#HE'S SO LOVED AND CHERISHED AND CARED FOR

[watermelonlovershigh]

can we have some smut that sort of focuses on the bulge 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 like y/n sort of admiring it clothed and just being so into that

5 Times You've Obsessed Over Harry's Bulge (SMUT)

AN: I had too many ideas for this concept so i decided to turn this into one of my numbered fics. where i give several different scenarios. hope that's alright. don't forget to leave me your feedback and enjoy. xoxo

This contains: implications of sex, dirty talk, fluff, mild angst, jealousy, dry humping

{ husband!harry - softrry - au!harry (aka not famous in this) }

word count- 1,989

Five different scenarios where you admire and love on Harry's bulge.

There is an undeniable attraction to Harry's bulge that captivates your attention. Regardless of whether he's dressed in jeans, sweatpants, shorts, or underwear, his bulge is striking and turns you on. It's not solely the moments when his hard dick is evident beneath his clothing that draw you in; even in a relaxed state, he's so big that a subtle outline is noticeable between his legs if one chooses to observe. But note that your admiration for Harry's bulge is entirely positive and respectful. Being married, you appreciate how much he enjoys your liking to that part of him, and it brings him joy to know that you cherish something in which he exclusively shares with you.

Here's some of the instances when you gawk and drool over Harry's bulge (hard or not hard):

1.) Harry has just stepped out of the shower, and you're in bed, patiently waiting for him to join you for the night. You can hear him moving around in the bathroom, likely drying off and brushing his teeth. Moments later, he swings the bathroom door open in only his briefs, letting out a rush of humid air, and makes his way into the bedroom after turning the bathroom lights off.

Before he can walk to his side of the bed, you mutter, "Nu-hu."

Harry stops to look at you suspiciously. "What?"

You gesture for him to approach you with your index finger, and Harry complies. He walks up to your side of the bed, per your request. At this point, his lower body aligns with the height of the bed, bringing his bulge almost directly in front of you. You can tell he isn't hard just from recognizing what his relaxed appendage looks like. However, the considerable size of him creates a pronounced outline in his boxer briefs.

You look down between his legs and shift closer to the edge of the bed, leaning in to place a gentle kiss directly on his bulge. Harry lets out a soft moan. "Baby, mhm. What'r you doin'?"

Smiling up at your husband, you reply, "Giving little Harry a kiss goodnight."

Harry tilts his head back and laughs heartily. "Oh, little Harry is gonna offer you much more than just a goodnight kiss in return." He climbs onto the bed, positioning himself over your body, and it's evident that the soft bulge that was previously concealed in his underwear has become firm and is now nestled between your legs.

2.) As you're lounging on the couch, Harry burst through the door, breathless and slick with sweat from his morning run around the neighborhood. You can't help but to drool over his appearance. His hair is secured in a small claw clip on the top of his head, and his skin is shimmering with a sun-kissed hue. He has a way of looking exceptionally good after a workout. Especially when his bare, yet tattooed chest is visible. As well as the defined bulge between his legs that's quite eye-catching.

Standing up from the sofa, you make your way over to where Harry's kicking his running shoes off and wrap your arms around him in a hug. Giggling, Harry speaks, "Baby, m' all sweaty and probably stink."

Still latched on to him in a hug, you reply, "Don't care. You're so hot after a run."

Harry now becomes cocky, loving the way you're speaking about him. "Yeah? Does it turn you on?"

You give a slight nod and let one of your hands glide down, carefully cupping his bulge through his tight running shorts. Harry almost falls, his knees nearly collapsing. Fortunately, you're there to steady him in your hold.

As you feel his bulge begin to grow in your hand, you kneel and carefully pull down his shorts, offering him a blowjob right in the foyer of your house. The slight taste of sweat introduces an additional flavor, but you proceed with the same eagerness as always.

Harry feels honored to have a wife who finds him so appealing that you'll engage in such activities after his exercise, a sentiment not many people would consider doing.

3.) You're on a short road trip. Harry has arranged a delightful surprise: a weekend escape to a charming Airbnb cabin located in the woods. As he drives, you sit comfortably in the passenger seat, with the soothing sounds of Fleetwood Mac playing gently in the background.

With the windy roads and calm scenery, Harry can't help but let his mind wander to you and how much he loves you. How special you are to him. How he can't wait to make love to you in front of the cozy fireplace at the cabin that awaits you both.

Deep in his thoughts, it takes Harry a few minutes to realize his cock was hardening up in his jeans. He didn't mean to get hard while driving, it just sort of happened. But that's what tends to happen anytime he starts daydreaming about you. He chalks it up to being a love boner.

For a while, Harry sits in his seat uncomfortably, occasionally shifting to adjust himself. After the tenth time of moving in his seat, you begin to notice and question, "You alright, babe? Gotta pee or something?"

Trying to play it off, Harry lies, "Nope, m' fine. All good." That's when you take a closer look and notice the bulge between his legs.

"Harry, you're hard. What's got you so worked up while you're driving?"

Embarrassed, he admits, "Fine, was thinkin' about you and how much I love you and all the things I wanna do to you at the cabin. Didn't mean to get hard."

With a softer tone, you reply, "Yeah, that's so sweet of you, baby." Harry thinks the moment is over, but he's caught off guard when he feels your hand move across the center console to grasp him over his jeans. He tilts his head back, moaning softly, as you continue to rub your palm over his bulge, aiming to make him jizz in his pants. Ultimately, he finds it necessary to pull over, as his foot on the gas pedal begins to tremble, and he wishes to avoid any danger of crashing.

4.) It was the middle of July when you and Harry decide to enjoy a day at the beach. You're wearing your black bikini, and Harry's sporting his tight yellow swim trunks. You spend most of your time lying on your beach towel, attempting to tan, while Harry lays next to you for a short period before opting to take a swim.

He instructs you to sit up and watch him, reminiscent of a young child, and you find it quite endearing. Harry ventures a few feet into the water as the waves collide with his tattooed chest, and you notice him waving at you with his sun-kissed arms.

Moments later, Harry emerges from the salty sea, and you observe closely as he approaches your designated area on the beach. You notice several beachgoers directing their attention towards him, and you even hear a man whistle as your husband walks by. This fires up a hint of jealousy within you, yet you find solace in the fact that he'll be in your bed tonight, not theirs.

As Harry stands before you, water cascading down his body, the reason for the attention he's receiving becomes evident. While it's a known fact that he's generally considered an attractive man, it's the unmistakable outline of his cock that's visible through his wet swim shorts that's captured the gaze of onlookers. You're aware that Harry usually exhibited some form of a bulge, but the thin fabric of his swimwear, now soaked, leaves little to the imagination.

While you admire the view, you're less than pleased that everyone else on the beach is enjoying the same sight. You tug at Harry's hand, urging him to take a seat beside you on his towel. "Ouch! What was that for?"

Turning your head to face him, you whisper, "Your swim trunks, Harry."

Confused, Harry asks, "What about them?"

With a sigh of frustration, you express, "You can see everything in those shorts. They fit snugly around your hips and they're thin and wet. The outline of your dick is clearly visible. Your bulge is very defined right now."

"Thought you liked my bulge?" Harry speaks with a cheeky smile.

"Harry, you know I do but I don't want the whole beach to see it too."

With a more serious tone, Harry conveys, "M'love, I could be fully unclothed, wanderin' this beach, and let me assure you: you are the only one who has the right to touch my body. You're the only one who truly sees me, both outwardly and inwardly. Not anyone else."

Smiling back, you retort, "So, does that mean I could walk around naked too and....."

Before you even get a chance to finish, Harry cuts you off. "Nope, absolutely not. Not a chance I'll let anyone see you naked. That's for my eyes only."

5.) What started out as a cozy cuddle on the couch while watching a movie, quickly develops into a heated make-out session. The idea that making out is only for teenagers and not for married couples is fundamentally incorrect. You and Harry love making out with one another.

You're situated over Harry, who's lying along the length of the sofa. He's wearing only his underwear, as the plan was to head to bed right after the movie. You, in contrast, are dressed in just a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt.

As the kisses get more and more heated, the more you can feel Harry growing between your legs. Your cunt is aligned directly over his erect cock, resulting in fabulous pressure against your clothed clit. So what do you choose to do? You begin to grind down over the prominent bulge in his briefs.

"Oh, fuck, baby!" Harry groans between kisses.

Lowering your mouth along the scruffy surface of his face, you notice your breathing becoming more intense. "Feels so good, Harry. Your bulge is so big and hard between my legs." You continue to move your hips, appreciating the way his clothed cock presses against your clit as you continue to dry hump his bulge. Your wet patch now seeping through your panties and onto the front of his own underwear.

At first, Harry considers stopping you, thinking to suggest that you just pull him out of his briefs and actually fuck yourself on his dick. However, he becomes captivated with the way you're lost in your own pleasure, moving against him so freely. Therefore, he opts to relax and let you take the lead, letting you do as you please.

After about three minutes of dry humping his enlarged bulge, you pant out in his warm neck, "I'm gonna come, H."

"Shh, it's okay, baby. Come f'me. Come over m'cock. Know it feels so good on your little clit doesn't it?" He strokes your back in a soothing manner and starts to elevate his hips in rhythm with your movements, which have slightly faltered. The extra pressure from his upward grinding pushes you to your peak. You tremble and shake over top of him.

Harry makes a sincere effort to hold back his own orgasm, intending to wait until you've finished and then allow you to get him off in a different way. He's always found the experience of coming in his underwear to be quite an unpleasant feeling, particularly due to the messy cleanup that follows. However, he ultimately can't hold back. As soon as he feels your pussy fluttering over his bulge, he succumbs to his orgasm, resulting in his cum coating the inside fabric of his briefs and pubic hair.

When you both finally calm down, you allow your body to relax over his and say, "God, do I love your bulge. Felt so good."

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

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My Masterlist Masterpost

[sheerfreesia007]

Love at Lunch Time

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word count: 2,636

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You’ve been dating Chan for two months now and have started to pack him a work lunch each day with a little extra sweet surprise for him in the form of cute love notes left in his lunch box. What happens when the boys start to realize that ever since you started dating and packing him lunch Chan now takes his lunch break seriously? What happens when they find one of your sweet notes in his lunch box?

Pabo:  Fool

The smell of homemade cooking fills your kitchen as you hum along to a tune that is nameless inside your head while you stand over the stove watching the pan as it sizzles.. It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and you’re preparing meals for the work week ahead, your kitchen island is littered with containers and brightly colored lids ready and waiting to receive the food that you’re just finishing up. Snacks have already been packed and are ready to put away in each of your lunch boxes and Chan’s for tomorrow. A smile slowly unfurls on your face as you think about packing lunch for your boyfriend for tomorrow.

Ever since the two of you started dating two months ago you’ve started packing a lunch for him, at first it had been because you were worried about him not eating during his work day and now it had just become the norm for you and a way for you to show him that you love and cared about him. It was just an added plus that Chan had confessed that he loved your homemade lunches, but it also made him actually take his lunch break and look forward to seeing the meal that you had prepared for him. You enjoy making your work lunches and now that you’ve got Chan to care for and look after you’re even more excited to make him meals. It always made you feel great when he would come home and tell you that he loved his lunch and that he really enjoyed it.

Turning off the stove you begin to portion out the meal into each of the containers for the both of you just as Chan enters the apartment with a bright happy grin on his face. He had been spending time with the guys this afternoon before promising to be home for the evening to spend the rest of the day with you. Walking into the kitchen he eagerly grabs the large pan you’re holding and helps you finish dishing out the meal into the containers. When that’s done he rinses the pan out in the sink before setting it down in there, he then turns back to you as you hurriedly put the lids on the containers knowing what’s coming next. He grins fondly at you before stepping close and wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder as his eyes watch what you’re doing.

“So what little surprise am I going to get in my lunch tomorrow?” he asks softly before pressing a quick kiss to the side of your neck causing you to flinch away from him. You chuckle softly at his question knowing he’s trying to find out early what cute little note you’ll leave him. Not long after you had started making and packing lunches for him you started to leave little notes in his lunch box for him to find. They often would just be little notes with words of encouragement or just little doodles that you made for him. But now they had evolved into little love notes where you confessed how much you loved him or certain things about him that you loved and cherished. 

“It’s a surprise.” you scold him gently and he pouts at you before burying his face in your neck to nip and kiss at you trying to make you crack and relent to him. You flinch and twist trying to get away from his tickling actions as he continues to nip and kiss at you while his arms tighten around your waist maneuvering you to lay flush against him

“Tell me.” he pleads as he turns you in his arms until you are facing each other and he’s holding you up just so that your toes graze the floor not allowing you to touch down. You shake your head at him and he pouts prettily for you and you scowl at him softly knowing that he’s trying to get you to tell him what the note will say and he’s using his dirty tricks to get his way. You lean up and peck his lips quickly trying to distract him but Chan quickly follows your retreating mouth with his own, capturing your lips with his in a heated kiss. You kiss him back just as heatedly for a few moments before you pull away from him panting slightly.

“I have to finish.” you tell him softly and he pouts again at you. “And you know I don’t write your notes until the morning of. Otherwise you’ll spoil the surprise.” you chastise him gently and he sighs softly at your words.

“I know, but I gotta at least try to get you to tell me what they’ll say. I always look forward to them.” he says softly and you beam up at him feeling the love you have for him pouring into your body. “You finish up and I’ll order dinner for us before we pick a movie together?” he asks as he stares into your eyes lovingly. You nod your head at him before he presses his lips to yours once more in a sweet tender kiss before he slowly lets you down onto your feet. He turns from you and you quickly finish getting all the containers ready and put away before joining him on the couch as he scrolls through the selection of movies you guys have.

*-*-*-*

The next morning your alarm wakes you and you groan softly as you try to snuggle deeper into your warm blankets not wanting to wake up yet for the day. Chan grunts heavily from behind you and pulls you in closer to him as you both cuddle further into your bed. But just as you’re about to fall back asleep Chan’s phone alarm goes off making the two of you groan loudly.

“Why did we agree that having an alarm on both of our phones was a good idea?” you ask grumpily as you begin to rub the sleep from your eyes. Chan chuckles softly and presses a tender kiss to your temple.

“Because if we didn’t we would just fall back asleep.” he says knowingly and you grumble softly causing him to chuckle at your antics. “C’mon babe, we’ve got work to get to.” he tries to cajole you out of bed and you grumble some more before rising from your comfortable bed.

“Fine, I guess so.” you sigh out loudly and Chan chuckles once again as he sits on the edge of the bed trying to wake himself up. The two of you quickly get ready for work and soon you’re in the kitchen grabbing both of your lunch boxes to set them on the island before grabbing yours and his travel cups. As your coffee brews you pull open one of the kitchen drawers and grab the cute wolf decorated stationery pad and your favorite sparkle glitter pen. You lean against the counter for a moment silently mulling over what you want to write to him today before grinning softly and writing down your note. Just as Chan is entering the kitchen all dressed for work you’re pouring coffee into your cups. You hand him his cup and lunch box before grabbing yours, the two of you exit your apartment and you press a sweet loving kiss to his mouth before you have to go in the opposite direction of him towards the bus stop.

“I could drive you.” he offers as he chases your mouth teasingly while a grin graces his face and you smile sweetly up at him.

“But then you’d be late.” you tell him softly which causes him to shrug his shoulders at you.

“It’d be worth it.” he tells you honestly and you smile fondly at him before pressing another quick kiss to his pouting lips.

“I’ll text you when I get to work. Have a good day babe. Love you.” you tell him firmly and he sighs while nodding his head knowing that you won’t allow him to be late to work.

“Alright, love you too sweetheart.” he responds before he heads to the parking garage where his car is parked..

*-*-*-*

Chan stares at his laptop screen and sighs loudly as he comes across another issue with the song. Han sits next to him and looks over with a worried look on his face, Seungmin stands in the booth staring concerned over at Chan through the glass as he waits for more direction while Changbin and Felix sit on the couch behind Chan watching with silent shared looks between them. Just as Chan feels the tension and anger begin to rise up in him his eyes dart to the small clock in the corner of his screen and he grins widely all of a sudden. 

“Alright, take a break Seungmin. It’s lunch time.” Chan says after pushing the speaker button to be able to be heard in the booth. Seungmin stares at him shocked for a moment and Han grins widely as he turns to give a look to Changbin who grins at the younger man.

“Lunch time?” Felix asks curiously and Changbin smirks widely as Seungmin exits the recording booth.

“Since when do you eat lunch?” Seungmin asks with a scoff and Han nearly vibrates in his chair as he watches Chan roll his chair away from the desk and grab his black lunch box and exit the room with an eager grin on his face. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin asks as he turns to Han and Changbin while Felix nods his head. Han excitedly turns to face all of them in his chair as he grins mischievously at Changbin.

“So ever since Chan started dating his girl she’s been packing him homemade lunches and he’s actually been taking his lunch break instead of working through them like he normally does.” Han said conspiratorially as if it was a secret.

“Oh, that’s actually really sweet.” Felix said softly as Seungmin gags loudly with a look of disgust on his face while Changbin laughs softly.

“But there’s more. I think she leaves little notes in his lunch box for him to find. He always sneakily stores something away in his safe in here.” Changbin says knowingly as he shares a look with a nodding Han.

“We want to see the notes.” Han says suddenly and Felix frowns at his words before he begins to shake his head.

“I’m in.” Seungmin says suddenly and Han and Changbin grin widely at the younger man.

Just then their leader enters the recording studio and they all turn to him silently. He’s not paying attention to them as he looks down at his phone with a soft smile on his face while his fingers type away on the keyboard. He places his lunchbox down on the desk and Seungmin swiftly flips it open, surveying the contents before his eyes land on the cute wolf stationery with sparkle handwriting on it. He quickly snatches the note and Chan looks up with wide shocked eyes.

“Give that back Seungminnie.” Chan says almost sounding threatening as Han and Changbin quickly stand to help their friend. Seungmin looks over at Chan quietly before he grins and rushes out of his reach as the older man lunges for him. Chan tries to chase Seungmin around the studio while the younger man dances out of his reach with help from Han and Changbin keeping the note away from their leader. Changbin finally has the note while Han and Seungmin hold Chan back as he watches Changbin with avid eyes trying to make sure the note doesn’t get destroyed.

“WHAT IS GOING ON!?” sounds your voice loud and clear making all of the men whips their heads to Felix who is holding up his phone with you on a video call. Instantly the younger men let Chan go who rushes to Changbin and carefully grabs his note from the man before stepping back over to his desk where his lunch box is still sitting. “I didn’t stutter.” you say scolding the younger men who all duck their heads in embarrassment.

“Noona, we just wanted to see Chan’s notes. He’s been actually taking his lunch break ever since you started packing him a lunch and Changbin and I started noticing little slips of paper that he’ll save from his lunch box. We got curious and wanted to see what you were writing to him.” Han quickly explains and Changbin makes a noise in agreement as he nods his head. Chan is amazed at how easily you’ve stopped the boys from teasing him and stealing his note from him and he can’t help but feel his heart thud heavily in his chest.

“And let me guess Seungmin say a chance at being a menace and said I’m in?” you asked knowingly and Seungmin pouts softly at your all telling words. “Listen just because you’re jealous Chan gets notes in his lunch box doesn’t mean you get to tease him about it. Once you all get girlfriends maybe she’ll send you little love notes.” you scold them gently and Seungmin twists his face with slight disgust. “Don’t give me that look Seungmin, you’re one of the biggest tsunderes out there, you pabo.” you chastise him and ducks his head as his ears burn pink causing Chan to grin fondly at you successfully calling out the younger man.

“You really think that’ll happen for us?” Changbin asks suddenly as he looks over at Felix’s phone where your face is displayed. Chan watches the faces of all the boys and sees the hopeful looks there and wonders if all of his members feel that way, hopefully for someone to treat them like you treat him.

“I hope so, Bin. Yuy guys deserve it.” you say truthfully and Changbin giggles loudly while Seungmin scoffs again.

“I should write a song about receiving love notes. That’s actually a really cute idea.” Han says suddenly before he grabs his chair and begins to furiously write in his lyrics book. Felix suddenly hands his phone to Chan who eagerly takes it and turns it so that you can see him on the video call, your face lights up with happiness when you finally see him and he can’t help but mirror your grin. 

“Thanks sweetheart for shutting the boys down and for my lunch and notes.” he says fondly to you and you chuckle softly at him.

“Any time babe.” you tell him happily with a chipper tone that has him smiling.

“Oh! Let me show where I’ve been keeping all your notes.” he says suddenly realizing that he can finally show his hiding spot. The boys all watch him eagerly and he shoots them a glare which makes them back off.

“Wait, you’ve saved all of them?” you ask surprised and Chan looks down at the phone bewildered.

“Of course I do. They’re special to me and make my day brighter. They give a little boost of energy at lunch time.” he confesses softly as he opens the safe that’s in the corner of the room. He directs the camera into the safe and you gasp softly as you see the cardboard box that has all of your multicolored stationery notes that you’ve given him over two months of dating.

“Oh you’re too sweet for keeping all those notes.” you say softly and slightly teary eyed. Chan beams at you as he blushes cutely. “I’ll have to make sure I never miss a day of notes for you.” you tell him sweetly and he grins at you.

“You better not.” he says seriously and you chuckle happily at him before blowing a kiss to him which he happily accepts before letting you get back to work.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

[ihrthoney]

alphabet fluff w/ jason todd :)

affection: how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?

jason peter todd is soooooo affectionate. when he loves, he loves. he shows his affection through acts of service. growing up he gained praise by doing things so it’s ingrained in his brain to do things for someone. it’s obviously different when it comes to you because he does it out of love and not obligation. if you’re feeling sick, he’ll make you soup and bring it to you in bed. someone harrasses you in the street? suddenly they go missing!

body: what is their favorite feature of you?

your eyes. the eyes never lie, plus he knows how to read a person’s body given his job. the way you look at him like he hung the moon and stars never fails to calm his nerves. 

comfort: how would they help you when you feel down?

as said before, acts of service. he will do everything and anything in his power to make you happy. if all you want is him to skip patrol and lay in bed for 48 hours straight, he’ll call someone to take his shift. (batfam takes his shifts willingly because they love you too and if you need jason then they’ll cover.) he’ll engulf you with open arms and open ears.

dreams: how do they picture their future with you?

i hc he has attachment issues, once you guys have a strong and solid bond, that’s it for him. he doesn’t know what the future holds and his occupation giving him tomorrow is a blessing in itself, so once he’s sure of you you are all he wants and needs. i don’t know if he would ever want to leave gotham given his passion to protect it but i think he would want a house, a solid place to go home to. reluctantly, he lets bruce guys help you guys build your dream house in the safest area possible.

equal: are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

he needs someone who can support him as much as he supports you. he can’t have someone so dependant on him, his job does that enough. you’re his safe space, he wants to be able to come home and not talk or decompress alone without hurting your feelings. it’s a 50/50, until one of you needs to pull more weight so the other can breathe. 

fight: would they be easy to forgive you? what are fights like?

it depends on how bad the fight is, sometimes you both have to sleep in separate rooms because of how stubborn you or both of you are, but tension never lasts more than a day. he’ll always forgive you though, always (unless you cheat on him or intentionally hurt him) because you’re his baby and he’s been through a lot so he refuses to lose you over things you guys can both fix. you have to have an open mind as well though! like stated before, it's a give and receive relationship, you need to want him as much as he wants you!

gifts: how do they feel about receiving/giving gifts?

he’s soooo shy, to know he’s being thought of? for you to give him something just because makes his heart beat so loud. i think because of his financial issues growing up, gifts are hard. he likes to save money and he does things to show you love with what he has (like skills), so to be given gifts makes him feel so full. you like to buy him wonder woman merchandise and he cherishes it. hell, you could give him a rock you painted and he’ll treat it like gold. it’s all because you gave it for him. you did something for him!

his love language may be acts of service (on top of physical touch), he still gives you gifts but things like just because flowers, or silly knick knacks that he saw you stare at too long (i love trinkets so that’s me projecting). there’s a cafe on the other side of town but you’re busy working? he’ll surprise you at work during your break with your treats. this man loves you!

honesty: do they have secrets that they hide or do they tell their s/o everything?

obviously he doesn’t go around telling everyone he’s red hood. so for a while he keeps it from you, being careful to keep you out of public eye so you aren’t a target. when your relationship becomes more serious then he’ll sit you down and confess. (i love the concept of his s/o already knowing because red hood always appears by them when they’re out in public. you’re alone waiting for the bus? oh look! red hood!) he’s very nervous to tell you because he does kill, he has done some bad things and he loves you very much (please don’t break his heart.) 

he squishes you in a hug when you accept his true identity and gives you a device that allows you to contact him whenever you have an emergency. 

(you had a feeling since he made sure your apartment was very secure early on into your relationship, he taught you some self defense. oh and don’t forget the knife you found behind your tv.)

insecurity: is there anything they’re insecure about in your relationship?

his scars. (me personally, i could never care about a person’s scars. it’s sad people think they’re ugly.) he has a really hard time coming clean about what his chest looks like and how it happened (i like the concept of him having an autopsy scar.) it takes a really long time for him to not only show you but allow you to come close to him in that state. you’re completely understanding and always respect his boundaries. 

you reassure him that you love him for him and not his looks, but you remind him daily that he’s very handsome. coming back looking completely different does a lot to one’s perception of themself.

even when dating for a few years, you know better than to stare to long at his scars. it has nothing to do with him not trusting you, but mentally for him it’s hard to swallow. the first time you traced his scars and kissed them he cried because you touch him with such gentleness even though the scars are there because of pain.  

jealousy: do they get jealous easily, how do they deal with it?

very jealous! not insecure but just possessive, you are his and his only. he’s very tall so no one tries anything with him around anyway and if they do then.. he’ll deal with them later!

you told him to always tell him how he feels but he makes it obvious when he pulls you in front of him to shield you from the world. 

he knows when to hold back though, he knows you’re strong and capable, he just wants to protect you as much as he can. 

kiss: what was your first kiss like?

like him, the absolute sweetest. it was on your second date, you mentioned how you loved to look at the stars but never went stargazing so he made his personal mission to do so. 

he drove you to a secluded area on his bike, a blanket on the ground and two lanterns. he also packed a few drinks and snacks for you both to enjoy. as the sun set, the moon lit up the sky and the stars twinkled around it. 

yes he is that boyfriend to look at you instead of the view because to him you are the universe.

it’s nearing 10pm and it starts to get cold, you gives you his jacket even though he told you it would be cold, and as he looks at you he starts to close the gap, “can i kiss you?” you answer by putting your hands on his face and meeting in the middle to a sweet kiss. you kiss until the crickets start to get too loud around you and he kisses you again before parting to go home. 

love confession: how would they confess their feelings?

he confesses his feelings through acts so you have to be the one to actually say something. jason knew he liked you after your first date but he hesitates, he’s not afraid of being rejected (he is). he always walks you up to your door and waits for you to get inside before leaving, or pulls you towards the other side so he closest to the road. he confesses his love in the way he always picks you up from work, how tight he hugs you after a hard patrol. despite how rough his hands are, he holds your face softly when he kisses you. when you finally tell him how you feel he’s internally jumping with joy, he grabs your face again and smashes your lips together. 

“i’ve wanted you for so long.” “well why didn’t you say something silly!” “i wasn’t sure!” “we’ll work on that together” 

marriage: do they want to get married? how do they feel about it?

he doesn’t need a certificate to know you’re the one he wants to watch every sunset and sunrise with but if you want a wedding then he’ll help plan it with you. it’s not something that scares him, he just doesn’t think about it. having anything traditional and normal is a long shot for undercover heroes but for you he’ll try.

nightmare: what is their greatest fear in your relationship?

judgement, loss. losing you, in death or you not loving him, makes his blood run cold anytime the insecurity slips in his mind. he can get quite worked up if you’re reckless, he scolds you for not being aware of your surroundings or not having secure locks to your home. 

he’s also terrified of judgment, he craves to be seen and loved wholly with no conditions. 

obvious: how transparent are they with their feelings?

in the beginning of your relationship he’s pretty dodgy, he hides his feelings because he doesn’t want to be a burden and bother you. he’s used to having to do things alone, he knows he can. you have to remind him a lot that he’s not a bother and that you do what you do because you love him. you learn how to clean his wounds and sew for the nights when things hurt to much to do alone. it hurts your heart to know how often he’s had to bear things alone so you make sue he knows that with you around he’s never alone.

over time he’s more honest, he relies on you like a lifeline. 

pet names: what kind of nicknames do they have for their s/o?

you’re his sweetheart!! his baby! the love of his life!! his honey!

he definitely likes you tease you though, calling you sugar, or pumpkin. 

quality time: how do they spend time with you?

dates when he doesn’t have patrol that night, he’ll take you out for lunch or drive around the city. at night, when he’s off, gets off patrol early or just needs a breather, you both lay on the couch in the living room. you make him a warm cup of tea and let him lay in your lap as he reads, your hands in his hair, weaving through the soft strands. the tuft of white hair is your favorite, you like to twirl it in between your fingers. he enjoys the quiet with you, its comfortable and he can feel any pressure and tension leave his body as you caress his face. 

if you like to binge shows or do little crafts he’ll join or you continue reading, making sure a part of him is touching you in any way. if you’re on the floor doing crafts, he’ll have his leg stretched out and touching your side, if you’re watching tv he’ll have you in his lap. sometimes you’ll both wake up on the couch or he’ll carry you in the room.

romance: how romantic are they? what do they do to make their s/o happy?

i like to think he’s a romantic, or tries to be. give him a break, he died at 15 and woke up years later. he’s getting the hang of life again so romance doesn’t come easily but from what he’s seen on tv and in books he tries! he holds your hand or puts an arm around your shoulder and brings you close when you guys are out in public, he opens every door for you and pulls out your chair. if you open your own door he closes it and reopens it lmfao.

you like to push his buttons a bit by opening your own door or pulling out his chair. it’s cute how he huffs and pouts.

support: how do they show support to their s/o?

he will cheer you on and support you on any goal you have! he gives advice, asks the batfam (not bruce lmao) if they know how to help or achieve such a goal. he helps you out if you need money even though you tell him not to, he does anyway.

thrill: do they like routine or prefer trying new things every so often?

with his job, i think some kind of routine would be good for him. he doesn’t have to be alert or left wondering, he comes home and you’re home as you said you would be, you’re in the shower after getting off of work and you’ve amazingly prepared dinner. 

he wakes up and you tug him to sleep in longer, sometimes you exercise with him but he doesn’t force you to of course.

i think he would really need stability. 

understanding: how do they show they’re understanding of their s/o’s needs?

like stated before, he shows his understanding in the little things he does, he always gets them what they want or need even if his partner mentions it one time. if you want some space he’ll give you that but not without making sure you stay safe and take care of yourself!

he cooks for you both to make sure you eat! he needs to stay fit and healthy and with you in his life he makes sure you stay healthy too!

value: how important are you/is your relationship to them?

your relationship is the most important thing to him. he could be in the middle of a shootout and if you call him he’ll quickly reply, “i’ll call you back in 15, okay sweetness? yes dear i’ll be safe. i love you most.” 

weird: any quirks?

sometimes his eyes glow green 😁

xoxo: favorite place to kiss? how do they hug you?

he loves to kiss the pulse point on your wrist and neck, it’s his reminder that you’re here with him. it grounds him and he loves the feeling of your heart beating faster when he’s near.

especially when you guys are sleeping, he kisses your neck a lot, he loves how soft the skin is. (you will in fact wake up with marks on your neck, bites and or bruises.)

he likes to hug you and your your head to his chest or blanket around you from behind. if you’re cooking he drapes himself over you and will help you or just poke and tickle you until you shoo him away which causes him to whine, “you hate me, my girlfriend hates me.”

yearning: how do they handle missing you?

not well! he makes it everyone’s problem, the other robins always texts you pictures of him brooding around the manor because he has to be away from you. you have an entire album and collection of him sadly pushing his food away like a child or sprawling on the couch.

his ears turn all red when you show him the pictures and he claims it’s photoshop until you pull up the video dick sent you of jason talking about how much he misses your cooking and the blankets you always had on the couch. 

he gets irritated at not seeing you, being a little more brutal when against villains, sadly wrapping his hands in bandages because you usually do it for him. he ignores the glares damian and tim give him for being a sap.

zzz: what are they like to sleep with? are they the big spoon or little?

he runs cold surprisingly, but you enjoy it. you fall asleep very fast because of how refreshing it is to lay on a cool and soft surface. you never have to kick the blanket off at night because of him. 

he is the little spoon! he loves to be held and cradled! his favorite sound is your heartbeat, he knocks out instantly, nightmares don’t happen when he’s wrapped in your arms. of course there are nights when you can’t escape his hold but you like it that way anyway.

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

[hoe4hotchner]

Aaron Hotchner x non bau rich reader. Like a part 2. Reader meets the BAU but they are impressed like reader is so rich but humble and loves Aaron and Jack so much.

The mystery woman | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: nothing it's fluff

A/N: I loooveeeeddd working on this!!!!!

Hotch's relationship with you had always been something of a mystery to his team. While he was naturally private about his personal life, the snippets they’d heard over time painted a picture of someone warm, grounded, and, to their surprise, immensely wealthy. It was something they hadn’t expected — someone who seemed to belong to an entirely different world yet had seamlessly become a part of Hotch and Jack’s.

They never pried — Hotch would have shut that down in an instant — but curiosity lingered nonetheless. For all his long hours, endless casework, and rarely taking a day off, somehow Hotch had managed to meet someone so different from the chaotic nature of the BAU. It wasn’t just your wealth that fascinated them; it was how easily you fit into his life. If anything, it only fueled their curiosity. How had someone as busy and emotionally guarded as Hotch caught someone like you?

It wasn’t lost on the team that Hotch rarely spoke about you unless someone specifically asked. Even then, he was usually brief — mentioning how you’d taken Jack to the park or baked cookies for a school event. But the way his expression softened at the mention of your name hinted at something deeper, something they all could sense but couldn’t quite pin down — something that hinted at a human connection he hadn't felt since Haley.

That curiosity finally found an outlet when you joined Aaron and Jack at Rossi’s dinner party.

Rossi had insisted that the whole BAU team come together, spouses included, determined to create an evening to wind down, where hopefully work could be forgotten for a while. Naturally, the team had been eager to meet you, though they hadn’t dared to push Hotch for details.

Hotch had paused just long enough for the team to notice before replying, almost offhandedly, that he wasn’t sure if you were coming when Rossi announced the party. Your schedule that week had been especially hectic, and he didn't want to pressure you to join if you didn't have the time. “She’s… busy,” he had said, the slight hesitation in his voice giving away a faint uncertainty about whether you’d even be able to attend.

It was enough for the team to conclude: you, too, were a workaholic. Of course, you were — you had to be, considering the kind of lifestyle and responsibilities they imagined you must manage. The thought only added to their intrigue. What kind of person juggled such an overwhelming schedule yet found time to date?

But what they didn’t know — what Hotch himself hadn’t quite expected — was how enthusiastic you were about attending. The moment you’d heard about the dinner, you had set to work rearranging your obligations, clearing your calendar, and delegating tasks. While your schedule may have been packed, you never hesitated to prioritize moments like these.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you had told Aaron firmly, brushing aside his protest about how much effort it would take to move things around. The excitement in your voice had been unmistakable. It wasn’t just about meeting his team—it was about being there for him and Jack, stepping into a part of their world that mattered so much to them, about meeting their family, and showing how much you truly cared for them.

It was a side of you that Aaron cherished, though he rarely spoke of it to others: your ability to make time for the people you loved, no matter how busy life got. And now, as the dinner drew closer, the team’s long-standing curiosity was about to be answered.

When you arrived, dressed impeccably but not overly flashy, the team’s first impression was of someone who exuded elegance. The second thing they noticed — impossible to miss really — was the way Jack clung to your hand, his small fingers wrapped around yours like he never wanted to let go. His face lit up the moment you stepped through the door, his excitement bubbling over instantly.

“Uncle Dave, this is Y/N!” Jack declared proudly as he tugged you forward. “She’s the best. She makes the most awesome pancakes!”

The team exchanged amused glances, charmed by the adoration in Jack’s voice. Even Hotch, standing off to the side, looked relaxed with a rare smile on his lips as he watched the interaction.

You laughed and crouched slightly to tousle Jack’s hair. “Jack’s biased,” you teased as you glanced up at Rossi. Straightening, you extended a hand to greet him with a polite, confident handshake. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

Rossi grinned, shaking your hand firmly. “Well, anyone who can win over Jack is already a favorite in my book.”

The casual ease of the interaction left the rest of the team intrigued. While they had expected someone polished, they hadn’t anticipated such genuine warmth. You seemed entirely unaffected by the fact that you were meeting a room full of highly trained profilers. Instead, you carried yourself with a natural charm that immediately put everyone at ease, making it clear that, to you, this wasn’t a performance or an obligation.

And as Jack dragged you over to show you a plate of cookies Rossi had set out, the team couldn’t help but exchange glances. This was someone who had Jack’s trust and admiration. If there had been any lingering doubts about what kind of person had captured Aaron Hotchner’s heart, they were already starting to dissipate.

As the evening unfolded, the team couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly you navigated the gathering. You shared stories of your philanthropic ventures but downplayed your role in running them. When asked about your background, you focused on your hobbies and interests rather than the lavish lifestyle they knew you could easily flaunt.

But what stood out most was your connection with Aaron and Jack. You weren’t just present; you were integral. When Jack pulled you to sit with him, you leaned in to listen as if whatever he was saying was the most important thing in the world. And Aaron had a softness in his eyes when he looked at you.

At one point, JJ leaned toward Emily. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.”

“Or Jack this smitten,” Emily added, watching as Jack giggled uncontrollably at some joke you whispered in his ear.

Later in the evening, Spencer approached you hesitantly, curious but respectful. “I hope this isn’t intrusive, but… how do you balance everything? Your work, your family, and, well…” He glanced at Aaron and Jack, who were chatting nearby.

You smiled, thoughtful. “It’s not always easy, but with him, it’s worth it. Jack too. They remind me that it’s not about how much you have or do — it’s about who you share it with.”

As the night ended, the team left with a newfound understanding of the person who had captured Hotch's heart. You weren’t just wealthy; you were kind, and deeply in love with Aaron and Jack. And for the first time in a long time, they saw their unit chief not as their leader who had gone through so much but as a man who’d found something extraordinary — someone extraordinary.

[joelsgoldrush]

➽ summary: To love is to cherish, to endure, to fight. But to love is also to forget—at least, for you and Logan. Despite countless attempts to erase the part of yourselves that yearns to find completion in each other, you always end up back where it all began: the moment your eyes first met his—the moment everything changed.

➽ word count: 12.4k words

➽ warnings/tags: mdni smut 18+ angst. fluff. feels. enemies to lovers. petnames. multiple focalizors/POVs. memory loss. x1 logan. mutant!reader. flashbacks. dirty talk. oral (f and m receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. missionary. doggy. creampie. cum swallowing.

➽ a/n: inspired by “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”, one of the most hauntingly beautiful (and life-changing) films ever made. i took some creative liberties when it came to charles' powers, so just follow along. i’d love to know your thoughts on this one, hope you like it as much as i do! <3

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned.

Alexander Pope.

Logan thinks Jean is speaking to him, but her words dissolve into fragments, lost before they reach him. Her reddish lips shape the vowels and consonants with precision, yet the meaning is drowned out by the pulse in his ears. She’s agitated, her long strides barely matching his pace, heels striking the wooden floor in a staccato rhythm.

A few children peek their heads out from their rooms, curiosity tugging at their expressions as the tension unravels in the hallway. Had it always stretched this far into eternity? It feels as though he’s been walking it for centuries now.

If Jean Grey is the embodiment of grace and intellect, then Logan carries the weight of all the world’s stubbornness. It clings to him like a birthright. Defying her beliefs—or anyone’s—is as instinctual as breathing. She’s trying to dissuade him, to talk him out of this reckless act: asking Charles to meddle in what she’s called his personal issues. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, focusing instead on the steady cadence of his steps toward the man’s office, each one heavier with purpose.

Jean’s voice grows sharper, her warnings echoing in his mind. This is a mistake. You’ll regret it. You’ll want to undo it. Don’t be stupid, Logan. Don’t do this to her—don’t do this to yourself.

But her protests are futile. The cards have already been laid out. Only meters from the door, he comes to a sudden halt. Jean, caught mid-stride, almost stumbles into his back. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers across her face. Maybe, just maybe, she’s convinced him to reconsider. A tentative smile begins to form on her lips, until he turns to her with a look so unyielding, it steals the breath from her lungs.

She has never seen him like this. This resolute, this… haunted. His jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed so tightly it seems etched in stone. There’s no trace of relief or satisfaction in his expression. Only the grim determination of a man about to pass a point of no return.

Why is he doing this? Soon, there will be hands prying into his thoughts, a marauder pulling apart his memories. Think about her. Now think about this moment. What do you remember? Each memory bearing your name, inked into his unconscious, will be inspected, cataloged, and then erased.

A mind already scarred will be stripped even further, the void swallowing everything. It has to come from a place of self-loathing, he thinks, because no reasonable explanation suffices. Perhaps he’s always been this broken, this damaged, and it was only a matter of time before he sought refuge in the very solution that had once been his calvary.

“I’ve made my choice,” he says with a tilt of his head which aims to deliver a tacit message: stay back. Don’t follow me. I have to do this. I need to.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks to himself, to willingly want to forget, to crave oblivion. To stop caring.

His fist hovers over the door, but he doesn’t have to knock. Charles’s been waiting for him. His voice resonates behind Logan’s eyelids, calm and inescapable. Come in.

“Coward.”

That’s the last thing he hears before he steps into the office, leaving her behind.

The first time you saw him, he was a contained storm, seconds away from coming undone in front of a rather small audience. Hardly the most convenient introduction.

You were in Charles’ office, attending one of his Physics lessons—not because you needed to. He’d already taught you these principles long ago, in a different time, under different circumstances. But lately, Charles had been trying to delegate some of his responsibilities, hoping to carve out time for the pressing matters that demanded his full attention. Ever the sweetheart, you’d offered to help, stepping in to take over this class.

Which is why you spent those past few weeks studying him—not just his teaching style, but the way he presented the topics: the analogies he drew, the subtle inflections in his tone. You’d promised yourself perfection, committed to live up to his standard, and that was exactly what you were working toward.

The sound of a door slamming shattered the flow of the lesson. A man burst into the room as though escaping from some unseen predator, shutting the door with a loud, final thud. He didn’t turn to face you. Instead, he lingered by the door, chest pressed against it, his ragged breathing filling the silence. The students abandoned whatever fragments of attention they had left for the class—this new stranger was far more compelling.

And, truthfully, ha’d caught your attention, too.

You hesitated, fists clenching slightly at your sides, bracing for something you couldn’t name. A familiar voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you: This is the man I’ve been telling you about.

Apparently, this was Logan Howlett in the flesh. You certainly didn’t expect Charles’ newest recruit to look like this. 

“Good morning, Logan,” Charles greeted him when the man finally spun around. From this distance, you could see the tension carved into his features, the crease in his forehead betraying his distress. Charles, still composed, redirected his focus to the students. “I’d like your definitions of weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk on Wednesday, all right? That’ll be all.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, gathering their belongings in a flurry of notebooks and murmured goodbyes, barely sparing you a glance as they shuffled out. You offered them a tight-lipped smile, lifting a hand in acknowledgment, but your attention was drawn elsewhere. Logan was looking at you—or rather, through you—with a gaze that felt assessing. You never quite met his eye.

He stood there barefoot, dressed only in a sweater and sweatpants, his breath still uneven. Disoriented. His eyes swept across the room, his expression distant yet guarded, as though he was questioning the reality of it all. Considering the way he carried himself, it almost seemed like this was his first encounter with other mutants—but you knew better.

At some point, Charles decided to break the tension. “I’m Charles Xavier,” he began, his tone inviting. “Would you like some breakfast?”

But, of course, his cordiality and kindness were dismissed, being met with a gruff, “Where am I?”

“Westchester, New York,” Charles replied evenly, maneuvering his wheelchair closer. “You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

You hadn’t been part of the mission that led to this moment; that had been Scott and Storm. In fact, you hadn’t even met Logan or the girl they’d brought with him—Rogue, as you later learned. Although at the time, rooted in the aftermath, you stepped forward, bridging the distance between yourself and Logan. You extended a hand toward him, offering your name with a cautious smile. “Nice to meet you.”

The gesture lingered awkwardly in the air, refusing even the pretense of acknowledgment. His eyes locked on yours, piercing and unrelenting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was his way of dissecting you. Then his gaze shifted back to Charles, impatience dripping from every word he uttered. “I don’t need medical attention. Where’s the girl?”

Oh. So that’s how he wants to play this. You withdrew your hand, doing your best to mask the sting of rejection as you pivoted on your heels and returned to your place beside Charles. “Jerk,” you muttered, low enough that it almost drowned beneath your breath, fussing with your sleeves in a vain effort to seem unaffected.

He didn’t miss it. His expression hardened, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Come again?”

To end the exchange right there, Charles cleared his throat, effectively steering the conversation into a different direction. Seizing the opportunity, he wheeled himself closer to the brown-haired man, his composure intact. What you admired about him was his self-control, something you’d tried to master in the years spent under his guidance without success. Yet, you couldn’t fathom how he managed not to tell Logan to just fuck off. “About Rogue, she’s doing fine.”

Logan arched a brow, his sneer cutting through the air like a blade. “Really?” You couldn’t grasp how he could hold so much bitterness toward a person he barely knew. His voice was thick with condescension, and a dozen sharp retorts swirled in your mind, each one eager to escape your lips. Your mouth parted to respond on Charles’ behalf, but he beat you to it.

“You’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the dense air. Even the act of breathing felt strained, a soundless tug-of-war for the air around you. “You do know you’re not the only one with gifts, don’t you?”

“Is that what you tell those kids?” Logan’s scoff was a window into his beliefs. “That they have gifts?” 

“It’s no more than the truth.”

“Yeah? Truth my ass.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The words escaped you before you could stop them, fury flaring in your chest. You stepped forward, the crackling heat of frustration coursing through your veins, ending in your fingertips. His blank stare only fanned the flames. “We took you in. We saved your life. How about showing a little fucking gratitude?”

Logan advanced, and his eyes bored into yours with a stinging glint of smugness. “I don’t remember asking to be saved.”

Your jaw tightened. You could’ve cracked a tooth as well. “Well, the least you can do is not act like a complete prick.”

A hand encircled your wrist, its grip firm but soothing. Charles’ touch anchored you, grounding you back in the moment. Your breath faltered, tearing your gaze away from Logan’s eyes to meet Charles’ calm expression.

“Don’t be so hard on our guest, my dear,” he murmured, as if the hostility in the room didn’t exist. It could’ve also been that he was too practiced at disarming it. He didn’t bother to glance at Logan, speaking as though the man was just a shadow. “Give him some time. He needs it.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you bowed your head. You sidestepped Logan without another word, avoiding his presence like he was a flame that threatened to scorch. The tension clung to your skin, and you flung the room.

From that day on, Logan becomes the only subject you seem capable of discussing.

It’s everything about him—his walk, his voice, the sheer audacity of his existence—that drives you to the brink of madness. You tell yourself to let it go, to not let it eat away at you, but your mind refuses to cooperate. Each day, it does a stellar job of reminding you that you now share the same roof as a man with forks for hands.

Logan is, undeniably, the source of your every frustration.

“He’s an idiot,” you grumble around a bite of your lunch, settling into one of the chairs in the kitchen. Scott, Ororo, and Jean are gathered around the table with you, savoring a rare break before the afternoon classes pull them back into their routines. “I can confirm it.”

“Trust me, we know,” Ororo snaps, her tone more cutting than you expected. The words catch you off guard, and you pause, napkin halfway to your lips, to lift your eyebrows in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry,” she continues, her voice softening just a fraction, “but could you please talk about something else? It’s been Logan this, Logan that, for weeks now.”

“I think I understand what she means,” Scott chimes in, his tone lighter, nearly playful. You lift your hand for a high five, and he obliges with a grin, stealing a laugh from you.

“See? He gets it!”

Leaning back in his chair, your friend shakes his head. “I must admit I don't like the guy either. He’s—”

Jean’s elbow shoots out, jabbing Scott in the ribs just as Logan crosses the kitchen threshold. Scott’s indignant “Hey!” is muffled by your exaggerated cough, though it does little to mask the smirk threatening to break across your face.

How does the saying go? Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Logan’s eyes sweep across the room, his silence louder than the faint hum of the refrigerator. He strides toward the cupboard with methodical ease, and Storm bites her lip to stifle a laugh once she catches you watching him far longer than you should have. His back muscles tense and flex as he stretches his arms, the white tank clinging tighter with every movement.

“Please, don’t stop talking just because of me,” he remarks, his voice gravelly as he rummages through the cupboard, his focus presumably on some elusive snack. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Your response comes out of instinct, words laced with irritation. “It’s hard not to,” you retort curtly, putting down your sandwich with a firm slap of your palms against your jeans.

That gets his attention. Logan turns around to confront you, a flicker of amusement twitching at the edges of his mouth. It’s that toothy smile of his that sets your blood simmering. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You jump to your feet, matching his intensity. “Such a pity I can’t say the same about you.” Without missing a beat, you step closer, snatching the bag of chips he’s holding. Hiding them behind your back, tilting your head in mock innocence, and then saying, “Oops.”

His brows draw upward, though his tone stays measured, as if speaking to a child. “C’mon,” he replies, making a half-hearted grab for the bag. “How old are you? Twelve?”

Unable to suppress the grin threatening to break free, you rest your back against the counter. “We both know you can do much better than that.”

Already preparing yourself for the lecture Ororo’s going to unload on you the moment he leaves, you watch as Logan exhales sharply. His irritation is palpable in the way he leans in, one hand planting itself on the counter behind you, his frame eclipsing yours. The proximity is electric, his scent, a mix of leather and something woodsy, fogging your senses. Hazel eyes, so deep you could drown in them, peer down at you, as he attempts to strip away every layer you’re desperately trying to hold together.

Safe to say, it’s working. Damn it. 

“Alright,” he finally says, tapping his fingers against the cool surface. “What do you want from me?”

Your galloping heartbeat is a major detail you choose to ignore, instead turning to the others for support. With an exaggerated motion, you point to each of your friends in turn. “Ororo and Scott were the ones who found you that day,” you start, trailing off, “and Jean ran a ton of tests on you to make sure you were okay. Have you even bothered to thank them for their hospitality?”

You believe you can joke with him—it’s how you usually bond with others, how most of your friendships have started. But you can’t help questioning if Logan can even get your sense of humor. The room falls silent, and his eyes flicker, just briefly, to your friends. 

“You’re right, you’re right. My bad, princess.” One of his big, manly lands on your shoulder, the pressure of it too casual, too familiar, working the muscle there. Your fingers slacken around the bag of chips, the feeling of his touch making it harder to maintain your grip. “Guys, I’m deeply sorry for my lack of amiability. Hope you can forgive me.” The sarcasm is thick in his voice, but it’s the sensation that clings to you, that doesn’t seem to fade—the warmth of it seeping through the layers of your clothes, pressing into your skin, stubbornly refusing to fade.

His hand leaves only when he yanks the bag from your grasp, and the warmth that had been just beside you evaporates with his retreat. In an instant, he’s already pulling away, his parting words a careless “See you around,” tossed over his shoulder.

No one dares to speak after that. Because to speak would be to acknowledge what has just happened. Your stomach has turned into a knot, that kind of knot sailors make that are impossible for beginners to undo. Logan’s fingers left a burn in your shoulder. Can you still smell him, the trail he left? Scott is the first to speak after a minute or so. “What… was that?”

“I have no clue,” Jean says between bites, staring reflectively at you. “Care to elaborate?”

Your tongue feels heavy, your throat parched. Even if you tried, a rational explanation wouldn’t come.

Ever since you were a child, you had yearned to grow up, to experience love as only adults could. In your young, unformed mind, it all seemed like a simple equation: adults dated; adults embraced love in the flesh; adults reveled in freedoms that children could only dream of, waiting patiently for their time to come.

And you did grow up. You did fall in love. But now he’s forgotten you, and nothing could have prepared you for that kind of ending. It wasn’t the closure you would have chosen, not the goodbye you imagined for you and Logan.

You find yourself caught in the in-between—not quite a child, yet not fully an adult either. Because surely, an adult would know how to handle this pain. An adult would find a way to cope. But you feel small. Weak. Hopeless.

It leaves you wondering just how much you are willing to forsake.

More weeks go by, and Logan remains in the mansion, defying the departure you’d expected. Part of you is relieved. He moves through the halls like a shadow, his eyes always on Rogue: checking on her, observing her interactions with the rest of the students at the mansion. She’s thriving, really. Blending in with her peers, forming bonds, especially with a boy named Billy. They are quite the pair.

Yet, despite Rogue’s happiness, Logan can’t seem to shake the grim air that surrounds him, an aura that emanates a quiet kind of disgust.

One night, you’re flipping through channels in the living room, stopping when an old love movie catches your attention. You place the remote down on a cushion, and pull your knees up to your chest, the murmur of the characters’ voices the only sound in the otherwise hushed room. You don’t think anyone else is awake at this hour.

 “Can’t sleep?”

There he is again. Always intruding, always finding his way back to you. The predator creeping into the vixen’s nest. He moves closer, slowly, and you lift your gaze to him, replying, “Actually, I’m a sleepwalker.”

Your comment earns a half-smile from Logan as he drops onto the couch beside you, his leg brushing against yours momentarily, worn denim against bare skin. His attention shifts to the TV, to the grainy images of the film playing out. You steal a glance at him, tracing the hard lines of his side profile.

“Feelin’ romantic tonight?” he asks.

“Not precisely,” you retort, fingers toying with the frayed edges of the blanket pooled at your feet. “There’s nothing else on. Sometimes you have to make do with what’s there.” Your gaze drifts back to him, lingering just a second too long before you add, “What about you? Any ghosts keeping you up?”

“You could call them that,” he says after a pause, his face still angled away. It must be easier to speak to you with this thin, invisible wall between you. “I have nightmares.”

“So you’re the one screaming at two in the morning?”

“Exactly. That’s me.” He ends up meeting your gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, harboring an emotion he doesn’t voice. “M’sorry if I ever woke you up.”

“I’m usually awake at that time, too.” Your eyes flick to the screen. The couple in the movie bursts out of a building into the rain, their body language unmistakably revealing the heated argument unfolding between them. The man, clad in a raincoat, removes it to cover the woman, his supposed girlfriend. She’s visibly upset, but accepts the gesture nevertheless. “You can always knock on my door if you need anything. Unless I’m snoring—then I’ll be useless.”

Logan clicks his tongue, his focus shifting to the film as well. The man shouts, ‘Because I love you, for God’s sake!’ He casts a glimpse in your direction, his expression unreadable. “Same goes for you.” The woman in the film responds with a strangled, ‘Then prove it!’

“Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

The man cradles the woman’s face before kissing her. She throws her arms around his neck, and the music swells, evolving into a much more melodic song. A chorus of angelic voices replaces the earlier tense harmony. The camera lingers on every angle of their kiss, every desperate touch, as the world outside their embrace ceases to exist.

“This is cheesy,” Logan mutters, his heel bumping against the floor in repeated, short motions. Is he nervous?

“Yeah, so cheesy,” you reply quickly, pulling the blanket over your lap and curling into yourself. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking about kissing you, not even remotely, but you are.

A quiet yawn escapes you, and you rub your fist against your eyes, sleep beginning to take over your body. Logan catches it, his own yawn following like a reflex. “Looks like the movie’s workin’ wonders,” he quips.

You let out a drowsy giggle. “Shut up,” you murmur, but then he’s inching closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. His warmth seeps through, and after a few seconds of hesitation, you allow yourself to lean into his frame, resting your head on his arm. It’s awkward, your neck already protesting the angle, but you accept it. You’ll take the stiffness tomorrow without complaint, because this moment is worth it.

It won’t last long, though, this rare tenderness. These nights, the quiet ones, are when Logan opens up the most—when Jean and Storm aren’t around, when it’s just the two of you. That’s when he approaches you, like a wary black cat testing the waters. But he doesn’t need to tread carefully. Not with you.

“What if I were to fall asleep… hypothetically?” Your eyelids grow heavier with each blink, the pauses between each one stretching longer. Your cheek nuzzles against him, seeking warmth, and you feel the subtle tug of his hand as he pulls the blanket over his legs as well.

“Hypothetically,” he begins, rasping his words near your temple, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Within moments, sleep claims you. You never find out what happens after that, but he stays, trailing quietly behind. No nightmares or shadows from his past dare to haunt him that night.

It was inevitable that an encounter like that would spiral into something more. You weren’t naïve. You could connect the dots, and the picture was clear: Logan wanted you, too. Desire often walked a fine line, and from hatred to something else, it’s hardly a leap—just a small, barely perceptible step. It could change with the shift of light, from dawn to dusk. But you’d need the strength to cross that line, to be bold enough to make the first move.

And now, with the sun already dipped below the horizon, taking its long-awaited rest after a full day of burning up in the sky, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, though you hadn’t started that way. Scott had lingered for a while, insisting he didn’t mind keeping you company. You’d thanked him with a polite smile before subtly nudging him out. It hadn’t taken much—just a few hints. Simplicity at its finest.

At the table, a neat pile of student papers spreads before you. Your pen dances across the pages, leaving corrections and grades in its wake. It’s then that he appears. He doesn’t speak at first, but his presence saturates the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him; it must be the unspoken familiarity of how he fills a space. Or maybe it’s just how attuned you’ve become to his every movement.

Logan leans in behind you, close enough that you feel the heat he radiates at your back. His low hum sends a shiver down your spine as he peers over your shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be playin’ the teacher?”

Your grip on the pen tightens, a small tremor in your fingers giving away the tension pooling in your stomach. You exhale softly, blowing on the fresh ink. “Would you prefer to have me doing something else?”

Smugness prickles at the edges of your words, but the resolve in your chest is faltering.

“Now that you mention it…” His voice dips, grating next to the shell of your ear as his chest brushes your back. His presence is magnetic, the scrape of his beard scratching your skin while he tilts your head to one side. His fingers sweep your hair over your shoulder, lips mapping the nape of your neck, tasting your fevered skin. “I might have a few ideas in mind.”

Your breath hitches. You try for composure, but it wavers in your reply. “Really?” you ask, because playing dumb always has its merits, after all. “Want to show me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand moves deliberately, tracing a sensual, teasing path up your abdomen. His palm settles over one of your breasts, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak through your sweater. “I don’t think you’d want me to do it here,” he says, his voice thick with suggestion. “Too public for what I’ve got planned for you.”

You disentangle yourself from him, slipping off the chair with an unsteady grace, but Logan doesn’t give you time to find your feet. He smashes his lips with yours, the force of his kiss almost sending you reeling. His tongue presses insistently, seeking entry, as if the urgency in his touch could dissolve every barrier between you. He grabs your cheeks, holding you in place as though you might slip away, drawing you so close there’s barely space to breathe.

You’re caught off guard, not knowing where to put your hands, searching for purchase. The cold metal of the refrigerator handle digs into your lower back as he backs you against it, his groans reverberating through your mouth like a growled confession.

“My bedroom,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “Take me to my bedroom.”

Logan obliges, intertwining his fingers with yours. Together, you ascend the stairs, your laughter mingling in the noiseless night when he missteps and stumbles, momentarily breaking the spell. But he recovers quickly, finding your room in mere seconds. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and he presses you against the wood with a force you’d never experienced, his hands sliding down to grip your ass and knead the supple flesh with a possessive fervor. It all helps to feed the fire pooling in your core.

“Quiet, baby,” he whispers, slipping his fingers beneath the back of your sweatpants. His nails trace fiery lines along your skin, igniting your every nerve. “Don’t want anyone wakin’ up to those pretty sounds you make. They’re just for me, right?”

You nod frantically, longing for more, arching into his hands as your hips grind against his, your body moving with a will of its own. The friction is exquisite, a tantalizing promise. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his words laced with unfiltered hunger. “I’ve thought about havin’ you like this ever since I met you.”

His confession sends a surge of pride through your chest, an ache that feels equal parts affection and astonishment. Ever since the beginning? When he could barely look at you without scowling, his disdain practically tangible? “You hid it well,” you reply, breathless as you trace the outline of his erection over his jeans. The way it twitches under your undivided attention makes your pulse race. “I thought you hated me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter. “I thought the same about you,” he counters, before crushing his lips to yours once more. This time, you can’t help but smile into the kiss, your bodies moving as one, the pent-up tension between you unraveling in waves. “Guess we were both wrong.”

Your pants hit the floor in an unceremonious heap. It should embarrass you, how desperate and utterly needy you sound, the pleas spilling from your lips like the filthiest confessions. But the hunger in you is too vast, too insistent, drowning any possible flicker of shame. Decency was abandoned the moment you crossed that threshold. Logan nudges your legs apart with his knee, and the instant you feel him against your center, a contained sigh escapes you, half-resignation, half-surrender. Thought dissolves, leaving only instinct as you rock against him in slow circles, seeking relief.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?” He toys lazily with the waistband of your panties, like he has all the time in the world. You don’t give him an immediate answer, choosing instead to grind harder against his thigh, your breath hitching at the pressure. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, dipping his head to mouth at your collarbone, the scent of his cologne heady and intoxicating. “Judging by the way you’re basically humpin’ me, I’d say it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember,” you blurt out, your head thudding against the door when his teeth nip at the delicate curve of your neck. Your pulse thrums beneath his lips, and you’re seconds from biting your tongue just to keep from crying out. “Stop teasing.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a wicked smile against your skin, his knee retreating only to be replaced by his fingers, trailing them along the fabric covering your heat. “I like it when you get bossy. It reminds me why I like you so damn much.” He tugs the fabric of your underwear aside, the cool air hitting your wetness for only a moment before his fingers glide over your arousal, testing your patience. One digit slides into you, curling slightly as his palm presses over your mouth, muffling the whine that falls from your parted lips. “So wet for me, princess.”

Your legs shake under the weight of sensation, threatening to give out as you lean into the door for balance. His fingers move inside you with a sharp rhythm, hitting that spot with each furious thrust. The pressure builds, hot and insistent, and it’s overwhelming, but then he drops to his knees, and the sight alone sends a jolt through your core.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds is molten. He laps at you with long strokes, his pace never faltering, pumping his digits in sync with the flick of his tongue, coaxing every sound you’ve tried so hard to stifle. “Oh, fuck. Logan—” 

He groans against your core, his eyes remaining locked on your face, soaking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His focus is relentless, as though your reactions fuel him. You rake your hands through his hair, clutching at his dark locks with haste whenever his wet muscle lavishes extra attention on your clit, the intensity of his ministrations making your voice break, a choked gasp dying on your lips.

Your climax teeters on the edge, faster than you anticipated. “Close,” you manage to huff, the obscene noises he elicits driving you wild. “I’m gonna come. Please, come here—”

Logan detaches himself from you, standing tall with a fierce determination in his eyes. He’s set on pushing you over the edge with his fingers alone. His lips crash against yours, biting and licking, swallowing every desperate mewl that falls from your mouth, spit glistening down his chin. Three knuckles deep, coaxing your body to respond, your walls tighten around him, shuddering as he corners you against the door, the sharp edge of pleasure sending your knees buckling. Your orgasm washes over you, rendering you boneless in his hold. Limp and spent, you can barely return his kisses, panting harshly against his mouth, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

As you steady your breath, a satisfied smile tugs at your lips. Your eyes flicker down to his slick palm, and a rush of pride floods you. "That was amazing," you breathe, your fingers, trembling slightly with anticipation, reaching for his belt to tug at it. “My turn now.”

He ends up with his back pressed against the headboard, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. You’re positioned between his legs, stimulating him over the fabric of his boxers. “It won’t take too long,” he says, and you feel the weight of his words more than hear them as you pull him free, revealing the hardness beneath. He’s already swollen, the tip wet with precum that coats your thumb as you stroke him once, feeling the heat pulse beneath your touch. A shiver runs through him, his legs stiffening as though on the edge of restraint. Bewitched by the size of him, you lean forward to slip the leaking head past your lips. “Jesus Christ.”

It’s difficult to take all of him at once, but you push through, your mouth stretching to accommodate his size. As you work him with your hand, your tongue traces the veins that snake along his length, feeling him throb. Logan’s body betrays him, his fists tightening around the sheets as if holding on to his last thread of control, desperately keeping his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck up into you.

“Honey, pull out,” he warns, stroking your back. “M’not jokin’. You’re gonna make me come.” But you don’t stop. Instead, you deepen your movements, cheeks hollowing as you take him with more enthusiasm, pushing him toward the back of your throat. When he realizes what you’re doing, a moan escapes him, laced with a dark laugh. “Filthy girl. So that’s what you want? To choke on my cum? Should’ve asked for it sooner.”

Not long afterwards, you feel the first splash of his release hitting your tastebuds. Ropes of his seed flood your mouth, some of it dribbling out to stain the corner of your lips. He watches, his thumb gently swiping over the edge, collecting what’s spilled, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves.

“Show me,” he asks, still breathless. You lean closer, your faces a whisper apart, and then you part your lips, revealing the evidence of your devotion like a masterpiece on display. His fingers find your chin, holding you there as he bites into his lower lip, the pressure turning the skin pale. “Now swallow,” he commands, and you obey, the motion deliberate, your satisfaction mirrored in the curve of his grin. He kisses you languidly, as if savoring the moment. “Where have you been all my life?”

The question invites countless answers, but you choose to murmur, “Down the hallway.”

“Logan, are you even listening?”

Charles’ voice slices through the playful moment, forcing Logan’s hands to still against your sides. The team sits around the table, embroiled in serious discussions that demand focus and discipline. Yet Logan’s fixation on you has rendered him deaf to anything beyond the sound of your laughter. Not a single word of the last hour and a half has stuck, his mind entirely preoccupied by the warmth of you perched on his lap.

He’d insisted he was much more comfortable than any chair, and you’d indulged him, leaning into his chest as his fingers danced teasingly along your ribs. “Of course I am,” Logan drawls, though the way his hand resumes tracing lazy circles on your stomach says otherwise, his entire attention remaining fixed on you.

“I don’t think you are,” Charles counters, leaning forward with both palms flat on his desk. His sharp gaze locks to you, narrowing faintly. “Do I need to seat you two on opposite ends of the room, or can you manage to behave?”

You stiffen in response, the easy comfort of moments ago evaporating. Sliding off Logan’s lap, you settle into the nearest chair, your departure catching him off guard. Your eyes meet his subtly, and you offer him an apologetic smile. Beneath the table, your fingers squeeze his knee, a silent reassurance. Finally, you direct your attention to Charles, straightening in your seat as if to demonstrate your newfound focus.

Logan, however, is less cooperative. His arms cross over his chest, and a crease forms between his brows, the picture of rebellion. Nothing that Charles says registers in his brain. All he can think about is how much better it felt to have you on his lap, where you weren’t bothering anyone. He contents himself with watching you now, contemplating your profile and the way your fingers absentmindedly tap against your notebook.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. It’s not the same. You’ve been dating for a month, much to the surprise of everyone in the mansion. It’s as if the idea of the two of you together had never even crossed their minds. Not even Rogue believed it when she came to ask Logan if the rumors were true. He hadn’t known how to respond to her, caught between mirth and disbelief himself.

It’s been decades since he’s felt this alive. He’s head over heels for you in a way that’s exhilarating. Seeing you, even across a crowded room, lights a fire in him, and he has to actively fight the urge to walk over, pull you close, and kiss you senseless right there in front of your friends.

As the meeting finally draws to a close, Charles asks him to stay for a while. “I just need to have a quick word with you,” he says, waiting until the others leave.

Once you’re out of earshot, Charles sighs, shaking his head like an exhausted parent addressing his wayward child. “Look, I’m glad you two worked through your differences,” he begins, a note of cautious joviality in his tone, “but this... well, this is the opposite of that.”

Logan exhales wearily, rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, and regretting it instantly. Don’t shrug him off, his inner voice scolds him. “C’mon, Charles. You’re overreactin’.”

The man arches a brow. “Am I? Watching the two of you cuddling during a meeting feels like chaperoning teenagers. Honestly, I must admit you’re even worse than them at times.”

That remark lands harder than Logan expects. He opens his not-so-smart-mouth, ready with a retort, but no words come out. For once, his quick wit fails him, leaving him standing there in uncharacteristic silence.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Charles’ eyes fall shut. “Just… try to be more present, alright? And don’t distract her, or yourself, too much. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Later, when he recounts the conversation to you, you start pacing nervously across his bedroom, your teeth worrying at your nails.

“Maybe he’s right,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Darlin’—”

“I just don’t want him to be angry with us,” you cut him off, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Turning toward him, you sit down on the edge of his bed, your shoulder brushing his as your eyes bore into the carpet. “Do you think we should... give each other some space?”

Your suggestion feels like a punch to his gut. He sits up straighter, hands finding their way to your hips as he guides you onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. “I think we’re fine the way we are,” he says, tipping his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in a loving gesture, coaxing a small smile from you. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Are you happy with me?”

You nod—once, twice, like it’s the only answer you could possibly give. “I love you,” you whisper, the words trembling, your lips curving into a smile that he feels against his own when he kisses you.

“God,” he grumbles against your mouth, long fingers tightening on your hips. “I never get tired of hearin’ that.” Logan cups your ass through your clothes, rocking you against him, and a groan escapes his throat as your center presses against his half-hard cock. “Say it again,” he rasps, his voice wanting.

“I love you,” you breathe, your head falling back when his hands move to unbutton your shirt, his touch reverent and greedy all at once. “I love you so much.”

Before you know it, he’s rolled you onto your back, hovering above you as he peels away the layers between you. He can’t comprehend how he got so lucky, how he gets to have you like this every day, so pliant and eager beneath his body. Your whimpers grow softer, more airy, but even then, you’re still whispering how madly in love you are with him.

This is a memory he’ll hold on to when Charles inevitably asks him to reconsider—to think about what’s best for both you and him. Fragile moments like this will slip through his fingers, but for now, they’re his to cherish.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

It turns out that love doesn’t come neatly wrapped in perfection. No—it’s a chaotic blend of tender glances and fiery clashes, of whispered promises and cutting comebacks. It’s arguments that sting as much as they heal, moments that don’t glitter but still matter, making the difference.

“Fuck off!” you snap, shoving the door against its frame, trying to shut him out. But Logan’s hand wedges in the gap, his strength effortlessly outmatching yours. “Get out, Logan.”

“No.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he grits through clenched teeth, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Behind him, Jean calls your name, but he doesn’t turn. “Not now, Jean!” His voice echoes down the hall, and the sound of her retreating steps leaves the air tense.

You’ve already crossed the room, standing by the window. The sunlight filters through, painting your silhouette in warm flickers. Outside, the kids are in their break, passing a ball, their laughter carried by the breeze. Logan moves toward you, his presence heavy, and you hold up a hand to stop him.

“I’m going on that mission,” you say firmly.

“No, you’re not.”

Your head snaps toward him, a storm unraveling in your gaze. “Charles wants me there. The team wants me there,” you shoot back, jabbing a finger into his chest with each word, “and most importantly, I want to go. You don’t get to decide for me.”

Logan doesn’t step back, doesn’t flinch. He can’t understand how you don’t see his side of things, how the thought of you being in danger like this twists his insides into knots. “I can’t lose you.”

“Logan—”

“No, you don’t get it!” The words burst out of him. “What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt, and we can’t get you back in time?” His fists clench at his sides, fighting the need to pull you into his arms, to feel that you’re still here with him, still safe. “It’d kill me, because I love you with everything that I am. Just thinkin’ about losin’ you makes me sick.”

Your expression softens, but only for a moment. You take a step in his direction, closing the space between you. There’s no hesitation in your tone when you speak, leaving space for conviction. “I had a life before you, Logan. I’ve been here since I was a child, learning how to fight, how to survive. I’ve gone on missions for years—missions that were just as dangerous as this one. I don’t need you to protect me like this.” Your voice wavers, just barely. “I appreciate that you care, but I’m just as capable as you are.”

How long can someone hold their breath? Logan doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until your arms encircle his waist, your embrace melting the tension that’s been coiling in his chest. You bury your face against him, your breath steadying, and he draws a long breath, pressing his lips to your forehead like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a softness that feels almost out of place after the heated exchange.

“You get so bossy sometimes.”

"I thought you said you liked me bossy," you answer, your voice low, laced with mixed feelings, as you look up at him through hooded eyes.

Logan’s lips twitch into what aims to simulate a smile, but it’s weighed down by the sadness pooling in his gaze. It doesn’t reach the crinkle of his eyes, doesn’t carry the warmth it usually does. 

“I do,” he says, his voice rough, barely audible, brushing a thumb across your cheek. The words hang between you, carrying a plea for things to feel less heavy, for this closeness to fix what words can’t.

The arguments come more frequently now. The love hasn’t faded—of course, it hasn’t—but it feels buried beneath the noise. You and Logan clash over everything, over nothing, over things neither of you can quite name, all the fucking time.

It’s a cycle that none of you can seem to break, passion feeding the fire until it burns too bright, too hot. One of you always storms out, slamming doors or throwing words that linger in the air like acid smoke. And yet, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how lost you both feel, the love is still there. Aching, waiting for the dust to settle.

You tell yourself it’s just a rough patch. That love like this isn’t easy, that it’s supposed to be messy. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too long after another fight, you can’t help but wonder how much more the two of you can take before something breaks for good.

Lust becomes your apology, an untamed collision of anger and desire that you can’t resist. It’s not gentle—it’s frenzied and blazing. The bed creaks beneath you, the sounds of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass enveloping the room. Every thrust drives you closer, the ferocity of it making your head bump into the headboard, but all you can think about is how full he makes you feel.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry out, drooling all over the pillow, ass high up in the air as Logan continues to pound into you. He pulls out all of a sudden, making you gasp in protest. That’s when you feel his tongue against your slit, eating you out from behind, spreading your cheeks to see just how much further he can go. Your hand flies back, pressing him into your skin. “So good, baby. F-fuck.”

There’s no leaving him, not even in your wildest dreams. When he spills inside you, you always ask him to hold you close, whispering for him to stay there. To keep you full of him. And he does, fusing your body with the mattress, his weight anchoring you to the pleasure he knows how to grant you. 

But then, it’s morning. The sun filters through the curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets, and you’re tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist. You stare at the ceiling, your mind crawling back to the fight, to the anger that seemed so vital only hours ago. You have to force yourself to remember why you were so mad in the first place. As his hand slides over your hip, pulling you toward him, the memory slips further away.

Dating Logan means understanding the darkness he carries, the nightmares he has almost every night. Usually, you’re woken by his movements, his rambling, the tremors that run through his body. You’ve perfected a way of rousing him gently, pulling him from the grip of whatever horrors his mind conjures without causing him more harm.

Though tonight, you must’ve been drained. You didn’t notice the moment the nightmare began.

“Honey? Oh, fuck. Wake up, c’mon.” His voice pulls you from the depths of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open and adjust to the dim light, the first thing you see is Logan, sitting rigid, staring at your arm as though it’s breaking him apart. The pain in his gaze is nearly palpable.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice groggy as you sit up, still partly disoriented. “Logan, are you okay?”

Then you see it: Blood. Dark stains seeping into the sheets, trailing from a jagged cut running the length of your forearm. It isn’t deep, and oddly, it doesn’t even hurt that much. But Logan looks stricken, his eyes flickering between your wound and his own hands.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” you assure him as you fumble to grab the ruined sheets, bundling them up to contain the mess. Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, you switch it on, bathing the room in a golden glow. That’s when you notice the droplets of blood on his knuckles, the torn skin where his claws must have pierced through. This has never happened before. Neither of you know what to say or how to react. When you reach for his hand, he recoils, shaking his head like he’s trying to will the scene away. “Hey, don’t do that.” 

“I knew it’d happen eventually.” He’s spiraling, rising to his feet. A man trying to escape himself. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his chest and back, his body tense with the effort of holding his pieces together. Turning to face you, his expression is the embodiment of torment. In his eyes, it’s as though the prophecy has been confirmed, irrevocably, by his own doing. “I hurt you. I told you it was going to happen.”

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask, pushing yourself off the bed to meet him. You’re tired, too tired to be arguing like this. “It won’t happen again.”

“How can you be so sure? You said the same thing before, and now look. Look at where we are.”

You’re at a loss for how to calm him. The exhaustion weighing on you makes your thoughts sluggish, and you’re afraid of saying something you’ll regret. But giving up isn’t an option—not with him, not because of this. Slowly, you step back and spin in place, letting him see you fully, the wound and all.

“You see? I’m fine,” you insist. “I’m not hurt. Please, Logan, believe me when I say I’m okay.”

He doesn’t respond, but the uncertainty etched into his face lingers. For a moment, you think you’ve reassured him, as he lets you guide him back to the bed. Together, you pull the sheets up to cover your bodies, and he leans into the pillows with a weary sigh. He mutters something about being sweaty, so you don’t rest your head on his chest as usual, settling into the curve of his shoulder instead. The rhythm of his breathing, uneven at first, begins to steady.

At some point, the warmth of his body disappears. You stir faintly, but your mind is too clouded by sleep to register it as anything more than the remnants of a rather vivid dream.

Logan remains standing, staring at Charles, refusing the invitation to sit down. “You told Jean,” he says, and the other man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even attempt to deny it. “I asked you to keep it between us.”

“I thought she might help you reconsider,” Charles answers, looking more serious than usual, his piercing eyes fixed on Logan. “Logan, I still don’t believe this is the right path for you. It’s not the solution to your problems. You can’t run from her, from this—relying on forgetting won’t bring you peace.”

Who really knows what’s best for him? Logan certainly doesn’t. After all these decades of walking the earth, what has he truly learned? His long life feels like a cruel irony, offering time without clarity. What use is immortality when you’re paralyzed by indecision, unsure of what you truly want?

“I can’t leave her. At least, not willingly,” he explains, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the arm of a chair, the gesture lacking finesse. “She’ll get over it. She’s stronger than she thinks.”

“You’re deciding for her.”

To that, Logan has no reply. He only looks away.

“When I got here, you told me you’d help with whatever I needed.” Logan crosses the room, lowering himself into a chair by Charles’ desk, his posture stiff. He lifts his chin slightly, trying to convey a confidence he doesn’t actually feel. “This is what I need you to do. Today.”

“Let’s start with your most recent memories and work backward from there.” Charles rolls himself closer, his chair nearly brushing Logan’s legs. “There’s an emotional core to every memory, and when you eradicate that core, it begins to degrade. By the time I’m done, those memories will have withered, as in a dream upon waking.”

Logan’s throat tightens at the description. There’s no comfort in Charles’ words. It doesn’t sound like a dream. It sounds like a nightmare.

“Do you want to proceed?”

“Yes.” Logan’s reply is immediate, though it scrapes his throat like gravel.

Charles nods once, solemnly. “Then tell me your most recent memory of her.”

I think I was preparing a class when she burst through the door, uninvited. I’d been trying to keep my distance from her, because of... well, all of this. But it wasn’t easy. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to leave, so I let her stay. She came up behind me, wrapped her arms around me, and asked if I had much left to do. I told her everything else could wait. Big mistake.

We were lying on my bed. Somehow, we always ended up there, tangled together. It wasn’t strictly... sexual. There’s something profoundly vulnerable about sharing that space. Snuggling, you could call it. Now that I think about it, she likes resting her head on my chest. Says it’s the best way to hear my heartbeat and find out if it matches hers.

“Focus, Logan.”

Yeah, I know. You’re right. Anyway, she asked me if I believed in soulmates, and I laughed. Obviously, she thought I was mocking her, so I had to convince her I wasn’t. I just thought the question was funny.

“Why did you laugh?”

Because it was exactly the kind of question she’d ask. She hadn’t before, but I’d been waiting for it. She told me she thought soulmates existed, and that I was hers. And I laughed again, and she threatened to leave. I held her tighter.

I told her I didn’t know if soulmates were real. I didn’t have that kind of certainty. What I did know, I said, was that I loved her. That was the only thing I was sure of. Soulmates or no soulmates, I loved her. I was right where I wanted to be. Those were my exact words.

“When did this happen?”

Yesterday. Before she left with Ororo and Scott for their mission. That’s why I’m choosing to do this now.

“I’m afraid I have to ask you again. Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Yes, Charles. Please, don’t ask me again.

Throwing open the mansion’s entry door, you let it swing wide as you step inside. You could use a shower, but right now, all you care about is finding him. Where is he?

Before starting your search, a cluster of students rushes toward you, their arms wrapping around your waist. Their laughter fills your senses as they chatter excitedly, hugging you tightly. “We missed you!” A boy exclaims, and you can’t help but smile, ruffling his hair.

“Have you seen Professor Logan?” you ask, crouching to meet the eye of one of the younger girls.

She grins, her innocent smile spreading, and she points toward the kitchen. “He’s in there.”

You thank her and make your way to the kitchen, your heart beating a little faster. You find him standing by the counter, slicing bread. His movements are methodical, his posture calm, but something feels off. You pause in the doorway, scrutinizing his face for a sign, any sign, that he’s happy to see you.

But his gaze flicks to you for only a brief moment, cool and detached, before returning to his task.

“Hey,” you call softly, tilting your head. His shoulders tense, and he doesn’t stop cutting. “I’m back,” you add, stepping closer, hoping for some sort of acknowledgment.

It takes him a few seconds to respond, and when he does, his voice sounds flat. “I see.” He opens a drawer, pulling out a fork. “Good for you, I guess.”

The words hit you like a slap. A joke, surely. But why? You take a hesitant step forward, your brows furrowing. “Logan, why—”

Before you can finish, a hand grabs yours, yanking you out of the kitchen. Startled, you turn to see Jean, her expression pale and stricken.

“Jean?” you ask, confused. “Is this another one of Logan’s pranks?”

Her lips twitch, and tears glisten in her eyes when she swallows thickly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I tried to stop him. I really did. But he—he wouldn’t listen!” Her hands tighten around yours, quivering. You’ve never seen her like this before.

“Wait—slow down,” you urge, your stomach twisting.

“I swear, I tried to talk him out of it,” she pleads, each of the words she utters rushing out like a flood. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

It doesn’t take too long for her panic to feel contagious. The pit in your abdomen deepens as you glance back toward the kitchen, where Logan stands just out of sight.

Something is wrong—terribly wrong.

“Jean, what did he do?”

Despite all his wisdom, Charles had known this moment would come the second he agreed to help Logan.

The door to his office flies open, slamming against the wall with a force that reverberates through the room. You storm in, your strides long and charged with anger, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Madness blazes in your eyes. “You did what?!”

“My dear—”

“You erased me from my boyfriend’s memory!” The words erupt from you, shaking the very air. You fling your arms wide, your fury spilling over. Before he can respond, you turn on his bookshelf, yanking ancient, cherished volumes from their resting places. One by one, you ignite them, flames devouring their fragile pages in an instant.

Then, there’s a momentary pause—a flicker of silence before you seize another book. This one you hurl in his direction, not quite at his face, but close enough to graze the air near his shoulder before it hits the floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoes, a physical punctuation to your rage.

“You made me disappear! He doesn’t fucking know who I am!”

His expression, pained and weary, holds no exasperation—only regret. “He asked me to do it.”

“What kind of an answer is that?” The question hangs underlined by the tears that stream down your face. Your voice breaks, the pain behind it cutting deeper than any accusation. “You could’ve said no, Charles. How many times have you denied me things?”

“You didn’t see him in the way I did, he was—” He stops himself, faltering. No words can repair what he has already destroyed. “I’m sorry.”

You stand there, breathing hard, the space between you filled with smoldering ash and a silence so loud it feels suffocating. The remains of his books lie scattered, the faint scent of burnt paper lingering in the air. Charles watches you, but he doesn’t move to stop you. He doesn’t fight you.

The fury ebbs, leaving behind a hollow ache that takes its place in your chest. “If you’re so willing to erase love like it’s nothing, then do it for me, too.”

Charles’s brows knit together. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Logan doesn’t remember me. I walk into a room, and he looks right through me. Like I’m a stranger, like I never mattered. So tell me, what’s the point in remembering him if he’s already forgotten me?”

“I don’t believe forgetting will give you the peace you’re looking for.”

“Is that what you told him as well? Clearly, it worked out well.”

Touché.

“I’ve already hurt you enough,” he whispers.

“And you’ll keep hurting me if you don’t do this. I can’t carry this alone.” You kneel in front of him, clutching the edge of his wheelchair. “If you could take it away from him, you can take it away from me, too.”

Charles stares down at you, his mouth tightening, as if the weight of your words presses down on him. His hands, usually so steady, shift uncomfortably in his lap. It’s clear he can’t believe this is the second time he’s found himself in this situation, faced with the same desperate request. “Are you sure?”

You nod your head. “He wanted to forget me. Now, I want to forget him.”

He exhales slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. “All right,” he says softly, though his voice carries a sadness he doesn’t try to hide. “But I need you to understand… once it’s done, there’s no going back.”

 “That’s the point.” You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, as though erasing the tears could also erase the doubt creeping in.

“Then sit,” he counters, motioning to the chair Logan sat in days ago.

You hesitate for a moment, the finality of the act looming large. Slowly, you lower yourself into the chair, gripping its arms with all your earnest. Charles wheels himself closer, and the reality of what’s about to happen sets in.

“Tell me your last memory of him,” he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes, and the image surfaces instantly: Logan, holding you close, whispering that he loves you. No soulmates, no destiny—just love. You let out a shaky breath, your heart breaking all over again as you begin to recount it. “The last time he looked at me like I was his whole world.”

Charles nods, his expression unreadable, placing his hands on your temples. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I had to leave the next day, so I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. My things were already packed. I walked into Logan’s room and asked him if he was busy. A week isn’t a lot, but ever since he moved here, we hadn’t been apart from each other. I was anxious about that. I thought it’d be so hard to fall asleep without him at night. What—oh, God, what’ll happen now?

“I need you to keep going, darling.”

Don’t call me that. 

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

I convinced him to lie in bed with me. I had my head on his chest, and he kissed my forehead. His beard scratched me in the right way. It never hurt or bothered me. I had once dated a guy who had a beard, and it was just so uncomfortable. But that wasn’t Logan’s case. He would kiss me and hug me, and it felt like the best thing in the world.

There was a question I’d been meaning to ask him. It was about soulmates, and the existence of them. I thought Logan was my soulmate, and I said it to him. I asked if he believed in them, but he laughed. He told me he wasn’t making fun of me or anything, just that he thought the question was funny.

Logan said he didn’t know whether soulmates existed or not, but he knew for a fact that he loved me. He didn’t care about anything else. He loved me. He really did. Do you think he loved me, Charles?

“Yes. I do believe so.”

Then why did you take that away from me?

“I’m sorry.”

I hate you.

“I know.”

Your head pounds, an ache that feels like it’s splitting you in two. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever known. Your vision blurs, forcing you to blink repeatedly until the world around you sharpens into focus.

Four blank walls. The stark, colorless void offers nothing but the oppressive weight of emptiness. This must be your mind, stripped bare. Somewhere in the depths of this space, Charles is at work, pulling threads and unraveling every memory of Logan.

You push yourself off the cold floor. A soundless shift disturbs the space—a door appears out of nowhere, its frame faintly glowing, and without hesitation, you reach for the handle and swing it open.

On the other side is a fragment of your past: that night months ago, sitting in the living room, watching a movie. Logan had decided to join you. The memory pulls you in, and suddenly, you’re no longer standing—you’re on the couch. Your clothes have altered to match that night. Logan sits beside you, the warmth of his presence impossibly real.

This moment feels untouched by time, but deep down, you know the truth. Charles is erasing it even as you relive it. Soon, this too will vanish.

The scene begins to warp. It’s no longer the movie on the screen. The couple has been replaced by you and Logan. You’re watching yourselves from a third perspective, your bodies framed by the flickering light of the TV. It’s deeply unsettling, but in this fragmented state of consciousness, it doesn’t feel worth questioning.

“Logan?”

“Tell me.”

You grab a cushion and smack him on the arm, the motion instinctive. “You idiot!”

“What was that for?” he asks, laughing as he takes the cushion from your hands, tossing it aside. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You erased me from your memory!” you accuse him, even as you know the futility of it. He’s merely a fragment, a faint echo of who he once was to you. A lingering shard of memory caught in the tangled wires of your brain, sparking as it teeters on the edge of a short circuit. “You’re not even real, are you?”

“No,” he admits, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just in your mind. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. You’re just what’s left.” You lower your gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How long do you think it’ll take Charles to erase you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The words you long for, the closure you might crave, are swallowed up. His lips vanish mid-formulation, and then you’re staring at a blank void where his mouth used to be. The rest of his features begins to fade—his eyes dissolve into nothingness, followed by his nose, his brows, the lines of his face. All that’s left is the space where he once sat, and even that feels tenuous.

You’re on your own now. The memory of him—of that night, the first time you truly shared an intimate moment—has been swept away like smoke in the wind. You collapse onto the floor, trembling as sobs tear through you, your hands pressed tightly against your face, attempting to contain your anguish. “I don’t want to forget you,” you choke out between hiccupped breaths, the sting of tears burning your eyes. “I never asked for any of this.”

“I know,” a familiar voice murmurs behind you, and there he is—Logan. This time, he’s wearing his suit. His claws are unsheathed, gleaming. “I shouldn’t have done it first. I don’t know what I was thinking’.”

You push yourself to your feet, drawn to him. When you move to hug him, he takes a step back, raising his claws as if to protect you from getting harmed. “I can’t retract them. If I hug you, I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, pressing forward and slotting yourself between his arms, ignoring the danger. Your face finds its habitual place against his chest, and you inhale deeply, inhaling his scent. “I just want you.”

His arms fold around you hesitantly, careful yet incomplete. You feel a sharp pain, a searing slice along your ribs that rips a scream from your throat. The agony is blinding, drowning your world into darkness.

When you open your eyes again, you’re somewhere else entirely. The bed feels soft beneath you, the sheets tangled around your legs. Logan is there beside you, his body warm against yours, both of you naked under the sheets.

“You’re lost in thought,” he says, his voice tender, taking a strand of your hair, twisting it gently before tucking it behind your ear. “You alright?”

His face won’t stay still. Beard, no beard. A moustache that fades as quickly as it appears. Hair long, then short. Sideburns one moment, smooth skin the next. He’s a shifting mosaic of himself. You realize you can’t remember what he looked like the last time you saw him.

“I’m forgetting you.” Your fingertips trace the curve of his cheek, memorizing each detail. “I don’t think I can stop it now.”

He’s seconds away from crying, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels both desperate and resigned. “Stay here with me,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands sliding over your arms, your stomach, your legs. “Don’t let me go.”

“You did it to me first,” you say, voice thick with emotion, pulling him closer, down until his body presses fully against yours. His weight feels real, but you know it’s not. Nothing about this moment is.

His voice breaks, repeating the same mantra. “Stay here with me. Don’t let me go.”

The touches multiply. It’s no longer just his hands on your skin. It’s as if the entire universe is reaching for you. The cacophony of touches, the overlapping voices—“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”—swirls into a suffocating chaos.

Logan begins to blur, like a photograph left too long in the sun. His face fades first, then his body, until all that remains is a ghost of his shadow. Then even that is gone. The bed disappears beneath you, leaving you adrift in an empty expanse. You can’t tell if you’re still there, or if you’ve vanished with him.

You exhale slowly. Silence, at last.

The second first time you see him, he’s sitting alone outside on a weathered bench, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’s completely alone, and you pause a few steps away, studying him for a moment. He doesn’t seem like someone you would’ve missed at the mansion. Charles mentioned he’d recently joined the team, a mutant who had spent too long wandering the earth.

You clear your throat, trying not to overthink it. “Mind if I take a seat?” you ask, your hands clasped behind your back as you wait for his reply.

He shifts to one end of the bench, leaving you more than enough room, though his movements seem cautious. You sit down, exhaling softly as an awkward silence stretches between you. His demeanor isn’t exactly inviting, and you wonder how to bridge the gap.

After a moment, you stretch out your hand, offering a polite smile, giving him your name. He glances at your hand, then takes it. “M’Logan,” he says simply, though you already knew that from your previous talk with Charles. His fingers are rough, calloused, yet they linger a beat longer than necessary before letting go. “The other day, I was in the kitchen, and you walked in. You were acting… strange.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between his face and your hand that still feels warm from his touch. “I don’t remember that. Are you sure it was me?”

Logan hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought so… but maybe not.” His lips press into a thin line, shrugging. “Never mind. I could be wrong.”

Tilting your head, you study him. There’s something familiar that you can’t quite place. “Have we met before? Outside this place, I mean. It’s just… I feel like I know you. Like I’ve seen you somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”

His eyes meet yours then, like your question has triggered something dormant. He leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he lets out a low chuckle. “Funny you’d say that. I wasn’t planning on bringing it up, but… I got the same feeling.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.” His lips quirk into a smile, one that matches yours.

Inside the mansion, Charles and Jean watch the scene through the window. Jean folds her arms across her chest, her expression caught between awe and disbelief. “This is crazy,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“Don’t get me started,” Charles replies.

“They don’t know what happened, but they still feel it. Like they’re connected.” She peers down at Charles, her voice quieter now. “You erased everything, didn’t you? Every memory, every trace.”

Charles keeps his eyes on the scene outside, his features softening as he watches the two of you talk. He sighs, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “You’re asking me for an explanation I don’t have. I guess some things… refuse to be forgotten.”

Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.

Friedrich Nietzche.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[diivineangel]

“ i’m takin’ care of each and every part…i open up your legs and go straight for your heart. ”

𝓢ynopsis: hiromi’s unwavering dedication to his work has created an unspoken distance in his marriage, leaving his spouse adrift in quiet loneliness. the long hours he spends away weigh heavily on them both—his partner aches for his presence, while hiromi wrestles with guilt and the fear of losing the one he loves most. finally, driven by the need to heal what has frayed, hiromi steps away from the chaos of his career, choosing instead to rekindle their bond in the most intimate and heartfelt way.

pairing: hiromi higuruma x fem!reader

cont: desperation, smut, oral receiving, he cums inside, just general 18+ content…., mdni.

wc: 2,543

────        𝓗iromi Higuruma's job was grueling. Fighting for the innocent, defending the wrongly accused, standing tall for people who didn't deserve to be caged away—it was as noble as it was soul-crushing. The endless hours, the weight of other people's lives resting on his shoulders, the knowledge that justice wasn't always as blind as it should be—it wore him down. But this was his duty. And he bore it, even when it left him drained to the core, because someone had to.

And then, there was you.

You, who made it all feel worth it. You, who welcomed him home like a balm for his weary soul. You'd have a warm bath ready after those long, punishing days, your arms open and waiting, a soft smile that could disarm any tension. You cooked him dinners so rich, so full of care, that he felt it in his bones. Everything about you soothed him, brought him a kind of peace he never knew he needed so desperately.

And he adored you for it. He always did.

Even if his words didn't always convey it, his heart spoke it every time he looked at you. How did he get so lucky? A wife who loved him unconditionally and somehow, on top of all that, made time to praise his nose? He'd chuckle about it in the quiet moments. It was silly, but he cherished it.

But lately, something had shifted.

At work, his focus wasn't what it used to be. Oh, he was still good—too good, even, to falter in the courtroom—but his mind had started wandering in ways it never had before. Specifically, to you. And not just your smile or the way your laugh filled every corner of a room. No. It was the way you felt pressed against him. The way your lips parted when he kissed you deeper. The soft sounds you'd make when he touched you.

It hit him out of nowhere most days—a rush of heat curling through him like a flame he couldn't extinguish. It didn't help that you hadn't had much time for intimacy lately.

Work, schedules, and exhaustion had gotten in the way, but the longing hadn't gone anywhere. If anything, it had only grown stronger, festering inside him until it was a near-constant ache.

So there he was, in court, cross-examining a witness with a painful erection straining against his slacks. No one could see it, thankfully, but the sheer humiliation of it burned in his chest. He couldn't stop thinking about you—your body, your voice, the way you'd feel under him. It was almost maddening.

By the time he won the trial, he wasn't even relieved. He just needed to get home.

To you.

The moment Hiromi stepped through the door, he was in motion. Shoes off, briefcase discarded, and then he was climbing the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding like a war drum.

When he saw you, he froze for half a second. You turned to greet him, your finger booping his nose in that playful way you always did, your voice sweet and full of pride. "You looked like you worked hard again, Romi," you praised softly, smiling at him.

"Yeah, I did. Thank you," he managed, though his voice was thick with something else entirely—something raw, hungry. And soon enough he was pulling you into a hug. 

The second your body pressed against his, he nearly lost his composure. His hips shifted instinctively, the hard line of his arousal brushing against you. He inhaled sharply, his face buried in the crook of your neck. The familiar scent of you was like a drug-intoxicating, irresistible.

"You—" His voice cracked slightly as he pulled back, his gaze locking with yours. He didn't know how to explain what you did to him, the way you completely unraveled him with just a touch, a look, a word. He didn't need to. You saw it in his eyes, the raw, unspoken desire that had been simmering for weeks.

Before you could say anything, his lips crashed into yours, hungry and demanding. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed. There was no rush in his movements, though. No frantic desperation.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he confessed, his voice low and thick with want. His hands slid to your hips, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles over your skin. "I'm gonna take my time with you, sweetheart, that alright?"

He didn’t even let you answer, his eager mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of kisses down your body until he was between your legs, his tongue dragging languidly over your sensitive skin. You gasped, your hands tangling in his hair as he worked you over with an almost torturous patience. His nose brushed against you, and the sound that escaped your lips made him groan against you.

"Hiromi..." His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan, your voice shaking with need. You couldn't help it-couldn't stop the way your hips instinctively bucked against him, seeking more of the unbearable bliss he was giving you. He only tightened his grip on your thighs, holding you firmly in place, his movements deliberate, maddeningly slow.

You couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything but the feel of him. His tongue moved in a steady rhythm, his nose brushing against you with every motion, and it was too much and not enough all at once. The sounds he was making-low, satisfied hums that vibrated against you— only pushed you closer to the edge, your entire body tensing as the pressure built inside you.

"P-please," you whimpered, your voice trembling as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You were a mess—flushed, shaking, your hands fisting the sheets in desperation. You could barely form words, barely do anything but feel.

Hiromi pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips slick, his eyes dark and hungry. "I said I'd take my time, didn't I?" His voice was rough, filled with an almost predatory satisfaction, and it sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a strangled cry as he dipped his head again, his tongue sliding into you with a deliberate, agonizing slowness. It was like he was savoring you, taking his time to unravel every part of you. And you let him—because in that moment, nothing else existed but him and the pleasure he was giving you.

Your body trembled beneath his touch, every stroke of his tongue, every soft scrape of his teeth, every teasing nuzzle of his nose sending shockwaves through you. The knot in your stomach tightened, coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, a wave of euphoria crashing over you so powerful it left you gasping, tears spilling freely down your cheeks.

He didn't stop, didn't let up even as you squirmed beneath him, overstimulated and blissed out. When he finally pulled back, his lips curved into a wicked, satisfied grin, his hands still holding you steady. "You're beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice soft but filled with an unmistakable possessiveness.

And as he moved to capture your lips again, you realized you'd never felt more utterly, devastatingly his.

Hiromi leaned over you, his lips claiming yours as if they could draw every last sound of pleasure from your mouth. You could taste yourself on him—warm, intoxicating, a reminder of just how thoroughly he'd worshipped you moments ago. His hands never left your body, sliding over your trembling thighs and up to your hips, anchoring you to him like he couldn't bear even a sliver of distance between you.

The look in his eyes when he pulled back made your breath catch. It was raw, unguarded-like he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn't control. His lips were slightly parted, his breath uneven, and you could see the flush creeping up his neck, could feel the way his body radiated heat against yours.

"You don't know what you do to me," he rasped, his voice low and unsteady. His hands tightened on your hips as he ground his clothed arousal against you, the friction making you gasp. His eyes flickered shut for a moment, and a groan escaped him-deep, guttural, filled with an ache that mirrored your own.

"Baby..." you whispered, your voice soft but trembling with want. You reached for him, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, the slight stubble that tickled your fingertips. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, dark and filled with so much emotion it made your chest tighten.

"I can't stop," he admitted, almost a Whisper, as if confessing to some uncontrollable need. "You're in my head, always. Even when I'm at work, even when I'm trying to focus, it's you." He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against yours. "And it drives me insane. I've been waiting—craving—this. Craving you."

The sincerity in his voice sent a wave of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling even as your body ached for him.

You pulled him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he let out a sharp exhale, his control visibly fraying at the edges.

"Then take me," you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath.

That was all it took.

His hands moved with purpose, unbuttoning his shirt with a desperate kind of urgency before shrugging it off. You couldn't help but admire him—the way his muscles tensed beneath his skin, the way his chest rose and fell as he fought to stay composed. But when he finally joined you on the bed, pressing his bare body against yours, any semblance of restraint he had left crumbled.

He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips moved against his. His hands explored every inch of you, his touch reverent, as though he was memorizing every curve, every shiver, every little gasp you gave him. He moved against you, his arousal pressing into you with a delicious kind of pressure that had you arching against him, desperate for more.

And when he finally slid into you, the world seemed to still.

The stretch, the heat, the way he filled you so perfectly-it was overwhelming in the best possible way. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, and he groaned low in his throat, his head dropping to the crook of your neck.

"God," he breathed, his voice strained, as if the feeling of being inside you was too much. "You're so... perfect. So warm. So —" He broke off with a sharp inhale, his hips moving slowly, deliberately, as if he wanted to make this last. But the way his body trembled against yours betrayed just how much you affected him.

Every thrust was slow, deliberate, his body pressing into yours with a rhythm that left you breathless. The friction, the heat, the intimacy—it all built into a crescendo that had you teetering on the edge of bliss once again. And from the way his breathing grew heavier, the way his groans became rougher, you knew he was right there with you.

"Hiromi... I—" Your voice cracked, your nails raking down his back as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak.

"I've got you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice soft but thick with emotion. "Let go for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you."

And you did. Your release crashed over you in waves, your entire body trembling beneath him as your voice broke on his name. The way you tightened around him, the way you clung to him like he was your lifeline—it sent him spiraling.

With one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his groan muffled against your neck as his body tensed, his release ripping through him like a tidal wave. He stayed there for a moment, his arms wrapping tightly around you, his breath hot against your skin as he came down from the high.

Neither of you spoke for a while, the silence filled only with the sound of your mingled breathing. His weight on top of you was grounding, his hands gentle as they traced lazy patterns over your skin. He lifted his head eventually, his gaze soft as he looked at you, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

And as you pulled him closer, your bodies still tangled together, you both knew there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

🏷️: @luv-lies @tojiseviltwin @yung-notorious @kentosmirrorball @jazzthatonewriterchick @sugoroo @lokissweater @pepperyduck

[tsukius]

Fiancé!kaiser drabble

featuring: michael kaiser

synopsis: he just loves to spoil you

author’s note: for the requests that i got, i promise I’ll post them soon😓 i have like ten drafts that i need to finish, but college said no😔

_________________________________

michael kaiser had always been a man of grand gestures and extravagant displays of affection. as your fiancé, he made it his personal mission to shower you with the finest things life had to offer- designer dresses, glittering jewelry, exclusive dinner reservations at the most sought-after restaurants. to anyone else, it might have seemed over-the-top or excessive, but to you, it was simply michael's way of showing how much you meant to him.

"it's my duty as your future husband to ensure you're treated like the empress you are," he'd say, that signature smirk of his firmly in place as he presented you with yet another elaborate gift. and though you'd playfully roll your eyes and insist he didn't have to go to such lengths, deep down you couldn't help but feel utterly adored.

because you knew, despite michael's penchant for the finer things, that his motivations ran far deeper than mere material indulgence. the way his eyes would light up when you'd wear the necklace he'd gifted you, or the tender way he'd hold your hand as you strolled through the park on one of your fancy dinner dates- those were the moments that truly revealed the depth of his affection.

michael was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, preferring to express his emotions through grand, romantic gestures rather than words. but you'd learned to read between the lines, to see the love and devotion that simmered beneath the surface. the way he'd hold you close, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace, conveyed volumes more than any three simple words ever could.

and so, you'd let him indulge his penchant for lavish displays, knowing that each extravagant surprise was his way of saying "i love you" without actually uttering the phrase. whether it was the sparkling diamond bracelet he'd surprised you with on your anniversary or the private jet he'd chartered to take you on a weekend getaway, you accepted it all with a grateful heart, reveling in the knowledge that you were the sole recipient of his unwavering adoration.

because truthfully, you didn't need expensive gifts or VIP treatment to feel loved by michael. the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered, was more than enough. the gentle way he'd caress your cheek, the reverent kisses he'd press against your skin- those were the moments that truly made your heart swell with affection.

still, you had to admit, there was a certain thrill in being spoiled so thoroughly by the man you loved. it was a testament to just how deeply he cared, how fiercely he wanted to provide for you and ensure your happiness. and as you stood beside him, hand-in-hand, gazing up at the twinkling cityscape from the balcony of your penthouse suite, you couldn't help but feel utterly, completely cherished.

because when it came to kaiser, grand gestures and lavish gifts were simply his way of saying "i love you" without ever needing to utter the words.

and for you, that was more than enough.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Can I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin reacting to shy gn crush confessing to him please?

Astarion

Astarion has received thousands of confessions in his lifetime. Thousands.

Each one as empty and meaningless as the last. Forgotten on the wind as quick as the words reach the air; though there are a few exceptions he remembers.

When Tav confesses, he is not surprised. This was his plan all along after all. What he doesn’t except is how…happy he is to hear them confess.

He blames their blood. Knowing now that human blood makes him feel giddy and euphoric, almost like love. Yes. That’s what it must be.

Wyll

Patiently waits for them to get the words out. Does not interrupt, nor push Tav to go faster. Honestly, Wyll likes that they are taking a while to ‘get it out’ as he’s able to savor this moment that much longer.

He is of course delighted beyond measure to hear that they share his feelings, although he hasn’t confessed yet. A matter he rectifies immediately by telling them how much he loves them back.

Wyll is still a little nervous about what his pact might mean for them. What danger that might cause for them. He’s kept people at arm’s length to keep them out of danger, but with them he wants anything but.

In the end, he decides to be brave and let them shoulder the burden together. Together they can do anything, because they have each other, and it’s as simple as that.

Gale

Although happy, Gale is a little disappointed that Tav beat him to the punch. He’s used to being first in things, and had a whole plan on how he was going to confess. He supposes that is a lesson in spontaneity for him.

While he is not used to being nervous, Gale is extremely nervous after they confess to him.

He’s terrified that he’ll mess it up. That they won’t like him after the know ‘the real him’ (not that he’s pretending to be anyone else, but ‘fighting-for-your-life-Gale’ and ‘reads-all-the-time-in-his-tower-Gale’ are very different people). That he’s been so out of practice in relationships that he has no idea what he’s doing.

In the end, Gale decides that cooler, calmer heads will prevail. He won’t mess this up. That they truly love him. And he’s incredibly lucky to have the love of someone he cherishes by his side.

Halsin

Halsin finds their shyness adorable and enticing, but also is proud that Tav found the courage to confess. Being honest with oneself is as nature intended, and people should not hide their feelings from one another.

He of course accepts their feelings and reciprocates in kind. Halsin would have told them sooner, if not worried about their professional relationship with the Shadowcurse and Elder Brain being the priority.

The former first druid is not nearly as shy as they are, but tries to reign his feelings in a little to not overwhelm them.

It is a hard task, however. As Halsin is very excited that they care for him as well and his primal urge is to scent mark them completely so others will know and be with them all the time. But he knows that’s not practical.

[willowed-wisp]

NSFW ALPHABET [ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

THE AFTERCARE KING!

He was raised to treat his partner like a goddess and you took him so well for so long… he’s waiting on you hand and foot, whatever you need. Bath being drawn? Food? More sex? He’s more than willing.

Even after a quickie, he’s checking you’re alright. Praising you for being so perfect, and more often than not it will lead to more sex because those eyes draw you back in.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

ON HIMSELF: He knows how much you love his eyes, probably the reason you even gave him a chance. Also they’re the reason he can watch your curves and how your lips widen when he slips into you… his eyes have a lot to do with his job and his life.

ON YOU: Johnny CANNOT pin down what he loves about you more. Your thighs when they tighten around his hips? Your lips that give him a run for his money no matter what they’re being used for?

He just loves YOU in general, he’s more of a personality guy but it’s an added bonus that you’ve got so many benefits.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Breeding kink is written all over this man. Inside all day long, he knows you don’t like having to clean up the mess on your body and the image of you carrying a little one of him… it’s too tempting for him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Still hasn’t told Ghost that he fucked you over the arm of his couch when you were staying over at his.

Simon definitely knows, he could smell the unmistakeable scent of fresh sex as he came through to the living room. And the scrape marks on the wooden boards- the sofa had moved a few inches to the right.

Not to mention the scratches up Johnny’s arms, and the abrasions along your collarbone.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Johnny was so dead set on going into the military that girls may not have had his full focus.

He’s definitely experienced, have you seen that face ✨irresistible✨ and he’s an impossible flirt. Not a manwhore by any means but DEFINITELY knows how to pleasure you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

STANDING: He’s got muscles and what’s the point in having them not to use them on the person he cherishes most. He’s fucking into you while you’re suspended in the air- only thing stopping your descent to the ground; his arms hooked under your bent knees and hands clutching your ass.

DOGGYSTYLE: He can get so rough and bothered with you on all fours, watching your fingers clutch into the soft sheets of his bed. Your pretty voice filling the void between the flesh slapping and mattress creaking. Johnny doesn’t care if he doesn’t last as long as usual, he can’t help loving how your ass jiggles against his spread thighs.

IN HIS LAP: Sitting up with you in his lap wrapped so perfectly around him. Christ, he’d die a happy man if he got to see that every day. Your moans so loud like that, him buried so deep. Your body shivers and nails clutch deeper into his tattooed shoulder blade.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s gonna laugh if you guys fall off the bed. Doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop fucking you. It’s a unique image seeing this buff guy, covered in a range of scars and tattoos have such an angelic smile while defiling you. A weird dichotomy but you see it in your fucking dreams.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Johnny’s a clean shaven guy down there. The guy even styles his facial hair and even his mohawk. He’s definitely got a handle of the hair down there.

There’s still a dark brown shadow down there but no hair in sight.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s so intimate.

When he comes home from deployment, he enjoys being cuddled up to something soft and breathing instead of crawling around in the dirt.

He’s so lively with his hands, cannot keep them off you. That’s how you end up under his heat, or how you end up spread with your beau on his knees eating you like he’s been a starved man.

Takes you out on little dates, nothing too fancy- he’s a down-to-earth guy. Normally in his local pub, you don’t mind as long as you’re with your man.

He’s so protective, and anybody would be stupid to cross this stocky built man with an SAS emblem on his forearm.

Johnny doesn’t even look at other women, as far as he’s concerned you are the only woman on the planet.

J = Jack off (masturbation head-canon)

Before you definitely jacked off once a day maybe more but after meeting you, you became the main focus and after you were ready to go all the way, you two have sex everyday. He just has an unquenchable need to be inside of you and feel that buzz.

During deployment, he doesn’t have the time or the drive to keep that amount up. But when he finds the time, the memories of you are his only assistance.

He’s definitely glad to get back to you, his safe place. His home.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

BREEDING: You’re the only person he’s wanted to knock up. Before he didn’t even know if he COULD be a father… he’d be gone for too many days for him to bear the guilt. He didn’t want to be an absent dad but knowing you were there to take care of the kids… he melts at the thought of two boys and you pregnant with a girl.

The reason he makes sure to come out alive, a family waiting for him.

BONDAGE: He gets way too excited being at your completed mercy. Hands behind his back, tied with a pair of your tights, on a dining chair. His blue gaze entranced watching you work your magic all over his tensed body. Until he breaks out of his restraints… you have one hell of storm coming…

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Doesn’t really care where you have sex just as long as it’s comfortable. The bed is a classic place.

CAR: Not too keen on places that are too open. He drives either a Ford Ranger or a relatively modern BMW, hop in the front seat. Or if he’s feeling more handsy and in control- back seat, hands on ass type of doggy style. It’s like candy to him

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. You’re just the whole motivation for this man. You’re the reason he HAS to come home.

Rubbing his hair is a kind of turn on for him, any type of sensual touch. Caressing his tattoos and running your finger along his scars. He’s like a puppy dog turned to a wolf.

Wearing his clothes. He can’t help it, he wants everyone to know your his- maybe he bought you a shirt that said ‘MacTavish’ on the back just to fuck you in. Got matching hoodies as well. Even if you’re not married, they say ‘Mr and Mrs MacTavish’. They don’t stay on for long, most likely stripped with his bare hands.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that would harm you. You’re too precious and delicate taking him so good.

No degrading you- he will never call you a ‘whore’, ‘slut’ or anything of that sort. You’re his lady, he’ll treat you like a goddess till the day he dies.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Doesn’t really care about blowjobs, prefers you taking him in other ways.

As for oral, he could eat you up for days and you’d gladly let him. He’s great at running his mouth and eating you up.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Truly is your decision or how long he’s been away from you.

If you’re begging him with those pretty eyes for him to jackhammer you- he will and lose himself in it.

But when he’s gentle and deep, it’s almost as affective because eye contact is involved… losing yourself in their waves.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He loves a good quickie, for him it’s like a warmup to actually worshipping you. It helps get that darker side out of him, he’s almost animalistic during quickies so he can pay attention to your own needs.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Johnny is open to trying new things except the no nos. He loves learning new positions and strives to keep you satisfied when you’re just happy with him.

He definitely takes risks- gets his blood pumping and he’s not the shy type. If someone does catch you in the act- he’ll just carry on… they shouldn’t have walked in. While you’re there mortified.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He could last all night and day if you wanted him to. His stamina is diabolical, but he’ll take care of you after the ten rounds he’s capable of managing through a 24-hour-span.

That normally happens when he gets back on leave. The neighbours definitely know when that is.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s definitely open to try anything new. But he’ll always protest after it that you were louder with just him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Have you met this man? He’s the poster-boy for teasing in whatever degree.

Will get so far with foreplay and get distracted… but fluttering your eyelashes has never worked so well. He always concedes.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Definitely is shouting praises at you under his breath. About how good it feels inside of you and how he could stay there forever.

He gets louder with each round, it’s raw and rugged hearing his accent really come through so you can barely understand it.

That doesn’t mean you’re any less riled up by them.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Would maybe play with the idea of a threesome with Ghost… it’s slipped across his mind more than he’d like to admit.

You and Simon seem to get on great, and as protective as Johnny may be, it turns him on thinking about you being fucked by himself while choking on LT.

He knows it would never happen but it’s a weird fantasy he contemplates. And it’s only an idea, jealousy runs writhe in his veins at the thought of another person touching you like or at all.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s confident for a reason- about 7 inches but very thick.

You’ve never been so split in half before.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Craves you every minute of every day. He’s a fiend for your body… even without the sex, your company is his own drug.

On a scale of 0-10, he’s an 11.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If he’s been going at it, he’ll wait to see if you needed anything before slipping into bed beside you and his chest being used as your personal pillow. He sleeps so soundly since he met you.

————

masterlist

[clare-875]

Hey Clare😙 love your writing so much! Could I request a shanks x jealous!reader, where the reader feels as though their love for is unrequited due to shanks’ many flings (but it’s actually not)? Thank u so much, muah!❤️

Envy (Shanks x Reader)

Pairing: Shanks x Female Reader Warnings: Jealous reader, harassment, alcohol, angst/fluff A/N: I'm so glad you like my stories <3 I hope you enjoy this one! [One Piece Masterlist]

There he goes again.

You watch your Captain from where you sit in a dimly lit bar, lips pulled into a tight frown. The feeling bubbles up within you before filling you so much, you could suffocate. Jealousy. Shanks has a wide grin on his face as once again, beautiful women gravitate towards the red-haired man. Who wouldn't? Your Captain, who was so powerful and skilled he upheld the status of an emperor. Your Captain, the famous leader of the Red-Haired Pirates. Your Captain, so charismatic and charming and frustratingly attractive. You let out a deep, decrepit sigh.

Why did you have to fall for him?

He has an arm wrapped loosely around a blond-haired woman with a model-like body, cradling a drink in his other hand. Two more women sit by him and linger, fighting for his attention. You can faintly hear them laugh at something he said in the distance. Gritting your teeth, you force your gaze to the drink in your hand, swirling it periodically like it could help the turmoil you feel now. It had been the same cycle over and over the past few months, with Shanks flirting and bringing a woman to bed each night you were ashore. Then, that same woman would leave the next morning, his form nowhere to be seen.

With his flings came his distance.

He could barely meet your gaze the following day, and it had felt like there was a greater space between you since his cycle of women had started. It hurt you. Not only because the man you were in love with paid more attention to someone who wasn't yourself, but because he didn't even seem to care about the women he brought to his bed. You felt as though he cherished time with faceless women more than you. You thought the two of you had been friends, maybe even inkling to the beginnings of something more. Countless times have you stayed up late, talking about your dreams. Countless times have you drunk and danced together, laughing uncontrollably. Countless times had you bantered, and smiled and gazed at the other.

All for it to be suddenly lost. Like you hadn't meant anything to him.

This one-sided love, his carelessness. You had been holding out hope that maybe he would look to you like he used to all those months ago. But now you start to see that it is getting helpless, and you feel like you are going crazy. He had entrapped you in your feelings. You knew you had to move on - you can't bear this a second longer - you just didn't know if you could. Faint tears sting your eyes but you force them away. You can't cry for him anymore.

"Hey, you alright?"

Your eyes travel upwards are you are met with the knowing gaze of Benn Beckham. "You know he's an idiot right?" Maybe it was the way he too, was good with women and frequently brought them to bed, but he had somehow seen so clearly that Shanks's flings were getting to you. Maybe you hadn't been hiding your feelings well enough, but you could barely care anymore. "I'm fine Benn, I'm just gonna go get another drink." You smile to the best of your ability and leave him be, walking up to the bartender, hoping you could just drink your troubles away.

It is your turn to order when a man approaches you.

"Hey, I'll get that for you." The voice of a stranger reaches your ears and you look up surprised to see a man offering to pay for the drink you ordered. You weren't necessarily scarse of men approaching you, but you hadn't found the courage to pursue anything amid your feelings for Shanks. Maybe it was time to move on. Maybe it was time for a change. "Thank you." You try to push your inner turmoil aside and force your lingering gaze away from your Captain. "No problem." The man is surprisingly attractive, and a polite smile reaches the corners of your face.

His gaze holds keen interest. "You know, you caught my eye the minute you walked in." You smile at the man's sudden boldness, raising a brow as you hold your drink in one hand. "Really?" He grins wide at your amusement. "You don't happen to have a boyfriend, do you?" You feel your heart tug sharply in your chest at his words and suddenly you're fighting a frown. You spare one last glance at your Captain. He was distracted by the woman under his arm and grinning wide. Your eyes dart back to the man in front of you waiting expectantly.

"No, there's no one in my life."

Moments pass well enough, and the man who sits in front of you is nice at least. He just wasn't the man you wanted. Maybe moving on wasn't that easy. You smile and nod and listen intently, you shake your head and pitch into conversation. But soon, you fight a yawn as he speaks mainly of himself and his glory, barely showing the interest he claimed to have had in you. What's more, you realise his boldness quickly, as he closes the space between you with each minute that passes. Maybe it wasn't interest you saw earlier in his eyes, but lust. The smile you keep on your face starts to strain against your skin.

"Hey," your gaze snaps forward as you realise you have been lost in your thoughts, most likely looking into the void. The man in front of you doesn't seem to notice, however, as there is no change in his attitude. "Do you wanna get out of here?" His hand reaches out to touch your thigh, and you suddenly feel ill. You see it then so clearly, that he simply wanted you in his bed from the beginning, most likely to be discarded the morning after. What was it with men these days? You try to maintain your composure and you reach for the hand that touches your skin, removing it promptly from your thigh.

"Actually, I'm good thanks."

You go to stand, placing an empty glass on the counter. "This was nice," you say, "but I should go now." As you move, however, his hand that lingers reaches for your arm. You freeze at the contact, but he is all up in your space again, and his sudden actions take you back. "What-" But he interrupts moving closer to your face. "I don't think so, sweetheart. I like what I see. I want to see where this goes..." A frown instantly marks your face, as your blood pumps hot within you. Does he know who he's talking to? Yes, you may seem like any other woman at the bar, but you were a pirate. A pirate on an Emporer's crew. "Why, you-"

"What's going on here?"

The man freezes. There is darkness that fills the air along with the suddenly dangerous atmosphere. A figure looms behind you.

"I- I-," the man drops your arm instantly, stuttering as fear creeps up on his features. Who wouldn't in the face of an emperor? You don't turn, but you know it is Shanks who stands behind you, and his sharp eyes are trained on where the man had touched your skin. Though you do not see, Shank's face morphs into one of unusual, pure fury. It has the man in front of you basically falling to your feet. "Get out of here." Your Captain's words are spoken low and he places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back into him.

The man all but runs from your side.

There is a tension that lingers in the aftermath, but it is broken by your movements, shrugging off Shanks's hand. There is a brief silence that follows. "I was fine." Your words are muttered softly, and there is a pain that lingers in your chest. Why did it have to be he who came? Didn't he know how painful this was for you already? Shanks watches your darkened expression carefully and lets out a deep sigh. "Look [y/n], I won't stop you from pursuing guys but at least pick better ones-" You turn as your facade cracks, bringing forth anger.

"You're the last person I need to hear that from Shanks. Why don't you go back to your little group, I'm sure they're missing you."

Shanks freezes under the weight of your glare and sharp words. He had never seen you look at him in such a way. You fight your emotions as you look at the surprise in your Captain's face, and you move. You need air, there was no oxygen in this bar and it felt like you were suffocating. "Wait, [y/n]-" But you don't stop, you were tired and hurt and envy filled your senses. Why couldn't he see how much you loved him? Why can't he see how much he hurts you?

"[y/n]!"

Finally feeling like you can breathe in the crisp evening air, Shanks has caught up to you before barely a moment passes. "[y/n], is there something wrong?" His words are what make you break completely. With alcohol still burning in your system and your raging feelings, you finally let it spill. A laugh of disbelief escapes you. "Wrong? You're really asking me if something's wrong Shanks, now?!" Shanks watches wide-eyed as you eye him with a mixture of sadness and anger.

"You've barely spoken to me, let alone looked at me these past few weeks! You have a new woman in your bed every other day! There's nothing here anymore. What happened to friendship? What happened to-" You pause, realising you've spoken too much of your mind, but Shanks's eyes only widen further in surprise. "I liked you, Shanks. I actually thought you-" A tear slips from your eye that you wipe harshly from your cheek, turning away. But Shanks reacts before you can take a single step, and a hand holds you to him before you are engulfed in his embrace.

You struggle in his arms, tears now pouring as you tell him to let you go. "I don't want your pity Shanks! Go! You have people waiting for you inside-" But Shanks doesn't budge an inch, instead all that fills him is utter regret, and shame, and pain. All this time, you liked him too? All this time he had spent trying to push his feelings aside with nameless women, only to feel deep remorse when he saw your face the next morning. All this time he had pushed away your friendship, and the inkling of something more. He had pushed you away because, for the first time, the Red-Haired Shanks were scared. Scared of losing you.

He was a coward.

"Shanks-" The red-haired Emporer can feel his heart clench against his chest at your words to leave you be, but he can't let you go. He won't let you go, he doesn't think he can bear your absence any longer. What torture had he put the both of you through, for no reason at all but his stupidity? Would you even forgive him? "[y/n]... I'm sorry." You freeze suddenly at his words, feeling your heart drop even further within you. Of course, here it comes, the rejection. But Shanks's words are beyond what you thought they would be.

"I like you too... no, I'm in love with you." You feel your breath caught in your throat as you start to shake your head against his chest, fighting to move from his arms once more. "Liar! Then what about all those women you slept with! You wouldn't even look at me-" Shanks quickly interrupts before you spill your words once more. "I thought that pushing you away would make the feeling fade. All those women, they were part of that too. But, [y/n], they're nothing compared to you. Believe me." Shanks finally releases you from his embrace and you scramble back a few steps watching his pleading expression with wide eyes.

"Forgive me."

You meet his burning red eyes with trepidation, but all you see is his sincerity, his regret. You are utterly speechless. Shanks was in love with you? Shanks returned your feelings? You move forward, anger suddenly filling you as you move closer and you swing, one punch right into his chest. Shanks doesn't move or flinch, he merely takes the brunt of your attack though it barely does anything to the emperor. "You, you're telling the truth?" Your words are spoken as though still unsure, and you let your arm fall to your side. Shanks observes your darkened expression, but his remorse does nothing to fade.

"Yes."

One step forward, followed by another, you move once more. Holding the collar of his shirt you pull him down to you with what strength you can muster, and suddenly your lips are on his. Shanks stops in surprise but is quick to pull you close to him and return your fervour. The kiss is angry and passionate and all you had dreamt it would be. Your hands move deep into his hair, and his arms wind themselves around your waist. You feel his warmth and want against you. When you part, it is only because you need a breath.

"You're stupid."

You speak low, but with the lingering joy that fills your senses. You had kissed him.

"You were jealous."

Shanks retorts, murmuring his words into your skin, but you don't miss the teasing undertone. You frown, hitting him lightly in mock irritation. "Shanks, do you really want to be-" But he quickly cuts you off with another kiss to your lips.

"I still haven't forgiven you, you know."

Shanks leans his head against yours, finally content.

"I know."

Let's just say the following weeks are spent with Shanks bending to your every will and want. It takes a while for you to get over the flings that put a gap between the two of you, but soon you forgave him. He couldn't be happier with you by his side. You were all he wanted, and all he could ever want.

[soyhasmcaamp]

I think we should do the oikawa plushie torture with him. Freeze him overnight, drown him, burry him, throw him in the trash, take him on walks during the rain on a long leash, all that jazz

Look at him I want to throw him against a wall <333

[rottenpumpkin13]

A long time ago, you received an ask about what languages the Firsts would like to learn. It went something like "Zack wants to learn Spanish because of -insert reason-" "Sephiroth wants to learn Latin totally not because of One Winged Angel" "Genesis wants to learn French to sound better than everybody". But the one I actually remember is Angeal:

Angeal: "If I had to learn another language, I would like to learn English, because nobody understands when I say to PUT. YOUR DISHES. IN THE DISHWASHER. PUTTING THEM ON THE COUNTER BY THE SINK DOES NOTHING."

I would like to counter this response by saying I put all the dishes neatly in the dishwasher for years until a new member of my family straight up refused to learn how to do it right. If the bowls aren't balanced the right way, they won't get washed. If you put things in the wrong location, you waste a lot of useful space. But this man flat out said "I refuse to learn how to do this right because I don't care".

So out of SPITE, dishes now sit on the kitchen counter because I refuse to be bothered when no one else gives a shit. What does Angeal think about this if this is something one of his fellow Firsts did?

Angeal may try to project an image of humility and honor, but he combats petty with petty. If he realizes people who have the privilege of owning a dishwasher are being disorderly out of spite, he'll do things to be even pettier. This includes:

• One time he witnessed Sephiroth dump a perfectly good mug of coffee down the drain, and made it his personal mission to mess with him. Over a month, he methodically swapped all of Sephiroth's coffee with decaf and watched Sephiroth slowly descend into madness.

• When Genesis couldn't be bothered to wash his dishes in the break room, Angeal turned it into an art show. He'd collect the dirty dishes and created elaborate display outside Genesis' office, complete with angallery-style label like "Exhibit 17: A Study in Neglected Responsibilities"

• Changed all the settings on Zack's computer so it would autocorrect "SOLDIER" to "SHOULDER" in his official emails to Director Lazard. Lazard received three reports about "SHOULDER Second Class performance reviews"

• Orchestrated a three-week psychological campaign to convince everyone—including Sephiroth himself—that he was allergic to coffee. Every time Sephiroth took a sip, Angeal would squint and ask about non-existent rashes until even Sephiroth started second-guessing himself.

• Loves cooking extravagant meals just to send photos to his friends with captions like "Made your favorite dish… Not for you though" or "This could've been yours."

• Claims everyone's preferred spots, especially Sephiroth's cherished right-side aisle seat in their usual mess hall booth. He'll sit there with a straight face while watching Sephiroth's internal blue screen. (punishment for the coffee)

•Steals Sephiroth's favorite coffee mug, making it mysteriously appear in increasingly bizarre locations around the 49th floor. like inside the copy machine, balanced on top of the water cooler, in the middle of board meeting tables, and once inside the vents.

• Changes Zack's training sessions into "essential SOLDIER skills" that suspiciously look like chores, like organizing the filing room, polishing all the doorknobs in the building, alphabetizing Angeal's spice rack, and putting coffee beans in the air vent in Sephiroth's office, so that Sephiroth constantly smells coffee whenever he's working.

• Weaponizes his infamous lectures. Once subjected Genesis to a 45-minute lecture on "proper pizza etiquette and the spiritual implications of throwing out the crust." Gives Sephiroth an hour-long lecture about resource conservation whenever he spots him with coffee. Sephiroth is in hell

• Takes malicious delight in creatively misinterpreting Sephiroth's requests:

Sephiroth: The coffee maker needs cleaning. Angeal: *Completely disassembles the coffee maker and spreads all its parts across Sephiroth's desk and cleaning supplies* Sephiroth: *visibly fighting the urge to cry*

• Maintains a detailed "incident log" where he documents everyone's minor transgressions. Once pulled it out during a board meeting to remind Genesis about "The Great Stapler Misplacement of Last Tuesday." Adds a tally mark under Sephiroth's name every time he spots him with coffee.

• Started a rumor that his office plant can sense irresponsibility. Strategically moves it around the office to "watch" people. Zack is completely convinced it's judging him.

Zack: I swear it droops when I forget to hand in my reports! Angeal, watering plant: The voice of nature speaks the truth.

• Sephiroth has quit coffee.

[bontentrio]

questions about love

yunho x gn reader (short)

tw: angst no fluff + situationships + cheesy? maybe

a/n: pretty self indulgent lol also my picking for the member is simply because yunho is my bias (with wooyoung, but i’ve seen enough of him in this role sadly) but you can imagine this with whoever you like since i didn’t specify his characteristics besides being tall !! + not proofread

masterlist

what exactly is love?

is it to just feel loved and cherished by the one you care the most about?

or can it be found in the most random places?

in hand holding?

in lingering touches?

in soft gazes and shy smiles?

if so, then why does it hurt so much when all of that disappears?

if you closed your eyes and focused hard enough, you could still feel his perfume invading your senses, his touch on your skin, the sound of his laugh echoing in the room as he told you one of his stories about the many adventures with his friends. what a world so different than mine, you thought to yourself each time.

yunho has always been a hard working man, you knew that from the very beginning of your… relationship. kind of.

but he still made time for you at least once every week. and those nights felt magical for you, making you wonder if they were even real once you woke up the next day.

“one last kiss and i’ll let you go” he would say, holding your face in his hands as his thumbs caressed your cheeks. you would laugh, as it always happened.

“you’ve been saying that for the last hour!” you would say, making yunho bite his lip before leaning in once again. “it’s not my fault you’re so addicting”

it happened every time. and each time you would feel yourself falling a little more in love with the tall man in front of you. a little more addicted to the way his lips would feel against yours. and a little more comfortable when his hands would leave your face and go lower and lower down your waist.

it felt perfect, like you were both meant to be for each other. you could be yourself around him, and yunho would stop being “yunho from ateez”, only to become just yunho. your yunho. the one who giggles softly at the nostalgia some stories bring him. the one who would look at you like you were the one that painted the sky orange and golden, when the sun came up after a long night of talking about the secrets of life, among other things. the one who would kiss you like he had never kissed anyone else before.

so really, if love normally feels this way, so golden, so pure and unique, how can it be torn so quickly?

was it something you said?

was it something you did?

too slow? too fast?

too perfect?

what is love, then?

it surely can’t be being ignored for days. and definitely not asking a question, only to stop typing mid way and change the subject after an hour of not replying.

love isn’t supposed to induce anxiety

love isn’t supposed to be scary

or is it?

it is scary to get hurt, specially by the one you trust. but that fear is supposed to be nullified by that person. what happens when they don’t?

“hi” you texted him once.

no reply.

“can we talk?” you asked him later that day, after hours of not getting an answer. in fact, he has barely texted you twice in a week.

still no reply.

if it’s not love, then why is your heart hurting so much? you can feel it dying little by little, each minute that goes by without a single peep from him.

normally you wouldn’t even feel this way, even less for a man like him. but yunho quickly made his way into your heart, learning about the things you like and dislike, making you laugh effortlessly and blush with a single touch of his hand on your cheek. normally… no, scratch that. the connection you had wasn’t normal. friends don’t do all that. or maybe it was different for him?

how was he feeling about you?

did he feel the connection too?

was he scared? or did he trust you to not break his heart?

was he missing you the same way you did?

too many questions that probably would remain unanswered plagued your mind, day and night, no matter what you were doing. every buzz of your phone would make you immediately drop everything you were doing at the moment, just to see if it was from him. only to be left disappointed and sad when it wasn’t.

how can something so pure become so rotten, so quickly? what was once golden, now it’s painted in black and brown, as if it’s rusted and burnt.

maybe that is what love really is.

or is it not?

[jifloulette]

kyotani kentaro pre bf and bf hcs because im in my kyotani brainrot era once again.. (slight ooc?)

note ; pls i love mad-dog kun so bad it's not funny anymore, i may have gone overboard because of how many i made.. this has been rotting in my notes app so this was DUE 💜

pre bf kyotani who you tried so hard to become friends with because you thought you could make him smile and laugh for the first time in his life, you thought you could change him from being a mad-dog to a cheery, joyful one !

pre bf kyotani who you ask to teach you how to play volleyball — starting with the simple terms like how to serve overhand, what a service ace is, how to block a spike, etcera etcera !

pre bf kyotani who blurts out that he's starting to really enjoy your presence around him. when you ask him why, he'll say it's because you were the first person to treat him nicely, to greet him with a smile and continue to interact with him despite his scary aura !

pre bf kyotani who realizes that you mean so much more to him, that you were becoming something that he regularly enjoys hanging around with !

pre bf kyotani who tries so hard to be romantic when he confesses, leaving a note in your locker asking you to meet him by the volleyball court and when you see him, his gaze goes from your figure to the ground while his face reddens !

pre bf kyotani who then says what he's been meaning to say the second he finds out he likes- no, he loves you. from complimenting your beautiful eyes to telling you how much he cherishes you and wishes you to be his !

pre bf kyotani who now becomes your boyfriend when you accept to his confession by kissing his lips quickly before running away, leaving him confused and lovestruck !

♡

bf kyotani who is mean to everyone and everything except for you. he could and will get mad at his teammates, a random stray dog who keeps barking at him, hell, he even got mad at a random lamp post he had accidentally run into — sometimes, you have to stop him from attacking almost anything that gets in his way !

bf kyotani who now learns how to lower his guard and learns how to become gentle for you, his significant other. he doesn't want to accidentally lash out on the only person he adores so much !

bf kyotani who regularly gets questions from his teammates when you go to their practice and give him a kiss or two on the cheeks, asking him how he'd pull someone as sweet and bubbly as you !

bf kyotani he appreciates you wait for him during volleyball practice sitting down on the bleachers, doing your homework to pass by the time !

bf kyotani who will def give you a piggyback ride whenever you say your feet hurt due to how long you guys have been walking. acting all tough and strong but the second you kiss his neck once you're on his back, he melts immediately !

bf kyotani who will always go buy your favorite drink at the vending machine before he goes picks you up at your last class of the day so you guys can walk home together just so you can have enough energy to talk to him about your day. he'll never admit it but just hearing you ramble about whatever makes him fall in love with you more !

bf kyotani who will always snuggle up in your arms and sometimes cry whenever he loses a match, he trusts you as his s/o to know the words and actions to make him feel better !

bf kyotani who will hug you from behind and put his chin on top of your head whilst glaring at the person you were talking to which leads to that person excusing themselves because of the tall man's stares !

bf kyotani who will always split whatever he's eating in half and give the bigger piece to you, whenever you thank him, his face will pinken. and when you tease him for his flushed face, he'll playfully steal your half away from you. it's only when you pepper his face with kisses that kyotani will give it back to you !

bf kyotani who will absolutely soften up whenever he sees you playing with his dogs, he really appreciates you helping him take care of them !

bf kyotani whose bedside table is a spot dedicated to all sorts of trinkets you give to him — keychains, little plushies, even a picture of you two holding hands with a frame you decorated with all sorts of things !

bf kyotani who loves loves LOVES it when you cheer for him so loudly in his matches, he thinks of it as motivation to win. not for his team but for you, so you can be proud of him !

bf kyotani who you notice, is genuinely trying his best to be a good boyfriend, though he may be scary and imperfect, it doesn't stop him from trying his best to show you what a good lover is !

©🇯​​🇮​​🇫​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇱​​🇪​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​, do not steal, translate, or repost any of my writings anywhere else.

[extremely-judgemental]

This is the last time I talk about Elain (hopefully!). I honestly don’t understand where you’re getting the idea that she is sweet. Elain is polite, like ‘my neighbour is nice to me’ sort of way. That doesn’t warrant how everyone puts her on a pedestal.

Her actions are mostly glossed over as self-preservation, but that doesn’t seem right to describe her behaviour either. At least, not in a sympathetic way. I'm sure there’s going to be an overload of trauma to justify this, because how can SJM’s heroines have mere mediocre problems when they can be abused or have lost a loved one?

I digress. Ever since Nesta’s grooming came to light, the same is assumed about Elain—that she’s groomed to be ‘nice’. That’s not entirely true. Their mother and grandmother focus on Nesta because getting the eldest married well will bring more prospects for the other two. In their mother’s words, Elain needn’t worry because she is a born beauty, and so she is not trained in courtliness or politics. And, Feyre has enough liberty to lock herself in their father’s office. As a middle child, Elain chooses the ‘nice’ mask because it’s what gets her attention in a family full of stubborn heads—her mother, her grandmother, her sisters.

During their poverty years, even if she could do chores, it’s hard to believe Nesta let her given how much she coddles Elain. And, Feyre treats her like a fragile doll. Elain essentially enjoys the best of both worlds like her father without contributing much to the family. She benefits heavily from her sisters’ animosity against each other—she’s the kind one while the other is the bitch. She’s also quick to secure a marriage alliance right after they regain their wealth. This isn’t to say it wasn’t out of love, but the plot is set in somewhat medieval times, where the order in which the sisters marry is crucial—Elain already wed before the eldest leaves a mark on Nesta’s reputation, making it difficult for her to find suitors.

Elain goes her entire life without being blamed or hated by her family, or even the IC. To have gone through all those struggles, having done literally nothing, and still cherished by everyone? Kindness doesn’t buy you that kind of a pass. It’s not her fault that everyone puts her first, but it’s the result of the image she actively cultivates to achieve her means.

This is why the paintbrushes don’t hold much value either. She doesn’t make Feyre’s life easier or take away some of the burdens, but gives her presents and everything is okay between them? This comes off like love-bombing to me—making Feyre feel special so that Elain isn’t the villain. Which worked, as Nesta is the one called ungrateful. When you’re struggling and someone offers you a bit of joy and relief, it is impactful, and Elain’s gesture could have been that if she had contributed to the family. But now, it comes off as manipulation.

And here’s my issue with her betrayal in Silver Flames. No one gives two fucks about what she thinks is best for Nesta. The IC won’t sit around and wait till she’s convinced. If she decides to lock herself in her room and cry again, only Feyre might care a little. Until then, she’s never included in any major decisions and she’s too perceptive to not notice this. She doesn’t even have to side with Nesta, but to pack her things to send her away?

She even goes on to throw in a ‘you don’t have to be miserable’ when Nesta is being imprisoned with a man. Imagine Elain trapped with Lucien to get her out of her funk. Feyre violated Lucien’s mind when he asked for a few minutes alone with her. They were chaperoned by the entire family for one simple tea. Clearly, Elain is not so stupid as to not know what she’s implying. She lets Nesta suffer not out of self-preservation but because she, like Feyre, believes Nesta is hopeless.

Later, she manipulates Nesta into scrying and insults her in front of everyone who hates her. She blames her ‘invisibility’—she crafted for herself—on others. It isn’t about her owning her life, because she could have done the scrying right away without that conversation with Nesta. And it’s not about protecting herself from the IC. Her outburst felt more like her resentment, that she couldn’t handle losing her shield.

There are many who want Elain to stand up to the IC, but the thing is, she has no reason to. When none of her actions are held against her, what would she fight for? The IC’s behaviour is borderline psychotic with Nesta to prove she wouldn’t be welcomed into the family unless she becomes reputable enough to be Feyre’s sister and Cassian’s mate. In Elain’s case, she is already forgiven and accepted.

Though it still falls under the broad term, her self-preservation carries heavy undertones of selfishness and manipulation. It is not even a survival response triggered under pressure. Most of her life, Elain never has to make big choices. She always gets what she wants without lifting a finger. No responsibility at home, more attention from family, the only one to receive her father’s love, her engagement to Graysen, going to Graysen for help, being left alone during the battles, having her own gardens in Velaris, learning to cook, leading a simple life, to be away from Lucien, pursuing Azriel. When exactly is she ever denied in the first place to preserve her happiness?

Also, Elain is definitely not a helpless doe. She is an opportunist. Her ‘kindness’ is a mask to escape scrutiny from others when she neglects her responsibilities. It serves her too since ‘Elain is Elain’.

And that’s fine because these flaws add layers to her character and there’s room for growth. But when the narrative ignores them and paints her as an angel because it supports the glorified hero, that is wrong. We see it happen with Feyre, Rhysand, and the Inner Circle. Elain is underdeveloped, yet she shows prominent traits at major plot points and still is considered ‘sweet’. At this rate, she’s just going to be another bland cutout who can never do anything wrong and is universally loved (like Feyre).

On the other hand, all this masking, the cunning, and the pettiness are great agents for her obvious future bonding with Rhysand who is quite similar. But her true nature has to be acknowledged first, which is clearly not happening in the narrative or the fandom.

There are obvious issues to be resolved in Elain’s character—shedding these traits and loving others without exploitation—but the focus will be on what SJM deems worthy for her plot. Elain went from being content to staying in the background, tending to her gardens, and creating beauty to wanting to step out of her sisters’ shadows. Though she never gave that vibe, it will be shoved down our throats because these leads need to be badasses. At this point, she has more chances of turning into another Feyre with her ‘coming out of the shell’ journey because that’s the only way women can grow in this series. I don’t like Elain the way I don’t like Feyre, Rhysand, or Cassian. She is, and will likely never be, held accountable for anything she does. Nesta has self-awareness, her flaws are portrayed as such, and she makes amends for her mistakes because that allows Feyre to be right again. But what reason does Elain have to be better when she hasn’t done anything wrong until now?

[m1lkyw4yw1sh3z]

MAD SCIENTIST SPRUNK IS CRAZYYY AND IM ALL FOR IT!!! I so wanna talk about itttt it’s been on my minddd

Yippee yippee yippee glad you enjoy the AU concept :) !!!

In this AU, Black/Hatter comes from a species of aliens that is known to travel across galaxies researching different forms of intelligent life. In 90% of cases said species' work is entirely benign and non-invasive, just driven by curiosity and a desire to increase their understanding of their universe. They like to observe, not to meddle-

What Hatter ends up putting the Sprunkis through is an EXTREME outlier, very much not the norm. Had his colleagues known what he was planning, he'd have never gotten away with it, even. We cannot emphasize enough that this is not normal for his species.

Hat's just got an incredibly warped view on ethics and a weakness for the sunk cost fallacy :(

Once he really starts making himself at home in the town, we think he'd get along best with Clukr and Garnold, since they're fellow scientists (albeit more so in the engineering/computer science realm).

They swap stories of their respective scientific discoveries, constantly trying to subtly one-up each other lol. It's all in good fun though!! Perhaps if circumstances were different, the three of them could have created great things together...

This post is already getting a bit long lol, putting the rest under the read more-

Warning for slight themes of psychological horror 👍

This version of Hatter does care about the Sprunkis on some level. It unfortunately just happens that his care for them is overshadowed by his desire to go through with his experiments. He's too stubborn to change his plans, too selfish even.

He cares about them, maybe even claims to love some of them (platonically)... but in the end it's more so as a cherished research project than as friends.

This results in his interactions with them being somewhat contradictory. He's manipulating them, but he shows no ill will towards those unwilling to trust him. He's not acting out of malice, after all, and he's perfectly willing to play the long game to ensure things play out as simply and painlessly as possible-

In the meantime, he can enjoy being around them, can enjoy pretending they mean something more to him than just mildly interesting samples on a petri dish.

Befriending them, learning about them on a more personal level, it becomes something of a side project to him.

He never does earn that trust, of course. A shame.