Summary: Tangerine never believed in marriage. Too permanent. Too fragile. Too easy to lose. But when the woman he loves finally walks away, he’s forced to confront the truth—some things are worth the risk. Even forever.
Tangerine had never liked the idea of marriage.
Contracts. Rings. Promises that could be broken.
He’d seen enough of the world to know how temporary everything was. People left. People died. People betrayed you. Marriage, to him, was just another illusion—something that made people feel safe until it didn’t.
So every time you brought it up—casually, gently—he brushed it off.
“You know it’s not my thing, yeah?”
“Bit pointless, innit?”
“We’re already together, ain’t we?”
And every time, you smiled. But it got tighter. Smaller.
He didn’t notice. Not really.
⸻
It came to a head on a quiet afternoon.
You were standing in the kitchen, back turned to him, stirring something on the stove. You mentioned it again—not even directly. Just a comment about a friend’s engagement.
“That’s nice,” you said softly. “She looks really happy.”
Tangerine shrugged from the doorway. “Good for her.”
You waited. He said nothing else.
“…that’s it?” you asked.
He frowned. “What d’you want me to say?”
You turned around then, eyes tired. “I want you to care.”
He scoffed lightly. “About a ring? About a bit of paper?”
“About us,” you snapped, voice breaking despite yourself. “About the future.”
He crossed his arms. “I’m here, ain’t I? That’s enough, yeah?”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then you spoke, quietly. “I don’t think it is. Not for me.”
Something in his chest tightened. “You’re makin’ a big deal outta nothin’.”
You shook your head. “You don’t see it. Or you don’t want to.”
You grabbed your jacket. “I can’t keep hinting. Or hoping you’ll change.”
“Where you goin’?” he asked sharply.
You paused at the door, hand trembling on the handle. “Somewhere I don’t feel like I’m asking for too much.”
And then you left.
⸻
An hour passed.
The flat felt wrong.
Too quiet. Too empty. No soft music. No you on the couch. No teasing remarks. No warmth.
Tangerine sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
His chest hurt.
An hour, he thought. She’ll come back.
Another ten minutes.
Nothing.
That’s when it hit him—not like a bullet, but like something slowly crushing his ribs.
What if she didn’t come back?
What if this was the thing he lost because he was too stubborn to admit the truth?
Because the truth was—
He loved you.
Not casually. Not temporarily. Completely. Terrifyingly.
Marriage wasn’t a waste of time.
Losing you would be.
⸻
He grabbed his phone.
“Lemon,” he said the second his brother answered.
“…You sound panicked. Did someone stab you?”
“No. Worse.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She left.”
There was a pause. “Oh.”
“And I think I’ve fucked up.”
“Yeah,” Lemon said gently. “You have.”
“I want to marry her.”
Another pause. Then—“Ohhh. That’s big.”
“I need your help.”
⸻
Lemon was surprisingly efficient.
He distracted you—coffee, talking, rambling, keeping you occupied while Tangerine rushed through a jewelry store like a man possessed.
The clerk tried to ask questions.
He interrupted. “She’s kind. Smart. Too good for me. I want that one.”
He bought the ring.
Then he ran.
⸻
When he finally found you, you were standing outside, arms folded, eyes red but dry.
You looked up—and froze.
Tangerine stopped in front of you, breathing hard.
“I’m bad at this,” he said immediately. “I’m bad at sayin’ things. I’m bad at promises.”
You crossed your arms tighter. “Then why are you here?”
“Because I panicked,” he admitted. “Because the flat felt wrong without you. Because I realised I don’t care if marriage scares me—losing you terrifies me more.”
Your breath caught.
He swallowed, voice rough. “I fell in love with you because you see through me. Because you don’t treat me like a weapon. Because you make my life quieter. Better.”
Then—slowly—he went down on one knee.
People stopped walking.
“I don’t think marriage is a waste of time,” he said softly. “I think I was just scared of wantin’ something that much.”
He looked up at you. “Marry me. Please.”
Tears spilled down your cheeks.
“…You idiot.”
He smiled shakily. “Is that a yes?”
You nodded, laughing through tears. “Yes.”
He stood, pulled you into his arms, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you.”
You whispered back, “I never wanted the ring. I just wanted you to choose me.”
kinktober day 19, oct. 31 (semi) public sex, remote control vibrator
SUMMARY: in which logan gives you a remote controlled vibrator, in public
WARNINGS: public, smut 18+, very short, poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, est. relationship, fluff, mentions of children
a/n: happy halloween! today is the final day of kinktober and im very grateful for all the love you all have given me. thanks for 700 followers which we reached in literally a week!! dont be afraid to message me if you want to talk or request fics <33
Imagine Logan giving you a vibrator before a night out. He visited you in the bathroom before leaving, holding a small, inconspicuous box. "Got something for you." He muttered, leaning against the bathroom counter near the vanity where you sat. You paused in putting on your makeup, wearing a thin, silky robe that slipped down your shoulders.
Logan glanced down at your smooth skin and smirked, "Come on, bub, quick." The mischievous look in his eyes made you chuckle and raise an eyebrow. "What is it?" He didn't answer as you unwrapped it, slipping off the lid.
When you saw the hot pink vibrator, bulb-shaped at the end, with a longer tail, you blushed, rolling your eyes, "Logan, what—" he shook his head, kneeling, "you said you wanted fun—kinky fun. It's remote-controlled. Put it in."
With one quick motion, Logan grabbed the vibrator from your hands, smiling, "you'll like it. It's got ten different settings." With a deep breath, you nodded slowly, turning towards him, "fine. But don't get too bold when we're at the restaurant." He shrugged, "we'll see."
As you sat in Logan's truck, you couldn't keep a placid face. With each bounce and shift of the car, the vibrator would sink a little deeper inside of you. Your panties were soaked with slickness, and he hadn't even turned it on yet. Logan noticed too. He couldn't keep his eyes off of you, even when you checked in your reservation and sat down at the table.
"How you feelin'?" He asked, glancing down at his phone, and that's when you felt it, a growing vibration, slow and steady, until Logan tweaked the setting and it became stronger.
You leaned your arm against the table, watching him with a deadpan face. The restaurant wasn't empty, but there were still people surrounding you, a few tables away.
Logan shifted in his chair, smirking as your eyes rolled closed and you let out a huff. "Don't make too much noise, bub. Can't have anyone knowin' what's happenin'."
"Fuck—you, Logan. You know what you're doing." He shrugged, reaching beneath the table to caress your knee, "we can leave—take it to the car." You shook your head stubbornly, sitting up tall as you continued eating your appetizer.
"No. You'll tease me for weeks anyway."
Logan changed the setting once more, and the vibrator buzzed in intervals, each stronger than the last. Your cunt was humming with pleasure, little moans suffocated into your arm as you leaned against the table, eyes peeled closed.
Logan watched you intently, jaw clenched tight each time you moaned, a bulge growing in his pants, "Almost there?"
You nodded, squeezing your thighs together. "Bathroom—meet me in the bathroom." You muttered, standing up, stumbling a little, but you caught your footing and walked towards the bathroom on the far end of the restaurant. You had to take multiple pauses in the empty hall to breathe, but eventually you arrived in the family bathroom.
Pushing open the door, you hung your purse on the door, then leaned against the sink, tugging your dress past your hips as soft moans flowed from your lips. Groping your tits, you twisted and pulled at your nipples, hoping Logan followed.
Of course he did, though. He closed the bathroom door behind him and locked it, approaching you from behind and grabbing a handful of your ass. "Dripping like a fuckin' waterfall, bub." You chuckled, grabbing his wrist and pulling his arm around you.
"Fuck me, Logan. I know you want to." He chuckled, nodding, "yeah, been wanting to all night." His belt clinked as he undid it, then he rubbed himself against your cunt, grunting each time you grinded your ass against him.
Pulling the vibrator out, Logan slipped inside you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close, watching you through the mirror. He pushed the vibrator against your clit and kissed your neck, increasing his pace.
"Want to get pregnant?" He asked, and you rolled your eyes, "one's enough, Logan." He scoffed, hips slamming into your ass, your skin waving.
"She wants a sibling anyway." You dug your fingers into his arm as you moaned, pressing the vibrator harder against your clit. "We'll talk about it." Logan nodded, twisting your head to kiss you.
You came then, body relaxing against Logan, "another kid—then no more."
ੈ♡˳ 'trick or treat in the backseat' - 18+ logan x gn!reader
summary: logan pulls over and fucks you in the backseat on the way to a halloween party. (780 words)
tags: smut, gn!reader, short, missionary, reader and logan both cum, established relationship, slight voyeurism kink type stuff, car sex, dom!logan, pet names, 'sir', slight overstimulation, for the 'halloween' prompt for logan promptober.
he's got you in the backseat of his car. his lips are on your neck, your legs wrapped around his waist.
logan is going to make you fashionably late for the halloween party.
his hands are drifting up under your shirt.
"logan-" you huff, hips lifting instinctively, "i just put this costume on."
he grins, you can feel it, "yeah, and i want it off."
logan quickly strips the clothes from your body, tugging and pulling roughly. and you let him, because it feels great to be manhandled by him, especially when he's in this mood.
licking his fingers, he teases your hole as his tongue enters your mouth. you gasp. fuck. he really wants this.
heat pools low in your belly as you imagine someone finding you here, parked at the side of the road.
he feels you clench and wonders what dirty little thoughts are running through your head.
"does my baby want it?" he purrs against your lips.
you can only nod as he begins finger fucking you slowly. the sensation is almost too good. your head tips back, he licks a stripe along the column of your throat.
"use your words, i said does my baby want it?"
you clench. "yes, sir."
logan groans in response, now that's what he likes to hear.
the jingling of a belt buckle has your head tilting back up to meet his gaze as he fishes his cock out of his jeans. he's hard, thick, ready and throbbing. he's been worked up for a while. it didn't help that your hand was on his thigh the whole drive.
"we're gonna be late-" you start, but then he's pushing in and a moan spills lewdly from your lips.
he tuts, "sh sh sh, they can wait. i want you."
the thick crown of his cock pops inside and you marvel and watch as he sinks in deeper and deeper.
before you know it, he's fucking you - long deep strokes that fill you more and more with every thrust.
"open up for me, that's it, ngh-" logan grunts, one hand on your hip and the other on your shoulder to hold you down. you feel him hilt inside and you both gasp.
then, he pulls back, slams in hard enough to jolt you in the seat. you hardly have time to prepare yourself before he's rutting against you like a bitch in heat.
fuck, he really wants this.
the car begins to rock as he fucks you as hard as he wants and as deep as he knows you need. let them see, who gives a fuck, he's too lost in his lust to care.
"logan, someone might-" you choke out through thrusts, but it just drives him harder.
wet slaps fill the air as his hips connect with yours, "good."
the thought that logan wants someone to see has you close to cumming, combined with the rhythmic way his hips move and the feel of his cock swelling inside your tight wet hole.
and he feels it, the orgasm closing in on you. he bites his lip as he jackhammers in, determined to make you cum. your moans will undo him, could get him to do anything. he's weak for you.
"you gonna cum for me?" logan grins, he's close to snapping too.
you look up at him through hazy eyes, "y-yes sir, gonna cum. . . please, don't stop, lo'."
those fucking eyes. holy shit, those fucking eyes. logan would give you anything, do anything for you.
"want it nice and deep? want my cum darlin'? gonna fill you up nice and good in the backseat, huh?"
you can only babble in response as the heat builds, windows foggy, car rocking.
"i'm-"
a deep thrust. "i know."
you cum. hot and heavy and desperate for him, for logan.
he sees it in the way your body moves, feels it as you clench around him and it sends him into a frenzy. he's fucking you like it's the last time he'll ever get to, head bowed down at your chest as his hips piston.
his cum fills you up nice and warm, oozing out between thrusts. he doesn't stop until you're whimpering in a state of overstimulation.
logan eases up, slowing to a halt as you both pant and sweat.
"..you okay?" he manages to mumble through gasps.
you're more than okay. "yeah. . ." you laugh, trying to catch your breath.
pulling out, his cum dribbles down your thighs. you look good enough to eat, he can hardly keep his tongue in his mouth.
Summary: Kraven’s never cared for birthdays, but his wife and daughter change that with a quiet picnic, a flower crown, and a reminder that even hunters deserve softness.
Kraven never liked birthdays.
To him, they were nothing but markers of time — reminders that another year had passed in blood, in battle, in survival. He had spent most of his life hunting, training, and surviving the wild rather than celebrating it. But this morning, as the golden light of dawn filtered through the curtains, something felt different.
He awoke to the soft rustling of movement and the faint whisper of your voice from the kitchen. Then came the sound of little feet padding against the wooden floor, followed by your toddler daughter’s excited giggle.
Kraven frowned slightly, sitting up, his hair messy and falling into his face. “What are my girls up to?” he muttered under his breath, his voice still rough from sleep.
When he got up and walked toward the kitchen, he stopped in the doorway. There you were — in your robe, smiling over the counter — while your daughter, barely two and a half, stood on a small stool beside you, helping place fruit into a wicker basket. Her little curls bounced as she proudly handed you each piece, her fingers sticky from the strawberries.
You noticed him before your daughter did. “Good morning, birthday boy,” you said softly, smiling over your shoulder.
He chuckled quietly. “You know I don’t like birthdays.”
“I know,” you replied, still arranging the picnic basket. “But this one isn’t about the number or the years you’ve survived. It’s about us.”
Just then, your daughter turned around and spotted him. Her little face lit up like the sun. “Papa!” she squealed, holding out a strawberry-smeared hand. “Happy birfday!”
Kraven couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he crouched down, scooping her up into his strong arms. “Thank you, my little cub,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You’ve been helping Mama, hmm?”
She nodded proudly. “We go picnic! For your birfday!”
He looked at you, a faint smirk on his lips. “A picnic, is it?”
“Mm-hm. Somewhere quiet,” you said, closing the basket. “No hunting. No fighting. Just… peace.”
⸻
Later that morning, the three of you arrived at a quiet meadow just outside the city — one of Kraven’s favorite spots, where the forest met a calm lake. The air was warm and fresh, filled with the sound of birdsong and the gentle hum of insects.
You spread out a blanket under a shady oak tree while Kraven carried your daughter on his shoulders, her little hands clinging to his long hair as she squealed with laughter.
“Careful, little one,” he chuckled, setting her down beside the blanket. “Your Papa’s not as young as he used to be.”
She giggled, tugging at his beard. “You’re old!”
You burst out laughing, and Kraven turned his amused glare toward you. “Where does she get that from?”
“Must be all that honesty she inherited from you,” you teased, handing him a plate of sliced fruit.
Kraven sat down beside you, legs stretched out, his arm brushing against yours as he took in the simple picnic you’d made — fruits, cheese, bread, and a small bottle of wine. “You did all this for me?” he asked quietly, his voice low but warm.
You nodded. “You deserve to be celebrated, Kraven. You’ve given us a good life — and you’ve survived so much.”
He looked at you with that familiar softness he rarely let others see. “You two are my greatest hunt,” he murmured. “And my greatest treasure.”
You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “That’s the most poetic thing you’ve ever said.”
He gave a low laugh. “Don’t tell Lemon,” he teased lightly, but his voice softened again when he looked down at your daughter.
She was busy in the grass, tiny fingers plucking yellow dandelions and white daisies. Her little brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue poking out slightly as she tried to weave them together.
“What’s she doing?” Kraven asked quietly, watching her.
You smiled knowingly. “Making you something.”
⸻
A few minutes later, your daughter waddled over, holding something carefully in both hands — a tangled but charming little flower crown.
She climbed into Kraven’s lap and looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes. “Papa, for you.”
Kraven stared at it, then at her. “For me?” he repeated, his voice unusually soft.
She nodded, holding it up. “Because you’re king of the forest. Like in my book.”
You watched as Kraven, the man once feared and revered as a ruthless hunter, bowed his head so his little girl could place the delicate crown of wildflowers atop his long, dark hair.
“There,” she said proudly, clapping her hands. “Now you’re pretty!”
He let out a rare, deep laugh that rumbled through his chest — the kind of sound that made your heart swell. “Pretty, hmm?” He tilted his head toward you. “What do you think, my love?”
You grinned. “I think it suits you. You’re a very handsome forest king.”
Kraven chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face before kissing your temple. “If my enemies could see me now…”
“They’d be jealous,” you said.
He smiled at that — a real, genuine smile — and for the rest of the afternoon, the three of you ate, laughed, and dozed in the warm sunlight.
When your daughter finally fell asleep, curled up on his chest, Kraven looked at her small hand clutching the edge of his shirt and whispered, “I used to believe I was born for the hunt. But now… now I know I was born for this.”
You smiled, resting your head against his arm. “Happy birthday, my love.”
Kraven looked down at you — his fierce, gentle heart softening entirely — and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Best one I’ve ever had,” he murmured.
And there, under the oak tree with his family, the mighty hunter wore his flower crown with pride — not as a symbol of conquest, but of the peace he never thought he’d find.
Getting fucked by logan from behind and you can hear him out of breath and moaning and whimpering and completely losing himself in you. His thrusts lost rhythm. Hes braced a leg up on the table hes got you bent over- just to fuck you better because thats all he can think of. He cant stop. His head is tipped back and mouth open letting out those wonderful moans and growls of your name. His hand pressed into the arch of your back and the other in your hair. You yourself is in another world of pleasure. The table is probably going to break soon.
summary: It's Wade's Halloween party and Logan does a shot off of you :p
warnings: fem!reader (reader has boobs), spicy but no smut.
a/n: IM SORRY I MISSED HALLOWEEN I WAS AT WORK ALL WEEK GJHK. I hope this makes up for me being late. I just needed to give worst logan my love hehe.
Wade's parties were always filled with weird shit and Logan was planning on skipping his big Halloween bash just as he had skipped Mary Puppins 3rd birthday and Wade's shitty fourth of July party too. But here he is sipping on mystery punch in a shitty fireman costume.
Well calling it a costume is a stretch. He's got on the pants and suspenders but Wade never gave him a shirt so he's got his whole chest out and the stupid plastic hat on too. Wade said it was sexy and he has noticed a people staring at his chest tonight.
He's figuring out an escape plan when something catches his eye. You were leaning against the wall talking to Vanessa. He can't really tell what your costume was but he didn't care when it made you look as hot as it did. You can sense the man staring at you as you glance over in his direction. Logan had been on the back of your mind and finally it seems he's gotten his head out of his ass for the first time this night.
You excuse yourself from your conversation, smirking when Vanessa pats you on the ass and tells you good luck. You saunter over to him, smiling as you shamelessly stare at his chest. A fitting costume as well, You've got a fire only Logan can put out.
"Hi Logan. Didn't think I'd see you here." You take the drink out of his hand and take a sip. He chuckles when he sees the grossed out look on your face. Jesus Wade put a lot of alcohol in that punch.
"Hi Sweetheart. I tried but Wade threatened to handcuff me to the sofa." He says, though he's not paying much attention as he checks you out. Not even trying to hide as his eyes trail up your body.
"Mmhm." You reply knowing Wade could do very little to actually stop him from leaving.
"And here I thought it was because you wanted to see me in my sexy costume." You tease.
"You aren't very subtle Logan." You whisper as you place his drink back in his hand, leaning in to kiss his neck just below the ear.
"Let me know when you're ready for some real fun." You walk away without another word.
Feeling a wave of confidence as you feel his eyes on your ass. Logan and you stalk each other like animals. Undressing each other with your eyes and practically begging to rip each others clothes off. You just needed that little push and the bottle of tequila on the counter is just what you needed.
"Hey Logan!" You call across the room. Eyes falling on you as you shake the bottle.
"Wanna do some shots?" You ask, tilting your head to the side.
He narrows his eyes at you, sensing that you don't just mean some measly tequila shots. The look in your eyes is far too hungry for that. He nods his head, placing his glass down and walking over to you. Just as he suspected you hop on the counter and pop open the bottle.
"Ever done body shots in that long life of yours old man?" You purr. Nails scratching up his chest, pulling at his suspenders to bring him closer.
"I've done more than that sweetheart, think you can handle it?" He asks as he grabs the bottle.
"Oh I can handle it." You grab the salt and lay down on the counter.
The party is humming in the background but the only thing you can focus on his Logan. You spread the salt along the top of your breasts and place the lime in your mouth. You wink at him and Logan practically growls. His dick already hard in his fucking pants as he pours the tequila on your stomach. Traditionally he's supposed to place the shot glass on your navel but you like this way better.
A small whimper escapes as his beard scratches your skin. His tongue is warm and wet as he licks the salt off your breasts. Nipping at the exposed skin just to make you jump. If there wasn't a crowd of people he would have spent a lot more time lavishing your chest with his mouth. Sucking and biting until you're squirming under him. But that kind of reaction should be reserved for him and only him. You prop yourself up on your elbows as he sinks down to your navel. He never breaks eye contact as he licks a long stripe up.
The tequila burns his mouth but he doesn't give a damn. He's standing in between your legs now, hands on your hips as he licks up ever last drop of alcohol. His fingers are sure to leave bruises as he uses all his will power not to hump you like a damn dog.
He tosses his hat aside and pours more tequila on your stomach. He's never been one to care about the taste of his drink. But for some reason it's so much sweeter licking it off of your body. He licks and nibbles your skin as he inches his way back up.
The lime sits perfectly between your pretty lips and Logan thinks that he's got something he wants to see there instead. He grabs the lime with his teeth, still not breaking eye contact as he spits it out to the side.
"Logan..." You whimper and he breaks. Smashing his lips against yours roughly. His hands pulling you to the edge of the counter.
"Get a room! or don't!" Wade shouts from across the room. Logan growls, annoyed but choosing to ignore his idiotic friend in favor of making out with you instead.
"Fuck that's hot." You groan.
Your hands resting on his chest can feel the vibrations rumbling through. He's like a damn animal and you want to be his prey tonight. You slide the suspenders off his shoulders and grab onto the sweaty hot shoulders.
"My place?" You ask breathless and Logan just smirks.
He hoists you over his shoulder like an actual fireman and makes a beeline for the exit. He ignores the crude comments from Wade as he finally escapes the damn party.
"You can put my down now Logan!" You squeal as you feel your costume riding up.
"Nah, I think I like the view." He slaps your ass hard and you let out a squeak.
Though you find it hard to be mad as you consider just how much fun you're about to have. Taken to bed by a hot sexy fireman Logan.
SYNOPSIS - you can't help how you feel around logan, and he can't help but to smell exactly what you feel.
CONTENT - !smut (but not really). scent kink. mean!logan.
WC - 1.3k
NOTE - so what if I like him when he's in the worst time of his life 🗣
Logan was always an attractive man, really attractive. Big muscles, dirty mouth, bad guy pose and all that. The years passed and somehow, he still had the body of a fucking Greek god. Of course, he wasn’t the same, he was exhausted, so easily irritated and tired of everything – but the one thing that didn’t changed was how hot he was. It even got hotter, one look at you and your legs would be trembling, words stuck in your throat. He could turn you into a mess with the smallest touch and it was embarrassing. Stupid even, how much you wanted him, how much you desired him. And he looked clueless about it. He acted like nothing would ever happen, like he couldn’t see the shine on your eyes every time he spoke, or like he couldn’t smell your arousal when he got too close. It was torture, you were convinced he hated you and could only laugh of you and your obvious attraction for him.
Turns out Logan really knew about it, how could he not when your cunt basically dripped when you two were in the same room, clenching your legs into each other as if he couldn’t hear the sound of your pants. It was like you were torturing him. Your sweet voice tormenting his dreams – oh, the dreams, dirty ones. The kind of dream that made him avoid looking at you for too long, nervous and embarrassed about his own behavior, feeling like a goddamn teenager all over again. His instincts screaming for you, for a glimpse of your touch and a moment of your scent. He hated it. He was too old to play that stupid game with you.
Caliban prepared something to eat while explained what he needed from the market. You tried so hard to pay attention, biting your cheeks, anything to focus on the guy in front of you and not in Logan – taking off his shirt, blood dripping on his abs mixed his sweat. It was too much for you. The view was taking you on the edge of craziness; you could feel the room getting hotter, your lips dry and hands grabbing the edge of your chair with a lot of strength.
– Look, just make a list and I will get you whatever you need. I will be right back. – You said, storming out of the room. The air filling your lungs again as you stepped into the bathroom, closing the door and reaching for the edge of the sink.
Logan licked his lips and grunted. He could not stand your behavior anymore. He was sick and tired of it. It had to end, and it would end right now. He decided, taking quick steps until he reached the doorknob. He opened the door carefully and got inside, locking it. You opened your eyes and watched him from the mirror, right behind you. His eyes dark – he looked mad, as if he was about to rip your head off. You felt so ashamed that maybe if that happened it wouldn’t be the worst thing.
– What are you doing? – Your voice was barely a whisper. He tilted his head.
– What are you doing? Do you think that’s funny? Acting like a fuckin’ kid? – His tone was low, rough and sharp.
– What? – The bathroom was so small you could smell the alcohol in his breath. Your hands shaking as you turned around to face him. – Logan… I’m sorry. I… god, I don’t even know what to say.
– Don’t give me that. You know exactly what the hell you’re doing. – He trapped you between his chest and the sink, hands gripping the counter as if you could escape. Your heartbeat was so fast that you could swear it would run from your chest.
– I didn’t mean to disrespect you or anything like that. I just… - You couldn’t even look at his eyes, so you stared at your own feet.
– I’m too old for your fucking games, you understand? – He held your chin, forcing you to look at him. It was supposed to make you scared – but oh, you loved when he sounded angry. It wasn’t your fault; it was how your body was so responsive to his.
And of course, he could feel it too. Your heart beating like crazy, your mouth half-open, tears on the corner of your eye – you didn’t even know why you were crying. Maybe it was because of how horny you were feeling. He could smell your arousal as if you were a dog in heat. It was driving him mad. His cock getting hard without even a touch from you, the tight pants causing friction on his erection. He grinned his teeth. It was painfully how bad he wanted you. He didn’t know what was wrong with you.
– I’m sorry. – You closed your eyes. – So sorry, Logan.
The way his name-dropped from your mouth sounded more like a moan than a whisper. Maybe it was both, you weren’t in control of your words anymore. As he heard it, he stepped even closer, his face now close to your neck. It took your breath away, your hands flying to his arms.
– Logan, please. – You murmured, your nails almost penetrating his skin.
– What you want from me? – He murmured back to you.
– I wanna touch you. Please? – You heard his grunt, his erection rubbing lightly against your thigh.
– Go ahead. – He said, dropping your chin.
You didn’t need to hear it twice. While one of your hands still holded his arm, the other flew to his abs, scratching it then slowly heading down his pants. You stroke his pants, barely doing anything really. He dropped his head on your neck for a moment. His breath uneven and heavy.
– Let me see you. Please. – You spent too much time dreaming about it to let him hide from you. There’s no turning back from this anymore and you knew.
He looked at you, half lidded eyes, and mouth slightly open. He looked so beautiful. Suddenly, he held the back of your neck and kissed you. His kiss was messy, desperate, and hungry. His tongue dominating every corner of your mouth, fast and with no break. You could feel your brain melting into his touch. He stepped away first – fighting to recover his air. Eyes searching for any looks of regret on your face. There isn’t any. Not breaking eye contact once, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. It all falling into his boots. You looked down, staring his bulge.
– Gonna keep staring or what? – His voice pushing you from your thoughts. You held his shirt, unbuttoning it and dropping it on the floor. Eyes lingering on his old scars and the new ones, still bleeding a bit.
You pushed him to the sink, calmly. His hands gripping the edge of it behind him as you kneeled, looking at him. His jaw tightened. You kissed his skin, soft kisses all over his belly, and then more wet kisses on his lower abdomen. He looked so majestic above you – that made your stomach flip. His scent, his body, his hands. Everything about him was so mainly that made your head spin, intoxicated by him. Without even realizing, you were licking his skin, desperate to taste him. Your tongue passing over his scars, the metallic taste of blood making your core ache with need. He groaned like an animal with the sight under him. You looked at his bulge again – this time already slipping down his boxer, releasing his member, hard as rock with a flushed red leaking tip. The vision made your mouth salivates. You pressed your tongue over his tip, very slowly, tasting his salt semen. One of his hands came to your head; pushing your hair and making you stare at him.
– So desperate for it, aren’t you? – He said, mocking you. His tone only made you more needy. You loved when he acted mean.
– I am. – You mumbled, moving your face towards his cock, inhaling its scent.
– Fuckin’ pathetic. – You let out a tearful moan, shame making your face flush. – But such a pretty little thing.
He could be mean for as long as he wanted, you were exactly where you wanted to be.
Warnings: Christmas Sweetness | Soft Dad | Swearing (it’s Tangerine)
Summary: Tangerine takes his newborn daughter Christmas shopping. He absolutely overdoes it. A stranger comments that the baby won’t remember this Christmas, but for Tangerine, that’s the whole point.
Tangerine had a mission today.
Not the dangerous kind.
Not the “get blood on your shirt and argue with Lemon for two hours” kind.
No.
A far more terrifying mission:
Christmas shopping for his newborn daughter.
His tiny girl—only a few weeks old—slept soundly in the little baby carrier clipped into the trolley. Her little hat had pompoms, her cheeks were round and pink, and she looked like a marshmallow.
Tangerine pushed the cart slowly, protectively, like he was navigating an active minefield.
Every five seconds he peeked down into the carrier.
Still asleep.
Still cute.
Still stealing his entire heart.
“Good girl,” he mumbled softly, adjusting her blanket. “Daddy’s just gonna grab a few things, alright?”
A few things.
That was the plan.
Ten minutes later the trolley was overflowing.
A teddy bear the size of a washing machine.
Three different baby books.
Two soft blankets embroidered with her name.
A sparkly Christmas onesie.
A reindeer onesie.
A penguin onesie.
Little booties shaped like snowmen.
A baby-safe star projector that promised “soothing galaxy lights.”
And he was only in the first aisle.
He held up a plush rattle shaped like a candy cane.
“Oh, she’s gotta have this,” he said to nobody, tossing it into the pile.
His daughter snored softly.
Tangerine paused, hand over his heart.
“She’s so fuckin’ perfect.”
He kept going, loading the cart until it looked like Santa’s sleigh had tipped over.
⸻
That’s when someone nearby laughed.
A woman around his age glanced at the cart and shook her head with a smile.
“First Christmas?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he replied proudly, puffing up a little. “My daughter.”
She nodded at the mountain of gifts.
“You know… she won’t remember any of this.”
Tangerine froze.
His jaw clenched.
He looked at his tiny baby, still sleeping in the carrier, curled up like the world could never hurt her.
And something warm and protective bloomed in his chest.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
The woman shrugged.
“Just sayin’. Babies don’t remember until they’re older.”
Tangerine braced his hands on the cart, leaning slightly forward, voice low but gentle.
“Look… she won’t remember,” he said. “But I will.”
The woman blinked, surprised.
Tangerine continued, gaze soft as he looked at the baby.
“When I was a kid, Christmas was… shit,” he said honestly. “Me an’ my brother didn’t get much. Sometimes nothin’.”
He reached down and brushed a finger over his daughter’s tiny mittened hand.
“So yeah. I’m goin’ overboard. Maybe buyin’ too much. Maybe stupid stuff she’ll outgrow in a month.”
He straightened up, shrugging.
“But she’s mine. And it’s her first Christmas. I want it to be perfect—even if she’s only gonna sleep through the whole bloody thing.”
The woman softened.
“That’s… really sweet, actually.”
Tangerine grumbled.
“It’s not sweet. It’s… fatherhood or some shit.”
“Oh absolutely,” she laughed. “Definitely that.”
He pushed the cart on, muttering to himself.
“Won’t remember… what kind of thing to say? ’Course she won’t bloody remember. She’s practically a potato.”
His daughter hiccupped in her sleep.
Tangerine melted instantly.
“Daddy’s here, sweetheart,” he whispered.
⸻
By the time he got to checkout…
The trolley looked unhinged.
The cashier tried not to laugh.
“Um… is it her birthday too?”
“No,” Tangerine said. “She’s one month old.”
“…Right.”
He started bagging everything with too much pride.
On the way out, he stopped to tuck the blankets around his newborn again. Her hand grabbed his pinky in her sleep.
He froze.
His whole expression softened into warm, speechless love.
“Yeah,” he whispered with a small smile, “you won’t remember this, princess… but I bloody will.”
And he kissed her tiny forehead before pushing the cart toward home, already planning to hide the receipts before you saw how insane he’d gone.
Warnings: Alexei is kind of an asshole in the beginning, reader is from France, the daughter of a Marquis, and she is described as having hair that can be pinned up and curled (otherwise no descriptions), sexism of the time (very mild)
~ thank you anon! sorry this too forever (this was requested ages ago)!! ~
COUNT VRONSKY MASTERLIST
As you brush your hair in the mirror of your vanity, staring unemotionally at the girl staring back, your mother's words ring in your ear. "Love, beautiful love, can be learned, ma chérie (my love)," she'd promised, as her hand lay on your nervous knee, smoothing her thumbs over the crinkled skirt of your lavender dress, the fabric bunched up from hours of carriage riding.
"I did not love your father when I met him. Not in the beginning." Your mother smiled and continued, "But, when it finally happened—and it will for you too—I could not imagine myself without him."
And you did believe her. Up until you took your first step on Count Vronksy's estate, the sun hot and warm on your skin, you listened to your mother's proclamations of true love with attention and yearning.
You still want to believe her even now.
Your future husband's lips had felt so foreign on your upper palm, the feeling more like a courtesy than something intimate. He hadn't said a word, minus the polite greetings that frankly don't count in those situations, as he stood beside his mother wearing an oddly vacant expression. The blue shine of his eyes mirrored an ocean you imagined losing yourself in, but one you couldn't yet reach.
You suppose you should feel incredibly lucky that he didn't turn out to be some old, hideous, nobleman with crooked teeth and chapped lips. You certainly did feel lucky that the only reputation he had was player tendencies and fleeting infidelities—which your mother promised you could be dampened with time and care.
"He will be a good husband to you, mon amour (my love). Give him time."
Your mother sounded so sure, but you didn't know how much time your heart could handle without breaking.
Across the house, Count Alexei Vronsky paces his bedchamber, his white chemise hung loosely over his shoulders as he practically tugs at his blond curls. His mind races with countless scenarios and possibilities as he plays the memory of meeting you on an endless loop.
"Alexei," His mother, Countess Vronskaya, chastises as she sits on his bed, her lips pursed. "You are acting like a spoiled child. Sit down."
Her youngest son shakes his head, his voice coming out strained. "I cannot do this, Mama," he says, meaning every word. "I do not know her. I cannot love someone I do not know!"
"Love?" Countess Vronskaya scoffs, staring at him with sharp eyes, "What on earth has put that silly word into your head? And don't tell me it was your little affair from a few months ago—oh, the shame—" she fans her lace fan faster and then shuts it and abruptly lays it onto her lap.
"Alexei, love does not exist. Responsibility, on the other hand, does. It is your responsibility to make up for your mistakes and this is the solution. Marriage. Besides," she fans herself again, "You can easily have Mistresses, I am not denying you that so please, stop this nonsense at once."
"I do not want any Mistresses!" Alexei exclaims, his frustration growing.
Countess Vronskaya stares at her son with an expression of annoyance and disbelief. "Then what, pray, do you want? To bring further scandal upon this family with your childish rebellion? You will marry this girl. It is not a request but an order."
Alexei drops to his bed, his head held pitifully in his hands as he calms his breathing. He pretends he's anywhere but here, his mind focusing on how the wind against his window sounds like waves crashing onto sand.
One. Breath in.
Two. Breath out.
Three. Breath in.
"I understand, Mama," he whispers, knowing he has no choice in the matter.
* * *
One. Breath in.
Two. Breath in.
Three. Breath in.
"Maman, it's too tight, I cannot breathe," you whimper as you press a palm on your stomach, feeling slightly light-headed as the maids tighten your corset and slip over your periwinkle dress, the silk sliding over your shoulder as one hangs delicately to the side. It's a simple dress, minus the puffs and ruffles. "Beauty is pain," your mother says, nodding her head as the maids continue to dress you up.
They pin up your hair with a silver pin and wrap your neck in pearls, adding earrings to finish the look. "Charmante, ma chérie (Beautiful, my dear)," your mother admires as she stands and pushes a stray curl behind your ear.
"Il va t'adorer (He'll adore you)."
You focus on her promise as you walk down the grand staircase and enter the ballroom, which is illuminated by golden chandeliers and sparkling candles. The event looks lavish and it seems to you that Countess Vronskaya had invited all of Russian Society for the announcement of your marriage. Your stomach churns with nerves as you glance around the room. You don't know how to introduce yourself to the women who stare judgmentally from behind their fans.
Your mother takes your arm and leads you to the center, where Count Vronsky stands beside his mother again, chatting ideally with some other aristocrats. Upon seeing your arrival, he turns and you hold out your hand, his lips brushing your skin in the same fleeting manner as it had earlier.
"Good evening, Lady Y/l/n," he says, looking you over and you wonder if you look unpresentable from the way he's staring. His gaze then shifts to your mother. "Marquise Y/l/n."
You smile up at him. "Good evening, Count Vronsky," you say and then smile at his mother, "Countess—" You swallow your words when she sees your dress and her frown deepens.
"What is this?" she asks with a hiss, her voice low. Alexei tenses from beside her.
"I beg your pardon?" you whisper, eyes wide with confusion as your mother's frown deepens.
"Your dress. It isn't suitable for an occasion like this," Countess Vronskaya almost snarls, looking around the ballroom and then her eyes land on you again. "You look positively underdressed!" She sounds completely taken aback and almostdisgusted as she looks you up and down. You feel stupid and exposed, hearing her tell you this in front of your future husband. You don't dare look at him.
Your mother takes the fall. "I didn't know this wouldn't be suitable for this occasion, Countess Vronskaya. In France—" The Countess sends her a dirty look, clearly having no patience for any explanations.
Your mother exhales, "I assure you, Countess, the fault lies with me. I misjudged the attire. I apologize for my mistake," she says with a forced smile, pushing on your back to move you closer to Alexei—who still hasn't said a word. "Our children should have a dance, shouldn't they?"
You look up at Alexei, your chest tightened as you make eye contact. Countess Vronskaya doesn't seem pleased but she nods and Alexei holds out his arm, his lips still shut as he stares in front of him.
You hesitate but take his arm as he leads you onto the dance floor and begins the dance, his hand around your waist. You try to remember the moves and once you're finally comfortable, the dance is suddenly over.
"I–"
Alexei interrupts you with yet another chaste kiss to your hand and then he spins around, his posture as composed as it always is. He excuses himself and walks to make conversation with other guests, leaving you all alone.
You stare at him, blinking back tears. How are you supposed to love him if he won't even talk to you? You feel hopeless as you stand there, feeling stupid and lonely in your dress.
So lonely.
* * *
Alexei's knee bounces impatiently as he waits. You're over thirty minutes late. None of your maids have seen you and neither has your mother. His mind flashes back to last night; your pretty smile, the sound of your voice and the curls in your hair—the ones that had gotten slightly messy with the constant movement of your head. He feels a tightness in his chest.
Where are you?
The thunder cracks outside, the rain pouring against the window of the parlor. It's a dreadful day and it only creates a pit in his stomach at your disappearance. Something is wrong.
"Should I fetch your mother?" One of the maids asks timidly when, ten minutes later, you still haven't shown up. Alexei takes a breath and shakes his head, he stands and holds his head in one hand.
"No need, it's fine, I'll—"
He's interrupted by the sound of a familiar neigh-ing outside the window. His head snaps around and his eyes widen. "Frou-Frou?!" he gasps, seeing his horse out in the rain. His eyes widen even more when he sees familiar hair blowing messily in the wind and rain, covered only by a flimsy cloak.
He stands and runs outside, ignoring the calls from the confused maid. All he can think of is Frou-Frou and you. Frou-Frou doesn't do well with strangers and Alexei knows that the slightest jerky movement could startle him and he could unintentionally hurt you. You. Why would you steal his horse? In a thunderstorm no less?
Are you running away?
"Y/n!" he screams into the yard. You're approaching the fence but Frou-Frou's never ridden outside of the manor without him. Alexei breaks into a run and curses when Frou-Frou makes a jerky movement, kicking you from his back as you scream. The rain is blurring Alexei's vision now as his white shirt becomes soaked. His hair is sticking to his forehead as mud from the grass sticks to his boots. You've fallen into the mud and grass, your skirt heavy under the extra weight of the rain.
Seeing him run up, you try to stand to run but the mud slows you down and you fall again. Frou-Frou panics from the rain and the situation and he runs off. "Damnit," Alexei curses, hesitating. He knows Frou-Frou isn't going to leave the grounds without him, so he turns and grabs you under your armpits. "What is wrong with you?!" he hisses as thunder cracks again. You kick your feet, mud splattering his trousers and Alexei's chest tightens when he sees the tears in your eyes.
"Don't touch me!" you hiss, hitting him as you try to stand in the mud.
"What were you thinking?" he demanded, pulling you upright. "Were you attempting to flee?"
"Why should it concern you?" you spat, wrenching your arm from his grasp.
"Because you are my betrothed!"
"And you do not love me," you hiss. Your heart is thumping and you hate how pretty he looks, wet and disheveled. You hate how your heart reacts to him in ways you're sure his doesn't when he looks at you.
Alexei groans, his head already hurting from this entire situation. He just holds you tighter. "You are correct—I do not know you well enough to claim such feelings for you. But I do not wish to see you harmed, running recklessly into a storm! My God, you already drive me mad! How am I supposed to tame you?"
He sighs, his voice drifting when he realizes he's said the wrong thing as your expression twists into one of pure anger. You hit him with your palm, mud flying into his hair.
"Tame me? Is that how you see me?"
"No, wait, I didn't mean it like that," he tries to explain, shielding himself as he keeps his hold on you. You're so different from when he'd met you yesterday when you'd been on your best behavior— he groans when you pull away, only to slip and fall.
You shriek when he falls over you, the rain still pouring on you both. It's almost comedic now, your dress and his chemise a mess of dirt, mud, and rainwater. "Lady Y/l/n, please," Alexei tries again, struggling to get you to listen to him.
Once he's leaning over you, his knees digging in the dirt as he holds your hands beside your head, he whispers; "My darling, please, you misunderstand me."
You're breathing heavily now, your gaze intense.
"I do not love you, but that doesn't mean it has to be like this our whole lives," he whispers, not sounding quite like himself. He lifts one arm, finger gently tracing your cheek as he slides the mud away. "It does not mean I want to see you hurt, running off in a storm with my horse."
You calm your breathing and when you move to sit up, he does the same and you both catch your breaths. The rain is soaking you both, the cold air chilling your skin, and you watch him. He doesn't look as distant anymore. His skin is smeared in mud and his blond hair is askew. You push some wet strands of hair away from your eyes, half wishing he would have just let you run away.
As the storm begins to calm and the rain softens to a gentle drizzle, Alexei's breathing is calm.
"I did not mean to frighten you," you murmur, your voice barely audible. "I just—I feel so out of place. As if I don't belong here. As if I don't belong with you in your world."
His expression flickers, and for the first time, you see a vulnerability he's been keeping hidden beneath his polished exterior. "Do you think I don't feel the same?" he asks quietly, his voice raw. "I have spent my life pretending to be the man everyone expects me to be. I have never been what anyone truly needs. I am not fit to be a good husband."
The honesty in his words sends a sharp hurt through your chest. "Then why chase after me?" you ask, your voice shaky. "Why not let me leave if you feel the same way?"
Alexei hesitates, then with a deep breath, he moves a little closer, his eyes searching yours. "Because," he begins, "when I saw you out here, stubborn and fearless in this storm, I realized something. You might be the only person brave enough to truly see me. And if I let you leave, then I would regret it until the day I die."
The rain has nearly stopped now, the storm's fury replaced by a stillness that feels almost unreal. You're unsure what to say, your chest tightening with the weight of his confession. For a moment, neither of you moves. The distance between you feels both vast and insignificant, the air thick with something that will probably remain unnamed.
Then, almost tentatively, Alexei leans in, the lips that had barely let themselves brush your hand, now kiss your forehead. You inhale.
"We can figure this out," he murmurs against your skin. "Together. Please do not run anymore. I can do better, for you."
You close your eyes, the weight of his words settling in your heart as you take them in. A moment passes and then you force a small smile, leaning into him as you nod.
"Okay. Let's go find Frou-Frou then," you whisper, earning a smile from Alexei. Your smile widens a little. Maybe your mother was right—maybe love could be learned. And perhaps, just perhaps, it could start here.
Anon ur putting so much trust in me right now, I've only seen Anna Karenina once all the way through 🙏 if it sounds awful then :pp
You weren't sure how you ended up in this predicament, but gods it was good. His hands gripped you like nothing mattered. Grabbing you like it was the last thing he could do. They roamed feverishly, unable to stop admiring you.
Alexei groaned slightly again, feeling your nails digging into his shoulders as your pace quickly. Head fallen back for a moment as he panted, attempting to catch his breath. When he looked back in your eyes, he kept the eye contact but only for a second. Words spilled out of him, lust overtaken his head. "Faster—ah gods—harder…"
For a moment your eyes widened but only made you roll your hips as fast as they could humanely go.. not like Alexei thought you were human. He thought you were heaven on earth, a god who chose him for, some reason. "Alexei..." You breathed out, one hand digging into his curls. If it was possible, he'd keep you moaning his name all evening until one of you passed out.
Warnings: Historical Romance | Domestic Fluff | Family Life | Christmas Special
Summary: Years after leaving St. Petersburg’s chaos behind, Alexei and the reader enjoy a quiet country life with their three sons and another baby on the way. As Christmas nears, the boys decorate the tree and chatter about Santa, filling the home with warmth and laughter.
Snow drifted lazily outside the tall windows of the Vronsky estate, settling across the gardens like powdered sugar. Inside, the grand hall was alive with the scampering footsteps of small boys, laughter echoing off the walls like bells.
You stood by the fireplace, your hands gently resting atop your growing belly, watching your three sons chase each other around the large evergreen tree that had been brought in that morning. Its scent filled the entire room—earthy, crisp, and comforting.
Alexei had rolled up his sleeves, a rare domestic sight, as he carried in boxes of ornaments. A few curls fell across his forehead, and he brushed them away as he glanced at you, his smile softening.
“You should be sitting,” he murmured as he set the boxes down. “I could bring you a chair.”
You smirked. “I’m perfectly fine, Alexei. I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”
He raised a brow. “Our daughter disagrees.” He tapped your belly lightly, and the tiny fluttering kick beneath your gown made him grin with pride.
⸻
“Papa! Papa! Can I put the first ornament?”
Your eldest, Nikolai—now six—ran toward Alexei with an ornament shaped like a red star.
Alexei knelt beside him. “The first ornament must be placed with great honor, Kolya. Do you think you’re ready?”
Kolya puffed out his chest. “Yes!”
Your middle son, Dmitri (four years old), quickly chimed in. “I’m ready too! I’m ready-er!”
And your youngest boy, little Pavel—just two—waddled forward waving a shiny silver bell. “Me! Me, Papa!”
You stifled a laugh as all three boys circled the tree with military precision—clearly inherited from their father.
Alexei clapped his hands. “All right, my soldiers. One at a time. Kolya first, then Mitya, then little Pasha.”
He lifted Nikolai up so he could reach one of the higher branches. The boy’s eyes shone as he hung the star perfectly crooked.
⸻
Once all three boys had placed their ornaments, they immediately surrounded the tree skirt, fussing over the decorations you had unpacked earlier.
Kolya gasped dramatically. “Mama, is Santa coming this year?”
Before you could answer, Dmitri whispered loudly, “Kolya… Santa always comes. He’s magic.”
Kolya frowned. “Then how does he get into our house? We don’t have a chimney big enough.”
Pavel looked horrified. “No Santy?”
You hid your smile behind your hand as Alexei finally intervened, crossing the room with confident steps.
“Santa has his ways,” he said with the same tone he used when addressing officers—serious, authoritative, and completely absurd for this particular subject.
Kolya nodded sagely. “Secret military tactics.”
You nearly burst out laughing. “Yes, dear. Santa is very skilled.”
⸻
As the boys continued decorating—dropping ornaments, stepping on tinsel, and occasionally arguing—Alexei approached you quietly, placing his hand over yours on your belly.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured.
Your heart fluttered. “I feel enormous.”
“Glorious,” he corrected. “And carrying our fourth miracle.”
You leaned into him slightly, your head against his shoulder. “They’ve all grown so fast…”
He kissed your temple. “And we will have a house full of little footsteps for many years more.”
You both watched as Dmitri tried to help Pavel hang an ornament, only to have both boys tangle themselves in ribbon. Kolya circled them like a general observing troops.
“Careful,” you called. “Gentle hands, boys.”
“Yes, Mama!”
“Gentle, Mama!”
“Gentle,” Pavel repeated, petting the ornament as if it were a kitten.
Alexei chuckled. “They’re perfect.”
⸻
After an hour of chaos, decorating, and one minor incident where Dmitri attempted to taste a pine needle “just to see,” the tree finally stood fully adorned, glittering with candles and strings of golden beads.
The boys gathered in front of it, eyes wide.
“Mama,” Kolya asked softly, “will Santa bring presents for our baby, too?”
You touched your belly. “He might bring something small. Santa knows everything.”
Pavel whispered, “Baby get dolly?”
Alexei almost choked laughing. “My son, what makes you think the baby is a girl?”
Pavel pointed at your belly. “Mama says ‘her.’”
You flushed. “I never said I was certain.”
Alexei brushed your cheek with a thumb. “Daughter or son, I’ll love them all the same.”
Kolya nodded solemnly. “I’ll protect the baby—like Papa protects us.”
Dmitri added, “I’ll share my toy horse.”
Pavel hugged your skirt. “I kiss baby!”
Your eyes welled, heart overflowing.
Alexei wrapped an arm around you. “They love fiercely. Just like their mother.”
⸻
As evening settled in, the room glowed warm with candlelight, the tree sparkling in gold and red. You sat on the couch, your boys curled around you like sleepy kittens, their heads heavy against your arms and lap.
Alexei approached with three blankets draped on one arm and a soft look on his face.
“They fought bravely,” he whispered, placing blankets over each boy. “The Battle of Christmas Decorations has been won.”
You laughed softly. “With minimal casualties.”
He leaned down, kissing your lips tenderly. “This… all of this… I never thought life could be so full.”
You stroked his cheek. “I’m glad you chose this life, Alexei.”
He rested his forehead against yours. “I’d choose you in every life.”
Outside, the snow continued to fall softly—silent, gentle, and endless.
Inside, the warmth of family wrapped around you like a promise.
dededos
blakekathryn
stormborns
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
