I’m Sat🥵

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.

LOOOOVEEEE!!

Tell Me You Hate Me

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Draco Malfoy is insufferable.

That’s the first thing you think when he smirks at you across the Great Hall, all sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes, like he knows you’re already seething. His tie is half-loosened. His prefect badge is slightly crooked. And he’s still sitting like he owns the castle.

The second thing you think is that he’s beautiful.

But you hate that thought. You stuff it down the same way you stuff every stupid flutter in your chest when he talks just a little too close. When his voice goes lower just to piss you off. When his fingers brush yours “accidentally” in dueling class and he smirks like he knows exactly what he's doing.

You’re a Ravenclaw, top of your year in Dueling Tactics.

Unfortunately, so is he.

And unfortunately, Professor Flitwick decided it would be “character building” to pair sworn enemies for the semester’s strategy project.

“Try not to cry when I beat you, sweetheart,” Draco had said the day you got partnered. “I only cry when I look at your hairline,” you’d shot back sweetly.

It’s been like that ever since—words like daggers, barbed in silver and blue. And yet, you meet after class. You train. You strategize. You fight. And neither of you ever leaves first.

You pretend not to notice the way he watches you between spells. He pretends not to notice when your wand stutters every time he gets too close.

But you both notice.

The first time he touches you, it's accidental.

Kind of.

You’re in the empty Defense classroom, late again, practicing parry spells until your arms ache. He lunges too close, your wand flicks sideways, and your back hits the edge of the table hard.

He moves to steady you—one hand catching your wrist, the other sliding low on your waist.

Your breath stutters.

His does too.

His hand lingers for half a second too long, his grey eyes darker than usual. And when he lets go, his smirk is half-hearted.

“Don’t tell me I knocked the wind out of you,” he murmurs.

“You wish,” you say, but it doesn’t come out steady.

He doesn’t say anything after that. Just turns, jaw tight, and casts again.

The second time he touches you, it’s deliberate.

It’s a week later. Same classroom. Same tension.

You’re sparring again, and you’re winning this time—your hexes are fast and mean, and Draco’s shirt is untucked, his hair a mess, and he looks absolutely feral. Something in you loves it. Something in you wants to ruin him further.

You back him into a corner with a well-aimed spell, wand tip against his chest. He’s panting.

“Gotcha.”

He grins.

“Do you?”

Then he steps into your space, slow and smug, wand hand raised but not attacking. His other hand slides around your waist again, this time firm, his mouth tilting just by your ear.

“You always breathe faster when I do this,” he says.

You hate him. You really, really do.

Except you don’t flinch. You let him touch you. Let him lean close enough that your noses brush, your wand trembling between you.

“Kiss me or curse me, Malfoy,” you whisper. “Cowardice doesn’t suit you.”

And he doesn’t. He looks at your lips, looks like he’s going to—but then he pulls back.

He always pulls back.

You hate that more than anything.

It all unravels when you start spending more time with Harry.

You’re both Heads. It’s practical—meetings, prefect patrols, patrol reports. But Draco starts showing up at places he has no reason to be. He scowls when Harry laughs with you in the courtyard. He scoffs loudly when you sit next to him at breakfast.

And when Harry places a casual hand on your shoulder after a long prefect meeting? Draco is silent.

Too silent.

Later that evening, he corners you behind the Charms classroom.

You barely open your mouth before he’s there, eyes stormy and voice low.

“You’re getting awfully cozy with Potter.”

Your eyes narrow. “You following me now, Malfoy?”

He doesn’t take the bait.

“You think he sees you?” he says, quiet and bitter. “You think he gets you?”

“Oh, and you do?”

He steps forward, chest almost against yours. “I think I know exactly what you want.”

Your breath catches—but your pride doesn’t.

“I want someone who doesn’t run away the second things get real,” you snap.

He flinches. You don’t miss it.

“You’re jealous,” you whisper, stunned.

He laughs, sharp. “Please. We’re not dating.”

“Exactly,” you fire back. “So why do you care?”

He doesn’t answer.

But his jaw clenches.

His eyes drop to your mouth.

You realize then: it’s not that he doesn’t want you.

It’s that he does, and he’s terrified.

It comes to a head in the Astronomy Tower.

You find him there after midnight, arms folded, hair mussed by the wind, and for once—no one else around.

He doesn’t hear you approach.

“Stalking me now?” he says without turning.

“You think everyone’s obsessed with you.”

He chuckles. It's empty.

“Maybe I want you to be.”

You blink. “You’re drunk.”

He turns then, eyes bloodshot, lips chapped. His wand’s beside him, untouched.

“No. Just tired. Of pretending like this isn’t…” he swallows. “Real.”

Silence stretches like a held breath.

He steps forward. Closer than ever. His voice dips, low and broken.

“Tell me you hate me.”

You laugh. Quiet, bitter.

“You already know I do.”

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” “Like what?” “Like I’m the only one who understands.”

You don’t answer.

He reaches out slowly, hand brushing your jaw. This time, it’s not cocky. This time, he touches you like you’re fragile. Like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

“Because I do,” he whispers. “Understand. You hate me. I hate me, too.”

That’s when you kiss him.

You grab his collar, drag him down, and kiss him like you’ve been meaning to every night since this stupid project began.

And when he kisses you back—desperate, fierce, trembling—it’s not smooth or practiced. It’s raw. Honest.

You pull back eventually, gasping. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, your heartbeat a riot.

He presses his forehead to yours, lashes fluttering shut.

“Tell me again,” he murmurs. “Tell me you hate me.”

You smile. Just barely.

“I hate how much I want you.”

And that? That’s enough to break him.

He kisses you again. Harder. Hands hungry. Like you’re the only good thing left in the world. Like if he lets go, he’ll fall apart completely.

Maybe he already has.

But so have you.

And neither of you runs this time.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 | 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Y/N wanders alone, only to be suddenly cornered by Tom Riddle. Attempting to intimidate her, Tom’s dark presence looms, but Y/N meets his intensity with unexpected ease giggling and teasing him instead of fear. She acknowledges the monster within him but reveals she’s never turned away.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Thought about this while on masktok lol...

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The corridor was quiet, the air thick with a stormy kind of tension. A flicker of magic pulsed through the castle walls, and Y/N walked leisurely, humming faintly under her breath.

She turned a corner and nearly yelped when a hand grabbed her wrist.

In one swift move, she was spun and pressed against the cold stone, her back to the wall and Tom Riddle looming over her like a shadow made flesh.

His hand braced beside her head, his body angled just close enough to be overwhelming. His eyes sharp, unreadable, dark with something unspoken searched hers.

“What are you doing out here alone?” he asked, his voice low, catching her in the corridor’s quiet stretch.

“Just wandering,” she replied softly, fingers trailing along the stone wall. “Clears my head.”

His eyes narrowed, tone sharper now. “You should be more careful.”

“I have you,” she said innocently. “Aren’t you the scariest thing in this castle?”

His jaw ticked slightly. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“You think this is a game?” he said lowly, his voice edged with steel as he leaned in, shadow swallowing the space between them. “Look at me, Y/N. You forget what I am.”

She blinked up at him, lips quirking.

Then she giggled.

Actually giggled.

“I think,” Y/N said, voice like silk, “you try to hide how much of a monster you really are… but you forget—” she leaned in, her breath brushing his lips, “I never looked away.”

He looked at her then not like a predator, not like the calculating boy most feared but with something wild and reverent in his eyes. Like she was something fleeting. Something precious.

That look always gave her butterflies.

“You can’t scare me,” she whispered, reaching up and gently smoothing a wrinkle in his collar.

Then, just as he tried to recover from that look in her eyes, she leaned forward on tiptoe, pecked him quickly on the lips, and smiled.

“Good try, love,” she whispered.

And then cool as anything she slipped from between him and the wall and strolled off down the corridor, hips swaying.

Tom stood there, stunned and blinking.

And blushing.

He touched his lips absently, eyes fixed on her retreating form like she might disappear if he looked away.

His love.

His undoing.

And Merlin help him—his entire world.

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🤭

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. 

PERIODDDDD!! I love when the reader stands on business🙌🏼 We ain’t tolerating disrespect over here💅🏼

꒰— BUSY WOMAN ꒱

꒰ summary ꒱ no matter how many times theo said you were the exception, you found yourself to be a sad part of the majority. wait, sad? who said that?

꒰ content/tw ꒱ theo nott x reader; 18+ mdni, some sexual implications, angst if you squint, a bit of gaslighting/general toxicity, alcohol, cursing; theo is a player, reader has a spine

꒰ word count ꒱ 2.8k

꒰ note ꒱ for i had a strong need for a reader who knows her worth, i simply decided to make it happen. felt insanely good writing this, and i hope you’re going to feel equally as good reading it!

It was a little ironic, you thought, how this was the exact situation you’d laugh at yourself for ending up in just a few months ago. You were so confident, so sure of yourself, having sworn off players, fuckboys and the likes of them until the day you die. Yet there you were, in the middle of a Slytherin party, watching Theodore Nott, your boyfriend of three months, crowd an awfully willing and giggling girl against the wall. His hand was resting just inches away from her arm, and her hand was touching his shoulder in a manner that couldn’t be considered just friendly even by the daftest of the world.

You’d be a fool to say you didn’t expect this. But fuck, apparently you were a fool, because you genuinely believed… You shook your head, getting yourself rid of the annoying little thoughts that started swarming your head like hungry flies flocking to a fresh, steaming pile of shit. That’s what Theo’s words had always been, evidently.

You took a sip of Firewhiskey; it was strong, tickled your throat just right, and settled in your stomach like a hot blanket, providing a small sense of comfort to your tumultuous inner world. Settling down on the armrest of a random chair, you silently observed the scene on the other side of the Common Room. Theo leaned in, whispering something into the girl’s ear – probably something cheesy in Italian, since that made them, no exceptions, fall at his feet like dominoes.

A huff escaped your lips, an alcohol-induced breath of air that confirmed it – months ago, you looked exactly like that girl, and every other girl, for that matter. You fell for his irresistible, disarming charm, for the sweetest honey that spilled from his lips in the form of promises and confessions in the middle of the night, for the gentle, cotton-soft touches of his fingertips against your flushed skin. You fell hard, thinking he was going to catch you, just like he assured you again and again and again. But when you hit the ground, you only found ice-cold concrete, littered with cutting shards of shattered expectations.

⟡

“Of course you will.”

You rolled your eyes, the sarcasm leaving your mouth without any second thought. Of course, Theo would say that, of course. Exactly what a player says whenever he needs to get a girl number forty five into his bed.

Theo seemed to have read these exact thoughts in your incredulous expression; he took a step forward, placing a hand on your waist. It was a warm, gentle touch, different from what you had seen before, when you’d inevitably stumble upon him making out with yet another… someone in a darkened corridor. And you hated thinking that – you hated realising that he was, indeed, different with you, even if it was a facade.

“I promise,” he repeated, keeping his voice quiet and confident, but even through the perfect mask, you could see it – a small flicker of vulnerability, barely there but there nonetheless. “I’ll treat you right, tesoro. I will.”

“How can I trust you?” You sighed, grabbing his hand and slowly but firmly taking it off your waist – however pleasant, you deemed the touch unnecessary, since it was making great work of skewing your perception. Theo’s fingers clenched in the air, but obediently stayed by his side.

“I’d take an Unbreakable Vow, but I don’t think you’d appreciate it.” He offered you a weak smile, but his eyes were visibly darting around, searching your face for something – understanding, acceptance, trust, perhaps? His hand twitched at his hip, eager to touch you again, but he didn’t dare lift it – a small act you couldn’t help but appreciate at the moment.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t.” You couldn’t hold back a laugh – he really was a bit dramatic, and yet, his every word was filled with calm confidence, like he was completely sure about everything he was swearing to you. “Guess I’ll just have to wing it, huh?”

“Guess you will,” Theo answered with a chuckle of his own, though his expression went back to serious the next moment. “You don’t have to trust me right now, but I’ll make you, okay? I promise.”

⟡

You believed him then. Despite yourself, despite your strong conviction that you had it all figured out, that you saw right through his charming antics – you believed him. And now, watching him flirt with that random, unknown girl without as much as an ounce of shame, you realised it was in vain. And strangely, you felt… nothing.

You should’ve been enraged, right? You should’ve been angry, should’ve stormed right over there, pulled him away from the girl and made a loud, explosive, emotional scene. But you just didn’t want to. It felt wrong, not wanting. You loved Theo, or at least you thought you did. However, witnessing him break the very promise that made you give your relationship a chance had you reconsidering the foundation of your feelings.

Minutes ticked by, Firewhiskey made its way down your throat in slow, calculated sips, the bass of the party made the floor vibrate. And yet, you made no attempt to move from your place on the chair’s armrest. Theo was still there, looking dashingly handsome and making the girl giggle and blush and twirl her hair around her dainty finger. You were still watching, thoughts were swirling inside your head like little tornadoes, but somehow, you felt a lot calmer now. Your mind went from messy and hectic to steady and composed, and it felt… nice.

In the past, you thought moving on from love would be hard, gut-wrenching and heartbreakingly painful. That’s what everyone said. That’s what it was supposed to feel like. They were all wrong, you realised. Well, maybe not. Maybe moving on from real love was exactly like that. But what you felt for Theo didn’t seem like real love anymore. Not when he acted like he forgot about your entire existence the moment he noticed a pretty girl somewhere in his proximity.

Apparently, Theo had a sixth sense. He must’ve felt your eyes on him – and your gaze wasn’t even intense; it was absentminded, as if it just happened to land on him while you were surveying the room. You saw his expression change in real time, from the flirty smirk he had been wearing for the last ten minutes to the slight hint of annoyance evident in the crease on his forehead, to then quiet resignation and a small, sheepish smile tugging the corners of his lips up. He excused himself to the very disappointed-looking girl and started making his way towards you, wading through the pool of bodies swaying to the beats of some generic pop song.

Your eyes never left him as he approached. They weren’t stormy, didn’t hold any hidden emotional turmoil, since there was none – neither in your heart nor in your mind. You took the last sip from your glass and placed it on the coffee table next to the chair, every movement precise despite the tipsiness coursing through your body from the Firewhiskey. Maybe the fact that you were already settled on a decision diluted the alcohol in your bloodstream. Maybe you just grew out of being a lighthead.

“Hi.”

Theo’s voice was quiet, almost too quiet to be heard over the deafening music. He tried placing his hand on your thigh, like he usually would whenever you were together, but you shifted away from his touch. His jaw ticked, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think a flicker of hurt flashed through his face. The awkward smile disappeared completely; he was now serious, just like on that night he promised to make you trust him. What a shitshow that was.

“Look—” he started, the words to explain himself already at the tip of his tongue. But you didn’t really need to hear them, so you cut him off before he could continue.

“Spare me, Theo. Spare us both, actually.” You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back just slightly – he was standing too close to you for someone who couldn’t even remember he had a girlfriend a couple minutes ago. You quickly realised you shouldn’t have touched him in any way, since he immediately interpreted it as an olive branch, his hand clasping around yours.

“No, I won’t spare us,” he muttered lowly, his eyes briefly skimming from left to right to see if anyone was listening in. It was unnecessary – the music was too loud for anyone to hear you unless they were literally in your faces. Then, he leaned in, closing the distance you had just created. “I know what you’re thinking right now, tesoro, and I can’t have you thinking that.”

Your eyes were rolled before he could even finish the sentence. You didn’t expect anything less dismissive than this, and still, he managed to surprise you.

“No, Theo, no. Don’t even go there,” you said, somehow managing to wriggle your hand out of his grasp. His followed, trying to chase yours, but as soon as you hid it behind your back, he stilled, realising he’d be making a scene in the middle of the Common Room. “We came to this party together. You went off alone, acting single, flirting with another girl. Seems pretty transparent to me.”

It was Theo’s turn to roll his eyes, as if he was offended by the mere fact that you not only noticed his escapades, but commented on it as well, making him look like a fool. He was a fool, and maybe deep down he was also aware of the fact, but he wouldn’t admit it to you. And honestly, you didn’t expect him to. You knew he would deflect, you knew he would find excuse after excuse just to get out of this situation consequence-free. You had had time to mull over it while you sat there, watching him commit emotional fraud right in front of your eyes, and at that point, you simply didn’t care.

“You don’t get it, tesoro,” Theo muttered, still up close in your personal space, which you immediately rectified by leaning back. He gritted his teeth in frustration at your continuous attempts to keep you both as apart as possible, but continued. “That girl? She means nothing, okay? You know you’re the only one who matters to me. I know you do.”

His eyes – they were stormy as he gazed into yours. They were dark even in the flashing lights of the party, usually blue as the ocean, but now deep, almost black from how much his pupils were dilated. But as you looked into them, you didn’t feel the same shiver going down your spine, you didn’t feel the flutter in your belly that made his presence so exciting, so madly intoxicating, you didn’t feel your heart speeding up. It was rather comical, you thought, how quickly your love dulled down after you saw Theo easily dismissing every promise he had ever made to you when he thought you weren’t watching.

“Theo.” You looked at him with an eyebrow raised, in a way a mother would look at her son who tried convincing her he didn’t eat the cake while his mouth was covered in icing sugar. “It might seem shocking, but it doesn’t actually matter if she’s nothing to you.”

Theo’s brows creased together, and you could see he was at the ready to retort, his lips parting.

“You were flirting with her. Plain and simple. You were, and don’t even try to deny it, I believe my own eyes,” you continued talking without giving him the opportunity to speak. “And what did you promise when we just started dating?”

Theo’s lips sealed shut, and he looked away, catching the hint. He knew exactly what you were talking about. He promised to make you trust him, and that included putting a stop to going after every frilly skirt in sight. Or any skirt, or jeans, or anything at all that was another person, anything that meant he could be interested in someone else.

“I promised…” he muttered under his breath, each word leaving his mouth like a heavy weight. Not because he was genuinely remorseful, but for a much simpler reason – he hated admitting to his shortcomings, since that would put them out into the world and make them that much more real. But something in your calm, steady voice, in your confident expression made him say it anyway. “I promised I’d make you trust me,” he mumbled, glancing up at you just to turn his gaze away again.

“And is flirting with another girl very ‘trustful’ of you?” You cocked your head to the side, your arms crossing over your chest; Theo saw it as defensive, and you? You just didn’t know where to put your hands.

He stayed silent. Because he knew, his rational mind knew that the answer was a firm, resounding ‘no’. It was not, in any way, shape or form, trustful. It was, for all intents and purposes, the exact opposite. He couldn’t say it out loud, though. Fuck him, he never could.

“See?” You shrugged, taking his silence as confirmation. “It’s very much not. And I can’t be with someone I don’t trust, Theo.”

His head snapped up, his hand shooting forward to grab your arm, as if you could disappear at any given moment. And you were planning to, which is why you looked at him with a hint of annoyance in your eyes.

“You can’t just leave, tesoro,” he whispered, leaning so far in that his lips almost brushed against your ear. The music was still booming around you, and you kind of disliked the fact that he could use it as an excuse to stand so close. “Let me…” Theo took a deep breath, letting it out as a warm puff against your skin. “Let me apologize, baby… Let me show you how sorry I am.”

There was the ‘baby’. The nickname he pulled up whenever he got in the mood, or whenever he wanted you to do something he knew you wouldn’t immediately agree to. His hand started gliding up and down your arm, light as a feather, and usually, that combination would have sent your body into a frenzy and force your mind to turn off.

“Come on, tesoro, let me in...” His lips tickled the shell of your ear as his fingers danced along your arm, moving to the slope of your neck, where his thumb found your pulse point. “You’re the only one for me. I’ll show you, okay? If you just let me, baby…”

For a split second, you felt that flutter in your stomach again. Theo always knew exactly what he had to do to make you feel it, and unfortunately, it had a habit of working in his favour. You had half a mind to hate yourself for it, but you knew better – it was just a physical fucking reaction to an attractive man you’d been in a romantic and sexual relationship with for three months. An image flashed in front of your eyes – the image of him flirting with that girl, the sight you had the displeasure of witnessing just a bit earlier. And suddenly, the annoying butterfly inside you had its wings brutally ripped out.

“You showed me enough.”

You stood up from the armrest of the chair you had been occupying and took a step to the side. Theo’s expression turned from seductive to desperate in a blink of an eye. His fingers dug into your arm once again, but you pried his hand off of you, and he remained rational enough not to make a huge, borderline violent scene.

“Tesoro…” he tried once more, searching your entire face and body for any signs that you weren’t completely giving up on the relationship. But you shook your head, just once, unwavering in your decision.

“Goodbye, Theo.” Your expression didn’t change, your eyes didn’t soften at the sight of his tightened jaw, his pursed, slightly downturned lips. “I won’t waste my time waiting for a change from someone who didn’t plan to change to begin with.”

With that, you turned around and disappeared into the crowd, the moving bodies swallowing you in an instant. You didn’t turn around even once, knowing it wouldn’t be a great decision for you right then. You didn’t see Theo practically falling into the chair, quietly breathing in and out and burying his face in his hands. You had no idea that at that very moment, he fought with himself not to unravel right there, in the middle of the fucking Slytherin party.

nav. masterlist.

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.

He Feels Everything

Summary: You thought sneaking off to fuck yourself with his metal hand would be enough. You didn’t know he could feel it. Now he’s in your bed—and he’s not leaving.

Avengers!Bucky x Avengers,afab!reader

Warning: 18+ (mdni!), smut, masturbation, voyeurism (kinda), ovulation kink, overstimulation, squirting, breeding kink, use of metal arm, consent is clear even not worded, fluff if you squint, mutual pining

a/n: Hi! this is my second story, once again inspired by one of my steamy dreams. I'm still figuring out how to write, and English isn’t my first language, so please go easy on me. Hope you still enjoy reading it! Thank you so much for being here!! ♡♡♡

➜ Part 2 💜

—

“‘Kay, see you—”

Bucky’s words hung in the air as he turned, only to be met with silence. Again. You were already gone, slipping away from the sparring room like smoke—just like always. He let out a quiet chuckle, but deep down, it tugged at something tender. He wished you’d stay. Just once. He wanted to talk to you when it wasn’t about missions or training or saving the damn world.

—

You were already halfway down the hallway, heat pooling low in your belly, heartbeat pounding like a war drum. Every single time Bucky touched you—even the most casual brush of skin during training—it sent you spiraling. The dark, sticky kind of desire. It didn’t matter how bubbly or bright you seemed around the compound, laughter spilling from your lips like sunlight. No one knew you were constantly battling a wild, insatiable craving inside you. And Bucky Barnes? He was your worst temptation.

Being assigned as his partner was torture on the daily. But tonight? Ovulating. And Bucky had the fucking audacity to wear a tight black shirt and grey sweatpants. Every inch of him was sinful—muscles rippling beneath cotton, his hair messy, lips slightly parted, glistening with sweat.

You didn’t even make it to the shower. Shirt and sports bra peeled off in a frenzy, you collapsed onto your bed, hand sliding between your legs like you were racing against time. Your panties were already soaked, clinging to your skin like a plea.

“Oh, Bucky…” you whimpered, fingers flicking at your nipples, hips rolling like they had a mind of their own.

His face flashed behind your eyelids—those intense eyes, the way his chest heaved when he pinned you down during training. Every non-sexual move felt indecent in your head. You plunged two fingers inside yourself, imagining them as cold, unforgiving vibranium.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you groaned, your voice soaked in filth and need, pumping your fingers until the orgasm hit like a truck. But it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

Your cunt was still pulsing, still dripping. Your body still screamed his name. You’d never dared go to him before, but tonight something snapped.

You needed him. Or at least… part of him.

You snuck into his room under the guise of "emergency"—and, well, it was an emergency. Your entire existence was on fire. He’d once given you his passcode in case of danger. This qualified.

He was asleep. Or so you thought. His metal arm was off, lying on the bedside table.

And god help you, you took it.

Back in your room, you positioned the cool metal fingers against your slick folds, one at a time, until you were stretched wide. Three fingers deep and your cunt was clamping tight around the steel.

“Look at me,” you moaned, “taking your fingers so good.”

You thrust it harder, your body shuddering, until—suddenly—it vibrated.

Your breath caught.

What the actual—

Your heart stopped. You felt him. Before you even turned around, your body knew.

And there he was.

James Bucky Barnes. Standing at your door with lust blown wide in his eyes, a tent straining in those same sweatpants you’d mentally undressed a hundred times.

You yanked the metal fingers from your cunt like you were caught stealing heaven, pulling the comforter up in a panic.

But his voice—low and gravel and fucked-out—froze you.

“Don’t stop, doll.” His hand palmed the thick bulge between his thighs. “I can feel everything.”

Your mouth fell open.

He stepped closer. “Even when it’s not attached. Every squeeze. Every wet clench around me.” His voice was a goddamn weapon, slow and deliberate, and your body betrayed you—slicking up again like a prayer.

He sat on the bed beside you, cupping your flushed cheek with his flesh hand. “Come for me, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing yours.

You moaned, repositioning the fingers inside your soaked cunt. Bucky started stroking himself, murmuring your name like a mantra.

You came so hard your vision went white. And then again. And again. Squirting across the sheets, across him.

“Jesus fuck, you’re killing me,” he groaned, spilling hot and heavy across your stomach. He collapsed beside you, kissing you with a softness that nearly undid you.

He lifted his metal hand, licking your cum from the fingers like it was dessert, then pulled you close after attaching it back to its place.

“So you do want me,” he said, grinning against your skin.

“I’ve always wanted you,” you breathed. “For years. But… if you knew what I wanted to do to you…”

He tilted his head. “What do you want?”

You bit your lip. “To fuck you senseless. Ride you until you’re begging. Hear you moan my name while I squeeze every drop from your cock. For you to fill me up.”

He groaned and pinned you down, grinding his thick cock against your wet heat.

“If I’d known, we would’ve started this months ago,” he muttered, sinking into you with one deep, devastating thrust.

You cried out, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. He fucked you like he meant it. Like he’d waited forever for this too.

By your seventh orgasm, you were sobbing—body trembling, completely wrung out. You passed out with his cock still buried inside you.

He smiled, kissed your forehead, and carefully pulled out.

The serum kept his stamina up, but what filled him most wasn’t lust—it was you.

You were his now.

And god help anyone who tried to take you away.

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆˙⟡ All Yours.

Short Summary: There is nothing unusual about Tom returning late from his meetings. However today, there is something off, something you only notice when he is pressed up against you, waking you from your sleep…

Warnings: 18+ only! slight somno, unprotected p in v, Tom Riddle needs you, use of parseltongue, possessive!Tom

A/N: found this in my drafts. Perfect for writers block season :D

wordcount: 1,4k

You only faintly notice the door to your bedroom creaking open, bed squeaking as he lays down beside you—carefully, so as not to wake you. Tom returning so late is not unusual per se, he’d gone out with his Knights the evening prior—meetings that usually take until the early morning hours. 

Now, you’d normally ask about his day—however, you are just too tired, and instead, your eyes flutter closed, and you drift off to sleep again before you get the chance to do so.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve slept when you wake again—met with darkness as you blink slowly, the only light source being the moon’s subtle white glow as it shines into your shared bedroom. Only then do you notice that your duvet is somewhere further down the bed, a cool breeze of air having goosebumps rise on your skin. But there is something else—the faint touch of Tom’s knuckles trailing up and down your bare thigh. You don’t think all too much of it—not until he bunches the silky material of your nightgown around your hips, that is.

“Tom? What are you—“ you whisper, turning your head slightly in an attempt to look at him, but as soon as he hears the soft sound of your voice, he closes the space between the both of you, his hot breath ghosting over your skin as he shifts closer, pressing soft kisses down the side of your neck.

If you weren’t awake before, you definitely are now. His hands explore your still half-covered body, following the soft curve of your hips before finding their way upwards, cupping your breasts, kneading slowly over the thin, silky fabric. Your breath catches at the sudden affection, because yes, you do manage to crack his hard shell from time to time, but this? It’s entirely different from what you are used to.

“I missed you,” he mumbles then, voice low and rough, and just like that he gives you a gentle roll of his hips, letting you feel just how much he really missed you.

“Oh—“ you whimper, attempting to find your voice for a proper response, but a proper response to that turns out to be rather difficult to come up with. “I— missed you too, Tom.” His hand has slipped further upwards in the meantime, tilting your head to grant him better access, sucking purple marks into your neck—and at this point, he’s fully rutting himself against you.

When you try to move just a little, his grip only tightens, practically pinning you against him.

“Mh, stay like this. Be good and stay where I want you.” Tom murmurs, hand wandering to the hem of your nightdress, slipping under the material. His hands are warm, soft, fingertips deliberately grazing over your skin. A soft moan spills from your lips when his hand slips between your legs, caressing the already damp fabric of your lace panties, gently rubbing circles over your still clothed clit. And he groans, groans at the feeling of just how wet and ready you are for him.

He soon shifts behind you, withdrawing his hand as he pushes himself up from the mattress. With a subtle nudge on your inner thigh, Tom has you part your legs for him, and your mind is already caught in a haze, obeying without hesitation. He hooks his fingers into your panties, slipping them down and tossing them aside before he positions himself between your legs.

And then, for the first time that night, his eyes meet yours. Hungry with lust, pupils blown wide, locked onto yours.

“Tom—“ you stammer, hand softly wrapping around his biceps, but he interrupts you with a, for him, rare, passionate kiss.

“Just— take it. Need you to take it for me,” he grunts, his voice still thick with sleep, and you think it might be best if he’d just rest. However, as soon as your lips part to tell him just that, the only sound you manage is a sharp gasp—he presses himself against you, tip swiping through your folds to collect your arousal, cutting you off.

Tom doesn’t wait much longer before he sinks himself into you, slowly, too slowly for your liking, but you cannot get yourself to complain. Not when he stares down at you like he physically needs you, like you are the only one he wants, curls messily falling onto his forehead, lips parted—gasping as he feels you wrapped around his cock so perfectly—just how he has been imagining it the entire evening.

“Tight— fuck, so tight.” He groans, hips now finally flush with yours. His head dips, burying himself in the crook of your neck, and he stills then, granting you the chance to feel all of him—feel the blissful stretch on your walls as he lets you adjust to his size. Though impatience—something Tom usually doesn’t show—gets the better of him, gently rolling his hips against yours, tip brushing against your cervix with every slight thrust.

A feeling that has your walls clamp down around him, eyebrows drawn together, and then finally, finally, he moves, pulling out of you completely just to split you open all over again, and somewhere in between, he must have lost the last bits of restraint he had left, groans spilling freely from his lips, showing you a completely new side of him—raw, passionate, and unrestrained.

“You’d never leave me. I know— you’d never do that to me.” He grumbles, all while he’s pushing into you slowly, hot, ragged breaths against your skin as his lips messily place kisses on your neck.

Now you really don’t know what’s gotten into him, if something happened while he was out—nonetheless, you decide to play along. “No, Tom. Never.” You shake your head, your hand reaching out to brush one of his dark curls from his face.

He gives you a satisfied hum in return, gradually speeding up, one of his hands pinning yours above your head as he thrusts into you from above, brushing against your most sensitive spot with every snap of his hips—the combined sensations so intense you aren’t sure how much longer you can take him like this.

And he knows.

Releasing your wrists, his hand slips between you, finding your swollen clit, tracing the bud in slow, tight circles. Your hips buck into his touch, chasing every single bit of pleasure he’s giving you as you feel the coil in your stomach winding tighter, climax approaching faster than your mind can process.

It’s not only you, though. His cock twitches inside of you, thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release, pushing into you as if it’s the last time he gets to do it.

“Tell me you are mine. Fuck— need you to tell me.” He growls, hips stuttering against yours, and you know he is close, so close—

“I am yours. All yours.” You reassure him, and that’s all it takes for him to break, a low, deep groan somewhere from the back of his throat as he spills himself inside of you, painting your walls white with his cum.

He mumbles something under his breath, dragging out his orgasm, something you make out to be his language—parseltongue, words that have your surroundings fade into a blur. Although you don’t understand him, his eyes tell you all you need to know—fireworks explode behind your eyes as you tumble over the edge, your whole body charged with the high of your release as your cunt flutters eagerly around his still hard length, milking the last remnants of his release.

His chest heaves as he breathes heavily, his body coming to rest on top of yours.

You stay like this for a while, giving him the chance to calm down. Your fingertips trace slow patterns along his muscular back, wandering up to his neck and finally swiping through his dishevelled, dark curls.

When he then lifts himself off you, his expression gentle as he pulls out of you slowly, glancing down at you with a knowing look, you realise it’s better not to ask.

And that’s why he values you more than anyone else.

Because you have learned to understand him.

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3

—

masterlist. | oneshots.

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

The flirting omggg🤭

a taste J.B.

pairing: mob!bucky x f!reader

warnings: hints to smut but no actual smut, minimal drinking

wc: 1.2k

summary: mob!bucky sees you at his club

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

bass vibrates through your chest. the club is practically bouncing, music so loud and lights so dim and flashing different colors, you can barely keep up with your friend. you met natasha last year when you went clubbing after losing your job. tonight you’re at a new place; she’d been pestering you to try out a new spot but you were wary with the club being so far from your apartment.

the new york nightlife was exhilarating, but only when you wanted it to be.

your dress is tight as you move your hips in rhythm to the music. the fabric rides up on your thighs, sitting just below your ass, threatening to expose the lace thong natasha convinced you to wear. once the song changes, you turn around and grab her hand, pulling her closer so she can hear you. 

“i’m getting another drink, want anything?”

she shakes her head, hips still swaying. she smirks, glancing past you to the man staring at you. clad in a dark suit, his jacket lays open and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. his eyes are locked on your movements, watching like he could do something, but won’t. 

“you’ve got an audience.”

craning your neck, you spot who she’s talking about. you scoff. “yeah, because it’s totally me he’s looking at.” you drop her hand, waving her off and weaving through the crowd. you’d lost sight of the man, but he didn’t lose you.

bucky sits at the bar, glass of unfinished whiskey in his hand while he talks to his right hand man. you appear next to him, seemingly unaware of his presence. when you fail to grab the attention of the bartender, you sigh and plop onto the barstool, arms crossing in slight annoyance.

bucky smirks. “need help with something, peaches?”

startled by the deep voice, you glance up, mouth slightly agape. since when was he sitting there?

he chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine straight to your core. “don’t tell me i’ve left you speechless already.”

you blink away the initial shock. “no, i-” you click your tongue. “i just want a drink.”

“yeah? hit me.” he stands from his seat. he strides beside you, aiming for the hatch.

your brows furrow, “you can’t go back there.”

another smirk. “oh yeah?” he leans down, lips ghosting your left ear. “why not? i own the club, sweets.”

your mouth drops again, the dots beginning to connect. in your perplexed state, bucky walks behind you, making his way behind the bar counter until he’s directly across from you. when you look at him again, you notice he’s shed his suit jacket and as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, his metal arm glints in the dim lighting. you suck in another breath, realizing who you’re talking to.

“wait… you’re-”

“so what can i get you, hm?”

you blink in shock. “uhm… a dirty shirley, please.”

you see him smirk again, reaching for a bottle and pouring into a shaker. the muscles of his hands flex, and you watch him work expertly. you shake your head, exhaling softly and glancing further to your left, noticing the blonde man bucky was just talking to. 

he smiles, seeming a little exhausted but it’s sincere nonetheless. “steve.” 

you nod, “you… work together, i’m guessing?”

his eyes shift to bucky then back to you. he nods slowly, so lightly you almost miss it. you turn back to the man making your drink. 

“how did you get that?” you’re looking at his metal arm.

he chuckles again, his tone still teasing. he looks at you, the glint in his eyes making your knees buckle. “work.” 

you hum. his calloused hand reaches in front of you, placing the freshly made drink right in your eyeline. his hand remains beside it. he’s leaning onto the counter now, hands pushing against the marble. 

slowly, you take a small sip, eyes lighting up at the taste. “mm, this is amazing.”

he doesn’t respond, eyes flickering between the way your hand grips the glass and where the fabric of your dress falls just above your chest. his gaze is so intense, you’re afraid you’re going to shatter the glass.

“i haven’t seen you here before.”

you nod, swallowing more of your drink. “my friend has been bugging me to try this place out.” your head shifts towards where natasha still moves on the dancefloor.

bucky quirks a brow. “natasha?”

your eyes shoot up. “you know her?”

“she works for me.” 

“oh.” when you turn back to look at her, the blonde-haired man – steve, he’d said his name was – had one hand on her lower waist. he pulls her closer, her back practically against his chest as they dance together. it’s so erotic, you have to look away. “i didn’t know.”

“but you know who i am?” the shuffle of his feet tells you he’s back in his seat beside you. after a beat of silence, cold metal graces your chin, pulling your head up. you’re face to face now. 

“i know… of you.”

another beat of silence, the pulse of the club’s music taking over the conversation. his hand drops from your face and you sense his reluctance to do so. 

“do you know me?”

his tongue clicks. “heard of ya.” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “heard of how sweet you are, just wanted to see for myself.”

this makes your ears perk up. “natasha?”

he nods. “wouldn’t shut up about your weekends together.” his hand traces down your shoulder and bicep. his touch is new to you, but already you don’t want it to stop. “but you never came by here.”

your lip is caught between your teeth. he’s making you nervous. 

“you aren’t scared of me, peaches, right?”

you shake your head a little too eagerly and it brings the smirk back onto his face. 

“good.” his hand drags down your arm, dropping off and landing on your waist. the first squeeze to your side has your core pulsing like the music. you faintly smell his cologne, a mix of vanilla and something woodier. 

“why ‘good’?” you place your drink on the counter. “you planning on taking me home or something?”

“or something…” he trails off, voice a low whisper, a hum following his last word. “wanna see if you really taste like peaches,” you suck in a gasp, “but i can wait. i’m a patient man.”

“okay.” you close your eyes, the feeling of his hand on your waist is so blissful, you don’t want to leave your spot in the corner of the bar, wanting to stay with the mystery man you just met. “and if i don’t want to wait?”

bucky’s pupils flicker a shade darker, a glint of something else hidden behind them. his eyebrow quirks up again, surprised by your forwardness. 

“you can’t leave me stranded then, peaches.” another squeeze to your waist. “if i get you, i keep you.”

goosebumps spread across your arms. he’s so close and his hands are so big that you have to hold back from acting like a cat in heat. 

“keep me?”

a deep, breathy chuckle escapes him. “once i get a taste, peaches…” his lips hover just by your ear again, voice sultry. “i won’t let you go.”

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

bucky masterlist