678 words

Summary: After the day's events, Rio is still bothered with the possessiveness of Natasha, his wife and Mistress, however, gives him some of her mind.

Notes: Established relationship, Talks about power dynamics, Rio Vidal frustrated with Natasha, Fuffly and a little subjectivity.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows across the walls. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth. Rio Vidal lay on her side, her head propped up on one hand as her dark eyes traced the serene features of her wife, Agatha Harkness.

Agatha, ever composed even in moments of rest, reclined gracefully against the plush pillows, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her robe hung loosely around her shoulders, revealing a teasing glimpse of her porcelain skin. She glanced at Rio, her piercing blue eyes sparkling with both amusement and affection.

— You've been quiet for a while, — Agatha murmured, her voice low and velvety, filling the intimate space between them. — Unusual for you, my little spark. Something on your mind?

Rio shifted slightly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the silk sheet. — It's Natasha, — she admitted, her tone carrying a mixture of frustration and curiosity. — The way she handled things earlier. It's like she can't stand the thought of Wanda enjoying herself with anyone else. I mean, sure, I push buttons, but she was ready to snap.

Agatha chuckled softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from Rio's face. — Ah, Natasha, — she mused. — She's a force to be reckoned with, no doubt. But her stance doesn't surprise me. Not all dominants know how to share. Some see it as a threat, a loss of control. It's not uncommon.

Rio frowned, her fingers stilling. — But you share. You let me explore, grow. You don't hold me back like that.

Agatha tilted her head, her expression softening. — Don't mistake my trust for indifference, darling. I share because I know what's mine. Because I trust you to always find your way back to me. — Her voice dipped slightly, carrying a weight that sent a pleasant shiver down Rio's spine. — But even I have limits. Not everyone is worth sharing with.

Rio raised a brow, her lips curling into a sly smile. — So, you're saying Natasha just doesn't trust me?

Agatha laughed, the sound rich and musical. — No, I'm saying Natasha is possessive. She and I share that trait, though I like to think I manage it better. Most of the time. — She leaned closer, her hand sliding to rest on Rio's hip. — But don't push her too far. Even you have your limits, my bold little brat.

Rio huffed, though her smile softened. — You're not jealous, are you?

Agatha's fingers tightened slightly on Rio's hip, a subtle but deliberate gesture. — Of course not. Natasha has her pet, and I have mine. And I know exactly how to keep mine... entertained. — Her lips quirked into a teasing smirk as her gaze dipped, lingering on Rio with open appreciation.

Rio's bravado faltered for just a moment, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks. — You've got a way with words, you know that?

— Among other things, — Agatha quipped, her voice like honeyed silk. She leaned in, her lips brushing against Rio's in a kiss that started soft but deepened quickly, igniting a spark that spread like wildfire.

Rio let out a low hum of approval, her hand slipping to Agatha's waist to pull her closer. — You always know how to shut me up, — she murmured against her wife's lips, her voice laced with both amusement and desire.

Agatha pulled back just enough to look into Rio's eyes, her expression equal parts affection and mischief. — It's a gift, — she said, her tone light yet charged. Her fingers traced a deliberate path up Rio's spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Rio exhaled shakily, her playful grin returning. — You're dangerous, you know that?

— Only for you. — Agatha whispered, her lips capturing Rio's once more, leaving no room for further conversation.

The fire crackled in the background, its warmth enveloping them as they lost themselves in each other. For the moment, Natasha, Wanda, and the outside world were forgotten, leaving only the intoxicating dance of power and intimacy that existed between them.

[lucygxybaird]

we were just kids when we fell in love...

billy and reader meet when he first becomes friends with jesse, and at first -- despite the matching sheafs of wheat-gold hair, the same blue eyes, despite the way that both of them smile like they know a secret about you -- he doesn't realize that reader is jesse's little sister. it's like someone took the clay jesse is molded from and turned it inside out, before sculpting an angel out of it. she is sweet and gentle, a nurse, because she wants to heal others, not hurt them.

we are still kids, but we're so in love, fighting against all odds; i know we'll be alright this time...

after he escaped from jail, he figured he would never see either jesse or his sister ever again. the first hurt; the second made him feel as if someone had ripped the north star from the sky, leaving him lost. he'd never told her how he felt, even though the words had risen to his lips countless times. to tell her the truth -- it felt blasphemous, somehow, like he was trailing muck through a church. she deserved better than him.

when life led him back to jesse evans, he asked about her; jesse told him that she was living in lincoln now, and she wanted to become a doctor. jesse laughed when he said it, but billy didn't. he didn't think it was all that funny.

it wasn't until he found himself in john tunstall's employ that he saw her again. he'd always meant to look her up when he was still working with murphy, but the more he learned of his new employer, the more he saw jesse shedding the man he knew like a chrysalis and becoming someone altogether dirtier, bloodier, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

more than ever, he felt like he didn't deserve her.

but then -- he actually bumped into her, his shoulder physically knocking against hers, as he was coming through the front door and she was stepping out of it. he stepped back, ready to apologize, and she stuttered in her stride, her lips parting to do the same.

they froze. they stared at each other. she smiled first, and then he did.

when she laughed with all the delight of a child waking up to a snowy christmas morning, when she threw her arms around his neck in a hug, billy didn't think twice. he hugged her so tight that her feet lifted off the floor.

she worked for tunstall, too, it turned out. she treated his employees, both the riders like billy and the people who worked in tunstall's store, in his bank. she said she never liked to accept payment from them; tunstall paid her enough, and many of them couldn't really afford too spare the cash. it didn't surprise him to hear her say that.

once, he was sitting in tunstall's study, the two of them sipping whiskey. tunstall slid a smile toward him from across the room and asked when exactly billy was going to do something about the fact that he was in love -- mad for, was the phrase tunstall used -- about dr. evans.

billy felt like a schoolboy being called out in front of the class. he asked how tunstall knew, and john just chuckled.

"billy, my boy -- there are few things in this world as marvelously ostentatious as young love." tunstall smiled again. "and there are few things as rare. don't let this moment pass you by."

baby, i'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. barefoot on the grass, while listening our favorite song. i have faith in what i see, now i know i have met an angel in person...

billy sent a message to her lodgings, asking her to meet him that night. he met her on the front lawn, with light from an upper-story window -- tunstall's study, as it so happened -- spilling onto the grass. somehow, it seemed that she knew why he'd asked her to come. she just looked at him and waited.

her hair tumbled around her shoulders, a mass of sunshine in the shadows of night, and waited beyond the light from the window. she hardly needed the borrowed candlelight. she glowed in the silvery moonlight as if her skin drank it in.

...and she looks perfect...

billy took one step toward her, and then another, another, until she was close enough to touch. so he did, reaching up to draw his fingertips lightly over her cheek.

...he looks perfect...

she smiled at him. he took her in his arms and finally, finally, for the first time -- despite wanting to so many times that they would have, if he'd let himself deserve what he wanted, kissed so many times by now that each would match a star in the sky -- pressed his lips to hers.

...you look perfect tonight.

[daisymbin]

11. "you remembered my favorite drink?"

17. "you forgot your umbrella, so i came to walk you home."

jun picking up reader from uni or work when it’s raining and then stopping by a cafe on their way home to order her favorite drink 🥰

omg this is so cute 🥺🥺🥺 thank you for requesting this anon!!

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // jun's m.list

fluff prompt #11: "you remembered my favourite drink?" +

fluff prompt #17: "you forgot your umbrella, so I came to walk you home."

the rain came down in sheets, tapping insistently against the windows of the lecture hall as you packed up your things. your umbrella, which you’d distinctly remembered grabbing this morning, was nowhere to be found.

you groaned softly, tugging your bag higher onto your shoulder. it was late, and the idea of waiting for the rain to let up wasn’t exactly appealing.

as you stepped outside, huddling under the awning for shelter, a familiar figure caught your eye. jun stood across the courtyard, holding a large, navy-blue umbrella. his gaze found yours almost instantly, and he waved.

“you forgot your umbrella, so i came to walk you home,” he called out, his voice carrying easily over the rain.

you blinked, surprised and a little touched. “jun? what are you doing here?”

he jogged over, the umbrella shielding him perfectly. when he reached you, he grinned, tilting the umbrella just enough to share. “like i said, i came to walk you home. i figured you might’ve left your umbrella behind.”

“how did you know?” you asked, though your tone was more curious than accusatory.

he shrugged, his free hand resting lightly on your shoulder to guide you toward the sidewalk. “you’re predictable. plus, you texted me this morning about rushing out the door.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “and here i thought you didn’t pay attention.”

“i always pay attention,” he said, his tone light but his words holding a quiet sincerity.

as the two of you walked, the rain continued to fall steadily, a soothing rhythm that made the world feel smaller and cozier under the shared umbrella. jun kept the umbrella tilted slightly more toward you, even though it left his shoulder damp.

“you’re going to get soaked,” you said, glancing at him.

“i’ll survive,” he replied with a grin. “besides, i’d rather you stay dry. your hair takes forever to fix after it gets wet.”

you elbowed him playfully, but your cheeks warmed at the thoughtfulness behind his teasing.

as you turned onto a quieter street, the warm glow of a small café caught your attention. jun noticed it, too, and tugged you gently toward the entrance.

“let’s stop here for a bit,” he said. “you look like you could use something warm.”

“jun, you don't have to—”

“i want to,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

inside, the air was warm and fragrant, filled with the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods. jun nudged you toward a table by the window before heading to the counter to place an order.

when he returned, he set a steaming cup in front of you, the exact drink you always ordered from this café.

you blinked, looking from the cup to him. “you remembered my favorite drink?”

“of course,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you. “you get the same thing every time. it wasn’t hard to remember.”

“still,” you said softly, your hands wrapping around the cup for warmth. “it’s sweet of you.”

he smiled, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you take a sip. “you say that like it’s surprising. i’m always sweet.”

you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips tugged upward. “debatable.”

“i walked all the way here in the rain to make sure you didn’t get soaked, and i bought you your favorite drink. if that’s not sweet, i don’t know what is.”

“fine,” you conceded, a soft laugh escaping you. “you’re sweet. happy?”

“very,” he said, his grin widening.

the two of you sat there for a while, the rain creating a gentle soundtrack to your conversation. jun’s presence was steady and reassuring, a constant in your life that you realized you’d come to rely on more than you cared to admit.

as you finished your drink and prepared to leave, jun stood first, holding the umbrella ready for you.

“come on,” he said, offering his hand to help you up.

you took it, letting him guide you back outside. the rain had lessened slightly, but he still held the umbrella firmly above you, keeping you sheltered as you walked the rest of the way home.

“thanks, jun,” you said after a moment, your voice quiet but earnest.

his lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “you don’t have to thank me. i’ll always look out for you. you’re… important to me.”

your heart stuttered at his words, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what to say. but as you walked beside him, sharing the umbrella and the quiet comfort of his presence, you realized you didn’t need to say anything.

the rain had eased into a drizzle by the time you and jun reached your apartment, soft droplets creating patterns against the glow of the streetlights. jun still held the umbrella over you, despite the fact that his shoulder was completely soaked.

“jun, you’re dripping water everywhere,” you teased as he closed the umbrella and leaned it against the wall just inside the door.

“worth it,” he said easily, shaking out his damp hair like a golden retriever. “better me than you.”

you rolled your eyes, but your chest warmed at his nonchalant response. “you could’ve just told me to take care of myself instead of coming all the way to pick me up, you know.”

jun tilted his head, giving you a mock-serious look as he pulled off his wet jacket. “and miss the chance to be your knight in shining armor? no way.”

“knight in soggy armor, more like,” you shot back, heading toward the kitchen to grab some towels.

“but still, a knight,” he called after you, laughing softly.

when you returned with towels, jun was already sprawled on the couch, looking perfectly at ease despite his rain-drenched clothes.

“here,” you said, tossing one at him. “you’re going to catch a cold if you don’t dry off.”

“i knew you cared,” he said smugly, catching the towel with ease.

you smirked, plopping down on the couch next to him. “barely. i just don’t want to hear you whining about being sick.”

jun gave you an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest like you’d wounded him. “you’re so mean to me.”

“you like it,” you quipped without thinking.

the words hung in the air for a moment, and you immediately felt your cheeks heat up.

jun’s lips quirked into a sly grin as he leaned closer, towel forgotten in his lap. “oh? do i?”

“don’t push your luck,” you muttered, focusing intently on wringing out the towel in your hands.

but jun didn’t let it drop. he leaned back, running the towel through his damp hair as he spoke, his voice quieter now. “you know, you say that, but you didn’t seem to mind when i showed up tonight. almost like… you were... expecting me to come."

you frowned slightly, glancing at him. “i didn’t expect you. i just… it was nice that you did.”

“so you admit it,” he said, the teasing lilt returning to his tone. “you liked having me there.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “why do you have to make everything into a game?”

jun’s laughter softened, and when you peeked through your fingers, he was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

“it’s not a game,” he said quietly. “not with you.”

your hands fell slowly, the weight of his words settling between you. “jun…”

“i’m serious,” he continued, his gaze steady. “if it were anyone else, i wouldn’t have gone out in the rain. wouldn’t have remembered their favorite drink, wouldn’t have cared so much about keeping them dry. but with you…”

his voice trailed off, and he ran a hand through his still-damp hair, looking almost shy for the first time. “with you, it’s different.”

your heart raced as you processed his words, your mind spinning with what they could mean.

he met your gaze, his usual playful confidence replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “i’m saying that i’d walk through a hundred storms for you. no teasing, no games. just… because it’s you.”

you stared at him, the sincerity in his voice making your chest ache in the best way. “you really mean that?”

“have i ever lied to you?” he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips. “besides, if i’m going to be soaking wet for someone, it better be worth it.”

you laughed, the sound breaking the tension in the room. “so you’re saying i’m worth it?”

“more than worth it,” he said, his grin widening.

the warmth in his voice made your heart swell, and you reached out to lightly shove his shoulder. his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something deeper.

you shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “you know, if you wanted to tell me you like me, you could’ve just said it.”

jun’s grin softened into something gentler as he leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “i thought i already did.”

your breath caught, the closeness of him making your pulse race. but instead of pulling away, you smiled, your voice equally soft. “yeah, i guess you did.”

“so… is this the part where you tell me how you feel?” he asked, his tone light but his expression hopeful.

you bit your lip, pretending to think it over. “hmm, i don’t know. maybe i should make you wait a little longer, just to keep things interesting.”

jun groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “you’re going to be the death of me, i swear.”

you laughed, leaning into his side as you finally let the words spill out. “i like you, too, you big idiot.”

his head snapped up, a wide grin breaking across his face. “you do?”

“i do,” you said, rolling your eyes at his excitement. “but if you tell anyone i said that, i’ll deny it.”

“your secret’s safe with me,” he promised, pulling you closer until your head rested against his shoulder.

outside, the rain continued to fall, but inside, everything felt warm and safe and just right. & you realised, jun’s actions spoke louder than words ever could.

[allthemeniveloved]

It Will Come Back - Part 5

Summary: John whisks you away to Elysian Pool for the weekend to get some much-needed time away, as well as teach you a thing or two.

Tags: high honor John Marston x fem!reader, reader teases John about not being able to swim, John makes a dick joke, John Marston absolutely worships you, tooth rotting fluff, cavity inducing fluff, smut, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, choking, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, praising, author is getting a little better at writing smut

wc: 4.4k

ao3 link

The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the canvas of the tent, casting warm, golden hues over the rumpled blankets tangled around you. The air was quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of birds, a rare moment of peace in the chaotic world you’d grown accustomed to. As you stirred, your cheek brushing against the rough fabric of the cot, you became acutely aware of John’s arm draped over your waist, holding you close. His warmth radiated against your back, steady and comforting, and the faint scent of leather and pine lingered in the space around you.

You tilted your head slightly, catching sight of him still asleep, his face softened in the morning light. The lines of worry and exhaustion that usually etched his features seemed less pronounced, his breathing slow and even. For a moment, you simply lay there, taking in the rare vulnerability he allowed himself in sleep, your heart swelling with an unexpected tenderness.

As you shifted to untangle yourself, his arm tightened instinctively, pulling you closer as a sleepy murmur escaped his lips. “Stay,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep but filled with a quiet plea. It sent a warmth through you that no sunrise could rival, and with a soft sigh, you relaxed back into him.

Your fingers moved hesitantly at first, brushing lightly along the rugged lines of John’s cheek. You traced the longest one, the faint silver line running down from just under his eye to his jaw, your fingertips lingering as you marveled at how perfectly it seemed to fit him—both strong and weathered, like the man himself.

He didn’t flinch under your touch, though his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a hint of self-consciousness. “They ain’t much to look at,” he murmured, his voice rough but tinged with vulnerability, like he was bracing for you to agree.

“Not much to look at?” you whispered, your voice filled with quiet affection as your thumb brushed over the scar on his chin. “I like them, a lot. They suit you.” you said with a smile.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as his hand came up to cover yours. “Didn’t think there was much to like about a busted-up face.”

“Well,” you said, leaning closer, your voice light but sincere, “I happen to think it’s perfect.” You kissed the scar on his jaw, lingering just enough to feel him relax, and his grin widened as he pulled you closer.

John’s hand came up to trace circles on your bare back, his calloused palm warm against your skin. “You’ve got a way of makin’ a man feel like he’s somethin’ better than he is,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re already better than you think,” you replied, leaning in to kiss him softly, letting your actions say what words couldn’t. Brushing your lips softly against his, with the warmth of the kiss bringing a quiet smile to your face. His hands rested gently on your back, holding you close as he melted in and kissed you back with an easy, unhurried affection that made your heart flutter.

As you lay tangled together in John’s cot, the soft rustle of the tent canvas blending with the distant hum of the camp, he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His gaze was warm, a small, playful smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he started, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm, “we could use a break from all this… madness. Just you and me. How about we get outta here for a couple days? Fresh air, quiet nights, no Dutch breathin’ down our necks.” His voice dropped to a tender murmur as he leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You deserve a little peace, darlin’. Let me give it to you.”

You blinked up at him, his words sinking in like a warm balm against the chaos that had been your constant companion lately. A small, surprised smile tugged at your lips as you reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. “You really mean it?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hope and disbelief. His answering grin was all the confirmation you needed, and you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that bubbled up as you nodded. “Okay, John. Let’s do it.” The thought of escaping, even if just for a little while, sent a flutter of relief through your chest as you leaned into him, your forehead brushing against his. “Thank you,” you whispered, your heart feeling a little lighter already.

John pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, his voice soft but filled with excitement. “I’ll get the horses ready—meet me by Old Boy in a bit, darlin’. Don’t keep me waitin’ too long now.”

"Where are you taking me exactly?" you asked, half-laughing at his determination.

"You'll see." he said simply, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Just you and me.”

-

The journey to Elysian Pool was nothing short of serene, the kind of peace you hadn’t realized you craved until you were out in the open with John riding beside you. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth, and the distant hum of cicadas created a calming backdrop as your horses trotted along the narrow trail. John kept the mood light, his voice easy and warm as he pointed out the occasional animal or teased you about your riding skills.

“You’re keepin’ up alright,” he said with a playful grin, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Didn’t think Dahlia had it in her to go this fast.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Maybe it’s your horse that needs to keep up, Marston.”

He laughed, the sound echoing through the trees, and for the first time in days, you felt your tension start to ease.

Dahlia was a sleek, all-black Arabian mare, her glossy coat shimmering like polished obsidian under the moonlight, every muscle finely sculpted for speed and grace. Her alert, intelligent eyes and delicate, arched neck gave her an almost regal presence, and she carried herself with a quiet confidence that matched your own perfectly. Dahlia wasn’t just a horse—she was the last gift your father had given you before he passed, a spirited black Arabian with a gleam in her eye that reminded you of him. You could still hear his voice, proud and warm, as he handed you the reins for the first time: “She’s got your fire, kid. Treat her right, and she’ll take care of you.” You couldn't help but to smile at the memory.

As the sound of rushing water grew louder, John slowed his horse, gesturing toward the clearing just ahead. The sight of Elysian Pool was even more breathtaking than you expected. The waterfall cascaded down in a glittering rush, the sound of the water filling the air with a soothing rhythm that seemed to wash away every lingering worry. Mist hung in the cool air, catching the sunlight and creating a faint rainbow at the edges of the pool. The soft grass near the water’s edge was lush and inviting, a perfect spot to rest and forget, at least for a while, the chaos waiting back at camp.

John dismounted first, his boots crunching softly against the earth as he reached up to help you down. “Told ya this was worth the ride,” he said with a grin, “Figured this was better than listenin’ to Bill snore all night,” he joked, helping you down. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s beautiful, John,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the roar of the waterfall.

He spread out the blanket on a patch of grass overlooking the water and gestured for you to sit. The moment you did, he settled beside you, leaning back on his elbows with an air of relaxed satisfaction. “We both needed this,” he said, glancing at you. “Somewhere quiet. No Dutch, no plans, no nothin’.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and for a moment, the only sound between you was the roar of the falls. Then, as if to break the spell, John reached over to pluck a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers.

“You ever seen someone try to fish with just their hands?” he asked, his grin turning mischievous.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Please don’t tell me you’re about to try.”

“Oh, I’d manage just fine,” he said, leaning closer with a teasing glint in his eye. “But it’d probably scare off all the fish. Let’s just stick to relaxin’ for now.”

“Fishing with your hands, huh?” you teased, crossing your arms and tilting your head at him. “Might be a little tricky for someone who can’t even swim. What’re you gonna do if you fall in? Charm the fish into draggin’ you back to shore?” His head snapped toward you, his face a mix of amusement and mock indignation as he straightened up. “You’re real funny, you know that? Maybe I oughta toss you in first, see how well you swim with all that sass.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you nudged him with your elbow. “Face it, Marston—you’d be bored stiff without me.”

He chuckled, leaning a little closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe, but don’t let it go to your head, darlin’. I ain’t about to start sayin’ you’re always right.”

"And for the record, I'm stiff when you're around anyway so it wouldn't make much of a difference."

“John Marston!” you exclaimed, your voice filled with mock outrage as you reached out and gave his arm a light slap. He chuckled, feigning innocence as he rubbed the spot where you’d hit him. “What’d I do now?” he teased, his grin widening. You rolled your eyes, but the laughter bubbling up between you made it impossible to keep a straight face. “You know exactly what you did,” you shot back, shaking your head at him, though the warmth in your smile betrayed your amusement.

-

The sun had dipped low, casting the waterfall and the clearing in a soft, golden glow as John paced a few feet ahead of you, his revolver dangling lazily from his fingers.

“You know,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I’ve been meanin’ to teach you a thing or two about shootin’.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Shooting?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Are you sure this is necessary? I think I do fine without a gun in my hand.”

“Maybe,” John replied, his tone light but edged with seriousness. “But what happens when I ain’t around to back you up?” His expression softened as he stepped closer, holding the revolver out to you. “C’mon, darlin’. Just humor me, alright?”

You’d always preferred the subtlety of slipping a wallet from a pocket or a watch from a wrist over the loud, messy chaos of a firefight. You’d always known enough about gunslinging to survive when it counted—a few well-placed shots here, a quick draw there—but it was never something you excelled at or even cared to perfect. Your aim was steady enough to hit a target if you had to, and you’d managed to bluff your way out of enough tight spots with a revolver in hand to keep trouble at bay. Quick hands and a sharp mind had kept you alive far more often than a gun ever had, though John seemed determined to change that.

With a sigh, you took the weapon, the cool metal heavy in your grip. He moved behind you, his hands coming to rest lightly on your shoulders as he adjusted your stance. His voice was low and steady, brushing against your ear like a warm breeze. “Relax,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to guide your arms into position. “Don’t hold it too tight, but keep it firm. You wanna be in control, not the gun.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little flustered at his closeness, his steady presence both grounding and distracting at the same time. He pointed toward a rock at the far edge of the clearing, his hand brushing against yours as he helped you aim. “See that? Focus on it. Line up the sights, and when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger—don’t yank it.”

You took a deep breath and steadied yourself, squeezing the trigger as the shot rang out, echoing against the falls. The bullet missed the rock by a small margin, striking harmlessly into the dirt, and you groaned in frustration.

John chuckled softly, his hands squeezing your shoulders in encouragement. “Not bad for a first try. You’re just gettin’ the feel for it.”

After a few more attempts, with John’s patient guidance and a string of playful teases when you missed, you finally chipped the rock. You let out a triumphant laugh, spinning to face him. “I did it!”

He grinned, his pride in you unmistakable as he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Told ya you could. You’re a natural, darlin’.”

You swatted at his arm playfully. “A natural, huh? You might want to hold off on the flattery until I can actually hit something without you babysitting me.”

He laughed, leaning in slightly, his tone softening. “You’re better than you think. And one day, you’re gonna see that for yourself.”

As the evening wore on, the lesson turned into an easy rhythm of shooting and playful banter. By the time the sun sank below the horizon, leaving the clearing bathed in twilight, you found yourself more confident with the weapon—and more drawn to John’s unwavering belief in you.

Eventually, you found it harder and harder to focus. His voice, low and gravelly, was meant to be instructive, but the warmth of his breath brushing your ear and the way his fingers lingered on your wrists sent a shiver down your spine. He leaned in closer, adjusting your grip, his chest brushing against your back, and it was enough to make your heart race faster than the gunfire you were supposed to be practicing. “Darlin’, keep your eyes on the target,” he murmured, his tone teasing but steady. But you couldn’t. Spinning on your heel, you dropped the revolver to your side and pulled him toward you, crashing your lips against his in a kiss filled with all the tension you couldn’t keep bottled up. For a moment, he froze, surprised, before his hands slipped around your waist, drawing you closer as he kissed you back with just as much fervor, the lesson momentarily—and blissfully—forgotten.

John’s grip on your waist tightened as the kiss deepened, his calloused hands pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. The forgotten revolver slipped from your hand, landing softly in the grass, but neither of you noticed or cared. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that sent your pulse racing, his usual cocky demeanor melting away into something raw and unrestrained.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, John rested his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. “Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve got a hell of a way of interruptin’ a lesson.”

You laughed softly, your hands still tangled in his shirt as you looked up at him, your cheeks warm from both the kiss and his teasing. “Maybe I just found something more interestin’ than shootin’ targets,” you quipped, unable to hide the grin spreading across your face.

John chuckled, his thumb brushing your cheek, his expression softening. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, though his tone carried no bite, just affection.

“Maybe,” you replied, your voice quiet but full of warmth. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

His grin widened, and he leaned down to press another quick, lingering kiss to your lips before finally stepping back, though his hands never quite left your waist. “Alright,” he said, his voice lighter now, “we’ll call it a break—for now. But you’re still learnin’ how to shoot proper, whether you distract me or not.”

You smirked as you slowly and gently backed him towards the nearest tree, his words filling you with a quiet joy. “We’ll see about that, Marston.” But John Marston was always two steps ahead of you, and before you knew it, he spun you around, pressing his thigh between your legs as your back hit the tree. You couldn't stop the gasp from leaving your lips as his large hand wrapped around your throat, applying perfect pressure.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, "you're playin' with fire here." His thigh pressed tighter against your core, and warmth curled in your abdomen at the feeling of your cunt dragging across John's thigh, your folds sliding through the slick that's began pooling in your undergarments. Each roll of your hips sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine, stoking the flames of your desire higher and higher. John's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fought the urge to rip your clothes off and take you right then and there. But he held back, letting you set the pace, content to revel in the delicious friction of your body against his.

"Careful what ya wish for, baby," he warned, his voice rough with barely restrained lust. "Keep this up and I won't be responsible for my actions."

You just laugh, "Oh, I'm counting on it," your breathed, your hot breath sending shivers down his spine. And with that, you redoubled her efforts, grinding against him with wild abandon.

"Good girl," he adds in a low tone as you let out a choked out whine when he tightens his grip and guides your next stroke. "Good fucking girl."

"John," you cry out as you continue to grind against him, that coil tightening inside of you.

He presses sloppy open mouthed kisses to the exposed skin on your neck, all the way down to your collarbone.

"Go on, take what you need," he says hoarsely. " Use me. I know you're close. I can feel it." he urges. The hand currently squeezing your neck slips away and clamps over your mouth as you desperately chase your release. You stick your tongue out and lick the palm of his hand before taking his two middle fingers in your mouth.

"Jesus, princess, you're filthy." John lets out a loud groan in unexpected satisfaction as you eagerly suck on his fingers.

Something in his tone made that coil snap inside of you, your nails digging into his shirt as stars danced across your vision. You came hard, your thighs trembling, the only thing holding you up was his hand on your hip and his thigh between your legs.

John groaned as your release coated his thigh, the heat of your essence seeping through the denim. He could still feel you trembling above him, your body shuddering with the aftershocks of your pleasure.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. "You made quite a mess of me."

You just smirked, eyes glinting with mischief as you slowly slid down his body, making quick work of his gun belt. "I ain't done yet, cowboy." Before John could even catch his breath, you had his cock free, your hot breath ghosting over his sensitive flesh.

"Jesus, darlin'" he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. The sight of his cock went straight to your already dripping pussy as you looked up to him with eyes that begged for permission. That was all the encouragement you needed as you grabbed the base of his cock, feeling how the veins throbbed under your touch.

He's unbelievably hard and leaking as you slowly slide your tongue around the tip of him before taking his curved head into your mouth. John takes a deep, shaky breath as you suck softly on the head of his cock, fluttering your tongue along a bead of precum he's leaking.

"That's my girl," he murmured, his voice hoarse as he tightens the grip on your hair. You take him deep, the very tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, over and over again. Your tongue fits along the curve of him, massaging him with every soft corner of your mouth, and you can't help but to notice John's breathing changes.

"You're so fucking pretty like this, darlin'. All mine."

Your thighs press together tightly to subdue the ache in your pussy. His hips move in time with your head, fucking your throat with feral grunts that has slick pooling at your entrance. Your hands move to his thighs for stability, throat burning with the stretch of him as you gag, saliva dripping out of the sides of your mouth.

He tears himself away, hand grabbing you by the throat to pull you to your feet and lock eyes with him.

"You're too good at that baby." He breathes as he forcibly twisted you around presses your chest against the tree.

"You want more? Beg for it."

You nodded frantically, "Please, John," you begged, voice high and needy. "I need you inside me. I need you to fill me up."

Without warning, John spanked you. You gasped at the sweet pain that spread across from your skin.

"That's not my name." He answered, his tone was cold and firm.

"Fuck - daddy! I'm sorry."

With a low growl, John lifted your skirt, ripping your panties away, baring you to his hungry gaze. He positioned himself at your entrance, teasing with shallow thrusts that had you keening in frustration.

"Beg for it," he demanded, his eyes blazing with lust. "Keep begging for my cock, princess."

"Please, daddy," you sobbed, hips bucking back toward him. "Please, I need it. I need you. Make me yours."

That was all John wanted to hear. It filled him with pride to hear the vulgar words fall from your lips for him, watching you plead for his cock. And with that, John slammed home, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. You cried out, back arching deeper as he began to move, his hips snapping against yours with brutal force. He quickly slid his hand around to the front of your throat, finding solace there once more as he squeezed tightly and pulled your body flush against his as he pounded into you with wild abandon.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so fucking wet. Takin' my cock so well." You could only moan in response, hands clutching his forearm for purchase as John fucked you harder and faster. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you lightheaded with need.

"That's it, princess," he growled, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "Take what I give you."

John was so close to you, so deep inside of you with his intoxicating scent filling your lungs leaving your body on fire, every nerve ending lit with pleasure as he drove into you again and again. You could feel his cock hitting deep inside, touching places you didn't even know existed.

"Please," you sobbed, hips bucking back to meet his thrusts. "Please, daddy, I need... I need..."

"I know what ya need, baby," John rasped, his hand leaving your throat to slide between your legs. He found your clit and rubbed it mercilessly, pushing you to the brink of madness.

You came with a scream in no time, with your body convulsing in John's arms as he followed you over the edge. He buried himself deep inside of you, groaning your name as he filled you with his seed once again.

You both stayed like that for a long moment in an attempt to catch your breaths, bodies entwined and glistening with sweat in the moonlight. And as John finally pulled out and tucked himself back in, you begin to notice just how weak your legs had become. He finds your discarded panties on the ground nearby and shoves them in his back pocket. The cool night air wrapped around you as John’s strong arms lifted you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing. You were boneless, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your multiple intense orgasms. Your head rested against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his footsteps and the warmth of his body lulling you into a haze of exhaustion and comfort.

“How do you feel?” he murmured softly, his voice filled with both affection and worry. The sound of the waterfall faded behind you as he carried you back toward the tent, his hold protective and unyielding up into his arms, cradling you against his chest as your legs had given out beneath you.

"Mmhm," John couldn't help but laugh at your failure to string together a sentence.

The stars twinkled brightly overhead, their reflection rippling faintly in the still water of Elysian Pool as you and John settled on the blanket by the fire he’d built earlier. The sound of the waterfall was a constant, soothing rush in the background, blending with the gentle crackle of the fire as it cast flickering shadows across the grass. You curled up beside him, your head resting against his chest, his arm draped securely around your shoulders. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your arm, the touch grounding and filled with quiet affection.

“You know,” John murmured, his voice low and warm, “nights like this… makes me think we could have a life like this someday. Just us, somewhere peaceful, no gang, no runnin’.”

You smiled sleepily, your eyes drifting closed as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. “I’d like that,” you whispered, the words barely audible over the calming symphony of the night.

His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, his arm tightening slightly around you. “You deserve it, darlin’. More than anyone I know.”

The weight of his words and the warmth of his embrace lulled you into a serene haze, and as you drifted off, you felt him shift slightly, his other hand resting protectively over yours. “Sleep tight,” he whispered softly, his voice fading into the night. “I’ve got you.” And with the waterfall murmuring in the distance, you let yourself believe, just for a little while, that a life outside of the gang existed.

꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰꧂꧁✰

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