This Got Me All Warm And In My Feels For Autumn🥰

oneshots | ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⚔︎ You Promised.

Short Summary: he is ruthless when he kills, doesn’t show an ounce of mercy. Cold and quick with it—if you are lucky. Because for most captured Order members, he likes to drag it out. Not because they are the only remaining resistance against his father. He’s stopped caring about that a long time ago. No. They took something from him. The only person he has ever truly cared about. You.

Warnings: 18+ only! angst, mentions of death, violence, murder. Tom is Voldemort’s son. dub con if you squint? brief rough sex, praise, unprotected piv, creampie

A/N: I think I bent the meaning of assassin a tiny bit. Anyway, this is my participation for week three of @acourtofchaos’ Festival of AUs!

wordcount: 3,1k

You were aware going out to hunt that one rare potion ingredient that night was a mistake. Yes, it was only available during full moon and then only for two to three hours—but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t be the only one looking for it. And running into Snatchers really wasn’t something you wanted to risk.

But when Harry himself came asking whether you could look for them that night, you knew how urgent it was. The Order was so close to running out of healing potions, and if you denied—

You sighed and agreed.

Later that night, you and three others made your way to the Forbidden Forest, the only place nearby where you could find the rare flowers you were looking for. Not too deep into the forest, you find what you were looking for—blooming in bright purple, surrounded by fireflies.

The forest was eerily quiet at that time, except for the crunch of branches each time you took a step and the occasional screeches of birds nearby. Though, when you heard the distinctive sound of apparition somewhere not too far away, you stilled, froze. You tried to convince the others to leave, as you’d surely have enough for the month to come—yet nobody wanted to listen, there were more—just a few more—just a little further into the forest—

Until you were surrounded by the very people you warned them about before you left.

Outnumbered by at least five.

There was nothing you could do—your wand was taken faster than you could react. And without a wand—you were helpless.

—

Hours later, and you all find yourselves lined up in a basement—knees scraping against the cold, rough ground beneath you. Hands tied behind your back, scratchy cotton material secured over your head, blocking your vision.

This is it. You are going to die today.

Back when rumours spread that most killings are done by one single person, you didn’t believe them. Surely no human could muster up the strength to kill day in, day out.

Right?

Except—

No.

Tom wouldn’t.

Couldn’t have—

However, the longer you are left waiting, the more time you have to think about it all—you haven’t seen him since you left Hogwarts, since the war started. It’s been more than a year, and a lot has happened since. A lot has changed. He might have changed.

Then, your thoughts slip to just Tom.

How people, including yourself, would be afraid to even look at him—Voldemort’s son.

How he’d always be top of the class—except for that one time you were.

And the next time too.

How it would turn into a rivalry, a bitter fight over who would score higher on the next exam.

How most of your nights were spent in the library from that point on.

Tom would be there too. Never leave before you did.

How he would steal glances at you from the other side of the library.

How glances would turn into stares, stares that you noticed, that made your cheeks grow hot, that made you question whether you actually hated him as much as you told yourself you did.

And how that hatred turned into something completely different when you outscored him on a Defence Against the Dark Arts paper. His subject. The one nobody had ever even come close to him. When you smirked at him as soon as you realised, and he had this unreadable expression etched on his face.

How, as soon as that class ended and everyone had left, he pushed you against the cold stone wall of the corridor. Accused you of cheating. Accused you of Merlin knows what.

“I hate you,” he whispered, and then, just a second later—his lips crashed on yours. And it was even better than what you had imagined all these nights in the library—how your lips moved in sync with his, how eager he was to feel more of you, hands slipping under your blouse, leaving goosebumps in their wake. How you leaned into his touch as though this wasn’t the son of the most feared wizard of Great Britain, probably the entire world.

Fuck, you wanted this more than anything else.

And when you broke apart—both of you gasping for air—he would breathe a soft “Merlin, I hate you so much.”

“I hate you too.” You replied, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

And you’d kiss again.

How from that point on, you’d study together. You were just trying to help each other—that’s what you told anyone asking. Tom would always tell you how nobody could know.

Students started giving you strange looks. Because how could you possibly spend time with someone who seemed to care about no one and nothing except himself and his studies?

They didn’t know. It was better that way, you told yourself.

How, in free periods, he’d always come to find you. Push you into the nearest classroom, lock the door behind you. Lips on yours before you could even complain. Ripping your blouse open because he was too damn impatient to unbutton it—and you’d scold him for it every single time—and he would just do it again next time.

“There is a simple spell to repair it. There is no spell to spend more time making you feel good, sweetheart.”

And with his lips trailing kisses down your neck, sucking marks into your skin, right at the spot he knew would have your knees grow weak—any rational thought left your brain in an instant.

He’d kiss down the valley between your breasts, fingers slowly making their way underneath the lace of your panties, preparing you for him.

He treated you like you were made of glass—which even surprised you sometimes. The quiet, nerdy boy who’d have witty answers to all questions. Who’d only have to look in the direction of students nearby to silence them, make them leave.

Tom was always careful with you.

Except if you outscored him on an exam. Then, he wasn’t as careful.

You didn’t mind that, though.

It all had to stay a secret, he liked to remind you of it. That nobody could know, not even your best friend, who would pester you with questions if you came back past curfew from one of your “study sessions”. You couldn’t tell her. Nobody. Not even your parents, who didn’t know anything about the wizarding world. You wondered if it was because of that. Judging by the way the corner of his mouth twitched whenever you mentioned your muggle parents, you had your answer.

Your love was forbidden—but so, so delicious.

—

You hear the door to the basement creak open, and what you guess to be five Death Eaters approach you with heavy footsteps.

You don’t know if you are lucky or unlucky when they pass you, instead start on the other side of the line.

Make you witness the death of some of your closest friends.

Their blood-curdling screams and unheard pleas as they are left bleeding to death on the cold, wet stone floor.

Because—whoever does the killings—and you are pretty certain it is only one of them—doesn’t use their wand, but a knife.

Too many killing curses are known to have long-term effects, after all.

But with each victim more—you feel as though they do it with pleasure.

And Merlin, you weren’t ready to die that way.

You don’t have much time left to think about it before a firm hand tugs at the material over your head, tilting your head backwards.

“Last one.” An unfamiliar voice remarks somewhere to the left of you, and not even a second later, you feel the cold, unyielding metal of a knife press against your throat.

You don’t want to give whoever it is the satisfaction of any reaction—but when the sharp blade scrapes against your skin, drawing the first drops of blood—you can’t help the soft, pained whimper escaping your lips.

As if stunned, the hand holding the knife stills, and they let go of your head.

Instead, the material covering your face is cut, and you blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the different lighting—and when they focus, your heart skips a beat.

You are met with a pair of dark brown eyes you would recognize under thousands of others—his.

Tom’s.

“Fucking hell.” He mutters under his breath and doesn’t waste another second thinking. He draws his wand and turns around. Spells fly in all directions, and you duck—the room lighting up in green, red, buzzing with electricity.

Then—silence.

For just a moment.

He takes your hand in his, and the next second you apparate away, finding yourself in a small, cozy place hidden somewhere in the woods. The wound on your skin burns, but he doesn’t let you touch it.

“Let me do this.” He insists, and with just two or three spells muttered, it stops bleeding and the pain fades.

You study him for a moment. It’s really him.

“Tom.” You whisper. Silent, careful.

He finally looks at you. Not like he did back at Hogwarts. He looks different now. Sharper features, older, more mature, with a scar right above his left eyebrow. You want to ask what happened, want to trace it with your finger, want to kiss it.

Kiss him.

His eyes are cloudy now, and he’s lost the spark he used to have whenever it was just you two. And—he has become what he promised you he wouldn’t.

Just like his father.

Maybe they were right, after all.

His grip on your shoulder tightens, and you wince softly as the rough wood bites into your back.

“You told me you wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks. That you would be careful.” He raises his voice, and it almost breaks. “Merlin, you fucking promised me.”

He sounds more disappointed than angry when he says it.

He’s right. You did promise him. Right before the war, you promised each other two things. One, you’d be careful, wouldn’t take any risky tasks, would do anything to stay alive. Two, he would come back for you. Would find you after the war. Although he was aware that the chance of both of you surviving was rather slim.

You shake your head softly.

“It was always supposed to be like this, Tom. Us. Enemies. We fight for two very different things.”

He scoffs softly at that.

“You think I still care about any of this? He’s ill. He’s dying. Barely gets up nowadays.” Tom takes a step back, and you swallow. “He has been using me for— this for months. And if you think—“ his hands clench into fists as the muscles in his fingers twitch at the mere thought, and he pauses briefly. “If you think I get any better treatment than others when they don’t act according to his instructions, you are mistaken.”

You sob.

“You killed them. All of them.”

He takes your face into his hands.

“They took you from me. They let you get these ingredients when they knew how dangerous it was. You almost died at my hands. Because of them. You left me for them. I offered you a safe house, far away from here. Yet, they convinced you to stay. If you believe even for a second that I would shy away from killing them— think again.”

Tears are streaming down your face by the time he is done.

“I chose this, Tom. Nobody forced me.” You hiccup. “This was my choice, and my choice alone.”

One of his hands slips to your neck. They are cold. Not warm like they used to be when they roamed over your bare skin. You miss the warmth.

He pulls you closer again, eyes narrowing at your words.

“And fuck— a part of me wants to hurt you for this. Punish you. But I— I can’t.”

His gaze drops for a second, and his voice softens.

“I missed you. I thought of you every day, wondered whether you were doing alright. Wondered whether you were thinking of me too.”

You exhale a shaky breath, trying to find the right words. Of course you did too.

“Tom, I—“

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“You have moved on, haven’t you? Found someone else.”

Your heart aches at his words.

“No!” You gasp, shaking your head. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—“

Then, without letting you finish your sentence, he pulls you closer to kiss you. Soft at first—giving you space to draw back—but when you don’t, he holds you close, kisses you like it’s the first time all over again.

When you separate, there is this all-too-familiar fire behind his eyes—the one he used to have. And as much as you wanted to—

“We have a lot to talk about.” You try, but he merely shakes his head.

“That can wait. Let us have this.”

Before you get to object, his lips are on yours once more, and he guides you towards the bed in the centre of the room without once breaking the kiss.

Shirt torn open, button of your pants clinking as it drops to the floor.

Old habits.

“I hate you,” you murmur against his lips, and his mouth lifts into a smirk. “I hate you so much.”

It all happens quickly after that. Moments later, you are on the bed and he’s on top of you, trailing kisses down your neck—just like he used to do.

Then, you feel him pressing against you—already hard, tip swollen and leaking. You gasp when he swipes through your folds and instinctively squirm at the contact—but Tom is quick to reposition you, pinning your hands above your head with ease.

“No. You don’t get to run from me anymore. You’ll stay right here and take it. Take it like the good girl I know you are.”

He doesn’t wait much longer. He’s been waiting too long for this, and now that he’s finally got you back—he is going to utilize every single second he would get to spend with you before he’d have to leave again.

He pushes inside with one singular thrust. Doesn’t give you time to adjust.

And God—it’s been a while. You forgot how big he is—the burn of the stretch so overwhelming that your nails dig into his back and your breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t feel you tensing beneath him. Doesn’t spot the strained look on your face. Instead, he has already set a rhythm. Hips slamming against yours so harshly, the headboard hits the wall with each thrust.

You don’t want him to stop. You really don’t. But when he shifts his angle to reach even deeper—a strained whimper slips from your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

The moment Tom hears the soft sound spilling over your lips, he lifts his head and stills inside of you.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks, concern visible in his eyes as they search yours. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have— I will stop.”

You hold onto his arm when he begins to pull away, shaking your head no.

“No. Please don’t. Please don’t stop.” You plead as his eyes scan your face. “Just don’t— I haven’t— you know.”

Tom gives you a tight nod, taking it slower with you after that. Carefully giving you inch after inch, kissing along your jaw. Praising you for how well you are doing for him.

“Forgot how amazing you feel wrapped around me like this,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his hips stay flush against yours for a second—before he continues his slow and steady thrusts.

His hand slips between the both of you when he feels your walls flutter around him, rubbing your clit in tight circles—just how he knows you like it.

“Tom— Tom, please—“ you moan against his lips, and he rests your legs on his shoulders, allowing him deeper, brushing against that one sweet spot that has you see stars with every single thrust of his hips.

“Come for me, pretty girl. Let it all out.” He tells you, and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge. You whimper-moan as the knot in your lower abdomen snaps, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your walls pulse, clamping down tight, drawing a low groan from him.

He helps you through it, prolongs your pleasure for as long as possible—then, gently, shifts your legs to either side of him, allowing him to lean in close once more. And when he’s close, cock twitching inside of you—

“Where— where can I—“ he rasps, hot breath against your neck, and your legs lock around his waist, keeping him pressed against you.

“Inside. Inside, please.”

“Fuck— so long— been waiting so long for this— “ he drawls, and with one more rough thrust, he spills inside of you—deep, painting your walls white with his release.

His body rests on top of yours after, catching his breath. None of you talk, not until he rolls off to lie beside you, and he takes your hand in his.

You look at him when you feel the muscles in his fingers spasm.

“Cruciatus Curse? Have treated many people with the same symptoms.” You say softly, thumb easing along his index finger.

“I told you. It doesn’t matter to him.” He retorts, voice calm as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh, Tom. I am so sorry.” You whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. You rest your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath you—eyelids slowly fluttering closed as his fingers brush through your hair.

It’s not long until he wakes you, though.

“I am being called,” he tells you, sitting up after placing your head on the pillow next to you, and your gaze drops to the mark on his arm. “Means they found the bodies.”

You too sit up, taking his wrist in your hand as you look up at him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want them to hurt you because of me.”

“If I don’t, they’ll be here within the next five minutes. Neither you nor I would want that. You will stay here.”

Your hand grips his tighter.

“You’ll be back?”

He gives you a nod. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

He smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I promise.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

What if Loki discovers your nipple piercings? (Drabble)

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestiveness, implications to sex, slight nipple play, mild pain kink, 18+ MDNI!

A/N: As someone who got her nipples pierced about two years ago, let me just tell you that it’s the biggest confidence booster ever! It’s like a dirty little secret that only you know about unless you go braless or show someone🤭 That said, this is for all my lovelies who either have their nipples pierced or are thinking of getting them done. Enjoy😉

At first he’s flabbergasted at the idea of you getting needles through your nipples. The first thoughts that run through his head are ‘why would you inflict so much pain to yourself for aesthetic purposes?’. ‘Does this mean I can’t pull on them anymore?’.🤣

When you raise your top and show him, however, his eyes darken and he stares intensely at your nipples for a few seconds. His jaw clenches and his eyebrows furrow in concentration.

He stalks closer to you without breaking eye contact with your nipples and slowly lifts his hands to trace his thumbs over the skin directly above the jewelry. His breath hitches as the light of the jewelry twinkles as if winking to remind him of the prize that lays ahead.

‘Are those hints of emerald green I see in the jewellery?’. Loki breathes heavily and slowly slides one of his hands to your throat. He gazes up to stare into your eyes with a dangerous look, pupils dilated and a hint of a smirk itching to become a sinister smile.

“You naughty little minx. I hope you’re prepared to stay locked in our room all night while I punish you for teasing me with those pretty jewels”. He squeezes your breast and caresses the nipple with his thumb. He lets out a dark chuckle when you hiss at the light sting near the freshly pierced area.

“Do not fret my love, when I’m through with you you’ll forget they even hurt”. He pushes you onto the bed and latches his mouth to your nipple allowing his tongue to gently caress the slightly swollen area.

You moan in relief and mentally praise yourself for finally getting the piercings. Not only did they make you feel sexier, but they also made your man go feral (even more than he already was).

Who knows, maybe you’ll surprise him with another one but down below where only he will ever get the privilege of looking🤭

I love how you articulated the complexity of the reader’s feelings towards Logan. I particularly appreciated how the reader did not just fall into Logan’s arms at the expense of their own complicated emotions. You gave both characters space to work through their own battles and even in the end, you perfectly depicted how healing is an ongoing process. This piece was so raw and REAL! Thank you for that!❤️

Empath

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, some fluff, reader has empath powers, logan is a softie, mutual pining, xavier cameo, no y/n used, no reader description

You have empath powers leading you to get overwhelmed around Logan so you try to avoid him until you realize you can't.

prompt idea from @Silverskyeline from their logan promptober: #5-longing

“Just stop!” Your voice rang out, sharp and desperate as if you could somehow silence the whirlwind inside your mind. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, knuckles white, but it did nothing to hold back the wave of emotion crashing over you.

Xavier’s voice, calm but firm, echoed softly in your head. "You must fight it. Control it. The emotions will consume you if you don’t."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you, but it didn’t ease the storm raging inside. For months now, you had been fighting—struggling to control the empathy that threatened to pull you under. Every emotion, every fleeting thought from the people around you clawed at your mind, but none had hit you like his.

Logan.

You hadn’t expected this when you first walked through the mansion’s doors. Sure, you knew the man was intimidating, with his broad, rugged features and those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to cut through every defense you had. You didn’t know how deeply he carried his pain. You didn’t know it would bury itself in your chest the moment his gaze locked on yours.

The first time you saw him, the world shifted. A fire had sparked under your skin like something about him was too much—too raw, too intense. And then it happened.

His emotions—heavy, bruised, and relentless—flooded your mind, unfiltered and overwhelming. The sheer weight of his misery and anger, the years of grief, regret, and heartache, hit you all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. You had felt your powers spiral out of control, dragging you under. Every wall you’d carefully built around your mind shattered in an instant.

Now, standing in the quiet of the mansion, it was happening again. You could feel him—sense him even though he wasn’t in the room. The memory of his pain clung to you, thick and suffocating, threatening to drown you if you didn’t find a way to shut it out.

“Focus,” Xavier’s voice urged, the gentle command reverberating in your mind. “Feel, but don’t let it overwhelm you. You can control it.”

You tried. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to breathe through the rush of emotions, through the heat rising in your chest. But it wasn’t enough. You could still feel Logan’s anger simmering beneath the surface, his anguish, the weight of the world pressing on him—pressing on you.

A choked sound escaped your throat as you gripped the edge of the desk, your fingers digging into the wood. “I can’t—” you whispered, the words barely audible, thick with frustration.

Xavier’s presence in your mind was steady, unshakable. “You can. You must. Find the source. Recognize it. Let it pass through, not into you.”

How could you? Logan’s presence lingered, as if he was right there, behind you—watching, waiting. You could almost hear the gruff edge of his voice, feel the weight of his stare, the way his emotions cut through your defenses without even trying. How could you separate yourself from something so powerful, so consuming?

Images of Logan flashed through your mind—those haunted eyes, the lines of worry etched into his face, the silent weight he carried with every step. You had never meant to connect so deeply with him. But it was there. The moment you’d let your guard slip, his entire being had flooded your senses, and you hadn’t been able to push him away since.

The room spun around you, the air thick with tension. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you fought to regain control, fought to suppress the storm Logan had stirred up within you. It was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands.

Then, there was a knock. The sound reverberated through the room like a lifeline, cutting through the chaos in your mind. You turned sharply, eyes wide, heart pounding in your chest.

The door creaked open, and there he was. 

He stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room with the same intensity you had felt from the moment you’d met him. His expression was unreadable, his gaze hard but searching as it locked onto you. Even from across the room, you could feel the weight of him pressing against your mind—the grief, the anger, the quiet torment that lived inside him.

It hit you like a tidal wave again, but this time, you couldn’t hold it back. You gasped, clutching the edge of the desk for support as your knees nearly buckled.

Logan’s brow furrowed, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he stepped forward, the scent of earth and steel following him. “What’s wrong?” His voice was low, rough like gravel, but there was something else there—something softer.

You couldn’t answer. The emotions swirling within him, within you, were too strong, too overwhelming. All the pain, all the years of torment—it was like reliving them through his eyes.

“Focus,” Xavier’s voice broke through, firm and steady. “Don’t lose yourself. Not to this.”

You couldn’t focus. Not with Logan standing so close, his emotions bleeding into yours, his pain threatening to swallow you whole.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he moved closer, his rough hand reaching for yours. “Hey.” His voice was quieter now, the edge of his frustration replaced with something else. “Look at me.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, the world narrowing to just you and him, his hazel eyes burning into yours. For a brief moment, the chaos inside you stilled, as if Logan himself was anchoring you, pulling you back from the brink.

“You’re okay,” Logan murmured, his voice low but certain, that rough edge softened by the weight of his concern. His hand lingered near yours, a tether in the storm. For a split second, it almost felt like you could breathe again like maybe he was right.

But the chaos inside you flared again, pulling you under. You shook your head, getting to your feet and backing away from him, the words catching in your throat. “I can’t—” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper as you tried to pull yourself together. Panic clawed at your chest, the emotions too thick, too heavy. You couldn’t stay there.

Without waiting for Logan’s response, you turned on your heel, stumbling out of Xavier’s office. The door closed behind you with a soft click, but it wasn’t enough to shut out the swirl of emotions still raging inside your mind.

Why? Why, after all this time, did one person—one man—have so much control over you?

You could still feel the echo of Logan’s presence, like a heavy weight pressing against your ribs, his emotions lingering in the air around you. Every time he was near, it was like drowning in his pain, his raw grief and anger consuming you, pushing everything else aside until there was nothing left of you but him.

Your breath came out in ragged bursts as you hurried down the hallway, each step echoing louder than the last. You wiped at your eyes, trying to shake the way Logan’s voice had clung to you, how his gaze had burned through every defense you’d tried to put up.

It wasn’t fair.

You barely knew him yet the moment you’d felt his emotions, it had been like stepping into a fire—intense, all-consuming, impossible to ignore. You hadn’t been the same since.

I have to stay away from him, you thought, quickening your pace. It’s the only way.

Logan wasn’t just any person. His pain, his grief—they were too strong, too heavy for you to handle. You’d spent years trying to control your powers, fighting for some semblance of balance, and then Logan showed up and tore through all of it like it was nothing. He didn’t even have to try. His very presence was enough to unravel you.

You slowed as you reached the garden, the cool air hitting your face like a shock, grounding you just enough to steady your breath. You stood there, gripping the railing, your knuckles white as you tried to compose yourself.

The thought of avoiding him entirely seemed like the only solution. You couldn’t be near him without feeling everything—his loss, his frustration, his anger. It was too much. Too overwhelming. And if you were honest with yourself, it wasn’t just the emotions he stirred up. It was how he made you feel.

There was a flicker of something more—something dangerous—beneath all that pain. Something that tugged at you, pulled you closer, even when every part of you screamed to pull away. It was as though you were drawn to him, even knowing the storm he carried.

But it didn’t matter.

You couldn’t afford to get lost in someone else’s emotions. You had to focus on control, on yourself. The only way to do that was to avoid Logan—no matter what it took.

The mansion was a labyrinth of memories, of people who knew too much, and you didn’t have time to linger. You needed space. Distance. You needed to get as far away from Logan’s pull as possible before you lost yourself completely.

With a deep breath, you turned, determined to put as much distance between you and Logan as you could.

You kept your distance, retreating into yourself as the days blurred together. The mansion, once a place of refuge, now felt like a maze you couldn’t escape—every hallway, every room seemed charged with the lingering presence of Logan. His scent, his voice, even his silences weighed on you, making it harder and harder to breathe.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him. Quite the opposite. That was the problem.

You avoided him at all costs. If you heard his boots echoing down the hallway, you’d slip into the nearest room, pressing your back against the door until the sound faded. At mealtimes, you sat far from him, your eyes focused anywhere but on the seat he occupied. You even rearranged your training schedule, hoping to avoid crossing paths in the Danger Room. It was exhausting, but it was the only way you knew to protect yourself—from his emotions, from your own.

Logan noticed.

At first, it was small things—his eyes lingering on you when he thought you weren’t looking, the way his brows furrowed in quiet confusion whenever you abruptly left a room. You caught him staring more than once, his expression dark and unreadable, but you never stayed long enough to figure out what he was thinking.

He didn’t chase you, though. Not at first. Logan wasn’t the type to force a confrontation unless he was pushed to it. But you could feel the shift, the tension between you growing thicker with every passing day. Every time you turned away, every time you avoided his gaze, the air seemed to crackle with something unsaid, something unfinished.

And it hurt.

You didn’t want to admit it—not to yourself, not to anyone—but each time you pulled away, it hurt. There was a part of you that longed to be near him, despite the chaos he stirred inside you. A part that craved his presence, even as it terrified you.

But it was safer this way. You couldn’t handle the storm that followed Logan wherever he went. His emotions were too raw, too powerful, and you knew if you let him get any closer, you’d lose yourself in them completely.

Xavier, of course, noticed everything.

He had tried to help, guiding you through your training, and offering advice, but even his calm voice in your mind couldn’t quiet the turmoil. He’d seen the way your eyes darted away from Logan’s, the way you tensed whenever you sensed him nearby.

“You’ve been avoiding Logan,” Xavier said one afternoon, his tone gentle but firm as he spoke to you in his office. His eyes were kind, but you could see the concern behind them. “It’s not a solution, you know.”

You sat across from him, your fingers twisted tightly in your lap, avoiding his gaze. “I just… can’t be around him,” you said softly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Every time I’m near him, I feel everything. His pain, his anger—it’s too much, Professor.”

Xavier’s expression didn’t waver, his hands folded neatly on the desk. “I understand, but pushing him away won’t help you gain control. If anything, it might make things worse.”

You bit your lip, the weight of his words sinking into your chest. He wasn’t wrong. You knew that. But how could you explain that it wasn’t just Logan’s emotions you were afraid of? It was your own. The way your heart raced whenever he was near, the way you felt that magnetic pull to him despite everything. How could you be expected to control your powers when you couldn’t even control the way you felt about him?

“I think… I think it’s best if I leave the mansion,” you said suddenly, the words surprising even you. They hung in the air between you and Xavier, a tangible weight.

His brows furrowed in concern, but he remained calm. “Leave? Do you truly believe that will help you? Or are you running from something else?”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “It’s the only way I can keep my distance. I’m not… I’m not strong enough to handle this. Not yet.”

Xavier studied you for a long moment, his gaze steady, but you could feel his hesitation. “If you leave, you may be running from the very thing that will help you grow. You’re stronger than you think.”

You shook your head, standing abruptly, unable to meet his eyes any longer. “I don’t know if I am.”

The moment you left his office, the weight of your decision pressed down on you. Could you really leave the mansion? Could you walk away from everything—everyone—including Logan? The thought gnawed at you, but it felt like the only way to escape the endless pull toward him.

Later that night, you found yourself in the garden again, seeking solace in the quiet. The cool air wrapped around you as you sat on the stone bench, your fingers tracing the worn surface beneath you. Even here, alone under the stars, you couldn’t escape the thought of him.

And that’s when you sensed it—him.

He stood at the edge of the garden, his silhouette barely visible in the dim light. His presence washed over you like a wave, the emotions swirling in the air before he even said a word. You could feel his confusion, his frustration—his longing.

He stepped forward, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he approached. You kept your gaze on the ground, unable to face him, but you felt him sit beside you on the bench, close enough that the warmth of his body cut through the cool night air.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Logan said, his voice low, rough with the hint of something else—something more vulnerable than you’d ever heard from him before.

Your heart raced in your chest, but you didn’t look at him. “I had to,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s too much.”

Logan let out a slow breath, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words, until finally, Logan spoke again, his voice softer this time. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them sinking into your skin. He wasn’t just talking about your powers. He was talking about you. About the pull that existed between the two of you, the connection that scared you more than anything.

“I can’t…” you started, your voice trembling. “I can’t handle it.”

Logan turned his head, his gaze burning into you, even though you still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I never asked you to,” he said quietly, but there was something raw in his voice, something that made your chest ache. “But you’re not the only one trying to figure this out.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the vulnerability in them cutting through the defenses you had so carefully built. Slowly, you turned your head to look at him, your eyes finally meeting his.

And there it was—the storm in his eyes, the same one you felt every time you were near him. But beneath it was something softer, something that made your heart tighten. Logan wasn’t just frustrated. He wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. He was longing for something too.

For you.

“I don’t know how to be around you without losing myself,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I feel everything when I’m near you.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his expression shifting into something gentler, something you hadn’t seen before. “You’re not gonna lose yourself,” he said, his voice rough but certain. “Not with me. Just focus on my voice.”

The air between you was heavy, charged with the weight of everything you hadn’t said. You could feel it—both the fear and the pull, the undeniable connection that had been there since the moment you met.

For the first time, the thought crept into your mind—maybe it was worth the risk. The pull between you and Logan was undeniable, a tension that lingered in the air every time you were near him. Even now, as that thought took root, fear churned in your chest.

Logan sat beside you, not pushing, just there—steady, grounding, the quiet force of his presence like an anchor in the storm swirling inside you. His silence wasn’t demanding, but it was full. You could feel him waiting, his gaze heavy on you, the heat of it sinking into your skin.

You closed your eyes, turning away from him as the ache in your chest grew sharper. “You carry your grief so strongly,” you whispered, the words barely loud enough to be carried by the night air. The cool breeze brushed against your face, but it did nothing to ease the heat rising inside you, a mix of your own emotions and his. “Even now… even when everything’s still, I can feel it.”

You opened your eyes and looked down at your hands, fingers trembling as they gripped the edge of the bench. “It invades my skin.” Your voice wavered, raw with the weight of the truth you were trying so hard to avoid. “I can usually turn it off—control it—but with you... it’s different.”

Logan’s breath hitched beside you, and though he didn’t say anything, you could feel the shift in him—the tension winding through his body. His emotions pressed against yours, not in words but in the way his presence seemed to swell around you, pulling you closer despite the distance you tried to create. You didn’t need to see his face to know that what you were saying was cutting deep.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. The garden felt smaller, the night sky above pulling tighter around you.

Logan’s voice, when it finally came, was low, gravelly—almost a rasp. “I don’t mean to... put that on you.” He shifted slightly beside you, the movement was subtle but full of unspoken frustration, the kind that came from years of living with a weight too heavy for one person to carry alone. “I don’t want to make this harder for you.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. His broad shoulders were hunched, his hands resting on his thighs, the tension in his body barely restrained. His jaw was clenched, the lines of his face etched with the same pain you’d been drowning in ever since you’d met him.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you spoke the truth you’d been avoiding for months. “You just are, Logan. You exist, and I feel it. All of it.”

He looked at you then, his hazel eyes catching yours in a way that made your breath stutter. The intensity of his gaze was like a flame, burning through every wall you’d tried to build. His pain, his anger, his longing—they were all there, swirling in those dark depths, and you couldn’t look away. It was as if he was letting you in, showing you everything he’d been holding back. The grief, the years of loss, the way he’d been carrying you in his thoughts ever since you came into his life.

Beneath it all, there was something else—something that made your pulse quicken and your chest tighten. Longing. Desire.

Logan’s hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out and close the gap between you, but he didn’t. He stayed where he was, watching you, waiting for something—anything—from you.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “It’s too much,” you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice. “I can’t handle it.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to argue, to tell you it wasn’t too much, that you could handle it. But he didn’t. Instead, he shifted again, his hands curling into fists on his knees. The restraint in his posture was palpable, and the weight of it made the air between you thick with tension.

“I’m not askin’ you to take this on,” he said quietly, his voice strained, rough with emotion. “You don’t have to carry what’s mine.”

“But I do,” you shot back, your voice breaking with the frustration and helplessness that had been building inside you for weeks. “I don’t have a choice, Logan. I feel it. Every time I’m near you.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched you, and for a moment, you thought he might get up and leave. Yet he stayed, his gaze locked on yours, the intensity in his expression nearly unbearable.

“I don’t want you to go through that,” he muttered, his voice barely above a growl. “Not because of me.”

There it was—the vulnerability he never let anyone see, laid bare before you. The weight of his words sank into your chest, and for a split second, you wanted to reach out to him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That none of this was his fault. The fear that had been gnawing at you for so long kept you rooted in place.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of the decision you were making. “I can’t do this.”

Logan looked up at you then, his eyes shadowed, a flicker of hurt passing through them. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes—raw, unguarded—said enough. You had made your choice, and it was like a blade between the two of you.

You stood up abruptly, your legs shaking beneath you as you took a step away from the bench. Logan’s eyes followed you, the pain in his gaze unmistakable, but he didn’t try to stop you. He just watched, his hands still curled into tight fists on his knees.

“I need to go,” you murmured, not trusting yourself to look at him again.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest as you left him sitting there, alone in the garden. The weight of his emotions still clung to you, heavy and suffocating, but you kept moving, forcing yourself to put distance between yourself and the man who had come to mean too much.

As you disappeared into the shadows of the mansion, you could still feel his gaze on your back, the unspoken words between you hanging in the air, thick and unresolved.

Months passed, and the space between you and Logan became a chasm neither of you dared cross. The mansion, though vast, felt smaller with the constant tension that hummed beneath the surface, the unspoken feelings and unresolved emotions hanging in the air like thick fog. You threw yourself into your training, determined to master your powers, to gain control over the chaotic swirl of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you at every turn.

Xavier had been patient, his calm voice a constant guide in your mind, helping you learn to block out the noise—the steady hum of other people’s emotions, their happiness, their pain, all of it—and reclaim your sense of self. It wasn’t easy. Each day felt like a battle, but slowly, the tide was turning. You were getting better. Stronger.

Through it all, you kept your distance from Logan.

It wasn’t hard, at first. He gave you space, honoring the silent agreement between you, and though your chest tightened every time you sensed him nearby, you resisted the urge to look at him. You had learned to anticipate the shift in the air when he was around, a subtle awareness of his presence that you couldn't escape. But you didn’t let it show. You couldn’t.

Logan, for his part, had kept his word. He didn’t force himself into your space. He didn’t approach you with questions and didn’t push for answers. He remained a ghost in the background—silent, watchful, but never overstepping the boundaries you had set.

Still, something in the air had changed. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but you felt it every time he passed by, or when you caught glimpses of him training in the distance. He seemed quieter, more composed, as though the weight he carried had shifted ever so slightly.

One afternoon, as you were walking through the corridors of the mansion, lost in thought, you sensed Logan before you saw him. The air felt heavier, tinged with something familiar yet different. You paused for a moment, heart quickening, your mind bracing for the usual wave of emotions that always came with his presence.

But this time… it was different.

You glanced up, your eyes landing on him as he approached from the other end of the hallway. His gaze caught yours briefly, and for a moment, the world seemed to be still. He looked... calmer, more at ease than you’d seen him in months. The tension that usually clung to him like a second skin was still there, but it was muted like he had found a way to hold it back.

You blinked, your heart beating a little faster as you took him in. There was something different about him, something you couldn’t quite place. You could still feel the undercurrent of his emotions, but they weren’t pressing down on you the way they had before. They were quieter and more controlled.

Logan slowed his pace, his eyes flickering over your face, studying you as if he were searching for something. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could sense the change in him. It was subtle but unmistakable.

He stopped in front of you, the space between you suddenly feeling much smaller than it had in months.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and rough, but there was something softer underneath. The usual edge in his tone was absent.

"Hey," you replied quietly, unsure of what else to say. Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your senses still on high alert, but the overwhelming tidal wave of his emotions you expected never came. It was like a dam had been built between you and the storm that usually surrounded him.

There was a brief silence, thick with unspoken things. Logan’s gaze didn’t waver, and the longer you stood there, the more you realized how different this felt.

“You seem…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. “You seem different.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a half-smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes but softened his expression. He nodded slightly, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you recognized from all the times he’d been uncomfortable and vulnerable.

“I’ve been working on it,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “On myself.”

You blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Logan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he spoke. “After everything… after the way I made you feel, I figured maybe it was time I got my shit together.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to you. “I didn’t wanna keep unloading all my baggage on you.”

Your heart squeezed painfully at the raw honesty in his voice. He was always guarded, always hiding behind layers of anger and pain. But now, standing in front of you, he seemed... stripped down. Bare.

“I didn’t know you were...” You swallowed, trying to find the words. “I didn’t know you were doing that for me.”

Logan’s eyes softened, his expression serious. “You didn’t ask for any of this,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t take away what I’ve been through, and I know I can’t stop feeling the shit I feel, but... I’ve been trying to keep it under control. For your sake.”

You stared at him, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. He had been working on himself—not just for him, but for you. So that his emotions wouldn’t overwhelm you. So that you wouldn’t have to carry the weight of his pain.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice.

Logan’s jaw clenched, but there was no anger there—only resolve. “Yeah, I do. I hurt you, and I don’t wanna do that again.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a mix of emotions flooding through you. The distance you had put between you and Logan had been necessary, but hearing him say that he had been working on himself, not just for his own sake but for yours... it stirred something deep inside you.

For months, you had been avoiding him, terrified of the connection that sparked between you every time you were near him. You realized that maybe things had changed. Maybe he had changed.

Maybe you had to.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you whispered, barely able to hold his gaze. “I’m still trying to figure things out.”

Logan nodded, his eyes steady, but not pressing. “I get it. I’m not askin’ you to jump into anything. Just... know I’m working on it. I’m working on me.”

You felt your throat tighten, the vulnerability between you suddenly too much to handle. Without another word, you nodded, offering him a small, grateful smile before stepping away.

As you turned to leave, you felt Logan’s gaze on your back, the same steady presence you had come to know so well. It felt lighter like you didn’t feel the need to run. 

The days passed slowly after your conversation with Logan, and though things between you weren’t quite the same, there was a new sense of ease. You’d catch glimpses of him in the hallways or outside in the courtyard, but this time, it didn’t send your heart racing with panic. You didn’t rush to hide.

You could feel the change in him—a calmness that hadn’t been there before. Though the air still hummed with something unspoken between you, it was different now. Less overwhelming. More... manageable.

You’d spent the past few days throwing yourself into training, trying to focus on controlling your powers. The Danger Room became your sanctuary. It was the one place where you could lose yourself completely—where you could practice blocking out the world and hone the control that had been so elusive.

This particular afternoon, the simulated environment was set to a barren desert, the harsh sun beating down on your back as you worked through a series of obstacles. You were panting, sweat dripping down your temples as you ducked behind a boulder, trying to steady your breathing.

You pressed your hands to the ground, feeling the earth beneath you, and closed your eyes, focusing on quieting your mind. Xavier’s voice echoed in your memory: "Feel, but don’t absorb. Let it pass through."

A sudden presence cut through your concentration—strong, familiar. You tensed, your senses sharpening. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His presence was unmistakable.

He stepped into the simulated environment, the door closing behind him with a soft hiss. You opened your eyes and turned, standing as he approached. His boots crunched against the desert sand, the heat radiating off his body as he drew closer.

“Mind if I join?” His voice was low, rough like always, but there was a softness to it—an offer, not a demand.

You hesitated, your heart beating a little faster, but the edge of fear you used to feel around him wasn’t there. You met his gaze, those familiar hazel eyes steady and calm. After a moment, you nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Logan gave a brief nod in return, stepping up beside you. He didn’t say much—he rarely did—but his presence was enough to shift the air between you. For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence filled only by the distant hum of the Danger Room’s mechanics. Then, Logan spoke again, his voice quieter this time.

“You’ve gotten better.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the compliment. His eyes stayed on the simulated landscape ahead, but you could feel the sincerity in his words.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. “Still a lot to work on.”

Logan grunted, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We all do.”

There was a pause, the weight of his words lingering between you. You stood side by side for a moment, the desert stretching out before you, the heat pressing down.

Without warning, Logan shifted into a fighting stance. His claws remained retracted, but his body was tense, coiled like a spring, his eyes watching you carefully. “Wanna spar?”

You raised an eyebrow, blinking at him in surprise. “You want to spar with me?”

Logan’s lips curved into a grin, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “What? You afraid?”

You snorted, shaking your head as you stepped into a stance of your own, facing him. “Not even a little.”

Logan’s grin widened slightly, and he gestured for you to come at him. You moved quickly, feinting to the right before striking low, trying to catch him off guard. But Logan was faster, sidestepping your attack with ease. You spun, swinging again, but he blocked, catching your wrist mid-strike. The strength in his grip was firm but controlled.

“You’re still telegraphing your moves,” he murmured, his voice teasing but not unkind.

You narrowed your eyes, pulling back and aiming a quick jab to his side. He deflected it again, but this time you caught the faint look of approval in his eyes.

For several minutes, the two of you moved in sync—an unspoken rhythm building between your strikes and his counters. Logan never fought with full strength, but there was a focus in his movements, a quiet determination. You could feel the way he was holding himself back, not to overwhelm you but to challenge you.

At one point, your foot slipped in the loose sand, and you stumbled. Logan moved quickly, catching you by the arm before you fell, his grip steady as he pulled you upright.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, but close—too close.

Your breath caught in your throat as you met his eyes, realizing just how near he was. His hand lingered on your arm, his fingers rough but gentle, and for a moment, the sparring session faded into the background. The air between you thickened, charged with something more than just the adrenaline of the fight. His eyes—those deep, stormy hazel eyes—locked on yours, and you could feel the heat of his body so close to yours.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice wavered slightly. You swallowed hard, trying to focus, but the pull between you was undeniable.

Logan didn’t let go immediately. His grip loosened slightly, but his thumb brushed lightly against your arm before he pulled back completely, stepping away.

You took a shaky breath, your heart still racing from more than just the sparring. You could feel the energy between you shifting, the air thick with unspoken things.

“I didn’t mean to...” Logan started his voice rough but laced with something softer, something hesitant. He glanced away for a moment, his brow furrowed as if he were searching for the right words. “I’m trying not to overwhelm you.”

You looked at him, feeling your chest tighten. There was something raw in his expression, something vulnerable beneath the gruff exterior he always wore. The man who had once flooded your mind with unbearable emotions was now holding himself back—for you. Trying to give you space, trying to be better.

“I know,” you said quietly, your voice softening as you met his gaze. “I can feel it.”

Logan’s eyes flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, standing there in the simulated desert, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. There was a tenderness in the way he looked at you, a quiet longing that tugged at your chest, stirring something deep inside.

The moment stretched, neither of you moving, both of you caught in the tension that lingered between you.

The familiar fear crept back in—just enough to remind you of the risks. Of what could happen if you let your guard down. You took a step back, breaking the connection, your heart pounding in your chest.

Logan noticed the shift, his eyes darkening slightly, but he didn’t push. He just gave a small nod, stepping back as well, though his gaze lingered on you.

“I’ll see you around,” he said quietly, his voice rough but sincere.

You nodded, watching as he turned and walked out of the Danger Room, his silhouette disappearing into the hallway.

As the door hissed shut behind him, you stood there, the simulated desert stretching out before you, but all you could feel was the lingering warmth of his presence.

Weeks had passed since that sparring session in the Danger Room, and though the distance between you and Logan had remained, something had shifted. You had felt it in the way your thoughts kept drifting back to him, in the quiet moments when you found yourself wishing he was closer. The intensity you had once tried so hard to avoid had softened, but the pull toward him had only grown stronger.

You were tired of running. Tired of pretending you could keep your feelings locked away. Because the truth was, you wanted him. You wanted Logan—his presence, his strength, his comfort. The way his eyes lingered on you with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The way he held back when you needed space, yet was always there, watching, waiting.

You couldn’t avoid it anymore.

It was late, the mansion quiet as you made your way down the dimly lit halls. Your heart pounded in your chest, each step carrying the weight of what you were about to do. The decision had been building for weeks, but tonight, you couldn’t fight it anymore.

You needed him.

You stopped in front of Logan’s door, your hand hovering over the handle as a rush of uncertainty washed over you. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if everything you had built up in your mind was one-sided? But then, you remembered the way he had looked at you in the Danger Room, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, how he had worked so hard to control himself—for you.

With a deep breath, you knocked softly, your pulse quickening as you waited. A moment later, the door creaked open, and there he was—Logan, standing in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable the moment he saw you.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough like it always was. His eyes searched yours as if he could sense that something was different tonight.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You hesitated, your fingers twisting nervously at your sides. But you weren’t here to run away this time. “Can I come in?”

Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. As you crossed the threshold into his room, the familiar scent of leather and wood filled the air, grounding you and steadying the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet space. A single lamp dimly lit the room, casting long shadows across the walls. You stood there momentarily, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, his presence filling the room like a quiet storm.

“What’s goin’ on?” Logan asked, his voice gentle but filled with curiosity. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe as he watched you, waiting.

You took a breath, your heart hammering in your chest. This was it. The moment you’d been avoiding, the feelings you’d kept at bay finally rising to the surface.

“I’m tired of this,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough for him to notice. “I’m tired of avoiding you. Of pretending I don’t feel this.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his posture stiffening slightly as your words sank in. He didn’t say anything, but the air between you crackled with tension, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

“I’ve been pushing you away,” you continued, stepping closer, your voice gaining strength as you spoke. “Because I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t know how to deal with you—with how you make me feel.”

Logan’s gaze flickered, his arms dropping to his sides as he straightened. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he swallowed hard, but he didn’t interrupt. He just waited, letting you speak.

“I can’t do it anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, the vulnerability in your words making your chest tighten. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t care. I... I have feelings for you, Logan.”

For a moment, the silence stretched unbearably between you. The confession hung in the air like a fragile thread, and you held your breath, waiting for his response.

Logan exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something raw in his gaze that mirrored the longing you had been feeling for so long. He took a slow step forward, his presence filling the space between you, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough, barely more than a whisper. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear you say that.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, the intensity of his confession stealing the breath from your lungs. You blinked up at him, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

He took another step closer, his gaze burning into yours, and this time, there was no hesitation in his movements. Slowly, carefully, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek, his touch warm and rough against your skin.

“Logan...” you breathed, your voice trembling as you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his palm sending a shiver down your spine.

Logan’s eyes darkened, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw as he stepped closer, his body inches from yours now. “If you want this... if you want me... I’m here,” he murmured, his voice thick with the weight of his emotions. “But if you’re not ready, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No pressure.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tight with the feelings swirling inside you. “I want you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce and tender kiss, a release of all the pent-up longing that had been building between you for months.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as the world seemed to fall away. The kiss was intense, filled with all the emotion neither of you had been able to express, but it was also careful—Logan holding back just enough, making sure not to overwhelm you.

But it wasn’t long before the rush of emotions became too much.

A wave of heat flooded through you, a tidal wave of longing and desire mixed with Logan’s own intense emotions crashing into you all at once. It was too much. Your powers flared, and you felt a surge of everything—his grief, his pain, his need—pressing into your mind.

You pulled back, gasping for breath, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself. “I—I can’t—” you stammered, your voice shaky as you stepped back, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

Logan’s eyes widened, his hands dropping to his sides immediately, giving you space. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said softly, his voice calming, reassuring. He reached out but didn’t touch you, his gaze filled with concern. “You’re okay. We can take it slow. Whatever you need.”

You closed your eyes, your hands trembling as you tried to gather your thoughts, but Logan’s voice grounded you and pulled you back from the edge.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he murmured, stepping closer, but still keeping enough distance to let you breathe. “You’re in control. I’m just here.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his steady gaze. The intensity was still there, but it was softer now, more patient. He wasn’t pushing. He was waiting.

“I want this,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain. “I just... need time.”

Logan nodded, his eyes softening as he gave you a small smile. “You’ll get all the time you need, darlin’,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. “I’m not in any hurry. I’ve waited this long... I can wait a little longer.”

The tension between you shifted, the moment softening into something quieter, more intimate. You weren’t rushing. You weren’t running. You were just... together. Finally.

The way the red flags are right there but the reader can't put her finger on them😳 I'm so excited to see what else happens!

Deep in the Woods: Part 1

Pairing: Soft!Dark Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: A relaxing getaway in the woods may become your permanent home when you catch the eye of a lumberjack.

Series Masterlist | Part 2

Chapter Summary: You encounter your grumpy temporary neighbor while attempting to chop some firewood.

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.3k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, bits of MCU canon, cheating mentioned (reader's ex), grumpy x sunshine trope, invasive behavior, reader is too trusting, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit rude at first, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: A new dark AU inspired by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 's ask. ❤️‍🔥 Thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for cheering me on! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sun shining in the sky was deceiving as you hauled a large piece of wood to the tree trunk. It was chillier than expected, and the cold would only get worse once the sun went down. Your cabin had heat, but you'd be stuck if it went out and you didn’t manage to chop some firewood. Making a fire you could handle. Chopping wood?

That was another story.

“Okay,” you smiled, setting the log upright and adjusting your gloves before you grabbed the axe. You gripped the handle tight, raising it above your head. “I got this.”

The blade hit the log almost dead center. Unsurprisingly though, it barely pierced the wood. You hunched over, tugging at the axe, nearly losing your balance in the process. “I still got this,” you huffed, shaking out your arms and swinging again.

The next swing went deeper, but only by an inch. The swing after that, you nearly missed completely. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your body warming despite the chill in the air. After a moment, you dropped the axe and stared at the log with your hands on your hips. It was nowhere near split.

“I don’t got this,” you sighed.

“Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice asked from behind you.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you spun around, and it raced even faster when you spotted a figure just a few feet away. He was a large man, and one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. He would likely tower over you if he stepped closer. His dark hair hung messily past his shoulders, while his perfectly trimmed beard gave him a rugged edge. The flannel he wore strained against the biceps of his muscular arms, one of the shades of blue matching his thunderous eyes.

Was he glaring at you?

“Hi,” you smiled, trying to sound friendly as you gestured toward the unchopped log. “I was just trying, and failing, to chop some firewood. I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

He kicked a small twig away with his boot. “I didn't ask what you were doing. I asked, ‘Who the hell are you?’”

Your smile slipped. Maybe he was local and didn't like outsiders, though something about him seemed familiar. “Oh, yeah. Right,” you said, giving him your name and nodding to the cabin nearby. “Mr. Hunter rented the place out to me. I’m staying for a couple of weeks. Just got here this morning.” You hoped the place wasn't double booked.

He relaxed a fraction, but his glare didn't disappear completely as he took out his phone and dialed a number. You heard a ring as he put it on speaker. While he tapped a foot impatiently, you weren't sure what to say or do.

“Howdy, neighbor,” a raspy voice answered on the other end.

“Did you rent out your place?” he asked, keeping his eyes on you when your face got hot. You wanted to yell that you wouldn't lie about something like that, but that didn't seem like a good idea.

“Yeah. Pretty lady. Paid in full upfront. Clean background, too.” You looked at your feet. It was weird to listen in even though it was on speaker. And did he say “clean background”? What did that mean? “Why? Is she-”

The man hung up the phone. “Didn't think he rented his cabin out anymore,” he said more to himself than you.

An awkward silence filled the air. “Yeah, well, apparently he does. I booked it a couple of months ago and he left a code to get in and some instructions for the place,” you explained, trying to smile again as you looked around and breathed in the fresh air. “It’s a really nice place and the view up here is gorgeous, like something out of a photograph. Do you live nearby?”

He grunted and jutted his chin out. “My cabin is the next one over to the left.”

“That’s nice,” you smiled more, grabbing the axe again. “And it was very interesting meeting you, temporary neighbor, but I should try to finish this up.”

Before you could blink, the man was directly in front of you with one hand on the handle. He was even bigger up close. “If you’re thinking of taking another swing at that log, don't,” he barked at you, snatching the axe from your hands. You weren’t sure if it was his tone or him grabbing it from you that made you flinch. “This isn't a toy, it’s dangerous. And from the looks of that log you have no business trying to do that to begin with.”

Your cheeks burned again. It was bad enough that this guy didn't take your word for staying at the cabin, but the last thing you needed was for some stranger to lecture or humiliate you, and a grumpy one at that. “Yeah, well, if my cheating asshole of a boyfriend hadn't been balls deep in his colleague, we wouldn't be having this conversation. He'd be out here chopping firewood and I’d be inside cooking, which is something I'm actually good at, thank you very much,” you snapped.

Your tone surprised him enough to let you take the axe back. “I didn't…” he trailed off when you held up a hand.

“You don't know me and that’s fine, but I’m trying to be friendly and that's more than you can say,” you continued, his nostrils flaring. He didn't have to be nice to you, but he didn't need to be rude either. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I'm stuck here by myself, I’m trying my best to make it work, and I don't need some random stranger out here giving me a hard time for no reason.”

Your eyes burned as he stared at you, but you squared your shoulders and held your head high. You spent enough time crying over a prick who wasn’t worth it and you refused to shed another tear because you deserved better than an unfaithful asshole. And you sure as hell wouldn't cry in front of some hot grump with a chip on his shoulder.

The man’s pensive look dissipated more of your sudden anger and his tone softened considerably when he asked, “You’re really out here by yourself?”

You tensed up. It wasn't smart of you to broadcast that you were all by your lonesome. “Yeah, for now,” you said, your voice softer, too. Maybe you could convince a friend to stop by for a day or so. “I know I’m not good with an axe, but I tried. I just wanted some firewood in case the heat went out for any reason,” you said, your shoulders sagging. “So if you don't mind, can I please finish up?”

He nodded, taking the axe more gently this time. “Let me,” he offered, your eyes wide at his change in demeanor. “And step back. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Once you moved out of the way, he lifted the axe and split the log down the middle with expert precision. With his view on the task at hand, you swept an appreciative gaze over him. The guy was a bit of a grump, but he filled his jeans out well. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, mister,” you told him, getting a grunt in response. “My problems aren't your problems and I didn't mean to get so defensive about my lack of wood chopping skills.”

“You can call me Bucky,” he said, grabbing another log. “And nothing to be sorry for. I didn't exactly lay out the welcome mat for you.”

“It’s… Wait, Bucky.” Your eyes widened in realization. “Bucky Barnes?”

He froze before he brought the axe down again. “Heard of me?”

“Of course I have. You helped save the world,” you smiled. Years back, an alien warlord had wiped out half of the population. Not only did a group of heroes called the Avengers help reverse the wipeout, but they stopped the monster with the help of many others across the galaxy. Bucky was one of those people. No wonder he seemed so familiar. “You’re a hero.”

A tortured one at that. You remembered seeing a few articles about him. A former prisoner of war turned brainwashed assassin turned hero. He was pardoned for the crimes committed while was brainwashed, and rightfully so in your opinion, and he went on to use his skills and expertise to help others.

What was he doing out here in the woods?

“Not really a hero anymore,” he said, brushing his hair back with his forearm. “Now I’m just a lumberjack who values his privacy.”

“Oh.” That answered your question. “I guess valuing your privacy explains why you didn't roll out the welcome mat,” you teased, wringing your fingers together. You felt kind of bad again for snapping at him. Given his past that you were aware of, it made sense why he would've been suspicious of someone new popping up near his home.

He stopped to glance at you. “Guess it’s my turn to apologize,” he said.

You blinked, not wanting to lose yourself in his deep gaze. “No need. I figured you were just a local who didn't like new people around.” You smiled at the pile of wood he made. “I think you chopping firewood for me is the perfect apology. You saved me a lot of time and trouble.”

He hummed, putting the blade in the tree trunk once he finished. “You said you cook?” he asked, wiping his gloves on his jeans as he faced you.

“Yeah. I actually have a stew keeping warm right now,” you replied, shifting on your feet when he stared you down. “Are you hungry? I made plenty.”

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“Okay.” Your smile faltered when you walked toward the cabin with Bucky close behind. Was it a good idea to invite him in when you didn't exactly know him? The guy was a hero though. No reason to be suspicious.

The aroma of seasonings, beef, and vegetables greeted you as you opened the door and set your gloves on the entry table. “If you don’t mind taking your boots off, that was one of the instructions,” you told him, removing yours and hanging your coat on the hook.

While the cabin wasn’t large, it was in great condition. It was also extremely clean and tidy. The guy who owned it likely didn’t want dirt on his floors.

“Yeah, God’s kind of picky about that stuff,” Bucky said, putting his gloves on top of yours. You caught a glimpse of his metal hand, but you quickly looked away. It wasn’t polite to stare.

“Wait. The G in G.B. Hunter stands for God?” Your brows pinched as you walked toward the kitchen. “What the hell does the B stand for?” you muttered to yourself.

“That’s really what it stands for. He’s a bit of a strange guy, but a good neighbor when he’s here,” Bucky said, following close again. He was practically on top of you. “So, your boyfriend. He-”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you corrected him, inhaling deeply as you lifted the lid from the warm pot. The scent brought a smile to your face and pushed a bit of the bitterness away. “What about him?”

Bucky grabbed a couple of bowls from the cupboard. He knew where the spoons were, too, so he was at least somewhat familiar with the place. You weren’t sure how that made you feel. “How long were you two together?”

“Almost a year,” you replied. A waste of about twelve months and it wouldn't be fun to start over again.

He set the bowls on the counter before he grabbed a couple of drinks, sweeping a look over you. “Did you catch him cheating?” he asked curiously.

You froze, the image of your ex scrambling to cover himself and his colleague up as you walked in taking over your mind. You had to blink multiple times to make the image go away, but it didn’t stop your stomach from turning. “Yep,” you answered, your throat tight. Why did he want to know? “Tried to give me some lame excuse that it wasn't what it looked like, but I slapped him and said we were done. I can forgive a lot of things, but cheating isn’t one of them.”

“Loyalty is a good trait to want in a partner,” he mused.

“It is, but it’s a trait he didn't have apparently. At least we didn’t live together,” you continued, taking a breath. It hurt and felt good to talk about it. “We were supposed to come up here for a getaway and I debated cancelling the reservation, but I figured it would be a good way to clear my head.”

The kitchen felt warmer and you figured it was because you were close to the stove until you realized Bucky was right at your back. You went rigid when he inhaled. Maybe he was just smelling the food. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You gripped the ladle until your hand ached. “Not your fault,” you whispered, keeping perfectly still. If you moved forward, the stove would burn you. If you moved back, you’d be right against him. It was a small kitchen, but there was no reason for him to stand so close.

You didn’t exhale until he moved to set the drinks on the table. “You got a job?” he asked.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, thankful for the change in topic. “Yeah, data entry. Not too exciting, but it’s decent pay and I don’t have to go into an office or deal with traffic.” You scooped a generous portion of stew into a bowl for him, just in case he was really hungry. “As long as I have my laptop and an internet connection, I can get the job done.”

“Must be nice,” he commented, but it sounded more admirable than sarcastic. “You said you and your ex didn’t live together. Do you have a roommate? Pets?”

You side-eyed him. The tone was casual, but what was with the multiple questions? “I live alone because my apartment is about the size of a shoebox,” you said. It was cozy though and yours. “Nice thing is the rent is cheap. Sad thing is the building is pet free.”

He took out his phone as you got your bowl ready. “I have a cat,” he said, shoving the phone close to your face. It was a photo of a beautiful white cat sitting by a window. It was endearing picturing a burly man holding such a delicate creature. “Her name’s Alpine.”

You smiled at the image. “She’s really beautiful. I’ve always loved cats.”

He smiled a little, too, but it went away as fast as it appeared. “She’s very particular with people, but you’re welcome to meet her.” He took the bowl from your hand to carry them to the small table nearby. “She might like you since you’re sweet.”

Heat rolled up your neck. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose,” you said. It wasn’t like you had any plans during your time there, but he had done enough by chopping the firewood for you.

His jaw ticked. “If it was an imposition I wouldn't have asked.”

“Oh, I wasn't trying to imply anything,” you promised, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't your intention to upset him.

“Are you allergic to cats?”

“No, I’m not,” you answered.

He set the bowls on the table and leveled you with a hard stare. “Then I think you should meet her,” he said, pulling out a chair for you. It sounded more like an order than a suggestion. “Sit.”

You hesitated before you sat down. “Okay then,” you said. Maybe he was trying to make up for being rude earlier by welcoming you in some capacity. “Does tomorrow work?”

His lip curled up in a smile, giving you a nod, too. “Tomorrow. Early afternoon,” he replied, taking a seat. How did he still look so big sitting down? You watched him blow on a spoonful of stew before he took a bite, his eyes shutting with a groan. It was a deep, primal sound and you shouldn't have liked hearing it. “This is… really good.”

You beamed, unable to help yourself. You took pride in your cooking. “I’m glad you like it,” you said, digging in, too. “So, you said you’re a lumberjack now. How long have you been doing that?”

He hunched over a bit as he took a few more bites, like he hadn't eaten all day. “About nine months. Tough mission happened and I had to walk away from it.” He shrugged dismissively. Did the mission have a bad outcome or was it just the straw that broke the camel’s back? It wasn’t any of your business. “Came out to the woods with Alpine, started chopping down trees to work out some of my frustration, and it somehow became my new job. The woods suit me better than the city anyway.”

“Yeah? How so?”

He shrugged again. “It’s quiet, peaceful. No judging or prying eyes,” he answered, pushing the now empty bowl away. It almost sounded like he was hiding from the world. “And I don’t mind working with my hands. Can chop trees down pretty fast and it doesn’t take long to get the logs to the sawmill. Even built some of my own furniture in my place.”

“You build your own furniture? That’s so cool,” you smiled. It took a moment, but he smiled back a little. “Being a lumberjack sounds like hard but satisfying work,” you added. You admired him for being a hero, but also for his new, humble lifestyle.

“Yeah, it is.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. “This might be rude to ask, but you wouldn’t mind making us lunch tomorrow, would you? I can cook, but it’s nothing like yours.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Part of you took it as a compliment that he liked your cooking, but something in his stare made you want to squirm. Could it be the assumption that you were going to have lunch with him when all he said was that he wanted you to meet his cat? “I don’t mind,” you smiled. Maybe the guy was a bit lonely and just wanted someone to share a meal with. You could sympathize with that. “Anything in particular you like? If I don’t have it, I can go to town and-”

“Surprise me, doll.” The chair scraped along the floor as he pushed himself up, towering over the table and you. “And don’t bother going to town. Whatever you have here to cook, I’ll eat it.”

“I’ll surprise you then.” Your brows pinched as he went back to the kitchen. He walked around like he owned the place. “Oh, help yourself,” you said when he stopped at the stove for another bowl.

He paused to look back at you. His blue eyes looked a shade darker and you couldn’t help but shiver. “I plan to,” he stated.

You gave him a smile, discreetly patting your pants pocket to make sure you still had your phone on you. It wasn’t like you needed to call anyone for help, but you were all alone and had to be careful. You were still going to have a nice time though. It would be a relaxing trip and you could catch up on reading, relaxing, whatever you wanted.

Besides, Bucky was nearby just in case. The guy didn’t seem to have a complete sense of boundaries, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He was a hero. You didn’t have anything to fear.

Right?

Oh, our reader did herself no favors by answering truthfully that she's all alone. I wonder how Bucky will play this... Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

I am warm and full and cozy and thinking about Bucky who has gotten a few pounds on his stomach, not bc he has to bulk for a mission or anything but bc he's save and get three square meals and a snack every day. Lots of love and a pie on Sunday. The dream honestly

Answering this on a Monday but I feel very cozy about it!

Just Right

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky learns to love food again, and his body.

Word Count: Over 750

Warnings: Mentions of HYDRA, recovery, body positivity, reference to oral sex, bit of humor, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I may need to do more of this, and much appreciated for the inspiration @v-wie-was. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky who was now able to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with snacks in between each meal and dessert after dinner, which took some getting used to.

Bucky who didn’t get to overindulge in foods he enjoyed while he was under HYDRA’s control. He was given enough to maintain his strength and nothing more and he never decided on what they provided. 

Bucky who, when he thought about it, didn’t get to enjoy food since before he went off to war. He ate to sustain and survive and nothing more.

Bucky who had to learn all over again what he liked and disliked once he was free. Being able to choose was overwhelming and he almost broke down the first time he bought plums simply because he wanted them.

Bucky who with his heightened senses learned to appreciate certain smells and tastes and learned which places to avoid so it didn’t feel like sensory overload. He also learned which flavors he could never get enough of and which ones he could only handle in small doses.

Bucky who had to figure out how much he could eat to feel full and not stop because of his old programming. He also told himself not to feel guilty if he had a few more bites because it was more than allowed.

Bucky who met you at the store one day when you both reached for the same plum. That day changed his life. 

Bucky who, like a gentleman, let you have the plum and couldn't stop staring at you since you were so beautiful. 

Bucky who couldn't think of a witty reply when you boldly offered him your phone number in return, so he gave you an awkward smile that you found endearing.

Bucky who was happy you took a chance since you were easy to talk to. You also taught him that food emojis could be… taken a certain way, which he learned when he sent an eggplant and peach together.

Bucky who couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed because he was talking about food, and he wanted you.

Bucky who enjoyed cooking with you and smiled wistfully when he thought about his family. How his mom always put so much love into her cooking. 

Bucky who made a mess of his shirt one day because he was trying to eat something messy and read at the same time. And you groaned because you had just finished laundry earlier.

Bucky who grew to appreciate messes like that because they felt normal.

Bucky who noticed almost immediately when his clothes began to fit differently, eventually to the point where they were too snug.

Bucky who felt slightly worried when he told you his clothes were too tight and had to go shopping. He wanted to be attractive to you.

Bucky who felt his heart swell when you not only told him he looked good no matter what but offered to go shopping with him. 

Bucky who felt handsome trying on new clothes since they fit properly and just right. The confidence grew when he saw your pupils dilate more and more with each outfit he tried on.

Bucky who also heard your heart race faster and smelled your arousal.

Bucky who didn’t get to make it home before you dropped to your knees to worship him. You made sure to place extra kisses on his stomach on your way down.

Bucky who hardly let people touch him, but welcomed your touch and let you paint him like a canvas with your love and desire. 

Bucky who had a huge smile on his face after the mind-blowing orgasm you gave him along with a promise of pie for dessert. He wanted you for dessert, too.

Bucky who associated certain foods with you because, like you, they brought him joy, comfort, and were downright delicious. 

 Bucky who stood in the kitchen while he waited for dinner to cool off and looked down at his stomach with a smile, reminding himself that any extra pound was just more of him to love and you’d love him no matter what. 

Bucky who thought about how comfortable he was in his skin because he was healthy and able to make his own choices. 

Bucky who gazed at you from across the room and couldn’t believe this was his life, that he found peace, happiness, and love. 

Bucky who was crazy about you and couldn't imagine a meal without you. Or his life.

And Bucky who finally felt safe and free. 

Okay, lovelies, what do we think his favorite dessert is? Besides you. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

Pretty In Lace

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: When Bob arrives home after his first successful mission, he stumbles upon a surprise waiting for him on his bed.

Warnings: Thunderbolts!Bob, fluff, smut, boob worship, grinding, foreshadowing of p in v.

Author’s Note: Proofread by my favourite @buckyys-babydoll, thank you my love ❤️ dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, I would love to know what you think ✨

“Welcome home, Bobby.” 

Your saccharine voice poured into his ears like honey, melting him from the inside out. He felt the sweetness tighten his jaw, that familiar tingle on the hollow of his cheek forcing saliva to gather on his tongue. 

Bob had to be dreaming. Truly. Because the gift in front of him was too good to be true. 

Supported by your arms, you laid upon his bed, knees tucked together shyly as though you didn’t wear the most sinful smile on your painted lips. 

But even as beautiful it was to see you in his room, waiting on his return, that wasn’t what made his stomach swoop violently. 

No, the result of his heart thumping against his chest like it was about to jump out of his body was the lace that wrapped around your almost naked self. 

Snapping out of his stupor for all of a second, Bob realised he had all but left the door wide open with his hand gripped tightly on the knob. Quickly looking behind him into the hallway to make sure no one had seen what was meant for his eyes only, he was satisfied that no one was loitering before he slammed the door shut and slumped his back against it. 

He didn’t dare move any closer, afraid that he would break the spell he was under — still convinced that he hadn’t woken up — and instead savoured you in all your glory from afar. 

“What’s the matter, silly?” Oh, boy. How the melody of your voice tickled down his spine like a feather. “I don’t bite. I promise.” 

Bob licked his dry lips, swallowing roughly. “What—What is that?” 

You giggled. Fucking giggled. The sound sent a shot of electricity to his crotch. 

“Oh, this?” Smoothing your hands over your partially covered breasts, you made sure to press them together, and let your hands fall abruptly so that they bounced. “This is my treat to you. For completing your first mission.” 

Bob could only run his hand over his mouth in agonising despair, though his eyes stayed locked on the supple skin of your chest. 

Black. You were covered from the neck downwards in midnight black lingerie. And to his utter disbelief, the material was transparent. See-through. Like there wasn’t any point at all in wearing it. 

His chest heaved. Breath coming in too fast for him to calm his racing pulse.

But how could he? When you looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky for you personally. Like he alone was the reason the sun rose in the morning. 

“Jesus, sweetheart. I can’t—fuck—I can’t think straight.” And he couldn’t. Bob felt drunk. Legs wobbling, fingers twitching, eyes darting between every part of your body dipped in the luscious material as his head spun. 

His adams apple bobbed as you repositioned yourself to kneel at the end of his bed and if he wasn’t totally wrecked before, you had completely ruined him now. 

The suspender belt that hung around your waist, connected to the stockings draped over your thighs, made him close his eyes like it physically ached to look at you. 

“Come here, baby,” you sang quietly, full of lust and heat. 

However, Bob shook his head. “Can’t,” he whined. 

“Okay,” you breathed. 

Bob was almost disappointed you had given up so early on your pleading.  

But then he heard the rustle of his sheets, the muted footsteps against the carpet shortening the distance. And finally, he felt the touch of your fingertips resting against the tact suit covering his stomach. “I’ll come to you, then.” 

He jumped out of his skin when you placed the most delicate kiss on his neck, only to be comforted by your gentle hushes as he squirmed. “Won’t you let me see those pretty eyes, Bobby? I’ve missed you so much.”

Fuck. Had he missed you too. 

The last couple of days without you were torture. His skin itched in the lack of your company. His mind unsettled by your physical absence and scarcity in communication. 

And yet there he was, unable to lay his eyes upon you like he hadn’t prayed for this moment to hurry as soon as he left your side. 

You brushed his hair back, unruly and tangled. Nevertheless, you treated him with gentle care, tucking his curls behind his ears.

“I guess it’s a little overwhelming, huh?” you whispered, sliding your hands over his shoulders to intertwine your hands with his own. “Can you trust me?” 

Bob nodded his head, his agreement easily falling from his lips. “Yes.” 

Unbeknownst to him, your smile was blinding. 

Beginning to step backwards, your gentle encouragement allowed Bob to follow you, reliant on your direction to guide him. 

It wasn’t until his knees bumped into the edge of the bed that the two of you stopped and without realising Bob opened his eyes. 

“Hi.” you beamed, kneeling once again. He couldn’t believe your smile was because of him. 

You brought his hands to your waist and he automatically squeezed the meat of your hips. “H-Hi, baby.” 

“There you are.” Your hand rested on his cheek and he wasted no time nuzzling into it. “Thought I’d broken you for a minute then.” 

“Broken?” Bob huffed back a laugh. “Sweetheart, I think you froze my brain.” 

You giggled again and if Bob could replay that sound on repeat for the rest of his days he’d be a lucky man. 

“I’m sorry.” You shrugged, not sounding the least bit apologetic. 

“Don’t be.” Resting his forehead against your own, Bob sounded utterly gone. “God—Never be sorry for it. Fuck, baby, you—you’re so gorgeous it fucking hurts.” 

He felt the way your breathing picked up, adored the way your hands slid around his neck and brought him impossibly closer, loved how you slowly kissed him with the power to make him feel like he was on the cusp of heaven. 

“You like it?” you asked once you broke apart, and the hint of hesitation in your voice was enough for him to go insane. 

Had he been asked that question before you, he would have been impartial. 

Sure, the material offered the ideals of sexiness. He was a man after all, he recognised what attracted him. 

But, holy fuck, his opinion now? He couldn’t believe that for all his life had to offer, all the tribulations he had gone through, that he ended up in that moment with you, blessed to have been bestowed the opportunity to hold you in his arms, dressed like a true goddess. 

It felt sacrilegious as he smoothed his palm over the lace of your stomach. The texture of your lingerie compared to your bare skin almost made his eyes roll back. 

Bob thumbed over the cup of your bra, relishing in the shudder that ran down your spine. “I’ve never been more fortunate in my life than right now. To have my girl deem me lucky enough to see her in something so beautiful. You’re not real.” 

He caught the slight glisten in your waterline, watched how your teeth bit into your bottom lip to stave off the emotion that welled in your throat. “I am real, Robert Reynolds. And I’m all yours.” 

The two of you breathed each other in, content to just exist together for a moment as your noses kissed. 

Touching you after time apart felt like a high he couldn’t get anywhere else. Like without your presence he experienced withdrawals. You were better than any drug, any opiate that existed. 

And that hunger, that raw bliss he needed from you suddenly began to eat away at him; his mind finally reprimanding him for prolonging the gift you had offered so freely. 

Bob thought himself a fool to have taken it for granted at first. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

Like a switch had flipped, Bob carefully brought your hands from around his neck and kissed them before letting go. Before you could express your displeasure, he had already begun unzipping his tact suit, peeling the thin leather away from his heated skin and kicking it off his legs. 

Any offending undergarments were practically ripped off too. His compression shirt, his skin tight pants. All gone in the blink of an eye, left in only his underwear. 

“Well, shit, Bobby. It took you a while to get on my level.” All softness from before had vanished, only the wicked gleam in your eyes from earlier awaiting him. 

Bob laughed. “I’m an idiot, baby. Truly.” Bringing his knee up to the bed, his other followed and the surprise etched on your face spurred him on to stalk you as you crawled back. “Didn’t appreciate you fully at first. Wasn’t expecting anything so divine to be waiting for me. But I see you now.” 

You back hit the pillows with a thump as your arms gave out and Bob smirked as he leaned over you, hands trapping each side of your head. “And I’ll take my time unravelling you.” 

Snapping the garter around your thigh, Bob couldn’t help the rush of adrenaline he received when you squealed his name. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” He spread your legs, pinning them down to the bed. An animalistic growl rose in his throat at the sight of your underwear slightly sucked in by your folds. “You wanted me all stupid for you. Admit it, baby. You enjoy making me a mess.” 

You fought the tremor in your voice. “I do.” 

Resting your calf on his shoulder, he kissed your stocking-clad skin. “Gives you a little boost of confidence, doesn’t it?” 

You agreed, glued to his every action. “It does. Like it when you love on me, Bobby.” 

He hummed in approval. 

“Wanted to show you how proud I am. You’ve been working so hard to be mission ready and—and you deserved something good. You deserve everything good.” 

If Bob wasn’t already head over heels for you, he’d have been a goner. 

The truth was, he still struggled with his self-worth most days. Found it difficult to believe that he had the ability to be valued. But then you’d sneak in, reminding him that he didn’t need to earn anything. That his heart was golden and he was loved even if some days his mind told him differently. 

And your word was gospel to him. He knew that he shouldn’t throw the word of God around loosely. Yet, he considered you the closest thing to one. He didn’t need everything good. He just needed you. The purest being of all. 

“You’re so good to me.” Bob bowed, hugging his head to your stomach. He placed a kiss over the bow of your panties. “So damn sweet.” 

The deep groan that freed itself from low in his gut was borderline feral as you loosely wrapped your thighs around his head, slowly dragging the tip of your toe up his spine. “You make it easy.” 

He sucked a bruising kiss into the meat of your thigh, letting himself bask in your warmth — physically and mentally. 

For once, his mind was quiet. There was only room for your combined love for each other. A soul-tie dripping in euphoria. 

Bob had never been more certain that you were made for him. 

“You’re mine.” The declaration was sworn into your skin, each prose written into your flesh like a poem and sealed as a promise. “You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.” 

You gripped the bicep of his arms like you knew it too. As though it was a pledge back. I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours. 

Bob gasped as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him up to muse your lips together. His body fell heavy onto yours, seemingly crushing you, but you paid no mind to it, weaving your arms around his torso like you wanted him to absorb into you. 

You panted into each other's mouth, tongues dancing together as Bob’s hips began to grind into your own. It was messy. It was sloppy. Neither of you cared. 

All that mattered was the way your bodies worked with each other. Rutting together like you had deprived them of any contact. Bob’s swollen cock grinded into the heat of your cunt, only two thin layers barricading what you so desperately wanted. 

“Bobby—” His hips stuttered over your sluttish whine. “I need more—please, baby—need more—”

“I know,” he purred. “I know, honey. I’ll give it to you, I swear.” 

Patience had flown out the window. Pressing your tits together, Bob mouthed over the peaked slopes of your nipples. Playing with your body like his own personal toy. 

He ignored your moans, the squirming of your legs, as he manipulated every sensation you felt. “Look at how pretty they look, honey.” Squeezing your breasts, he grinned at the handful. “So fucking sexy in this lace.” 

To his pleasure, you pushed your chest further into his hands. “It’s all for you, baby. All pretty for you.” 

He stared into your eyes as he laved his tongue over your blanketed nipples, sucking them into his mouth before releasing them with a pop. “Yeah, you are.” 

The two of you moved in tandem, still using each other for your own benefit as the tip of his cock continuously nudged your throbbing clit.

You cried out every time. Each shock of gratification tightening the knot in your stomach. It became easier to glide, the sopping wetness leaking from your pussy drenched your panties, in turn soaking the cotton of Bob’s underwear too. 

It didn’t go unnoticed. 

“You missed me that much, huh? My baby gotten all needy since I’ve been away?” 

Your head bobbed up and down erratically, mouth flailed open and yet no words to be heard coming out of it. 

“I’ve been neglecting her.” Bob shook his head like he took it personally. Like he had actually wronged you by not being home to take care of your needs. “Gonna make it right, honey. Gonna make it all better, okay?” 

Bob didn’t give you the chance to reply, not that you could say much. Lifting himself up, he moved the dripping crotch of your panties to the side, moaning at the obscene amount of slick. His boxers were next, pulling them down just enough to allow his aching cock to spring free and land on your pussy with a wet slap. 

“Shit!” you screamed, bucking wildly. “Give it to me, Bobby—please. I can’t wait any longer. I wan’ it now.” 

You had grown desperate, clawing at his arms to pull him closer. Or at least try. 

“Hey, hey, shh.” Bob stroked your hair back, gazing at you fondly as he continued to thrust his hips leisurely. “You can have it. I’ll give you my cock, honey. Gotta be still for me though, yeah? Gotta go easy on you.” 

And just as he expected, you settled as best as you could. Not without the violent twitches of your muscles, screaming to have your empty hole filled full.  

Bob let himself admire you for a couple of seconds. Eyes roaming from the blissed out expression on your face, to your body; primed and raring to put use to the adrenaline pumping through your veins. He had never seen anything more stunning, never thought he’d have the chance to worship a woman as incredible as you. 

So as he rests the tip of his cock against your weeping pussy, attempting with all her might to suck him in, and trifling on the edge of an all time high, Bob takes one last deep breath before he slides his length inside of you. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, ears ringing with white noise, Bob understood in that moment, you were carved into his very being; body, mind and soul. 

And unlike the darker parts of him, the uglier versions that lived within him, you wholeheartedly belonged there and empowered him with a peace that would forever be unmatched. 

Whispers After Midnight; Draco x F!Reader

When you, a half-blood Slytherin stumbles upon Draco Malfoy crying in the Astronomy Tower, an unexpected bond forms in the shadows. What starts as quiet comfort turns into a secret romance full of longing glances, late-night kisses, and Draco’s desperate need to hold onto the only softness in his life.

Draco Malfoy wasn’t someone you paid much attention to. Not because you disliked him- quite the opposite. You respected him. You even admired him sometimes, in that strange, quiet way people do when they watch someone from across a room for years without ever really speaking.

You were both in Slytherin. You sat a few rows apart in Potions. Sometimes, your eyes would meet during a heated discussion in Defense Against the Dark Arts - both of you clever enough not to speak unless you were certain you’d win the argument. You had your own circle, your own life. And he had his.

But you weren’t strangers. Not exactly.

In the common room, there were nights when he’d walk past where you were sitting, and your knees would brush. He’d glance down and murmur a quiet, “Excuse me,” but the tone was never cold, it was polite. Surprising. Sometimes in the dining hall, when you were seated opposite each other at breakfast, you’d catch his gaze for half a second as he stirred his tea with precise fingers. He never glared. Never sneered.

Draco Malfoy looked at you like he knew you were more than they said you were; more than a half-blood.

You assumed that was the end of it. Fleeting glances, mutual respect, nothing more.

Until the night you found him crying.

~~~

Astronomy had always been a difficult class for you, not because you didn’t care, but because you did. The calculations were horrendous and the required memory work was brutal. So, the first week back, when everyone else was still basking in the excitements of the new term, you climbed the stairs to the Astronomy Tower alone. Your robes clung to your arms from the late summer heat, and you clutched your notes and a telescope under one arm, determined to start your star charts early.

The door creaked softly when you pushed it open.

You froze.

Draco Malfoy was sitting there, hunched against the wall beneath a wide arch of open sky. His arms were wrapped around his knees, head bowed low, platinum blond hair falling into his face. The glow from the stars caught the wetness on his cheeks before he wiped it away in a sharp, frustrated motion.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

You should’ve left. You should’ve turned around and given him privacy. But something about the way he looked; not like the Malfoy you’d seen in the corridors, or at Slughorn’s parties, or even across from you in the Slytherin common room. He looked like a boy. A boy falling apart.

Your foot scraped softly against the stone.

He looked up instantly, eyes wide and glassy. For a beat, you stared at each other. His shoulders stiffened.

“S-sorry, I should leave." he said sharply, wiping at his face again. Was he actually...apologizing?

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," He cut you off.

He wasn’t fine. His voice was raw, low, his usual drawl clipped at the edges. He started to stand, but you put your hand on his arm.

“No,” you said quietly. “Stay.”

Draco stared at you like you’d just spoken in Parseltongue.

You walked over slowly and sat beside him, not too close- just enough that your shoulders weren’t touching, but your presence was there, real and unthreatening.

“I was just coming to study,” you murmured, opening your notes. “But I don’t mind sharing.”

He said nothing. His breathing was still uneven. You didn’t look at him. You just turned your telescope toward the stars and pointed upward.

“That’s Altair,” you said after a minute. “And over there, Vega.”

He didn't respond, but he was following your finger.

You kept going. Slowly. Calmly. Like naming the stars might soothe something in both of you. “That one, Deneb, it’s part of the Summer Triangle. Really bright, but kind of overlooked in favor of the others.”

You heard him exhale, shakily. Then: “You’re good at this.”

You turned to find him watching you, his expression unreadable.

You offered a small smile. “I have to be. Professor Sinistra nearly made me cry last year.”

A tiny breath of laughter escaped him. You looked away, heart skipping slightly.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was strange. Soft. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his eyes were still rimmed red. You could tell he was holding back, but whatever grief had clawed its way out of him earlier had subsided to something quieter. Manageable.

Minutes passed. You felt the night settle around you both like a blanket. The chill, the rustle of wind, the quiet, rhythmic sound of his breathing. Then, after nearly half an hour, you felt it.

The tiniest brush of his fingers against yours on the stone floor.

He didn’t take your hand. He didn’t look at you.

But he didn’t move away either.

~~~

After that, it was quiet moments that built into something real.

He started waiting for you after class, never directly, never obviously, but he’d linger outside the door, head tilted as if you just happened to walk out at the same time. In the common room, he’d always manage to find his way to your side. He’d bring you tea the way you liked it, two sugars, milk, and pass it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

At breakfast, his foot would nudge yours under the table. You’d nudge back. In Charms, he’d share his notes without asking. In the library, he’d sit beside you and pretend to read, but half the time you’d feel his eyes flick up to watch you instead.

One night, everyone had stayed up too late; Pansy was retelling some outrageous gossip, Blaise was pretending not to care, Theo was half-asleep by the fire. You and Draco were side by side, tucked into the corner of the couch. You weren’t even sure when the others slipped away, but when you woke up hours later, the common room was empty and the fire was embers.

You blinked groggily and shifted, trying to sit up so Draco could lie down more comfortably. But the moment you moved, his arm tightened around you.

"Don’t go," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“I was just-” you began.

His eyes opened, slow and bleary. But then they dropped to your lips.

He stared for a beat too long.

And then, softly, hesitantly, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was warm. Slow. Like he’d been thinking about it for a long time and finally let himself do it.

You kissed him back.

After that night, he started finding excuses to kiss you more.

In the Astronomy Tower. In the empty parts of the library. Even in his room, when he started sneaking you in after everyone was asleep. He’d cast a silencing spell around his bed- because the truth was, you two weren’t hooking up, but you were definitely… loud kissers. And he liked to talk. Especially when his lips were on yours.

You’d curl up under the blankets, tangled together. Some nights, he’d rest his head in your lap and whisper about his father, his mother, how exhausting it was to pretend all the time. You’d run your fingers through his hair and tell him the names of stars until he fell asleep holding you.

Sometimes, he’d slip you notes during the day, scribbled in his neat handwriting:

“Meet me. Tonight. Our place.”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you today. I think I’m going mad.”

And you’d go to him.

He’d draw the curtains of his four-poster bed shut. Cast a silencing charm. Pull you into his arms and hold you like he’d fall apart without you. He kissed you like he needed you, like you were the only thing keeping him sane.

Your bodies tangled. You’d fall asleep holding him, and he’d wake you with kisses- your cheek, your neck, your lips- before grinning as you slipped back into your room wearing one of his shirts. He never hid how much he loved seeing you in his clothes.

It was everything you never knew you wanted.

Until it wasn’t enough.

~~~

Four months in, you started to notice.

Cedric and Cho. Ron and Hermione. Harry and Ginny. Fred and Angelina.

They were public. Not gross, not performative; just proud. They held hands in hallways. Shared smiles in class. Kissed each other goodbye at the edge of the Great Hall.

And you?

You sat across from Draco. Your knees touched under the table. You smiled across the room. But in public, he didn’t reach for you. He didn’t call you his. He didn’t show you off. You didn't even know what you two were.

You weren’t stupid. You knew why. The name. The pressure. The fear. But still- a part of you began to ache.

You began to wonder if maybe you were just a secret. Something he only wanted in the dark.

George Weasley had always been a bit of a lone wolf when it came to love. Not because he wasn’t charming- Merlin, he could flirt a girl into a coma if he wanted to- but because he preferred to make sure everyone else was smiling first. He liked sitting back and watching Fred thrive in his endless escapades, liked teasing Ron about his awkwardness with Hermione, and liked seeing people happy together, even if he wasn’t part of a pair himself.

You always teased him about that.

“You know half the Gryffindor girls would say yes if you so much as looked their way, right?”

He’d roll his eyes, grin crookedly, and mutter something about “too much effort” or “can’t ruin the mystery.” But deep down, he didn’t mind being on his own, not when he had good friends, good laughs, and a best friend like you who knew all the ways to make him crack up in the middle of class.

George was easy to be around. That’s why when you asked him to help with your little plan to get Draco’s attention, he didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. He wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what you were doing and why. He saw the way you looked at Draco when you thought no one noticed. And he saw the way Draco looked at you like he wanted to bottle you up and keep you on a shelf where no one else could reach you.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you said, fingers twisting in your lap.

George leaned back with a lazy grin. “Oh, darling. You’re not gonna hurt him. You’re just going to make him realize.”

So he helped.

He walked you to class. Held your books. Sat beside you at lunch and whispered in your ear- half the time, something idiotic that made you burst into laughter.

“Ron looks like a damp troll today,” George muttered once as Draco watched from across the room. You choked on your juice and elbowed George hard.

But it worked.

You stopped going to the tower.

And that was what finally broke Draco.

~~~

You went back one night, guilt settling in your stomach for leaving him alone for a few days.

You weren’t expecting him to be there, especially after your absence. But he was, standing by the ledge, arms crossed, face hard. His eyes found yours instantly.

“Decided to remember I existed?” he asked, his voice tight.

You just sighed. "Drac-"

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t act like I’m being ridiculous. You disappeared. You didn’t come to the tower. You didn’t answer my owls. You sat with him at lunch.”

He stepped forward.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice cracking. “Do you understand that? Mine. Not George’s. Not anyone’s. Mine, mine, mine.”

His hands were suddenly on your waist, pulling you in with a desperation that made your knees weak.

“I can’t breathe when you ignore me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Please, pretty girl, I can’t- don’t do that to me again. Don’t leave me. I love you. I love you. Just say you’re still mine. Please. Say it.”

You kissed him. Hard.

He kissed you back like he was drowning and you were air, as his hands wandered over your body, desperate to touch you, hold you, feel you. He needed to close any gap between you two, have you all over him.

“I’m yours,” you breathed against his lips. “I’ve always been yours. I love you."

~~~

That night, he brought you to his room. Cast the silencing charm like always. But it was different.

He kissed you gently- slowly unbuttoning your clothes, whispering how beautiful you were, how much he adored you. How he couldn’t stand to keep hiding.

“I’m going to show them,” he said, voice hoarse. “All of them. I want them to know. I want them to see.”

And when your clothes were discarded outside the bed, he grinned.

“Let them wonder.”

It wasn’t just kissing anymore.

It was love. Soft, aching, real love.

And the next morning, when you walked into the Great Hall holding his hand, you didn’t flinch at the looks. You sat beside him proudly, his arm around your shoulders.

You caught George’s eye across the room.

He winked at you, then turned to smile at the girl beside him- Katie Bell- who was already laughing at something he’d said.

And just like that, it was no longer a secret.

It was yours. Out in the open. Unafraid.

You were his. And he was yours.

Vetiver.

Tom Riddle

Sumarry:: Tom Riddle steals more than laundry — and his roommate isn’t letting it slide. Slow burn, quiet tension, and things getting heated fast.

Warnings::18+,smut, the absurdity of Tom Riddle doing laundry

Tom Riddle rarely believed in feelings. He never really experienced any affection from anyone in his childhood. And sometimes he couldn't even name what he was feeling. But most importantly–he didn't understand weekness.

But there was something about you… something quiet and intangible that slowly, relentlessly, unraveled all his defenses. Something that couldn't quite put his finger on.

It couldn't have been your words — you didn't speak much in the begging — being too occupied in hating each other.

It wasn’t your gaze — you never held it long.

It was your scent.

Something strange, earthy, smoky-sweet. Like freshly damp soil or a forest just before a storm. Vetiver, he had once named it silently. Not perfume — something more. Something that came not from a bottle, but from skin. From air. From corners of a room no one looked into.

You had been his roommate for six weeks now. A mistake in housing assignments had put you together. Supposedly temporary. But no one corrected it, and neither of you asked for a change.

At first, he merely tolerated you. You annoyed him with your pure existence.

Then… he started to notice you. Really notice you. Small things that perhaps no one else would.

The way you tied your hair up. The quiet, focused expression you wore when reading. Those mornings when you barely greeted him — but always made his tea just the way he liked it.

And of course the scent.

It was everywhere. On the couch you curled up on. On the books you touched. In the air you both breathed.

Sometimes Tom felt like he was going mad. There was no escaping your stupid scent. He even thought that maybe you poisoned him with Amortenia. But he found no evidence of that.

But the nights… the nights were the worst.

Beyond the wall — so close he could almost hear your breathing — you sometimes… lived. Quiet sighs. A subtle shift. The sheets rustling faintly. And then the silence that followed. Hot, guilty, suffocating.

At first, Tom never moved. Couldn't quite believe what he has just heard. Just stared at the ceiling. Every muscle taut, holding himself back.

But one night he gave in. Gave in to the aching in his sinful body.

One hand on his body, the other gripping the pillow. Your scent like smoke wrapping around him, clinging to his skin. He imagined you— you curling under the sheets, your lip between your teeth, eyes fluttering shut as you slipped into another world.

And Tom followed you.In silent, repressed pleasure that no one else would ever see.

He woke with guilt every time.

But you only smiled at him in the mornings. As if you knew something.

He needed time to understand everything that had happened – that's how he found himself doing laundry. The fiflthy muggle way.

As the days went by he notices a misplaced shirt of yours.The next time,it was a pair of socks. Tiny things. But Tom began to notice. To look for them.

And finally, one afternoon, he found it.

Silk.

Dark, elegant, lace-trimmed. It slid between his fingers like water. His body reacted before his mind had even caught up to what he was holding.

And the scent…

Still there. Deeper than ever.

He knew he should return it. But instead…

He hid it.

Under his pillow.

That night, he didn’t wait. Didn’t listen. Didn’t hope for anything beyond the wall. He simply lay there, with the silk in his hand, and surrendered to instinct. Desperate, urgent movements. Her name whispered into the dark. Her scent filling the air, flooding his senses, sinking into his bones.

When it was over, he heard something. A soft sound. A door. A step.

Maybe he imagined it.

Maybe… not.

The next morning, she smiled again. Handed him tea. Their fingers brushed.

Tom didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

The silk remained under his pillow, warmed by the heat of his shame. The scent of her clung to his fingertips, more potent than any perfume, more damning than any sin.

He’d tried to tell himself it was harmless. A moment of weakness. A private indulgence. No one had seen. No one knew.

And yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling. The air in the flat was heavier than usual. Quiet, yes—but not the comfortable kind. It was the quiet that came before something broke.

Then—

A knock.

Soft. Barely audible. Like she wanted him to think she might walk away if he didn’t answer.

He stood before he could stop himself. The door creaked open. She stood there in a loose shirt that dipped just slightly off one shoulder, and bare legs beneath it.

His shirt.

He recognized it instantly.

A deliberate choice.

“Can I come in?” she asked softly.

Tom said nothing. He simply stepped aside. She walked in slowly, her gaze flicking across the room, assessing. Not nervous—curious. Like a cat that knew exactly where the mouse was hiding.

She sat on the edge of his bed, fingers trailing over the duvet. Her expression unreadable.

“Did you find something of mine earlier?” she asked, so casually he nearly flinched.

His throat felt dry. “I—”

“You were doing laundry,” she interrupted, tilting her head slightly. Her voice still calm. “And I’ve been missing something.”

She let the pause settle like smoke in the air.

Tom watched her like prey, unsure if he should run or kneel.

“What exactly are you implying?” he asked, voice carefully measured.

“I’m not implying,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I’m asking.”

There it was—challenge. Her power didn’t come in raised voices or anger. It came in quiet knowing, in control so perfect it became cruel.

He considered lying. Denying. Laughing it off. But his body betrayed him—hands clenched, heart racing, eyes betraying far too much.

She stood. Walked toward him slowly. And when she spoke again, her voice had dropped a note deeper, rougher.

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She was close now. So close he could smell her again—vetiver and heat. His undoing.

And then—without hesitation—her fingers reached beneath his pillow. Found it.

She pulled the silk out slowly. Held it between two fingers like something delicate. Precious.

“You kept it,” she said. Not surprised.

He said nothing.

She stepped closer, the garment still in hand. “And what did you do with it?”

He swallowed.

She smiled. But there was no softness in it. Only dark promise.

“Did you think of me when you wrapped your hand around yourself?” she whispered. “Did you picture how I sounded? How I touched myself on the other side of that wall?”

Tom’s breath hitched.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Do you want me to show you?”

That broke him.

In an instant, he grabbed her waist and pushed her back against the wall. Their mouths met like a clash of hunger, desperate and bruising. She gasped into him, and that sound alone nearly undid him.

His hands found her thighs, lifted her effortlessly. She wrapped around him like she was meant to be there—soft, hot, and dangerous. Her nails dragged over the nape of his neck, her mouth messy on his jaw, his throat.

“I thought about you,” he growled, pressing her harder into the wall. “Every night.”

“I know.”

He carried her to the bed, laid her down like something sacred and wicked all at once. She pulled his shirt off, dragged her fingers across his bare chest with a low hum of approval.

He slipped the silk strap from her shoulder, then another. She watched him with half-lidded eyes, breathing shallow, daring him to worship her.

And he did.

His mouth mapped her collarbone, her breasts, the soft skin of her stomach. Every inch he kissed like it had haunted him. Every sound she made spurred him further. When he finally touched her where she needed him most, her back arched, and she moaned his name—not shy, not sweet. Possessive.

“Tom,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He moved like he had memorized her, as if every sigh and whimper guided him closer. His fingers, his mouth, his hips—all hers now. She came undone beneath him, and he followed soon after, the taste of her name on his tongue.

When it was over, she curled beside him. Sweat cooling. Breath slowing.

And in the silence, she took the silk from where it had fallen… and slipped it beneath his pillow again.

“You can keep it,” she said with a sly smile.

“Next time,” she added, brushing her lips against his neck,

“don’t make me come get it myself.”

A/N: Well hello there my lovelies! I'm pretty new to this whole writing stuff (I've always been more of a passive reader) and am really just trying to have fun with it so I hope I can make you guys happy with my creations🤭 I have no set schedule for when I'll write something but I'll do my best to create some fun stuff for you to read when I get some inspiration. I don't take writing requests because I'm really just using this platform to have fun with what I feel like writing. BUT I am always open to hearing your thoughts about my existing pieces!

Remember, you are responsible for your own media consumption so read the warnings and make smart decisions😌

Please DO NOT copy or repost my work! But of course, feel free to reblog and comment to your heart's content😘

Have fun yall😏

MASTERLIST

Loki Laufeyson

His reaction to your nipple piercings (Drabble) (18+ MDNI!)

Logan Howlett

NSFW Alphabet (18+ MDNI!)

SFW Alphabet

Bucky Barnes

Jasper Hale

Severus Snape

Draco Malfoy

Headcannons (coming soon…)

I’m obsessed😈

AU | ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

˚.☾⋆✧ Blood Lust.

Short Summary: When you stir awake in the middle of the night, you notice Tom hasn’t come back home. Strange noises downstairs lead you to investigate, but what—or who—will you find as you do?

Warnings: 18+ only! Vampire!Tom, hunter and prey, biting, marking, blood play, nipple play, incredibly feral Tom Riddle, breeding kink, choking, praise, unprotected p in v, implied murder (side character).

A/N: FINALLY it’s out. Thank you so much for your patience, life’s a mess atm. Love you, always <3

wordcount: 3,2k

You wake.

Not by choice, but rather from the sound of a window shutting forcefully somewhere downstairs. You still, holding your breath as you listen intently, however, you are left waiting. All you can hear is complete silence. Silence that feels almost eerie now, in the dark. When you hear nothing suspicious for another minute, your focus shifts.

It must be around midnight, you think, and a quick look at the clock confirms your assumption.

It’s 23:50.

Then you hear it—the wind. You exhale sharply, closing your eyes again. It’s just the wind, you tell yourself. The wind must have shut a window downstairs. And just as you are about to drift off to sleep again—

Your eyes shoot open.

You had checked all the windows before going upstairs.

Your arm searches for something next to you—someone. However, a few taps later, and you realise the bed is cold and empty, sheets in the same place as they were when you went to bed.

He isn’t here. 

Or better—he hasn’t come back.

You sigh in defeat, sitting upright on the soft mattress, the silky sheets crumpling under the shift of weight on them. Your palm covers your mouth as you yawn, slipping into your slippers you placed next to the bed. Your legs carry you towards the nearby window, and you rest your hands on the ledge as you glance into the starry night sky, which is clearer than usual today.

In that moment, realisation hits you.

It’s a full moon.

Another loud noise has your body tense involuntarily, tearing you from your thoughts—this time it’s something shattering on the ground, similar to a glass. You walk towards the door, about to turn the key when your arm drops again.

Every fiber in your body tells you no—stay in bed, don’t go and check. Why would you? Tom isn’t home, and if there really was someone, he wouldn’t want you to get yourself in danger. Right?

You shake your head. But there is another voice inside of you, clearer than your own, telling you to check—

So you do.

You turn the key in the lock, pushing the handle down before peering through the gap.

Darkness.

A sense of relief washes over you, and you step outside, a small candle in your left hand lighting your way. The wooden planks creak under your feet, and you stop every few steps to listen—but all that greets you is silence, silence that carries an intimidating undertone.

Even as you walk down the stairs, there is nothing too unusual. The dim glow of your candle does little to illuminate your surroundings, and it really does a better job exposing yourself to any possible intruder than the other way around, but it’s better than nothing. Finally, you reach the lowest level of your shared home, stepping onto the cold marble floor tiles.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

A shiver runs down your spine as the ticking of the living room clock has you stop momentarily, an eerie tension forming in the air, growing thicker the closer you get to it. You have been wanting to get rid of the clock for a while, telling him how irritating the ticking is, especially when you pass it at night—but he is oddly attached to it.

So you kept it.

With the help of the flickering candlelight, you are able to make out an object on the floor near the living room—your favourite vase—that had dropped and shattered into a hundred small pieces. You sigh softly, crouching down to pick up the pieces, however, soon the inevitable happens—you cut yourself.

A sharp hiss spills over your lips as the porcelain breaks your skin, a drop of blood running down your finger. You curse yourself for not being more careful, looking around to find something you can wrap around the wound.

The emergency kit. In the kitchen.

Standing back up, you make your way, though you don’t get far before your breath catches in your throat and your body freezes in place. A pair of glowing, scarlet eyes advances towards you, their intensity burning through the night’s darkness better than any candle in your possession would.

You shouldn’t be scared. It’s Tom.

However, something about his presence feels different today. The energy he radiates seems stronger, needier. More feral, more unhinged. More dangerous.

Before you know it, he is there, right in front of you.

Though the light of your candle dims when he stands before you, it doesn’t take long for you to take in the state of him. Pupils dilated wide, intently focused on you, his breath coming out in short, ragged huffs. And there is blood. So much blood. The crimson color staining his lips and chin, seeping into the white cotton fabric of his robes. His eyes wander, stopping at the bleeding cut on your finger before they trail back up—slowly.

“Tom?” you whisper, eyebrows drawn together in confusion—and fear.

He doesn’t reply.

Instead, he reaches up to your cheek, brushing over the soft skin ever so lightly, barely even touching you at all. His thumb then wanders under your chin, slowly tilting your head up so you are met with his glowing red eyes. Still, he doesn’t speak—instead, he leans in, his lips meeting yours just to place a singular, feather-light kiss on them. Enough to make you taste what he’s been up to—although you’d rather not think about it. His hand leaves your cheek, grazing over your jaw and throat until he stops at your neck, pulling you in closer.

When his fingers press down on your pulse point softly, feeling your elevated, rushed heartbeat under his touch, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. Tom’s head dips then, his hot breath skimming over your ear, the tension between the both of you building rapidly. And then, a small, an almost too silent huff leaves his lips—

“Run.”

Now, obviously, this isn’t meant to be a game for you to win. It has never been. With his heightened senses and supernatural strength, you cannot escape him, and you never will. Both of you are aware of that. But the thrill of it all—it is intoxicating for both of you. So whenever he does tell you to run—you are more than happy to obey.

So you take a step back, and his arm drops to his side. One more quick glance at him, how his chest rises and falls in anticipation, how his lips are slightly parted, revealing his sharp fangs—

And then you run, as fast as your legs carry you.

He gives you a head start, knowing you won’t make it far either way. It’s dark, but he doesn’t need light to find you. The smell of your fresh blood in the air is enough for him to locate you, even if you were a mile away. He could distinguish your blood from a thousand others, and God, he would always find you.

After all, you are still his favourite prey.

With that thought, he turns to leave the kitchen, following the soft sound of your heartbeat. He can feel how quick it beats, trying its hardest to supply your body with enough oxygen. The closer he gets to you—now walking up the stairs—the stronger the scent of your blood becomes. The more he craves you.

You shriek quietly as the door to your shared bedroom flies open, your breathing stilling in an attempt to keep him at bay for just a little longer. Though you know it’s over when you hear a low scoff from outside of your closet, the door opening as a strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you out.

“Too easy,” he growls, lips crashing onto yours, capturing you in a heated kiss. “Too fucking easy.” Suddenly his hands are all over your body, practically tearing your clothes off your body. The buttons of your blouse pop off the fabric, clattering as they hit the floor, rolling off. You barely have time to complain before you stand bare before him, and his hungry eyes are drinking you in.

Tom takes a step closer, and you squirm slightly as his cold hand softly trails over your delicate skin, pulling you in as he reaches your waist. “Been thinking about you all day. Now you are mine.” He purrs, smirking against your lips before he kisses you again, biting down on your lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from you.

“Who— who was it?” You breathe, gaze lowering to the bloodstains on his clothes, a sly grin forming on his face at your question.

“Remember Knockturn Alley? How his eyes lingered on you?” He answers, trailing kisses along your jaw.

Of course. What else.

You sigh. “Yes, I do.”

“Mhm.” He mumbles, lips back on yours, not giving you the chance to question him further.

Never breaking the kiss, he pushes you backwards until you are sprawled out on the now cool, silky sheets, not wasting another second before he joins you. One hand softly wrapped around your throat, he tilts your head to gain better access to your neck, his ragged breaths hot on your skin as his head dips, greedily trailing kisses along your jugular vein.

Your soft moans only seem to spur him on, sucking marks into your skin, your neck, collarbone, and breasts until you are nothing more than a whining mess beneath him. Only then does he pull back slightly, humming lowly in approval as his glowing eyes wander over the artwork of bruises he’s left behind on your skin.

He savours the way you melt under his touch, so good and pliant for him, anticipation building at the thought of finally tasting you. “Doing so well for me,” he mutters, brushing a strand of hair from your face, before dipping back down to continue his ministrations.

Then, for the first time that night, you feel his fangs on your skin, grazing over your neck ever so lightly—a gentle reminder of what’s to come, of the flaming hunger beneath his composure. Your body twitches at the contact, breath coming out shakily as you cling onto his shoulder, feeling his muscles under your touch.

A smirk creeps onto his face at your reaction, placing an open-mouthed kiss directly onto your pulse point. “So afraid,” he drawls, tilting your head just a tiny bit more, before you feel his pointed teeth again, not yet piercing your skin, but lingering, waiting.

“I am not—“ you try to defend yourself, however, his palm closes over your mouth, cutting you off.

“No more talking back.”

As his instinct takes over, you feel it. The familiar sting of his fangs sinking into the tender flesh of your neck, drawing the first drops of blood with a breathy groan as he tastes you on his tongue, some of it trickling down onto the sheets and your cleavage. A cozy warmth spreads through your body, easing the pain, intensifying the pleasure he is providing you with.

“Tom— oh God—“ you whimper, hands tangling in his brunette locks, softly tugging on his roots as he continues feeding on you, soft sucking noises filling your shared bedroom as he greedily drinks your blood, a tingling sensation spreading through your body.

But before he gets too lost in the ecstasy, he pulls back with a low growl, fangs forcefully retracting from your neck. For a moment he just glances down at you, chest heaving with ragged breaths. “Taste yourself,” he breathes, head dipping down until he’s a mere inch away from your lips. “I want you to taste yourself. How fucking sweet you taste for me.”

He doesn't give you much of a choice, because as soon as you open your mouth to voice your complaint, his lips are on yours, the metallic taste of your own blood flooding your senses. His hand tightens around your throat, cutting off just enough air to leave you dizzy, while the effects of his bite send your mind spiraling. Your knuckles turn white from how hard they are gripping the sheets, your body struggling to process the overwhelming sensations all at once.

But there is something you do notice. Very clearly even.

How painfully hard he is. How he can’t help but grind himself against you.

“T-Tom, please,” you whimper as he slowly pulls back, admiring the mess he’s left on your lips, thumb shakily swiping over them.

“You are ovulating.”

“I know, I—“

He groans. A low, almost desperate sound somewhere from the back of his throat. “Fuck, sweetheart. You know I can’t— fuck— hold back. Not when—“

Merlin help you.

Your hand is on his neck, never breaking eye contact as you pull him closer once more. Shaking your head, you place a kiss on his tensed jaw. “Don’t hold back.”

Another sharp inhale, and his hand is back around your throat, pressing down, not to restrict your airflow, because you can breathe very well—as well as you could breathe under the effect of your vampire’s bite—but rather your blood flow.

“Don’t wish for something you cannot handle,” he warns lowly, but you shake your head again. “God, Tom, please— I need you, just— take me.”

“Fuck—“

With your mind already blurry as a result of his bite, you only faintly notice the sound of his belt hitting the wooden planks of your floor with a thud, followed by the rest of his clothes. Before you realise it, he slips between your thighs, body pressing flush against yours. His lips wrap around your nipple, gently dragging his sharp teeth over the sensitive bud, drawing a sharp gasp from you at the intense sensation, which sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

It doesn’t take long until you feel him prodding at your soaked entrance, pressing another kiss to your lips before he pushes inside of you with a low groan, and it’s rough, it’s careless, mirroring his burning hunger for you. He doesn’t wait, no, he buries himself to the hilt with one singular, powerful thrust, tip brushing against your sensitive cervix, your brows drawing together at the sudden, sharp yet delicious stretch on your walls. A choked moan rips from your lips, body arching beneath him, which is apparently sign enough for him to pull back slightly, only to thrust back inside harder.

His head dips, breath hot against your neck as he continues sucking and biting marks into your skin before his fangs break through your flesh once more, a low, satisfied hum falling over his lips as he stills his hunger on his favourite human—you.

He soon sets a steady rhythm, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his tip brushes over your most sensitive spot with every thrust. The flickering candlelight in the otherwise dark room illuminates the sharp features of his face each time he raises his head to take a breath, your blood dripping down his chin over the sides of his neck.

“Can’t get enough of you, fuck—“ he groans, picking up his pace when he hears your soft moans, his fingertips sinking into your waist, hard enough to leave bruises as he pulls you back into his thrusts, stopping your body from moving forwards with every snap of his hips.

Few things in this world can make Tom Riddle lose his self-restraint.

But the way you squeeze him so tight, walls fluttering as you try to accommodate his length, soft whimpers falling over your lips, all while the flavour of your blood has his mind spinning with pure ecstasy—certainly has him on the verge.

Because fuck—you are just so gorgeous, he thinks. Covered in his marks and his only, painting a canvas of his lust on your body, he just needs you to be his, forever. The bite would come, the bite to turn you into a vampire yourself, but for now—he’ll still savour the irreplaceable taste of your blood. Instead, he’ll make you his in other ways.

Tom’s eyes darken at the thought, lips slightly parted, and suddenly he has a desire other than satiating his primal hunger for your blood—he wants, no, needs to fill you—stake his claim on you.

You can practically feel the last bits of restraint he has left fading, messily feeding on you while he buries his cock deep within your walls with every sharp, perfectly angled snap of his hips into yours, deliciously dragging over all the right spots as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“Too much, Tom— please—“ you whimper, just as your consciousness threatens to slip, ears ringing and vision growing cloudy. He is barely able to stop himself in time from draining more of your precious blood, fangs tearing from your skin with a low, guttural groan. He tilts your head then, having you meet his strict, intense gaze. “Not yet, look at me. Fuck— look at me as I fill you up.”

Only with half-lidded eyes do you manage to do so, legs weakly wrapped around him as he takes what he needs, mercilessly slipping in and out of you, his brunette curls sticking to his damp forehead as he chases his release.

“You are going to be good for me and take it,” he pants, thrusts growing more erratic as you feel him twitch inside of you.

“Every.” thrust “Last.” thrust “Drop.” thrust

“Yes— fuck please, Tom.” You gasp, and with a few more sharp snaps of his hips, he spills his release deep inside of you, groaning lowly as he paints your walls with thick, white ropes of his cum.

You too come undone with a weak shudder of your body, your walls fluttering around his length, hands slipping from his shoulders. Pleasure and pain melt into one, stars dancing in front of your eyes as your vision grows blurrier with each passing second.

Tom lets you regain your consciousness, staying situated between your thighs, his cock still buried deep within your walls as he gently laps his tongue against the puncture wounds on your neck, cleaning most of the dried crimson liquid from your skin.

The next thing you remember is his fingertips tenderly massaging shampoo into your scalp, warm water surrounding your sore body as he has you resting against his chest in the bathtub. The scent of fresh rose petals and orchids fills your nostrils with a deep breath of yours. You hum softly, eyes fluttering closed again, letting him take care of you.

A flicker of satisfaction sparks in his eyes as he dries you off in front of a mirror, gently patting the towel over the bite marks and bruises he’s left all over your cleavage.

“So gorgeous, covered in my marks. And all mine.”

“All yours.”

tags: @belladonnaheartsthemoon, @riddlebella, @jo1818