Patience°•°•°

The idea of the scenario :

She was testing her boundaries.

The oneshot :

Logan prided himself on his self-control. He had spent years perfecting the art of keeping his emotions in check, of never letting anyone see him sweat.

But his wife ?

His little brat of wife lived to test his limits.

And tonight ? Tonight, she was trying to kill him.

Logan stood in the grand foyer of their penthouse, adjusting the cuffs of his black suit. He was waiting for [Y/n] to finish getting ready for their dinner reservation, expecting her usual adorable, elegant look.

He was not expecting... this.

The sound of heels clicking against marble made him glance up.

And then– he stopped breathing.

[Y/n] descended the staircase like a damn fever dream.

Her short, frilly, fluffy light pink dress swayed with each delicate step, the sheer fabric and tiny bows making her look like she had stepped straight out of a fairytale. Her long, wavy [h/c] hair cascaded down her back, bouncing with each movement, practically begging to be touched.

Her legs– Dio, her legs– were covered in white leg warmers, making her already sinfully cute outfit even more impossible to handle. And those high, pinkish heels ? They gave her just a few more centimeters, making her the perfect height to look up at him with those big, innocent [e/c] eyes.

As if that wasn't enough, her makeup was soft and doll-like– rosy cheeks, long curled lashes, glossy pink lips.

He felt his pulse in his throat.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, tilting her head with a sweet, expectant smile. "Well ? What do you think ?"

Logan said absolutely nothing.

Because his brain ?

His brain was gone.

[Y/n] blinked up at him, taking his silence as confusion. "Logan ?" She pouted, reaching out to tug on his sleeve. "Do I not look cute ?"

He growled.

Not a soft, teasing sound. No. A low, dark, possessive growl that rumbled deep in his chest.

She giggled– giggled like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

She leaned up, pressing a tiny kiss to his jaw. "My dear husband, you're staring."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching at his sides as he clenched his fists. "Piccola peste, do you have a death wish ?"

She blinked innocently. "Me ?"

He grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against him. "You know damn well what you're doing", he murmured darkly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She gasped but her mischievous grin didn't fade. "I just wanted to dress up pretty for my husband~."

He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to keep some level of restraint. "Dolcezza, you look—" He cut himself off, shaking his head like he was trying to physically clear his thoughts. "No. We're not doing this. Behave."

She beamed.

She loved this. She loved making her terrifying, dangerously powerful mafia husband lose his mind.

He let out another slow, controlled breath before releasing her. He straightened his suit, ran a hand through his already-disheveled hair, and forced himself to act normal.

"Let's go", he said, voice rough.

[Y/n] just chuckled, looping her arm through his as they stepped outside to where his black car was waiting.

But as soon as they reached the restaurant...

Logan realized he had severely underestimated the absolute menace that was his wife.

Because the moment they entered the dimly lit, upscale restaurant, every single man within a five-foot radius stared.

And Logan ?

He saw red.

One of the waiters nearly tripped over himself as he glanced at his wife. Another man at the bar did a double take, looking like he had just seen an angel descend from heaven. A younger guy sitting at a nearby table gawked.

He cracked his knuckles.

[Y/n], of course, was fully aware of what was happening. She knew what she was doing.

And the worst part ?

She was enjoying it.

She leaned into his side, her voice dripping with sweetness. "Logan, my love, are you okay ? You look a little... tense."

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled her chair out for her– aggressively.

She sat down, barely suppressing a laugh.

He took his own seat, placing a protective hand on her thigh immediately, as if to silently claim her in front of the entire damn restaurant.

She bit her lip, looking at him with pure amusement.

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to her ear. "Enjoying yourself ?"

She fluttered her lashes. "A little."

He hummed, his grip tightening just slightly. "You really want to play this game with me, tesoro ?"

[Y/n] tilted her head, pretending to think. "Mmm... maybe~."

He smirked, slow and predatory. "Alright, bella. Just remember..." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "You started this."

She shivered.

Oh.

Maybe... maybe she had played with fire just a little too much this time.

He sat back, exuding pure control, his dark eyes gleaming with dangerous intent.

[Y/n] swallowed.

Yup.

She was so in trouble.

It was only a matter of time before Logan snapped.

And it happened exactly when another man– some idiot who clearly had no sense of self-preservation– let out a whistle as [Y/n] bent down to pick up the tissue she had accidentally dropped.

The moment Logan heard it, his chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood up in one swift, lethal motion.

[Y/n] barely had time to react before she felt his strong arms scoop her up– one under her legs, the other around her waist– lifting her as if she weighed nothing.

"Logan !" She squeaked, clutching onto him as he marched out of the restaurant.

The entire room went silent.

Patrons gawked. Waiters froze mid-step. Even the man who had whistled at [Y/n] suddenly looked like he was reconsidering all his life choices.

Logan didn't spare anyone a glance. His entire focus was on his troublesome, dangerously beautiful wife as he carried her straight through the entrance.

"Logan— Logan, put me down !" She gasped, wriggling in his arms.

"Not a chance", he growled, his jaw tight.

The second they stepped outside, his driver– who had clearly seen this type of thing before– wordlessly opened the backseat door of the black car.

Logan slid in with [Y/n] still in his arms, closing the door behind them with a decisive click.

She crossed her arms, pouting up at him. "You kidnapped me from dinner."

He exhaled sharply, his hands gripping her waist tightly. "Dolcezza, I don't think you understand how insanely patient I've been tonight."

She blinked, feigning innocence. "I don't know what you mean."

He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, you know. You knew exactly what you were doing the moment you walked out in this—" He gestured at her tiny frilly dress, her perfect doll-like appearance, "this sinful excuse of an outfit, looking like a goddamn dream."

She batted her lashes. "But I dressed up for you, Logan."

"Bugiarda", he muttered darkly, his grip tightening. "You dressed up to test me."

She giggled, but her breath hitched when he suddenly pressed her back against the seat, his dark eyes locking onto hers with dangerous intensity.

"Do you have any idea what you put me through in there ?" He murmured, voice low and lethal. "Do you know how many men were looking at you ?"

[Y/n] swallowed. "M-Maybe a few—"

"All of them", he corrected. "Every single one."

His hands trailed up, brushing the soft fabric of her dress.

"You really wanted to make me lose my mind, huh ?" He murmured.

She opened her mouth to respond—

But nothing came out.

Because Logan leaned in, his lips brushing just below her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"You win, bella", he whispered, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "You completely broke my patience tonight."

Her heart raced.

Maybe... maybe she had taken things a little too far.

Because now ?

Now she was really in trouble.

The ride back to the mansion was silent. But not the comfortable, peaceful kind of silence.

No– this was the heavy, charged, dangerously loaded kind of silence.

[Y/n] sat on his lap, her tiny hands gripping the lapels of his black suit, her legs tucked neatly to the side. He hadn't let her move since the moment he dragged her into the car, his arms wound firmly around her waist, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

He didn't say a word.

Didn't scold her.

Didn't even kiss her.

He just... stared.

Dark, unreadable eyes locked onto hers, unwavering, his thumb tracing slow, calculated circles against her hip.

She had spent the entire evening playing her little game.

But now ?

Now she wasn't so sure she was winning.

The low hum of the car engine did nothing to ease the excruciating anticipation building in her chest.

The city lights outside blurred past them, the sleek black vehicle cutting through the night with quiet precision. Every second that passed felt stretched, elongated, until the air between them was thick enough to choke on.

She swallowed, shifting slightly in his lap.

His grip tightened.

"Sit still, tesoro", he murmured, voice dangerously calm.

She froze.

Logan never spoke softly when he was mad. If he was truly, truly angry, he'd be ranting in Italian by now.

But this ?

This was worse.

This was the kind of controlled, simmering rage that meant she had really done it this time.

She peeked up at him, eyes wide, playing innocent like she always did when she wanted to get away with things. "Logan..."

He hummed, tilting his head, running his knuckles down her exposed thigh. "Sì, bella ?"

Her breath hitched.

"...I love you ?" She tried.

He smirked.

It wasn't a kind smirk. It was slow. Knowing. Full of promise.

His hand slid up her thigh, toying with the hem of her frilly little dress.

"Oh, I know", he murmured. "And by the time I'm done with you tonight, you'll be screaming it."

Her breath hitched.

And just like that—

The car stopped. They had arrived.

The driver wordlessly stepped out to open the door, but before he could, Logan had already moved.

With effortless ease, he lifted [Y/n] into his arms– again– as if she was nothing but a doll, carrying her bridal-style as he stepped out into the dimly lit driveway of their massive mansion.

The second they were inside, the doors shut with a quiet click.

And [Y/n] ?

She knew.

It was over.

Because Logan wasn't walking to their room.

No– he was stalking.

Slow, deliberate steps. Controlled. Methodical.

And as he carried her up the grand staircase, through the vast hallways of their home, his grip on her never loosening for even a second—

[Y/n] gulped.

She had spent the entire evening teasing her husband.

But now ?

Now, it was time to pay the price.

•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

(A/n) : I'm sure you can use the rest of your imagination to think about what happened after that 😉.

See ya ! 💋