Bob Reynolds X F!reader
Bob reynolds x f!reader
FATAL ACCIDENT
Summary: When Bob accidentally caught you in a deeply inappropriate moment, he decided to make it up to you. He brought muffins and suggested a movie night. Neither of you expected what would happen next… or how everything would change between you.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, unprotected sex (piv), dry humping, multiple orgasms, stimulating through clothes, cum in pants, soft sex, creampie, sleeping inside of each other, sweet ending, sub!Bob, use of Y/N
A/n: Hi there! I hope you'll like this story/smut! I really tried my best so…anyways, if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3
Masterlist
It was late, well past midnight, when Bob found himself standing outside your door. The rest of the tower had gone quiet hours ago, wrapped in the peaceful hush that only came once the chaos of the day had settled. Lights were dimmed, hallways empty, and the low hum of distant generators was the only thing keeping him company. But he knew you. You were a night owl, always the last one to go to sleep. That’s what brought him here in the first place.
He told himself it was just a small question about the mission briefing tomorrow. Something minor. Something he could’ve asked anyone else, sure—but not at this hour. And not with the way his brain kept coming back to you, no matter how many reasons he tried to invent.
So, he knocked. A quick, rhythmic tap. Nothing.
He paused, waiting for your voice, footsteps, any movement. Silence. He knocked again—same rhythm, a little firmer this time. Still, nothing.
He called out your name gently, voice soft but just loud enough to carry through the door. Not a yell, but enough that you would’ve heard it if you were in there.
Still no answer.
That ache in his chest started to grow—tight, warm, and completely irrational. He knew you were probably just asleep, headphones in maybe, passed out after a long day. Nothing bad had happened. He told himself that twice, then again, like repetition would make it true.
But it didn’t ease the tension building behind his ribs. It didn’t stop the way his fingers curled against his palm or the faint pull in his stomach as the silence stretched on. And still—no sound from the other side of the door.
Bob’s worry was growing by the second. He knew that you were probably fine. But still, that uncomfortable knot in his chest didn’t go away. He lingered by the door, biting the inside of his cheek before clearing his throat softly.
“Can I come in?” he asked, still hopeful for a response.
Nothing.
He hesitated only a second longer before his hand reached for the doorknob. He turned it slowly, carefully, as though the metal itself might protest. The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open, just a crack at first.
He peeked inside, half-expecting to catch you mid-change or in a situation where he absolutely should not be present. But the room was empty.
No one in sight.
He stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him with a soft click. The room smelled faintly like your perfume and something warm, like vanilla and fabric softener. Familiar and comforting.
But then he heard it. The sound of running water. A soft, steady stream. His eyes darted toward the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar, just enough for steam to be drifting out and curling into the air.
You were in the shower.
Relief rushed through him like a wave. You were safe. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and smiled to himself, already turning to quietly slip back out of the room. He could talk to you tomorrow. No big deal.
“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice rang out from down the hall.
Bob froze. Panic hit him like a truck. The sound of footsteps rushed toward the door. She was heading this way. Fast.
“Oh no no no,” Bob whispered under his breath, looking around in a frantic circle. His brain went blank. If Yelena saw him in your room, especially this late, especially without you even in the room, well, that would definitely send a message. One he wasn’t ready to explain.
His eyes darted to your closet. No good. Not enough room. Under the bed? He’d never fit. His thoughts were racing. The doorknob outside jiggled slightly as Yelena neared—
And in a moment of sheer panic, Bob made the only decision he could. He turned and slipped into your bathroom. The steam hit him like a wall and before his brain could yell STOP, he realized where he was. Inyour bathroom while you were still in the shower.
Bob’s hands were up like he was surrendering to an armed SWAT team, his fingers trembling as sheer panic rushed through his entire body. His chest was tight, breathing shallow, and every cell in his brain was screaming, Why are you here? Why the hell did you think this would be a good idea?
He stood frozen, wide-eyed and pale, as the sound of the shower continued, taunting him. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. He was in the bathroom. With you. While you were still in the damn shower.
And before he could even string together a plan, or even a thought, he heard her again.
“Y/N!” Yelena’s voice echoed louder now, clearly already inside your bedroom.
Bob’s soul practically left his body. From inside the shower, your annoyed voice finally rang out over the sound of the water.
“I’m coming!” you shouted, clearly frustrated.
Then the stream shut off. Bob’s heart jumped into his throat. His tongue felt dry as sand. His skin was burning and cold at the same time. Oh no. Oh no. Oh God.
He stared helplessly at the fogged-up glass of the shower door, and when you slid it open— he saw you.
Completely naked.
Water still clung to your skin in droplets, sliding down the curve of your neck, your collarbones, gliding along your thighs like liquid silk. You hadn’t seen him yet, but he was already about to combust from embarrassment and sheer secondhand shame.
And then your eyes landed on him.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” you screamed, your voice pure panic and fury as you instinctively reached for a towel and yanked it around your dripping frame.
“I—I’m sorry—I didn’t—” Bob choked out, immediately spinning around to face the wall, his entire face a violent shade of red. His hands went back up, this time like he was trying to blot himself out of existence.
But fate wasn’t done dragging him through hell just yet. Because just then, Yelena pushed the bathroom door open. And paused.
“Woah. What the fuck is happening here?” she asked in her signature deadpan tone, heavy Russian accent slicing through the awkwardness like a hot knife through shame.
You, still clutching your towel and dripping on the floor, looked absolutely stunned. “I have no idea what he’s doing in here!” you snapped, eyes wide with a cocktail of betrayal and pure what-the-actual-hell.
Bob didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He was practically vibrating with anxiety, lips pressed into a thin, miserable line. His whole body was trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
He was so unbelievably screwed.
It was the next afternoon when you heard a soft knock on your door. You didn’t even need to ask who it was. You knew instantly.
“Come in,” you called calmly, already anticipating the awkwardness that was about to step through the door.
Bob peeked his head in first, like he was making sure it was safe before fully entering. Then, with a hesitant “Hey…” he stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him.
He looked… guilty. Shy.
His cheeks were flushed pink, his posture small and careful, and his legs? Slightly shaking. He was holding a plate of something in his hands—and the second he came closer, the sweet scent of freshly baked muffins filled the room like a warm, edible apology.
You were sitting on your bed, a book in your lap, one brow raised as you watched him silently. You weren’t mad anymore—but you were curious. And you were definitely going to make him squirm a little first.
For a moment, the room was wrapped in silence. Bob shifted awkwardly, his weight bouncing between his feet, clearly searching for the right words.
“I, uh…” he started, eyes flicking to yours then immediately down again. “I wanted to apologize… for yesterday. I—I didn’t mean for any of that to happen and… as an apology, I… got you these.”
He stepped forward, extending the plate like a peace offering, holding it out to you with a hopeful look in his eyes.
The muffins smelled amazing—still warm, soft in the center with little chunks of what looked like chocolate and banana. You looked up at him and took a deep breath.
He looked so genuinely remorseful. That kicked-puppy look on his face nearly made your heart melt. You knew he didn’t mean to barge in on you, and you definitely knew he wasn’t some creep.
Still. You had one burning question.
“Why were you even in there?” you asked gently, but there was still a bit of edge in your tone. You needed to hear it straight from him.
Bob’s arms retreated slightly as he clutched the plate back toward his chest, like the question caught him off-guard.
“I—I just wanted to ask if you were coming with us to the England mission,” he said honestly, blinking fast. “That’s all. I swear.”
Ah. That explained it. That put the final puzzle piece into place.
You nodded slowly, letting out a small breath and placing your book aside. You scooted forward, settling on the edge of your bed, resting your hands down on the mattress beside you.
Your expression shifted, now more playful than stern.
“So…” you said, tilting your head just slightly. “How much did you see?”
Bob blinked, clearly caught off guard by your question.
His eyes widened just a bit, and his shoulders tensed.
“Uh—I didn’t see anything,” he said too quickly. Way too quickly. “Like… nothing at all. Swear.”
You raised a brow. Just stared at him. That stare that you knew always made people squirm. Bob shifted awkwardly, the plate of muffins now looking like the only thing anchoring him to the ground.
You didn’t say anything. You just waited and it worked. Eventually, he cracked. His shoulders slumped as he sighed, gaze flickering down to the floor like it was the only thing willing to forgive him.
“Okay… I—I saw a little. But I barely remember, I swear. It was just a second.”
His voice was soft, guilty. And you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head with a smile and stood up from the bed.
“It’s fine, Bob,” you said with a gentle wave of your hand. “I’m over it.”
You walked up to him, close enough to smell the sugar and chocolate clinging to the muffins.
“You made these?” you asked, nodding toward the plate.
He nodded sheepishly. You narrowed your eyes, suspicious.
“You don’t bake.”
“I don’t,” he admitted with a shy chuckle. “But… I looked up your favorite recipe. I figured if I’m gonna apologize, I should at least do it right.”
His voice was so genuine, and there was something so… stupidly sweet about the way he stood there, just hoping they were edible.
You smiled again, softer this time, and reached out to pick up one of the muffins. You took a bite. It was warm, fluffy, and the flavor hit perfectly. Just the right balance of chocolate and banana.
Honestly? Kind of impressive.
“They’re actually really good,” you said, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thanks.”
There was a moment. A quiet beat between you where something sparked. You looked at him. Really looked at him.
“Try one,” you offered, nudging the plate toward him.
“Oh, no, I—” Bob took a tiny step back. “They’re for you.”
Before he could make another excuse, you rolled your eyes, grabbed the plate from his hands and picked up another muffin.
“You’re eating it,” you said, no room for negotiation.
He opened his mouth to protest, but you were already pushing the muffin into it.
Literally.
He choked out a laugh as you shoved it into his face. He bit down instinctively, chewing with his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, crumbs already on his lips. You giggled, watching him use his fingers to wipe his mouth, and that’s when something shifted.
Suddenly, time slowed. The laughter died down, but that flutter in your stomach didn’t. A pulse between your legs sparked to life, and you became acutely aware of the heat building inside you.
You watched the way Bob chewed, the way his jaw moved, the way his tongue darted out to catch a crumb near the corner of his mouth.
And just like that… you were wet. Soaking.
And all you could think about was how pretty he looked. How soft and gentle.
Of course, Bob had always been cute to you. From the very first time you saw him, with that messy hair and his little giggle that felt too soft for someone who flew jets and handled missions like a pro.
He was sweet. But never hot. Not in a “I want to drag you into bed and ruin you” kind of way. But now? Something had shifted.
You didn’t know if it was the ovulation hormones messing with your brain chemistry, or the fact that he saw you naked in the shower, or maybe it was his maddeningly addictive cologne, but something clicked.
And suddenly… he was sexy. Like, you-couldn’t-stop-thinking-about-his-mouth sexy.
You bit your lip and watched as Bob finished chewing the piece of muffin you’d shoved into his mouth. His lips moved slowly, tongue catching a few crumbs.
He swallowed, glanced at you and said, “It’s not that bad, actually.”
His voice pulled you out of your internal spiral. You nodded a little too quickly, letting out a soft hum in agreement, a smile playing at your lips. He smiled back, a little shy, a little unsure.
“Well…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should probably let you get back to your book.”
You tilted your head. “You’re not bothering me.”
But he still insisted. “Yeah, but… I mean—you probably wanna, y’know, process everything. I just—yeah.”
He moved toward the door, slowly, awkwardly, and you returned to your bed, settling into the pillows with your book in one hand and another muffin in the other, though your eyes weren’t exactly on the page.
Bob was halfway out the door when he paused and turned back.
“Oh! Uh—one more thing,” he said, his voice just a bit higher than usual. “Bucky finally helped me set up that TV in my room, so… I was thinking maybe, tonight, if you’re not busy, we could watch a movie?”
You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want me to be your test subject?”
He shrugged, smiling nervously. “I just don’t wanna sit there and watch it alone like a loser.”
You laughed softly. “Sure, Bob. I’m in.”
His smile widened, that same boyish grin that somehow made your stomach twist now in a very different way.
“Cool. Uh—great. I’ll… come get you later then?”
You nodded, trying not to look too eager. “Sounds good.”
He gave you one last smile before he disappeared behind the door, and the second he was gone your book was forgotten. Your thighs pressed together, the ghost of that look he gave you still lingering.
The lights were dimmed in Bob’s room, the only real glow coming from the soft flicker of the TV screen. You were both sitting on his bed, technically his bed, but it didn’t really feel like that now. Not with the way you were both perched on the edge of it, backs resting lightly against the wall, a shared blanket covering your legs.
You sat just far enough apart for it to be considered “friendly.” A safe distance. But god, you wanted to move closer.
The movie playing was some classic, older film, one of those feel-good, slightly cheesy ones with warm lighting and 90s nostalgia oozing out of every frame. It was so Bob. Of course he’d like something like this. Comforting, predictable and sweet. Just like him.
From time to time, your eyes would drift toward him. He was so focused on the screen, eyebrows twitching ever so slightly during tense scenes, mouth curled just faintly at the corners when something funny happened.
And maybe that was the problem. Because his pure, oblivious cuteness was driving you insane.
Your eyes trailed down to his hands, resting in his lap. To the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. To the way his Adam’s apple bobbed whenever he swallowed. You could practically hear the blood rushing in your ears.
You licked your lips, trying to focus on the movie, but the images blurred. You weren’t even listening anymore.
Why the hell was this happening to you? Why are you suddenly feeling like this? Was it the way his thigh was just barely brushing against yours under the blanket? Or maybe it was that familiar soft scent of his cologne, sweet and woodsy and him?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t fair. Not when he looked that innocent, completely unaware of the storm building inside you.
You’d been pretending to watch the movie for the last ten minutes, but let’s be honest—you hadn’t registered a single scene. Your mind was elsewhere. On him. The steady warmth beside you, the way his scent filled your lungs, the shape of his jaw in the soft glow of the screen.
And then… you cracked. You turned your head slightly, looking at him from under your lashes, your voice soft—almost too soft.
“Hey… um, I’m kinda cold. Mind if I scoot closer?”
It wasn’t even cold.
Bob’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, like you’d just asked him to recite Shakespeare in Russian. He blinked, then gave the tiniest nod.
“Y-Yeah. Sure. Of course.”
You moved closer, slow and deliberate. Your shoulder brushed his. He didn’t flinch—didn’t pull away. Good. But his whole body tensed like a drawn bow.
And then came the real move, you gently laid your head on his shoulder.
Bob didn’t breathe. Like literally, he just froze. His fists clenched in his lap, not from discomfort—but from sheer sensory overload.
He could feel you. All of you. Your warmth sinking into his hoodie, your hair brushing his jaw, your scent melting into the air around him. His brain short-circuited.
This wasn’t a dream, right? You weren’t just… doing this?
He swallowed hard, throat dry, trying not to move or ruin the moment. Your thighs were just barely touching under the blanket. That soft friction, the tension—goddamn.
You noticed everything. The way his jaw clenched. The shudder that ran down his spine. The way his breath stuttered ever so slightly.
Your lips curled into a small smile. He was nervous—but not in a bad way. Not because he was uncomfortable. He was nervous because it mattered to him. And maybe that made it all the more intoxicating.
The sexual tension was practically radiating off his skin—buzzing in the tiny space between your bodies, where your arms nearly touched.
You shifted just a little closer. So close now that you could hear his heartbeat pounding like a drum.
The movie was still playing, but your focus had drifted miles away. Not on the screen. Not on the plot. But on Bob.
The air felt thicker somehow, heavier with something unspoken. Every small glance at him only made it worse. That gentle look on his face, the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he blinked, his throat bobbing every time he swallowed—everything was unbearable in the best kind of way. You had this ache, low and steady, impossible to ignore.
So you moved.
Under the blanket, slow and casual, your hand found his thigh. Just a gentle rest, as if you needed a place to land. Bob tensed immediately, his whole body reacting like a live wire being sparked. His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop you. Not even a flinch. He stayed still, as though frozen in place, except for the way his chest was rising just a bit too fast to be calm.
Your thumb began to brush soft circles along the fabric of his sweatpants. Just small, teasing motions, and yet you could feel how it made him react—his thigh twitching slightly beneath your touch, his jaw clenched tight, lips slightly parted as though he didn’t trust himself to breathe through his nose anymore.
You turned your head and whispered, slow and velvety, “By the way… those muffins? They were amazing.”
Bob blinked, once, twice, and barely managed a grunt of a response, like speaking full words would crack him wide open. He gave a slight nod, clearly trying to keep his composure, but failing beautifully.
You smiled, wickedly pleased, and lifted your head from his shoulder so you could really look at him. His eyes locked on yours immediately, wide and uncertain—but undeniably filled with heat. And hope.
“Did you…” you started, voice dipped low like velvet on skin, “like what you saw yesterday?”
He froze.
His lips parted, but no sound came out. His hands, still clenched in his lap, curled even tighter. It was obvious he was trying to say something, trying to figure out if this was real or a fever dream he was about to wake from. The red on his cheeks deepened, and his eyes darted from your face to your lips and back again.
“I—uh—I didn’t mean to—I mean—I didn’t really see—”
You leaned in closer, your hand still warm and steady on his thigh.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t mind.”
And then you moved your hand. Just a little higher, right where his twitching dick was.
Bob let out a shaky breath—one of those breaths that almost sounded like a prayer, or a curse, or both. He looked like a man on the edge, hanging by a thread spun from every suppressed feeling he’d ever had for you. The tension in his body, the nervous flicker in his eyes, the way his lips parted and didn’t quite close again—all of it screamed one thing:
He wanted you. Badly. And you knew. You leaned in, lips inches from his ear, and asked one last question, barely more than a breath:
“Do you want me to stop?”
Your fingers moved slowly, so slowly it almost felt like an accident. A barely-there stroke through the soft fabric of his sweats. He twitched. You felt it. And still, he didn’t move. He just stayed still, frozen, his breath hitching in his throat and he couldn't even answer you.
Bob’s eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. His lips parted slightly, a quiet sound slipping from his mouth—a mix between a gasp and a helpless whimper.
You turned your head just enough to see his face. His brows were drawn together, his jaw tight, and he looked so unbelievably vulnerable. Lost. Struggling. But not stopping you.
“You like it?” you whispered, voice low and warm.
He nodded, quickly, too quickly, but didn’t speak. You kept going, slowly, tenderly, through the fabric, feeling the way his whole body reacted to your touch. He was holding onto the edge of the blanket with white knuckles, his other hand hovering, as if unsure where to go or what to do.
“And did you like yesterday?” you asked softly, meaning the shower incident. You leaned a little closer, lips brushing his ear.
Bob choked on a breath, and his head tilted back slightly. “I-I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to— I mean—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His voice cracked.
You smiled.
“I think you did,” you murmured.
And then, just as his breath caught and his hips gave the tiniest, helpless twitch beneath the blanket, you felt it. His whole body tensing, stuttering, a soft, broken noise escaping his throat as he came apart completely under your hand.
Bob froze, then practically curled into himself. Face flushed deep red, breathing erratic, shame washing over him like a wave.
“I—I’m so sorry,” he whispered. His voice was small, strained, like he wanted to disappear.
“No I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” you felt guilty, more than Bob did. You just wanted to tease him a bit, just a few touches. Who knew Bob was that sensitive, but in the end you didn't mind.
“I uh…it's been a while since I've been with someone…” Bob tried to explain himself, even tho he didn't need to. You understand. You smiled at him, sighing.
“It's okay…we can go slow,” your sweet tone calmed Bob down, his chest wasn't raising that fast, and his eyes softened.
The eye contact was so loud, but at the same time so quiet. Soft and gentle, barely brushing your lips against his, just testing the waters, but when you kissed him again, he melted. Your lips were making wet sounds, as you explored your mouths, touching your tongues and mixing your salivas.
After a long make out session, you slowly swung one leg over his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, the quiet rustle of your clothes and the soft shift of the bed were the only sounds for a moment.
Settling on top of him carefully, you totally made him forget everything else but the feeling of you, the heat between you, the way your mouths moved together like they were made for this.
His hands finally moved to your hips, trembling just slightly, like he needed the confirmation that this was real.
The pressure of you settling onto him was electric. Your bodies fit together like matching puzzle pieces, your chest pressed gently to his, and you could feel the way his breath stuttered beneath you. Your forehead met his for a moment, just a shared breath, your fingers tangling in his tousled hair.
Then, really gently, you began to move. Not urgently, not to finish something, but to explore. The softest grind of your hips into his, dragging fabric against fabric, building friction that made his lips part in a quiet, broken gasp. His eyes fluttered closed, lashes kissing his cheeks, and his hands clutched your sides like he needed grounding.
You could feel it all. The growing heat pooling low in your belly, the ache between your legs intensifying with each shift, and the clear tension in Bob’s body as he whimpered helplessly. His head tipped back against the wall, exposing the long line of his neck, and his thighs tensed beneath yours.
“Is this okay?” you asked softly, your voice breathless but sure.
He nodded quickly, voice cracking. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, please.”
The desperation in his whisper made your stomach flip. You leaned forward, kissed along his jaw, his ear, and then back to his lips—this time slower, deeper, letting him feel how much you meant it. How much you wanted him.
And still, your hips moved. Measured rolls that made his breath catch and his hands dig just a little harder into your waist. The tension between you thickened like honey, sticky and warm, and everything slowed down.
He whispered your name like a prayer, and when you whispered his in return, voice thick with want and wonder, he shivered, completely undone beneath you.
Your fingers moved cautiously, tracing the hem of his shirt. You paused, eyes flicking up to meet his, giving him a silent chance to pull back. But he didn’t, he just nodded slightly, and that was all you needed.
You slid your hand under his shirt, your palm meeting the heat of his skin. He shivered immediately, muscles twitching beneath your touch, and you felt him grip your hips just a little tighter — not to stop you, but to anchor himself.
“Still okay?” you murmured against his lips.
He swallowed thickly, nodding. “More than okay.”
Piece by piece, you began to remove each other’s clothing, slowly, like unwrapping a secret. Every inch of exposed skin felt like a discovery. His shirt first, then yours. His eyes widened when he saw your chest, and for a moment, he just stared, completely speechless.
You smiled softly, brushing his cheek with your fingers. “You’ve seen me before, remember?”
“Not like this,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent.
His hands ghosted over your sides, hesitant at first, as if afraid you might vanish. But you didn’t, you leaned into his touch, and his hesitation melted into something bolder.
The more skin you revealed, the more the tension between you tightened, until it was a living, breathing thing. And when the last layer of clothing fell away, when you were both completely bare, there was nothing left to hold back.
Bob looked up at you, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on your hips. His eyes, full of something deep, searched yours, like he needed your permission again, even though you were already here, already his.
You leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep, your lips moving against his in a way that made both of you sigh quietly into the space between. You could feel the way his chest rose and fell faster, how his body tensed beneath yours as you slowly rolled your hips, letting the sensation build gently, teasingly.
He moaned — not loud, but broken, like the sound had been pulled out of him without warning. His hands flexed against your skin, not guiding you, just holding, grounding himself in the reality that this was happening. That you were here. That you wanted him.
“God… you feel so good,” he breathed, voice low and shaky.
You smiled softly against his neck, then whispered, “So do you.”
When he finally slid into you, it was careful — almost reverent. There was no rush. No hunger to claim. Just the slow, aching press of bodies coming together, like a deep breath being exhaled after being held too long.
Both of you stilled for a moment, your foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in sync. You were full of him — not just physically, but emotionally. And in that moment, you swore you felt something inside you settle. Like a missing piece had finally found where it belonged.
You began to move together, slow and deliberate, each thrust more about connection than release. His hands roamed up your back, fingers splaying across your shoulder blades, like he couldn’t bear to let go of even an inch of you. Every time your hips met, a soft gasp or whimper left your lips, answered by the way Bob groaned low in his throat, utterly overwhelmed by how good you felt around him.
The air between you was thick with warmth, your bodies slick with sweat but never frantic. The way you kissed him between moans, the way his hands stroked your sides with a trembling tenderness, it all spoke louder than anything you could’ve said out loud.
“I’ve never—” he choked out, voice cracking, “—never felt anything like this.”
You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Me neither.”
Your pace quickened slightly, not from desperation but because your bodies knew each other now, moved together naturally. You could feel yourself getting closer, and from the way Bob’s grip on you tightened and his hips stuttered slightly, you knew he was too.
But neither of you chased it. You let it build, let it take its time, let it matter.
And when you finally came — together, as if perfectly timed — it wasn’t explosive. It was soft. Like sinking into something that had always been waiting for you. You held each other through it, every muscle trembling, your mouths finding each other again and again as if to say, I’m here. I’m still here.
Even as your breathing slowed and your bodies softened, you didn’t pull away. You just stayed there, tangled together in warmth and silence, hearts thudding gently in the same rhythm.
The world had gone quiet. Neither of you spoke for a while. There was no need to. You were both still coming down from the high, your minds slow, your bodies heavy and satisfied.
Bob’s chest rose and fell beneath you, his heartbeat echoing faintly in your ear where your head rested against him. You could feel that he was still inside you, the connection unbroken, and neither of you seemed in a hurry to move.
You shifted just slightly, a tiny sigh escaping your lips as your thighs twitched from the lingering tension. Bob pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, the gentlest thing, like he was afraid he’d wake you even though you were still very much awake but fading.
Your voice was quiet, half-murmured against his chest. “You okay?”
He let out a breath, almost a laugh, and nodded slowly. “Yeah… I just… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this calm before.”
You smiled, your eyes closing at the sound of his voice, that low, warm rasp that made your chest flutter even now. “Me neither.”
There was a pause. Not awkward, not heavy, just peaceful. The kind of pause where two people are so content, silence feels like part of the conversation.
You felt yourself drifting, your body melting further into his. Your legs tangled with his, your arms limp, every inch of you relaxed in a way you hadn’t known you needed. You were safe. You were full — in every sense of the word. And his presence beneath you was like an anchor, a soft place to land after everything.
Your breath started to slow. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy. Sleep pulled at you like the tide.
And then, just as you began to slip under, Bob’s voice, barely there, a whisper made of breath and feeling, broke the stillness.
“I love you.”
He didn’t say it like he expected an answer. He didn’t even say it like he meant for you to hear. It was quiet. Almost scared. Like a secret that had waited far too long to be set free.
But you didn’t stir. You were already gone, lost to sleep in the safety of his arms, your face soft and peaceful against his chest.
Bob looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment, then full of something tender, something real. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, let his fingers rest against your naked back, and closed his eyes.
He will never forget this moment.
And so do you.
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This got me all warm and in my feels for Autumn🥰
The Great Outdoors
Summary: Logan takes you on a camping trip, but his survival skills are hilariously outdated. Between using a rock instead of a proper camping tool and attempting to start a fire with his claws (which ends up in a mini bonfire), you can’t stop laughing. Eventually, you both end up cuddled in the tent, sharing ghost stories that lead to goofy scares and unexpected confessions of affection.
Pairing : Wolverine!Logan Howlett x Female!Human-reader
Genre : Fluff
The sun was already dipping low behind the trees when Logan parked the truck. He got out like he was about to conquer the wild, while you stood there, looking at the woods and trying not to laugh at the seriousness on his face. Logan wasn’t the camping type—or at least, not the “modern” kind. He was more like the “rough it with nothing but your fists and claws” type.
This was going to be interesting.
“So, what’s the plan, Bear Grylls?” you teased, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.
Logan grunted, pulling out a rolled-up tent from the back of the truck. “Survive. That’s the plan.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, so detailed. I feel so prepared.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve done this a hundred times. Just follow my lead, and we’ll be fine.”
Oh, boy.
You made your way into the clearing Logan had apparently scoped out beforehand. It wasn’t bad, actually—nice little spot near a river, surrounded by trees that rustled softly in the evening breeze. As soon as you set your stuff down, Logan got to work... sort of.
He started with the tent. You watched him as he unfolded it, frowning like the damn thing had personally offended him. “These damn things get more complicated every year,” he muttered, trying to shove a pole into one of the sleeves.
“Need some help?” you asked, biting your lip to keep from laughing as he wrestled with it.
“Nah, I got it,” he grumbled, jamming the pole so hard it almost snapped.
Five minutes later, the tent was half-collapsed, one corner flapping in the wind, and Logan was cursing under his breath.
“I think it’s supposed to stand up, Logan.”
He shot you a look, then glanced back at the tent. “It’s fine. I’m just, uh... testing its durability.”
You let out a snort, shaking your head. “Right. Maybe you should just let me handle that.”
“I’m a grown-ass man,” he muttered, glaring at the tent like it had insulted his mother.
“Yeah, and you’re losing a fight to a piece of nylon.”
After another moment of watching him struggle, you stepped in and started putting the thing together while Logan, not exactly one for sitting still, decided to gather firewood. He disappeared into the woods with nothing but his claws, because why bring a hatchet when you’re Logan?
By the time he came back, arms full of sticks and logs, the tent was up and looking perfect. You leaned against it, smirking as he dropped the wood into a pile.
“See?” you said, gesturing to the tent. “That’s how it’s done.”
Logan grunted, clearly not impressed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see you start a fire.”
You crossed your arms. “Watch and learn, old man.”
He grinned, that dangerous little glint in his eye. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”
Logan, being Logan, didn’t just gather some twigs and light them with a match like a normal person. No, that would’ve been too easy. Instead, he pulled out his claws and crouched next to the fire pit, sparks flying as he struck them against a rock.
“Logan, that’s not how—”
Whoosh!
The pile of wood lit up like someone had dumped gasoline on it. Flames shot up higher than you thought possible, and you stumbled back, laughing your ass off while Logan jumped up, cursing.
“Goddammit!” He swiped his claws through the air, trying to beat the flames down. “I meant to do that.”
“Oh, sure,” you choked out between laughs, wiping at your eyes. “That’s the perfect height for roasting marshmallows, right?”
Logan glared at the mini-bonfire for a second, then at you. “Next time, you can light the damn thing.”
You couldn’t stop laughing, the sound of it bouncing around the trees. Logan finally cracked a smile, though he tried to hide it behind a gruff mutter.
After some careful maneuvering (read: Logan finally letting you fix the fire), you both settled down for the evening. The fire was low, crackling softly, the night air cool around you. Stars were starting to peek through the darkening sky, and the only sounds were the soft hum of the forest and Logan chewing on beef jerky.
You leaned back against a log, holding your hands out to the fire. “So, what now? Gonna show me your impressive ghost story collection?”
Logan raised an eyebrow, gnawing on his jerky like a wild animal. “Ghost stories? What are we, twelve?”
“Come on,” you teased. “Everyone knows camping isn’t complete without ghost stories. It’s like... the law.”
He scoffed but leaned back, his eyes glinting in the firelight. “Alright. You want a ghost story? I’ll give you one.”
“Oh, this oughta be good.”
Logan cleared his throat dramatically. “So... once upon a time... there was this girl. Thought she was real tough. Real smart.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Is this about me?”
“Shhh, I’m tellin’ a story here,” Logan said, smirking. “Anyway, she thought she could survive out in the wild with just a little ol’ tent and her wit. But one night, she heard a rustling in the trees... something... watching her.”
You leaned in, playing along, even though you knew exactly where this was going. “Oh, yeah? What was it?”
Logan’s eyes widened theatrically. “A bear! Big, ugly thing. Twice her size. It came into her camp, sniffin’ around, and you know what she did?”
You shook your head, grinning. “What?”
“Nothing. She just froze. The bear ate all her snacks, tore up her tent, and left her sittin’ there in her own piss.”
You burst out laughing. “Wow, Logan. Truly terrifying. 10/10. I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks.”
Logan grinned, leaning closer. “I got more. You’ll be beggin’ for mercy by the end of the night.”
You pushed his shoulder lightly. “You’re such an ass.”
As the night deepened and the fire began to die down, you both retreated into the tent. It was surprisingly cozy inside, the faint warmth of the fire lingering outside while you snuggled into your sleeping bag. Logan stretched out beside you, his body taking up way too much space, but you didn’t mind.
“Comfy?” you asked, glancing at him as he wiggled around.
“Like a fuckin’ sardine,” he muttered, trying to adjust in the small space. “Who the hell makes these tents so damn small?”
“They’re meant for normal-sized people, not... whatever the hell you are,” you said with a smirk.
Logan snorted. “Mutant privilege. I need bigger accommodations.”
You both lay there for a few minutes, the quiet settling in around you. Logan’s breathing was steady, his body warm next to yours, and despite his earlier grumblings, you could tell he was content. This whole camping thing wasn’t so bad, after all.
“Alright,” you said suddenly, turning to face him. “I’ve got a ghost story.”
Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, so you went on.
“There’s this guy, right? Big, tough, hairy—like, really hairy. The kinda guy you wouldn’t wanna meet in a dark alley.”
Logan rolled his eyes, but you kept going.
“And one night, he decides to go camping with this totally amazing girl—smart, funny, great taste in camping snacks—”
“Wow, I wonder who this is about,” Logan deadpanned.
“Shhh,” you said, stifling a laugh. “But the thing is... the guy? He’s got a secret. See, he acts all tough, like nothing scares him, but deep down? He’s terrified of one thing.”
Logan looked over at you, eyes narrowing. “What?”
You grinned, leaning in close. “Commitment.”
Logan blinked, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”
“Maybe,” you said, smiling. “But you know I’m right.”
He didn’t deny it, just stretched out a hand to pull you closer, his arm wrapping around you with an ease that made your heart flutter a little too fast.
“I’m scared of plenty of things,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Just not the same kinda things as you.”
“Like what?” you asked, curious now.
Logan looked at you, his eyes serious for once. “Losing people. People I care about. That’s what scares me.”
The confession was quiet, unexpected, and it hit harder than you’d thought. You swallowed, unsure of what to say, but Logan just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, pulling you in tighter.
“Guess that makes you a real badass,” you whispered after a moment, your voice barely breaking the stillness of the tent.
“Damn right,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now shut up and go to sleep before I start tellin’ real scary stories.”
You smiled against his chest, warmth spreading through you as the sound of the river and the soft crackling of the dying fire lulled you to sleep. And maybe, just maybe, you’d both survived the great outdoors after all.
𝐴𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐻𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 ; peter sutherland | one-shot |
summary: the hours after peter's night shift are definitely better than the hours during.
pairing: shygf!fem!reader x teasingbf!peter sutherland.
trope: established relationship.
genre: fluff + romance.
warnings‼️: suggestive (kissing, making out, touchy feely while kissing, etc.) but still sfw.
word count: 1,149.
random disclaimerrr: been on this train since 2023 😝 HE GOT EVEN FINER HELP 😭😛 he got me jumpin’ like boom shaka-laka boom shaka-laka ohhh 😛 happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv
You’re in that baby pink silk set he likes. It’s nothing fancy; just a spaghetti strapped cami top with a lacy outline and a pair of matching shorts.
He likes it because of how you look in it.
The baby pink brings out your skin, makes it appear glowy. Your eyes pop out and contrast with the shiny material nicely.
All claims of pure flattery but it’s all for you.
Color theory is real and Peter is living proof of that.
You lean against the doorframe with your arms crossed, watching your boyfriend wearing that outfit you like.
A tight-fitted navy blue long-sleeved shirt paired with the softest grey sweatpants ever.
His hair is dried up from the shower he took earlier and you can still smell the hotel citrus mixed with hints of his Polo cologne.
You think about how good he looks; a clean shave giving him the softest, smoothest face. He's currently manspreading on a chair, looking over some documents placed in his lap.
His biceps entice you to look, to stare and admire.
His strength has always captivated you. The attraction is deeply rooted in the way he makes you feel safe.
The tattoos decorating his arms fuel your fascination.
His sleeves are pulled up a bit, revealing a taste of his forearms and its veins. Peter rakes a hand through his hair and rubs the back of his neck, deep in thought.
The muscly arms make another appearance and you can't take it anymore.
You walk over and hike yourself up on the table, right beside his pile of papers.
“I was wondering when you were gonna stop staring at me creepily and say what’s on your mind.” He comments without looking up from the file.
You look down and play with the hem of your top, growing shy at his observation. A small smile lines your lips and you don't dare meet his gaze when he sighs and sets the file down beside you.
He stares at you for a moment before continuing. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“I'm good on pennies, actually. But, thank you.” You murmur.
Peter slides his chair in front of you and you don't miss the way his legs are still far apart, like he's expecting you to step down and sit down any moment now.
He’s leaned back all nice and comfortable, watching your every move.
He notices your eyebrows twitch up a bit when he fills your line of sight. He doesn’t miss the way you’re still fiddling with the hem of your top, trying to occupy your mind. Peter sees the way your wandering eyes light up when he’s giving you attention.
He decides not to tease you anymore and leans forward. His hands are on your knees, pushing them apart so he can stand in between them.
Your spine straightens itself and you slowly breathe in when he brings his face closer.
You’re acutely aware of his hands being on either side of you, caging you in.
You blink up at him and meet those chocolate eyes.
“Don’t go all shy on me now.” He’s soft with his teasing.
You smack your teeth and can’t help the grin that graces your lips. Your head tilts back a bit but he’s persistent; he tracks its movements.
Peter bumps his nose into yours, provoking you to meet him all the way.
You want to kiss him but you’re too shy to make the first move.
If only you were a telepath.
“You gonna kiss me or what?” He’s bold with his demands.
You pretend to mull over the thought, shrugging slightly and humming in uncertainty.
“Uh huh.” He says, obviously not buying it.
Testing the waters, Peter leans in just a bit to keep you guessing.
You have your gaze set on his plush lips and you think about how soft they look. Inviting, too.
You lean in thoughtlessly and he can’t find it in himself to deny you.
He finally kisses you and you sigh in relief.
You blindly wrap your legs around him and pull him in, your fingers run through his hair and he groans at the contact.
The vibrations make your lips tingle a bit and you meekly chuckle, breaking this kiss.
“I can’t stand you.” Peter breathlessly admits.
You both know he’s all bark and no bite but you’re curious.
“Why not?” You ask.
“You’re so…” He looks back and forth at your eyes and is captivated by your honey flavored lips.
“Distracting.” He settles on this but you are, and you know it.
“You’re wearing that set that you know I like,” He rubs the soft material against his thumb.
“And the chapstick.”
“What about it?”
It’s a Burts Bees moisturizing lip balm but with a new flavor: honey. You knew he’d like it but you didn’t expect this reaction from him.
“It’s nice.” He whispers before pressing a chaste kiss to your soft, sweet lips.
He grips your waist and lifts you up, you resume your previous position and wrap yourself around him; cocooning your body into his.
He steps backwards and plops down on the bed, worshipping you.
His touch is electric, fingers dip under your shirt and sprout goosebumps in their wake. His knuckles gently caress your hips before squeezing them with affection.
Your heart flutters at his actions and you’re putty in his hands. Your eyes close involuntarily and you sigh and gasp as the last bits of consciousness whither away at his touch.
His forehead presses against yours and you feel his silent notions of care and adoration for you. Peter kisses down your jaw and can’t control the sparks of devotion that lick into your skin.
You’re overwhelmed with emotion by his affection, by his kisses. By him.
It’s as if a heavy weight is set on your chest and can’t be lifted unless you speak.
You take charge of the moment by tilting your head back and angle his face away from your neck.
His pupils dilated to the max combined with his rosy cheeks makes for a pretty sight.
“What’s wrong?” He whispers.
Peter adjusts you in his lap and the way he handles you with such care and strength has you craving for more.
“Nothing, I just…”
You leave the ghost of a trail on the apples of his cheeks and his warm hand comes up to envelop it. He kisses the side of your palm and it makes you giddy inside.
“I just really like you. A lot.”
He blinks as a warm smile spreads over his face. He stares up at you for a second before gently pushing you down onto the bed.
Your excitement shows in your squeals and giggles as he leaves kisses all over your face and holds you close to him.
The hours after his night shift are the best hours of his life, he thinks.
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.
Nothing beats forbidden love🤭
draco malfoy x reader where the reader is in hufflepuf and they are in a secret relationship that suddenly gets discovered by someone
The cold stone walls of Hogwarts always felt warmer when you were with Draco, especially in this forgotten alcove nestled deep in the castle’s labyrinth of corridors. It was your secret hideaway, shielded by shadows, cloaked in silence. No one ever ventured this far, and it was perfect for moments like this—where time stood still, and the outside world ceased to exist.
Draco leaned against the wall, his Slytherin tie loosened, his stormy grey eyes locked on yours. The tension between you was palpable, not the dangerous kind but something far sweeter, something laced with longing. You stepped closer, drawn to him as you always were, your Hufflepuff robe brushing against his.
“Do you think we’ll ever be able to tell anyone?” you asked softly, voice barely above a whisper, afraid to break the fragile spell of your hidden world. Your heart raced as you waited for his response, hoping for a different answer this time.
Draco’s expression darkened, the softness in his eyes hardening like ice. He shook his head sharply. “No. It’s impossible,” he said, his voice clipped, his tone final. “Do you have any idea what people would say? What they’d think? What my father would do?”
The mention of his father sent a shiver down your spine. You knew Lucius Malfoy’s reputation, and you had no illusions about how he would react to Draco being involved with a Hufflepuff. But it wasn’t just his family. You could hear the unspoken names in his voice—the Slytherins, the pure-blood elites, everyone who lived by the old ways, who would never accept something as simple as love if it crossed House boundaries.
“But what if we—” you began, but Draco cut you off.
“No, listen to me,” he said firmly, stepping closer and gripping your arms gently but with enough force to make sure you understood. “My father would disown me. The Slytherins would turn their backs on me. Even the Hufflepuffs would start talking about you behind your back, saying Merlin knows what. You don’t know what they’re like, the things they’d say. I won’t let you be a part of that.”
His words hung heavy between you, sinking into your chest like lead. There was a lump in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to push it down. You understood his fears, but it didn’t make the ache in your heart any less. You wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t care what anyone thought, but you knew him well enough to see that no amount of persuasion would change his mind. Not when he was this adamant.
You sighed, casting your eyes down to the stone floor, but Draco was having none of it. His hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again. And for a moment, you could see it—the vulnerability in him, the conflict. He didn’t want to keep this secret forever, but he felt he had no choice.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek. His voice, though still guarded, held a note of tenderness that he rarely let slip. “But it’s better this way. For both of us.”
You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned into him, letting the tension melt away as his arms wrapped around you. The kiss that followed was gentle at first, a slow reassurance that in this hidden corner of the world, at least, you were free. His lips were warm, contrasting with the cold, rough stone at your back, and you melted into him, all your worries dissolving as his hands threaded into your hair.
Time lost its meaning when you were like this. The castle, the students, the looming threat of being caught—it all slipped away. There was only the taste of Draco’s lips, the intoxicating heat of his body pressed against yours, and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating in sync. His touch was more urgent now, his hands exploring, grasping, as though he could never be close enough, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you in case this was your last stolen moment together.
But then, the world came crashing back.
“Malfoy!”
The voice was sharp, cold, and unmistakable. You froze, the kiss breaking abruptly as Draco jerked back, eyes wide in panic. You followed his gaze and felt your stomach drop. Standing in the entrance of the alcove, his dark robes billowing like a shadow of doom, was none other than Professor Snape.
His expression was a mixture of shock and outrage, though his usually impassive face betrayed only the slightest twitch of surprise. His black eyes flicked between you and Draco, narrowing dangerously. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the walls were closing in on you both.
Draco stepped forward slightly, putting himself between you and Snape as if to shield you, though you weren’t sure if it was more out of instinct or desperation. “Professor,” Draco began, his voice tight, trying to regain some semblance of control, “it’s not what it looks like.”
But it was exactly what it looked like, and Snape wasn’t fooled for a second. His gaze turned steely as his lips curled into a sneer. “Really, Malfoy?” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “Do enlighten me, then. What exactly am I looking at?”
You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to have shrunk down to this one moment, with no escape in sight. What would Snape do? Tell the other professors? Inform your Head of House? Or worse—would he go straight to Lucius Malfoy?
The thought made you sick with dread.
Draco shifted uncomfortably, his cool façade cracking as he struggled for an explanation. But there was none. There was no easy way out of this.
Snape’s eyes bore into yours now, and you felt the weight of his disappointment, the judgment in his silence. You’d seen him angry before, with other students, but this—this was different. He wasn’t just angry. He was livid.
“I suggest,” Snape finally said, his voice low and deadly, “that you both return to your common rooms. Now. Before I decide to inform the Headmaster of your… inappropriate activities.”
Your heart was pounding in your ears as you nodded, too stunned to speak. Draco grabbed your hand for a fleeting second, squeezing it as if to say he was sorry—sorry for everything—before letting go. His mask was back in place, and without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the alcove, his back rigid, his expression unreadable.
You followed in silence, your heart heavy with the weight of your secret love, now more fragile than ever.
Requests are open. Send as many as you like at once.
I’m cheesing so hard rn🤭🤭 So perfectttt
𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - When Y/N receives a mysterious rose in the Great Hall, Tom Riddle seethes at the thought of an unknown admirer attempting to claim his girl. That night, he makes his move—filling her dorm with sunflowers, signing his name boldly, and ensuring she knows exactly who truly deserves her heart.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - needed a break from writing Riddles Take Hogwarts and the Looking Glass fics. Don't get me wrong I love writing them but wanted to write someting with Tom x Y/N at hogwarts.
𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws
The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, students indulging in breakfast while owls swooped in, delivering letters and packages from home.
Y/N sat among her friends at the Slytherin table, enjoying a piece of toast when an owl gracefully descended in front of her, dropping a single red rose onto her plate.
A soft gasp escaped her lips as she picked up the delicate flower, her cheeks instantly flushing with warmth. A secret admirer? Her friends leaned in with wide grins, whispering excitedly, but Y/N could only stare at the rose in surprise. Who could have sent it?
Across the table, Tom Riddle’s fingers curled slightly around his fork, his jaw tightening as he watched the scene unfold. His dark eyes flickered to the rose in her hands, the color standing out starkly against her fingertips. A single red rose. How utterly pathetic.
He barely concealed his sneer as he muttered, just loud enough for his friends to hear, "Pathetic."
Draco, seated beside him, smirked knowingly. "Jealous, Riddle?"
Tom scoffed, taking a calculated sip of his tea. "Hardly," he murmured, already formulating his next move. Whoever had sent that miserable excuse of a gift clearly didn't know Y/N—not the way he did.
That night, as the castle settled into its usual quiet, Tom made sure Y/N would never have to question who truly knew her best.
When she returned to her dorm, she barely managed to open the door before being greeted with a sight that stole her breath away—sunflowers. Bouquets upon bouquets of golden sunflowers filled the entrance, their bright petals practically glowing in the dim candlelight.
Her friends shrieked with excitement, their voices blending into a flurry of admiration and envy.
"Merlin, Y/N! Who—?"
"This is so romantic!"
"You can't even get through the door!"
Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding as her fingers found the small envelope nestled between the bouquets. Carefully, she opened it, her breath hitching when she saw the signature at the bottom.
"T.M.R."
Her lips parted in shock as realization dawned. Tom.
Unlike her so-called secret admirer from earlier, Tom knew. He knew she disliked receiving gifts in public, that she preferred the intimacy of private gestures. He knew roses weren’t her favorite flowers—sunflowers were. And most importantly, he had the confidence to sign his name, making sure she knew exactly who had sent them.
As she entered the common room, still reeling, her gaze locked onto his. Tom sat by the fire, his usual smirk gracing his lips, eyes glinting with triumph. He had planned this perfectly.
Y/N felt her cheeks warm as she clutched the note in her hands. Tom simply arched a brow, as if daring her to say something.
She didn’t need to.
He had already won.
charmed, i'm sure
(feat. accidental truth serum, public chaos, and one very flustered reader)
It starts during double Potions.
Snape’s droning on about the stability of truth serums, and Mattheo Riddle (gorgeous, brooding, completely full of himself) is stirring his cauldron with that signature air of boredom and menace.
You’re seated next to him. Unfortunately.
Well, technically it was alphabetical. But you’re starting to think fate just has a sense of humor.
Snape snaps his fingers. “Taste test. Two drops each.”
It's obvious he thinks no one made the potion right.
You arch a brow. “Taste the potion? Isn’t that, like, illegal?”
Mattheo shrugs. “Probably. But I’m dying to know what secrets you’re hiding.”
You roll your eyes and raise your vial. “Bottoms up, Riddle.”
And then.
He drinks. You pretend to drink.
You blink. He blinks.
And then... chaos.
“Your eyes,” he says dreamily, “should be illegal in academic settings. I can’t focus. I think I failed last week’s quiz because of them.”
You look over at him in horror. “What?”
“Oh no,” he says cheerfully. “I think it’s working.”
Snape narrows his eyes. “Mr. Riddle, is there a problem?”
Mattheo turns to him, absolutely beaming. “No, Professor. Unless you count the fact that I’m catastrophically in love with the girl next to me and have been writing her name over and over in the margins of my Arithmancy textbook for three months.”
There is a beat of silence.
You drop your quill.
Snape sighs. “Hospital wing. Now.”
“But I feel fine,” Mattheo says. “Better than fine. Actually, I feel free. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to tell her that her laugh makes me feel like I’m choking on happiness?”
You slap a hand over his mouth.
“Sorry, Professor,” you mutter, dragging him out of the classroom as fast as your legs can carry you. “He’s clearly unwell. Tragic. Don’t wait up.”
In the hallway, Mattheo’s grinning like a madman.
“Wait,” he says, eyes wide. “Did I tell them about the dreams yet?”
You freeze. “WHAT dreams?”
He looks slightly panicked. “Oh no.”
You push open the hospital wing door and hiss, “Mattheo Riddle, if you say one more thing that makes me want to throw myself out a window—”
“I think you’re smarter than me,” he blurts. “It’s not fair. You’re so clever. I watch you solve things and it’s like... like watching lightning happen in real time. And you don’t even brag about it. It’s disgusting. I’m obsessed with you.”
You gape at him.
Madam Pomfrey appears with a raised brow.
“Veritaserum, I assume?”
You nod numbly. “Yes. And please. Make it stop before he proposes.”
Mattheo places a hand on his chest, gasping. “Do you want me to?! Because I will. I have the ring picked out.”
A/N: missed this trainwreck | mattheo 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.
I have a crush on all 3 of them so I need you guys to make this decision for me😅 I want to create all of these options but I’ll do it in the order of what you guys want to see the most.
Go wild my lovelies🤭
Tom Riddle’s Future Wife beware this is smut soo...mdni
It should have scared her. The way he needed her. The way his fingers gripped too tight, the way his eyes darkened whenever she so much as breathed the thought of leaving him.
But it didn’t.
Not anymore.
Y/N had fought him for so long, fought the inescapable truth that she was his—body, mind, soul. But now, as she lay beneath him, feeling the weight of his obsession pressing into her, she didn’t resist.
She surrendered.
A slow, sinful smirk tugged at Tom’s lips as he hovered over her, his dark hair tousled, his shirt already discarded somewhere on the floor. His eyes gleamed with something primal, something possessive, as he traced a fingertip down the center of her chest, following the silk of her nightgown.
“You’ve finally accepted it,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.
Y/N’s lips parted as his fingers dipped lower, grazing the edge of her bare thigh where the fabric had ridden up. She didn’t move to stop him.
“What took me so long?” she whispered, teasing.
Tom inhaled sharply, his pupils blown wide, his hunger tangible in the air between them. “Oh, my love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot below her ear, “you have no idea what you've just done.”
His mouth was on hers before she could respond, claiming, devouring, kissing her with a ferocity that made her toes curl. His hands roamed beneath her gown, warm and insistent against her skin, his touch reverent yet desperate.
“You were always mine,” he rasped between kisses, trailing his lips down her throat, over her collarbone, leaving marks in his wake. “But now… now you know it.”
Y/N gasped as his teeth grazed her skin, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her open beneath him. His hardness pressed against her through his slacks, and she shuddered at the sheer need she felt radiating from him.
“Say it,” he urged, his voice low, dangerous, his fingers sliding up her inner thigh, teasing her. “Say you’re mine.”
A shiver ran down her spine as he dragged his fingers through her slick heat, parting her folds with slow, deliberate intent. Her breath hitched, her hips shifting beneath him as he circled her clit with agonizing patience.
“I’m yours,” she whispered, breathless, body betraying her resistance long before her mind did.
Tom groaned, the sound rough and primal as he plunged two fingers inside her without warning. She arched against him, her hands fisting into the sheets as he curled them deep, stroking her in a way that made her see stars.
“You don’t know what that does to me,” he murmured, his mouth brushing against her ear, his fingers pumping inside her at a ruthless pace.
Y/N whimpered, her legs trembling as pleasure coiled low in her stomach. His name left her lips in a breathless gasp, and he shuddered.
“I need to feel you,” he rasped, pulling away just long enough to rid himself of his remaining clothes.
She barely had a moment to breathe before he was positioning himself between her thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her entrance, teasing, waiting.
“You’ll never leave me now,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers as he thrust into her in one deep, merciless stroke.
A cry tore from her throat as he filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her. Tom groaned against her lips, his grip bruising on her hips as he pulled out only to slam back in, setting a brutal, possessive rhythm.
“You’ll be my wife,” he growled, punctuating his words with deep, powerful thrusts. “The Dark Lord’s queen.”
Y/N could barely think, barely breathe, as he drove into her with relentless precision. His body pressed flush against hers, his breath hot against her skin, his hands everywhere—gripping, claiming, worshiping.
She dug her nails into his back, moaning as he hit that spot deep inside her that made her body tighten around him. Tom groaned, his rhythm faltering for a second as he felt her surrender, felt her body embrace him the way her mind finally had.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice ragged as he buried himself deep, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” she gasped, barely coherent as pleasure surged through her.
Tom let out a broken moan, his hands trembling as he lost himself in her. He thrust harder, deeper, dragging her over the edge with him.
She came with a cry, her body clenching around him, her vision going white as she shattered beneath him. Tom groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he followed, spilling inside her with a shuddering gasp.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing, the echo of their bodies still pressed together.
Then, Tom lifted his head, his dark eyes gleaming as he smirked down at her.
“You were made for me,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her swollen ones.
Y/N, still dazed, let out a soft hum, threading her fingers through his dark curls.
And for the first time, she didn’t just accept it.
She wanted it.
A/N: Well hello there my lovelies! I'm pretty new to this whole writing stuff (I've always been more of a passive reader) and am really just trying to have fun with it so I hope I can make you guys happy with my creations🤭 I have no set schedule for when I'll write something but I'll do my best to create some fun stuff for you to read when I get some inspiration. I don't take writing requests because I'm really just using this platform to have fun with what I feel like writing. BUT I am always open to hearing your thoughts about my existing pieces!
Remember, you are responsible for your own media consumption so read the warnings and make smart decisions😌
Please DO NOT copy or repost my work! But of course, feel free to reblog and comment to your heart's content😘
Have fun yall😏
MASTERLIST
Loki Laufeyson
His reaction to your nipple piercings (Drabble) (18+ MDNI!)
Logan Howlett
NSFW Alphabet (18+ MDNI!)
SFW Alphabet
Bucky Barnes
Jasper Hale
Severus Snape
Draco Malfoy
Headcannons (coming soon…)
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