#besides! sex is only One show of physical affection

[lubdubology]

Take My Love and Wear It

SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k 

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie

A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave. 

One month. 

One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away. 

At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist. 

And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help. 

You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.

Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves. 

Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart. 

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.

You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”

Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features. 

“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth. 

“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.

You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”

“You have no idea how hard this life is.”

A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”

You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”

He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further. 

Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips. 

You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.

+++

Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it. 

You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway. 

“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter. 

Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.” 

Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.  

He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence. 

“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.

He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.

You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”

Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”

His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.

From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver. 

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft. 

His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin. 

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”

Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”

“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”

Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind. 

“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.

Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”

You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you. 

“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”

“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.

He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”

+++

“Want some help?”

You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.

It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.

You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”

Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus. 

“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”

“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”

Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”

You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile. 

Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence. 

It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.

You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into. 

“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”

You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”

“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.

As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.

“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”

Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”

But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”

You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity. 

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”

“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”

“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”

The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”

You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.

From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.

“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”

Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.

You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.

Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.

+++

It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity. 

You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt. 

“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry. 

“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.

He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing. 

Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.

“I don’t need your help,” he growls. 

You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”

He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper. 

Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”

You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured. 

But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.

“Just trust me,” you say. 

Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.

You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”

For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”

You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”

You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before. 

Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”

“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.

“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”

“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”

Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go. 

Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

+++

You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.

You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.

“You find this amusing?”

“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”

He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.

You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin. 

Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense. 

You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.

Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.

The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack. 

“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.

“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart. 

Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.

Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole. 

Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.

That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.

Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. 

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”

A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.

“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.” 

His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you. 

Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer. 

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features. 

Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is. 

You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. 

You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.

This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase. 

Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”

Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.

Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock. 

“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”

The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering. 

You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm. 

A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.

Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him. 

“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.

“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need. 

“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”

He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release. 

“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.

You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.

“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”

You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well. 

+++

The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.

You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.

The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel. 

Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.

Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. 

You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.

“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.

He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.

Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent. 

“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.

The pain hits you like a freight train.

It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture. 

But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.

You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony. 

Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”

“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”

His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.

“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him. 

Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you. 

Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.

You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you. 

His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.

“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.

A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees. 

His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose. 

Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.

“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.

“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat. 

His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.

Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.

You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips. 

Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet. 

“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit. 

Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”

“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist. 

“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.

His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp. 

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you. 

You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”

His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.

The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close. 

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.

His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.” 

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.

You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him. 

Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.

“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease. 

His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.

“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.

“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.

Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his. 

Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan. 

Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”

“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”

Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”

The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”

He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face. 

“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.

“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”

It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.

“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”

His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.

He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”

A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.

“I know.”

+++

You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.

Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.

You want to hear it again. But not now.

Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life. 

“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.

Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”

You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”

“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”

You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter. 

“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.” 

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”

Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”

Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.

You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.

You’re home, too.

[spacequokka]

In My Bed

Pairing: bf!Jackson x Reader Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Suggestive Rating: M Summary: Jackson fell asleep when he planned to surprise you. Word Count: 0.7k, Request Warnings: dry-humping

After a grueling day at work, all you wanted to do once you got home was shower and get in bed. The never-ending stream of conference calls and meetings punctuated with answering emails left you drained mentally and physically. However, when you opened the front door and spotted a familiar pair of sneakers sitting on the shoe rack, you were immediately invigorated.

Jackson was home!

You all but dropped your stuff on the bench as you kicked off your shoes. It was quiet save for the hum of the ice maker in the freezer. Maybe he was asleep? You tiptoed down the hallway and sure enough, the light of your life was laid out across the bed on his stomach using his arms as a pillow. His expression was a picture of serenity as he snuggled your favorite hoodie. Your heart swelled with affection. How does he continue to surprise you with his cute little habits?

There was no telling how long he’d been home, but you needed your hugs and kisses. You crawled over to his side and laid beside him, gently prying his hands away from his head then forcing your way against his chest. In the midst of your shuffling, he woke up groggy and sluggish as he registered what was going on.

“You’re home?” He blinked slowly, then looked at the window. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost five.” Seeing as he was awake, there was no point in being gentle. You rolled him over onto his side and pulled his arms around you. His scent filled your nose, and you sagged with relief, savoring his warmth. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be home today? I would’ve met you at the airport.”

He chuckled at your whiny tone as he drew you close and planted a kiss on your forehead. “I wanted to surprise you. Actually,” he drew back and kissed your lips, “I wanted to show up at your job and take you out for lunch. I guess I underestimated how tired I was and how much I missed our bed.”

You forced a pout, just barely keeping yourself from smiling. “The bed? What about me?”

“Oh, hush. You know I hate being away from you this long.” He hid his face in your neck. “Why do you insist on being all strong and independent? You could come with me! See the world and join the mile high club and stuff.”

You laughed. “Why do I get the feeling the sex is the motivating factor?”

“No, no. It’s a perk. A bonus, if you will.” He kissed your neck, letting his lips linger. “The motivation is having my beautiful girlfriend with me. It’d be so much better if I could wake up with you in my arms.”

You squirmed against him when his teeth skimmed over your sensitive skin. “I’d ruin your image and hurt your sales.” You bit your lip when his fingers pressed into your skin, holding you still as he put his thigh between yours. “Ah, shit. Wait, Jackie. I need a shower.”

His chuckle made it clear that wouldn’t be happening. “Performing isn’t my only source of income, baby. I can stand to lose a few, especially if it means I get access to you when I get off the stage.” He groaned and pressed his hips against you, drawing your attention to his growing excitement. “It’s been too long since I last had you.”

“But I wanna be squeaky clean for you.” Your squirming only served to increase the friction between your bodies, coaxing him to return the favor by rolling his hips and grinding his erection into your stomach. “Jack, please.”

“Ugh, I hear you.” He loosened his hold. “But if you need one, then so do I.”

With the haze of desire messing with your mind, it took you a minute to process his words. “If we slip and fall in the shower, it’s your fault.”

He smiled wide with glee as he hauled himself to his feet. He held his hand out to you, ignoring the tent that had formed. “I’ll make sure to take the worst of it. Now come on, I need you now before I bust in my pants.”

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

Tear you apart

Niragi as your friend with benefits, headcannons. Fem reader. +18 below cut

General masterlist

⚠️ In dark, full of despair world of Borderland luxurious Beach seemed to be dreamlike utopia where everybody could just enjoy life and forget about constant bloody fight for survival, even if only for a second. However, this illusion of a paradise was hiding many ugly secrets. Power-hungry control freaks in charge, enemies hidden in plain sight, armed social outcasts terrorising its residents under excuse of keeping the order and crowd of people trying to drown their existential fear in sex, drugs and alcohol. Caged between constant anxiety and bitter, temporary relief after each game won you also lived through every day as if it was your last. Instead of numbing yourself with strange pills or vodka, you found more primal addiction to distract your mind and body from this reality.

You were concerned about how fast this dangerous and unpredictable man became your painkiller. Everything about him was like a big red flag, but this brutal realm made you used to chaos. Hell, maybe it was exactly the thing that made you seek him out. After all, you could die in the next game, why not take a risk and enjoy something you wouldn't have enough courage to try in the real world? So you listened to your body and indulged in this forbidden pleasure. In the end it's not that deep, it's not like you two are a thing, you just want to feel alive before you get old, or more likely eliminated from games. And he was so exciting. Bad boy, fun and unpredictable. Niragi made your heart beat faster.

⚠️ What made you so physically interested in him at first was his tongue. Pierced, long and extremely agile. The way Niragi used to stick it out at all times didn't help at all, the sight of its tip gently stroking his lower lip while he concentrated on something never failed to make you insanely wet. You cringed a bit when he tried to provoke you by doing some obscene moves with it in your face, tho.

Nowadays this hot, talented tongue of his drives you to insanity. Niragi has oral fixation and his idea of foreplay usually includes licking you from your head to your toes. He will only ever do things in bed that satisfy him, he isn't the type to do something just because you like it. So when he tastes you all over you better believe he does it for his own pleasure. Not to mention the ego boost he gets from your moans when he overstimulates you with it. He knows just how flexible and long is his tongue and loves to flex it. As much as he gets off on disgusted reactions he gets from ladies when he flirts with them (sometimes even behaving a bit vulgar to earn them) sometimes deep down he wants to be wanted, needed, begged for - and he achieves it when his head is between your legs. So ask for him, moan, even ride his face, it makes him so eager. This is the only bit of control this man will let you have in bed.

⚠️ Besides this one thing, he's strictly dominant. A lot of his trauma revolves around being humiliated and having his physical boundaries violated to extreme level, just how much it influenced him shows in the way he fucks. First of all he loves to bind your hands. Besides the fact, that it makes you very vulnerable in front of him, making him feel more confident and secure - it's also a way for him to make sure you won't touch him in a way he couldn't control. He is a very touch starved person who craves physical stimulation and company of others more than anything, but for years only physical touch from others he got was painful and violent. This screwed him up deeply. He tries to shield himself during sex, for example he will not fully undress himself while you are completely naked or he will behave in overconfident or pushy way, hoping you won't notice how much his hands shake. You know how people who starved for a long time get nauseous when they finally get some food? That's Niragi and affection. So he will ovestimulate you until you can't even think anymore; bind your hands above your head to not feel your palm press against his chest - where his heart is; and intimidate you to make you submissive. He wants to feel your warm flesh accept him so much he will manhandle you and squeeze you, to make sure you are real, to make sure you are there. To make sure he can touch you and you won't run from him. He always fucks hard and fast, like he's trying to prove a point. You never now if it's to you or to himself.

⚠️ Niragi is impulsive and always seeks stronger stimuli, he has a strong tendency to overdo things. His mood changes very fast. You will definitely notice how it shows in bed as well. He has extremely bad day and wants to feel less shitty? He will fuck you in front of other people so everybody can see just how much of a man he is. He feels like somebody questioned his authority at the meeting with other high status citizens of the Beach? He might choke you just to feel empowered, to feel like your life lays in his hands and see your begging gaze get cloudy. He will do many things to make sure you feel who has control here, like making you suck on his gun (safety on, dw), spitting on your pussy and slapping it harshly just to hear you scream his name or leaving hickeys wherever he wants regardless of your opinion on that. He is the one deciding when and where you two fuck, your sex life revolves around his activities with the Militants.

⚠️ He's a messy boy and sex with him is just as messy. He loves it wet. At the end you will be covered in cum and spit and his entire face will be soaked with your squirt. He comes wherever he wants. Bad impulse control and awful pull out game. Things tend to go in dubcon territory with him from time to time cause he treats you like his doll and handles rejections very badly. He openly considers himself a filthy creep and is not ashamed of this indentity, pretty much the opposite - he embraces it. He wouldn't hesitate to eat your ass or kiss you right after he filled your mouth with his cum. He's the type to find your after game of spades just to lick off your sweat. If it makes you uncomfortable he gets instant boner. He's hella hypersexual so expext a lot of sex.

⚠️ He will have trouble with respecting rules of fwb deal. He will leave hickeys and cum inside you like you are his. Niragi will get jealous as if you were in commited relationship and will blame you for advances of other people out of his own insecurity and fear that you will choose someone else over him. Don't even try eyeing other people. He will at first attempt to disguise his jealousy as being protective to not feel like a loser but won't keep it up for long. Unless you crush his rival's dreams in the cruelest way possible he is mad at you just in case you even considered other guy for a second. You might get tired of it pretty fast, Niragi constantly refuses to be open and vulnerable with you while expecting you to be as loyal as a girlfriend should be, even if you never promised each other anything but pleasure. However he simply doesn't care if he's being unfair. He is not a good guy after all.

⚠️ If at any point you decide to get out of this fwb thing with him, well. Good fucking luck. Niragi will definitely get pissed off, trying to argue with you and convince you that you have no say in this matter. If you manage to withstand this pressure and leave anyways - get ready for him to get passive aggressive. He will make your life harder and won't hesitate to use his position on the beach to do so, hoping that you will come to him for help. Any guy that tries to approach you will suffer consequences of Niragi's fury as well. Nobody can touch you if he can't. If loneliness and helplessness won't be enough to make you come back to him, expect him to invade your personal space and bother you. The only way for it to stop is escaping from the Beach.

[ulteri0rm0tives]

They sooo could've made Johnny romancable if they wanted to.

And I know technicalities were a big part of it, it being Keanu Reeves' face. But honestly I don't even think V and Johnny's romance would've needed a sex scene. I don't think I would've even wanted it. And I also know reception can play a big part of it too, with the fact half the dudebro fan base would've flipped the fuck out if they weren't being catered too, but. I don't know. I just wish the option was there.

The thing about Johnny is, I don't want a romance with him like I have with the other romance options. I'd want it to be something different, not necessarily deeper as I feel that just minimizes the other relationships you can have in the game, but definitely something forged through a connection that is literally quite not possible with the others.

Something just.. knowing. Something that if you choose the right dialogue options and actions, it's a slow natural build up to something unspoken, something that you know they feel for each other by the end of the game and the tragedy of that. Where the only 'physical' affection they can ever show each other is that lingering handshake at the bridge before V gives up the body.

Something to contrast with the other romances. Something that highlights the tragedy of not being able to physically exist with the one you love, the tragedy of knowing one of you won't be able to make it out of this, that one of you will have to leave eventually, always eventually. That one of you will have to sacrifice yourself for the other.

I wanted the lingering looks, the quick turn aways of being caught, the trail offs of meaningful dialogue, the cut offs of almost saying something too revealing. I wanted the subtle snark of jealous dialogue, or even possessiveness, the ones that are played off as jokes and teasing while V is with the other romances. I wanted him sitting on the couch during hangout dates with the others trying his hardest not to look bothered, distracting himself by playing music. I wanted Johnny saying shit with the same vulnerability as him admitting how scared he was for V at the bridge (the closest thing will ever get to a confession I swear).

Something to really, really drive home like a slap across the fucking face how much he changed, how much he learned about himself, how much he learned about how to genuinely care and love for others in ways that weren't just destructive and selfish, but in ways that were literally transformative and life saving, and how fucking sad that is that it comes at a time that's too late. That it's too late for him to do anything about it besides give up his life for V, or betray V, or watch helplessly as they give their life up for him when that isn't what he wanted.

Something. I just wanted something.

Like maybe they didn't add the option because Johnny being a romance option was never something they had in mind, but you cannot tell me Johnny and V's story doesn't play out like a tragic love story. That they weren't starcrossed, doomed from the start. Doomed from the moment they realized they started to care for the other or at least like each other in some capacity.

V would've never given Johnny the keys to the body again after the talk in the oil fields if they didn't start trusting the bastard, caring enough about him to help him find closure or make amends with his friends or reconcile with his past. Johnny would've never entrusted these tasks to V, or open up about them, or open up about how he finally saw how much everyone had hated him yet it seemed like V didn't. He would've never asked V for a second chance if he didn't think V could do right by him, if he didn't care about V. If he didn't trust them. If he didn't want that from them.

And the fact that none of that will matter by the end, how they feel about each other, because there will always be a choice to be had. Which of them will get to live? And which of them will have to leave?

If anything, it'd just make the choice all that much harder. Do you sacrifice yourself for the one you love, or do you sacrifice the one you love for yourself? Do you watch and stand by as the one you love sacrifices themselves for you, or do you try to convince them that it should be you instead? Is this a choice either of you could make?

There could've even been a secret option in Mikoshi if you had achieved a romance with Johnny just like the reaper ending if you had achieved a high enough affinity with him after selecting all the right dialogue. Where if it wasn't a decision either of them could make, or V didn't want to make, which one of them to sacrifice, that V could've convinced Johnny that they could both just leave behind the blackwall, that they both could be homogenized into Alt's code. At least then they could've been together. At least then, in some way, they could still live with and within each other for the rest of their digitally constructed lives. At least then, they could've been something.

(The calls from the others in the end credits could've been much like the ones you get in temperance too. Where it's either assumed V died or offed themselves or ran off, or that even Johnny took the body and ran off. Just a lot of accusations and assumptions and grief that could still come with an ending like this.)

Idk, I just wish we could've had the choice with Johnny is all.

[moonknightsonata]

Acts of Service

pairing: moon system x reader, marc x reader centered

summary: You learn Steven and Jake’s love languages quickly, Marc’s takes a little longer to realize but it doesn’t surprise you.

cw: not many, a brief non-explicit mention of sex, Marc getting anxious about your relationship

wc: 1199

a/n: Happy new year! This is not beta read, my first time writing for the moon boys and also my first time posting and sharing a fic in probably like 5+ years. Please let me know if I’ve missed any warnings, and let me know what you think! I tried keeping the reader as inclusive as I could, but please let me know if I slipped up with anything.

—

When you first started seeing the system, they all showed affection in similar ways. Holding hands, chaste kisses, flowers at the start of dates and walking you home at the end of them. They each had their own ways of going about it, but at the start all 3 of them were stereotypical in their affection.

Now, months later, you could easily tell each of the boy’s love languages.

Steven fluttered between quality time and words of affirmation. He was a romantic at heart, so in reality, he would do anything you asked of him, really. But you could tell he was happiest just being near you, telling you how much he loved you, and hearing the words in return.

Date night with Steven would be art galleries, museum tours, site seeing, or just walking around the markets hand in hand. Cafe’s and bookshops for rainy days, which there were plenty of in London, filled weekends with him where you could just sit in each other’s company and read besides one another.

Jake was the master of physical touch. You think it’s because he didn’t have as much time fronting as the other two, and his only physical touch with humans up until the three started getting along was when he took over the body in emergencies like in Cairo. When Jake was fronting, his hands were always on you.

Jake always had his arm on you when in public. Around your shoulder, or on your waist, he didn’t have a preference as long as he had you in his arm in some way. You liked to compare him to a livestock dog. Not like sheepdogs who herded them, but like a pyrenees that would fight a wolf off a lamb.

He was also the most handsy in the bedroom.

Marc took the longest to pinpoint his love language. Mostly due to the fact that he was the last to open up to a relationship with you.

You had met Steven first, dated Steven first, and then met Jake and Marc along the way. The relationship with Jake blossomed easily, but Marc still had walls he had built standing steady, that he wasn’t ready to break down yet. For a while even, you weren’t sure he liked you. After anxieties about it were aired out, Marc reassured you he did like you, he was “just shit at showing it” as he had put it. He hadn’t wanted to get close, mess things up with you and risk everything Steven and Jake had with you. That was the turning point for you and Marc’s relationship.

You thought it was behind you, until you noticed Marc’s odd behavior one day.

“Marc, baby, are you alright?” You asked him, leaning against the kitchen counter as he washed dishes.

“Hm?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, nodding as he kept his attention mostly on the pan he was scrubbing. “Yea, fine, why’d you ask?”

“Because you’ve been scrubbing that pan for about 10 minutes now. I think it’s clean.” You smiled softly, as his brow scrunched when he realized.

“Fine… yeah. I just… you know I love you?” He finished his sentence more like a question.

“Of course I know. I love you too.” You moved closer to him, putting a hand on his cheek to look him in the eyes. “What brought this about?”

“I don’t… I don’t say it enough. When we met you weren’t even sure I liked you, and now I don’t even say I love you as often as Jake or Steven do. So I just…” Marc lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand to his hair, pushing his curls out of his face as he steps away from you. You give him his space, you know when he needs it. To work out emotions without feeling suffocated or closed in.

“Just thought maybe you weren’t sure again.”

Marc avoids looking directly at your face as you look at his. You understand him, more than you probably know, which scares Marc. Not in a bad way, but scares him in a way he can’t believe there was someone out there who could.

Which is why what you say shouldn’t surprise him, but it does anyway.

“You don’t have to say it in the same way Steven or Jake do for me to know.” You start softly. “You have a different way of showing it, than they do.”

Marc’s eyebrows furrow, even more than the wrinkled brow he usually has.

He can only describe the look on your face that you give him as adoring, as you continue.

“The days that you front, you’re always up before me. Whether you’re an early riser or you never really fell asleep that night - you know exactly how to make my coffee in the morning and I always wake up to a cup made the way I like sitting on the counter waiting for me.

“I also know that it isn’t Jake who had my car’s oil changed, or the tires rotated a couple weeks ago.”

Marc shrugs at that one, mumbles something that you think is “That’s not a big deal.”

As you tell him all this, you can’t believe it took you this long to realize that Marc’s love language was acts of service. Because of course it was. Marc, the giver. Marc, who always felt he needed to prove his worth and make up for sins of his past, by any means necessary. Your Marc, who did so much for you without expecting a ‘thank you’ because that was how he showed he cared.

You kept going with more examples.

“Last week I forgot my umbrella and my lunch in the apartment and you came all the way to my job to drop them off for me.” You wrap your arms around Marc’s waist at this, resting your head against him in a hug.

“Or, when it’s cold, you always turn my heated blanket on the bed while I’m doing my night time routine, so that the bed is nice and warm by the time I climb in. And when -“ You could keep going, listing the things you notice Marc does for you, but he stops you with flushed cheeks.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I do a lot for you.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes playfully as he wraps his arms around you to return the hug. “I like taking care of you.”

“You take care of me because you love me.”

Marc nods, kissing your forehead. “Yeah, I do. I’m just sorry I don’t say it more.”

“I don’t need you to. It’s nice to hear, but I still know it. You show me every day.” You smile, leaning in to give him a kiss, which Marc gratefully returns.

“And I’ll continue to show you every day, until you get tired of me.”

“I’d never get tired of you, baby. You, Jake and Steven are all stuck with me.”

Marc laughs. “Stuck with you? Making it sound like that’s a bad thing. Honey, I think you’re the one ‘stuck’ with the three of us.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[candycandy00]

Once Upon a Time - A Higuruma x Reader Fanfic Part 2

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is The Little Mermaid featuring Higuruma! You’re a mermaid obsessed with the human world, and in love with one particular human: the lawyer named Higuruma. You make a deal with the sea witch to become human, but you only have three days to win his love!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty here!

Read Choso x Rapunzel Here!

Read Toji x Snow White Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Reader is a mermaid. Reader becomes mute. First time sex. Brief mention of domestic violence involving a side character. 

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @drizztdohurtin!

The next morning, you wake up on Higuruma’s couch. He’s standing over you, looking a little concerned. 

“Are you alright? It took a while to wake you.”

You sit up and nod. You’ve only ever slept under water, so this was a new experience for you. 

Higuruma is holding a cup and he reaches it to you. “I don’t know how you like your coffee, but I have cream and sugar if you want it.”

You take the cup with a smile. You’ve heard humans mention coffee! You’ve always wanted to try it. You excitedly take a drink, realizing too late that the liquid is very hot. You gasp as you sit the cup down on a small nearby table, fanning your mouth with your hand. 

Higuruma sits down beside you. “Was it too hot? I’m sorry. You didn’t burn your tongue, did you?”

Turning sideways to face him, you extend your tongue to show him. 

“I don’t think it’s burned,” he says, looking closely at it. Then all of a sudden he looks away awkwardly. Is he thinking about last night?

He stands up and walks toward another room. “I don’t usually eat much for breakfast. Is fruit okay with you?”

You nod, eager to try any human food. You’ve heard most of these terms before, so you know what fruit is. You’ve just never tasted it. Once you grabbed something humans call a coconut, but you couldn’t figure out how to eat it. 

Higuruma steps out, so you use this opportunity to check the pendant. The small red spot has grown a little, but not nearly as much as you’d hoped after what happened last night. Did you not please him? Or do humans require more than physical affection to fall in love? 

You’re still pondering this when Higuruma walks back into the room. He’s carrying a plate with lots of colorful fruits on it. He sits it on the low table in front of you, and you quickly reach out to take a piece, excited to taste it. 

The piece you chose was orange in color, in a small wedge shape. Thin white strings line the flesh. You put the whole piece in your mouth and an explosion of flavor hits you. If you had your voice, you’d be squealing in delight! The more you chew, the more delicious juice fills your mouth. 

Your eyes light up as you try a small red fruit that’s almost heart shaped, with tiny seeds covering it. You remember this one! Humans call this a strawberry. It’s a little sweeter than the first one, but it’s absolutely delicious! 

Higuruma watches you try the various fruits, a hint of a smile on his face. “I take it they don’t have a lot of fruit where you come from.”

You nod as you try yet another one. 

“Eat all you want. There’s a lot of fruit native to this island, so there’s plenty.”

After you completely clean the plate of food, Higuruma takes it away and then returns, sitting down in a chair close to the couch. “I’d like to take you to the police today so we can report what happened. Someone is probably worried about you.”

You shake your head and reach for the paper and pen on the table. “No one is worried,” you write. “I’m alone.”

He looks troubled by that reply. Is it really so strange for humans to have no family and no people worried about them? 

“Where were you going when you fell off your boat?” he asks. 

You know he’s trying to help you, but you hate these questions. You don’t know how to answer them without seeming suspicious. If you say you were going to another island, he’ll ask which one. You don’t know the names of any other islands. 

After some hesitation, you write, “Here.” It’s the truth anyway. 

He seems surprised by that. “I guess you’re very lucky then. What were you coming here for?”

You hesitate again, and he quickly speaks up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask a personal question like that.”

You smile and nod again. 

“To be honest, I’m not sure what to do with you,” he says. “You don’t want to see a doctor and there’s no one I can call for you.”

You grab the pen and write, “Can I stay with you a little longer?”

He reads the note then looks at you again. “I guess so. I have to go out every day for work, so you might get bored here by yourself.”

“Can I go with you?” you write. 

“You’ll have to step away when I talk to my clients, but if you don’t mind that, sure.”

With a huge grin you stand up and nod vigorously. Higuruma stands up too, and his eyes slide down your body. “We have to get you some clothes. You can’t just walk around town in my underwear.”

You nod again, smiling at him.  

“I guess you want me to help you find something,” he says. “Let’s go then. There’s a few shops in town. I’m not sure what kind of clothes you prefer, but they’ll probably have something you like.”

He’s going to help you pick out human clothes! You can’t wait to try pants! And those long flowy things called dresses! With building excitement, you follow Higuruma out of his house. He pauses and looks at your feet, then shrugs. “A lot of people go barefoot on the island. I don’t think you’ll stand out too much before we get you some shoes.”

Shoes! You’ve always wanted to wear them! 

You walk along behind him, happy that the pain has lessened to a dull ache rather than the sharp, stabbing pain of yesterday. You’ve gotten so much better at walking that you think you’d like to try running today. Or, even better, dancing! 

As the two of you walk into town, your eyes glow with astonishment. So many small, cute buildings! Their tops have a wide array of colors, their fronts have wide clear sections so you can see what’s in them, and there are so many humans walking around! 

Many of them stop and wave at Higuruma or give him human greetings you’ve heard before. He responds in a friendly manner, but you can’t help thinking he’s not entirely warm or open with them. 

He opens the door to one of the shops and gestures for you to go in. When you walk inside, you find more human clothes than you thought existed, all hanging from metal bars. In fact there’s so much variety that you have no idea what to choose. You look back at Higuruma with a pleading expression. 

Higuruma isn’t sure what to make of his new acquaintance. She’s acting like she’s never been in a clothing shop before. Maybe she comes from an extremely rural place, or was raised in such a pampered way that her clothes were selected and purchased without her involvement. Either way, she seems totally lost as she looks around at all the clothes. 

Finally she turns to him, looking as if she’s begging for help, then begins writing on the notepad he gave her. 

“Can you help me choose something?”

He scratches the back of his head. He’s never picked out women’s clothes before. “I can try. What do you prefer? Any colors you like?”

She appears to think for a moment, then writes, “I would like a dress. I like all colors.”

Well, that doesn’t narrow down the options much. He walks over to a rack of dresses and looks through them, trying to imagine her wearing each one. He stares at her for a moment to guess her size, thinking she looks really cute in his clothes. But she wants a dress, so that’s what she’ll get. 

After looking through three different racks, Higuruma has five sundresses draped over his arm. Most of them are blue. He’s not sure why, but the color blue seems to suit her. 

“Here’s a few you can try on,” he says, then realizes she might not be familiar with dressing rooms. He calls the shop owner, a young woman, over and asks her to help. Like a true professional, she snaps into action, taking his new friend by the hand and leading her into a room behind a white wooden door. 

A little while later, they emerge. She’s wearing an ocean blue sundress that falls to just below her knees, with thin straps at the top and a lower neckline than he anticipated when he chose it. There dress has a floral print, and looks lovely on her. 

“This one is her favorite,” the shop owner says, “but the others looked good too.”

Higuruma nods absently, watching her twirl around and smile as the dress flows around her. 

The shop owner lowers her voice and says, “I couldn’t help noticing she has no underwear or shoes. Would you like me to help her with that?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replies. “And help her pick a couple of casual outfits as well. All the dresses she liked too.”

“Of course, sir!” The shop owner says, happy to take his money. 

When they leave the store, Higuruma is carrying bags and has a much lighter wallet, but his beaming companion makes it all worth it. 

She writes on the notepad again and holds it up while wearing the brightest smile. “Thank you!”

He returns the smile. “You’re welcome. Let’s take these bags back to my place before I start visiting clients.”

She nods and falls in beside him as he walks back to his house. Even after he drops off her new clothes and they head back into town, she still walks right next to him. To a stranger, they probably look like a couple going on a stroll. 

The thought makes him feel a little warm around his collar. He’s not sure what the deal was last night. Did she feel like she had to show her gratitude for his help? If so, there were simpler ways than blowing him at his desk. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, but he doesn’t want her to feel obligated to do something like that. She seemed awfully eager though. Maybe oral sex just isn’t a big deal where she comes from. 

They spend the morning and early afternoon going to see various clients. Many of them ask if the lovely lady beside him is his girlfriend. He quickly rejects the idea, not wanting to embarrass her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

At times it feels like she doesn’t speak the same language he does, but her writing suggests otherwise. Maybe this is her second language? Regardless, she still steps some distance away when he’s speaking about his cases. 

Late in the afternoon, they go to the docks, where two of his clients work. It’s also where he tends to find new clients. While he talks to them, she walks along the water’s edge, staring out at the horizon on the sea. He thought she might be hesitant to be near the sea after her experience, but she seems very comfortable letting the waves rush in around her ankles, covering the sandals he bought for her. 

When he’s finished, he motions her over and they walk back toward town. As they get close to the town square, he begins to hear music. On some balmy evenings, a few locals gather and play their string instruments while singing. People in the square dance and laugh. Higuruma himself has only briefly stopped to listen a couple of times. 

But she is different. She rushes over excitedly, her head turning in different directions as she watches the people dancing. Then, she begins to mimic their movements, dancing along with them. It’s a little awkward at first, but she quickly falls into a rhythm. She makes no sound when she laughs, but it’s all there on her face as she moves, her pretty dress swaying with the music. 

Higuruma sees the joy on her face, the zest for life, and it makes him realize he’s been lacking exactly that for years now. He was a prominent defense attorney on the mainland, but after several cases went bad, he found himself burnt out in the worst way. 

The breaking point came when he defended a young woman who killed her abusive husband. To Higuruma, it was a clear case of self defense. There was a mountain of evidence in her favor, but none of that could stand up to the ties her husband’s family had to the judge. 

So he had to watch a terrified, innocent woman be led away in chains. The look of horror on her face when she realized Higuruma was unable to save her will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

He stopped taking cases after that, and when his former law school professor called and asked him to come work on the island doing simple contract cases, he was happy to take the opportunity. Island life sounded relaxed, and contract cases in such a small community would probably be low stakes. 

At first, this drastic change of pace and scenery was just what Higuruma needed. The locals were friendly, the cases were indeed simple, and the island was beautiful. But as more and more cases involved the Russo family, they became more involved. Once again Higuruma found himself getting emotionally invested in his clients’ wellbeing, and now it seems one of the main judges on the island has been compromised. 

But even when he first came to this tropical paradise, he didn’t feel the sort of joy and wonder that’s on his new friend’s face right now. That exuberance, that elation… where does it come from? Why does everything seem to amaze her? Where did she come from?

He’s lost in these thoughts when she runs over to him and takes his hand, pulling him toward the square where people are dancing. He pulls back. “Sorry, I’m no good at dancing,” he says. It might be true. He doesn’t even remember the last time he danced. 

She pulls more insistently, looking up with her big glassy eyes as if to say, “Please?”

He sighs. “Alright. One song.”

She leads him into the midst of the dancers and looks around at the couples. She places one of his hands on her waist and holds the other in hers, copying what the others are doing. As if by reflex, he pulls her closer to him, her body brushing against his. She smiles up at him as the song starts, and they begin their dance. 

The sun is beginning to set, various sizes of lit torches lining the square to illuminate the area. The air is warm and slightly breezy, a little humid, and the music is upbeat, energetic. Higuruma feels a little silly dancing like this, but she seems to be having a wonderful time. Eventually, he relaxes and begins to enjoy it himself. 

Suddenly she collapses against him, her face looking pained. He holds her up, saying, “Hey! What happened? Are you alright?”

She pulls back and looks up at him, wearing an obviously forced smile. She’s definitely not alright! There’s something wrong with her legs, and he’s no doctor, but it doesn’t seem like she’s just tired or having muscle cramps. 

When she tries to start dancing again, he stops her. “You’re in pain, aren’t you? Let’s go to a doctor. I’ll stay with you if you’re scared, but you need to get checked out.”

She shakes her head quickly and starts to pull away, as if she’s going to flee. At the same moment, a couple dancing behind Higuruma bumps into him, making him lose his balance. He falls backwards right in the middle of the square. The couple apologize and start to help him up, but she rushes to his side and kneels down, looking worried. 

Ah, he’s seen this before. Her worried face leaning over him, the darkening sky behind her. He’s certain now. She is the one who saved him! And she’s also the woman who’s been watching him from the sea. 

Things begin to snap together in Higuruma’s mind. Things he always thought existed only in the realm of fantasy. Her always being waist deep in the sea, always farther out than anyone swimming alone should be, her difficulty walking, her amazement at everything she sees, her not being shy about being naked, her seemingly not understanding clothes and shoes, her acting like she’s never had coffee or fruit before… 

Her not having a voice. 

That silly contract she was clutching when he found her… it wasn’t make believe. It was real. 

But if she traded her voice for legs, what did she have below the waist before? The answer is already in his brain, the image of it burned into his mind, but it still takes a few moments for him to accept it. 

She had a tail with fins before. Because she’s a mermaid. 

Higuruma has always been able to adapt quickly to strange situations. Even if the world turned to chaos, he thinks he would be able to find a way to survive. 

He gets to his feet and dusts himself off, giving her a smile to let her know he’s okay. She looks relieved as he takes her hand and leads her back to his house. He needs answers, now. 

When you get back to Higuruma’s home, he closes the door and sits down on the couch, then motions for you to sit next to him. As you take a seat, you glance down at the heart shaped pendant. It’s almost half red now! His affection for you has grown so much today! 

You’re smiling happily when he reaches you the paper and pen. You look at him curiously and he says, “I need to ask you some questions. Please tell me the truth.”

His serious expression makes you a little nervous, but you nod. 

“Have we met before?”

You feel your face freeze. Did he actually recognize you?! No, no, it’s not possible. He was barely conscious! But somehow, the thought that you left such an impression makes you happy. 

Slowly, you nod again. 

His eyes widen slightly. “You’re the one who pulled me out of the water two days ago, aren’t you?”

You look away, not sure how you should answer that. 

“Please tell me,” he says. 

Finally, you give a tiny nod.  

“And you’ve been watching me from the water for a long time now.”

Another nod. 

“I knew it,” he says, almost in a whisper. “Are you… human?”

You write on the notepad, “I am now.”

He reads it and asks, “Now? Then what were you before?”

You hesitate, the pen trembling in your hand. Then you write, “Merfolk.”

“So that contract you had when I found you,” he says, his voice surprisingly calm, “was real?”

You write the word “yes”. 

He leans back on the couch and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, as if lost in thought. “You traded your voice for legs,” he says, “all because you want to win a human man’s love? He must be special. I’m a little jealous.”

You stare at him, your face growing more heated. 

He seems to notice your reaction, his own face becoming slightly red. “Wait… is it me?”

You avert your eyes, but nod. 

Silence. Then you look up to find him gazing intently at you. “Why me?”

You pick up the pen again. 

“You always help people,” you write. “You’re very kind. You work hard for others. You look tired but you keep going.” You pause for a moment, unsure if you should write the next part. You glance up at him, then go ahead and write, “And you’re very handsome.”

He reads it, then looks away, seeming a little embarrassed. “Not sure I agree with your assessment. You’d probably think differently if you’d met me on the mainland.”

You blink up at him. The mainland? Isn’t that what humans call the gigantic island to the north? Most merfolk have never even seen it, but a few have ventured that far and told stories about it. Supposedly, they couldn’t even swim all the way around it! So that’s where Higuruma comes from. 

You write out, “Why?”

He lowers his eyes. “I tried to help people there too, but it didn’t work out. After a while, I just gave up and came here. Maybe I should have kept trying, kept fighting, but I didn’t. I’m not as great as you think I am.”

You quickly begin writing again. 

“You are great! Even after things didn’t work out on the mainland, you’re still helping people here! You didn’t give up or stop! You just came to a different place to do it!”

He looks back at you with a warm smile. “Thanks. I think I needed to hear that. Uh, I mean read that, I guess.”

You smile back, then flip the paper over to write something else: “Will you do me a favor?”

“I can certainly try,” he says, his mood seeming lighter. 

Nervously, in somewhat shaky handwriting, you ask, “Will you make love to me as a human?”

His gaze lingers on the words, then slowly shifts to your face. “I’m not sure about my feelings for you,” he says, “but if you understand that and still want to…”

His voice trails off as he looks at you, no doubt recognizing the lust in your eyes. You’ve wanted this for so long, you’d regret it forever if you didn’t do it, whether or not you win his heart. 

You lean forward and kiss him, an act of affection even merfolk partake in. One of his hands moves to your face, the other on your shoulder as he leans into the kiss. 

He eases you onto your back on the couch, him on top of you. His hand slides down to your thigh and pulls it up, then he’s dragging your dress up, both his hands slipping beneath the fabric. 

His touch is gentle and warm, making you sigh as he pulls the dress up and over your head. You’re left in only the clothing called “panties”, something you never knew about before today. They look like the things human women wear to swim in. Higuruma peels them off you, and you remember that humans only show themselves naked to their lovers. 

He unbuttons his shirt and pulls it off, giving you your first glimpse of his body. You’ve seen many human men mostly naked and even fully naked before, but there’s something different about seeing the man you love undressing for the first time. 

Beneath his clothes, his skin is a bit paler, untouched by the sun. But it’s firm, with little trails of dark hair here and there. Under his pants, there are more of those colorful shorts, making you grin. And under those “boxers” as he called them, is the mating organ you saw in the dimly lit room last night. 

Once both of you are fully stripped, he climbs onto the couch again, straddling you, kissing down your neck and collar bone. When his mouth reaches your chest, his tongue slides over one hardened nipple before his lips softly wrap around it. Your breaths come fast as your body arches against him, your legs parting. 

Your fingers are raking through his hair, his hand is snaking down between your bodies to nestle between your thighs, touching the spot that’s very new to you, and very sensitive. You feel him open the folds of slippery flesh with his fingers, and then he rubs a tiny little nub that sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. 

If you had your voice, you’d be moaning. Instead you can only gasp at the strange sensation, bucking your hips up, wanting to feel it more. 

“Did you have one of these before?” he asks, his voice a bit husky as he keeps kissing your skin. 

You shake your head. 

“Does it feel good when I touch it?”

You nod fervently, and he rubs the nub again, this time in small circles, making you quiver as you wrap your arms around his neck. It feels so good you can barely stand it! Is this why humans mate so much? 

Something is building inside you, like water pressure rising in the deep sea. You clutch him in your arms as his fingers keep moving, keep searing the unimaginable pleasure into your very being. And then something snaps, breaks loose, and your body spasms before going limp beneath him. You open your mouth to cry out, but have no voice to give it sound. He seems to understand, kissing your lips to drink in the silent cry. 

You look up at him, breathing hard, waiting for the next part. You know there’s more, you’ve seen it on the beach under the moonlight. Now you want to experience it for yourself. 

“Are you ready?” he asks.

You can feel his hard length pressing against your inner thigh as he settles into position. You look him in the eyes and mouth the word “yes”, wishing you could say it out loud. 

With that confirmation, Higuruma pushes your legs further apart and you feel his hot, throbbing rod enter your body. He goes slowly, probably afraid to hurt you, but you only want all of him inside you. 

It feels strange, new, but you like it. You like the fullness, the slight stretch, the knowledge that you and the man you’re in love with are connected in such an intimate way. 

After a few moments, he begins to move, lightly thrusting into you, going deeper. Your body automatically arches again, wanting to meld into him. The friction of his heated skin against yours feels so amazing, you can’t help being jealous of humans who have been doing this for as long as humanity has existed. 

This body of yours was created by magic. Now a totally different kind of magic is making it sing. You find yourself clenching around him, your lips silently mouthing his name, your hands gripping his shoulders. 

It doesn’t take long for that familiar pressure to build up again, driving you mad. You can feel that incredible sensation again? Can you feel it over and over if you’re with Higuruma? The very thought has you panting, your breaths shuddering as that white hot pleasure bursts inside of you again. 

Tears fill your eyes. You’ve never been so happy, so fulfilled. You glance up to see Higuruma looking down at you, watching the emotions rush across your face. He kisses you again, this time deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his pace quickens. He goes a bit harder, a bit deeper, until suddenly you feel him go rigid on top of you. Then, the lovely proof of his pleasure that shot out of him last night, that you so lovingly swallowed, shoots out inside you. You can feel it covering your insides, oozing into your depths. 

You’ve never been more ecstatic. 

Afterwards, you fall asleep in his arms, both of you crammed onto the couch, you lying on top of him. 

The next morning, you wake up before he does, getting up and walking over to your discarded dress. You’d dropped the pendant on it in the heat of the moment, and now you want to check your progress. 

Over half full! 

You press the pendant to your lips to kiss it, then pull the chain over your head before dressing. You’ve come a long way, but you only have a day and a half left! You have to win Higuruma’s heart, or all of this will be for nothing. 

[von2dutch]

Sugar baby | Jey Uso

Chapter three

Synopsis: Sex is not a big deal. ...You can have a no-strings-attached arrangement with someone you don’t care about.

Pairing: Jey uso X Black Fem reader | word count: 2.1k | warning: smut, toxic behavior , protected sex | 18+ ONLY

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Lastly, Enjoy.

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As the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon inside Jey’s hotel room , a chorus of birds greeted the dawn with a symphony of chirps and songs. The melodic sound filled the air, announcing the arrival of a fresh day full of possibilities.

The calm and tranquil feeling in the bedroom is one of comfort and safety, as if the world is at peace. With Dakota by his side of course.

Joshua slowly opened his eyes to a warm and radiant morning light filtering through the window.

As Jey looked over at Dakota, he saw her sleeping peacefully beside him. He couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth in his heart as he watched her snuggled up against his chest, her arms wrapped around him tightly. The moment felt serene, and he took a deep breath, savoring it. He couldn't help but admire Dakota's beauty in that moment, as the soft glow of the moon illuminated her features and added an ethereal quality to the scene. It was a simple yet beautiful moment that he would always cherish.

He gently pulled her close with his arm, and planting soft kisses all over her face and neck, waking her up slowly but lovingly.

Jey had felt horrible about how he treated Dakota especially what he said to her a couple weeks ago when discussing being with her more than just a client.

He initially took in what his brother was saying and realized he loved Dakota not just what she did for him sexually but what she did for him mentally and physically because as much as he was there for her in those needs she was also there in those needs of his. With him being on the road 25/7 it sometimes gets lonely and sad but she always made sure to brighten his day even when she didn’t know she did.

His affection for her was not just a fleeting infatuation. It was a profound feeling that surpassed any previous experience he had ever had. This love penetrated through the depths of his heart and soul, and he had never felt anything like it before. He was completely consumed by her, and she had become the center of his whole universe. In his life, she was the beacon of hope that illuminated his path through even the darkest of times.

She's got him wrapped around her little finger, and he'd do anything to see her smile. He just needed to show her more than tell her and he was going staring today.

“Mmm Josh stop.” Dakota groaned moving her face away to stop the kisses he repeatedly left on her cheeks.

Chuckling he kissed her exposed neck annoying her even more “Ko baby get up I’m bored and I miss you.”

Opening her eyes staring back at his brown precious big eyes she could almlsh Melt into them but at moment all she felt was her love fading away from him because like he said she was just a client. “Josh don’t think cause we had sex last night that every is all dandy and cool cause it’s not.”

Joshua, sighed flustered, sat up abruptly. "Ko, I apologize. What more do you want me to say?" he asked, his tone reflecting a hint of desperation.

Getting out of his grasp she folded her arms looking at him like he was stupid “It’s not about what else I want you to say, I want you to acknowledge what you said.”

“Matter fact I’m done explaining myself cause remember I’m just your client it isn’t nothing else to it so it don’t matter I’m leaving.” Dakota attempted to get out of the bed to grab her clothes and leave but Joshua grabbed her pinning her arms down on the bed hovering over her as his sliver chain dangled in her face he stared in her eyes deeply.

“Dakota, you're more than just a client...I can't be away from you, can't go without seeing your radiant face or hearing your angelic voice. I want to be around you, soak up life with you, and just be beside you. Losing you would kill me. I love you with all of my heart.I don't want to miss a minute without you by my side. I love you Ko.”

“I want you and I’ll prove it by showing you then just telling you.”

That was it. Those words was something she thought she’d never hear but she did. All Dakota could do was stare back into his eyes taking in everything he had just told her. He was in love with her but she was also hesitant to believe maybe he was right he did need to show her.

“Joshua you don’t mean that you’re just telling me that because you want me to get over what you said.” Dakota said being stubborn no matter how much it melted her heart to hear him say those words she just couldn’t believe it.

Laughing to himself softly he knew she would be stubborn and he could handle it he just had to show her how much he meant it “Ko I mean that shit and if it takes me a million hours, years, or months to show you I will. I apologize for I what said I love you and I’ll show you.”

As he hovers above her, his gaze never wavers.He stares down at her with such intensity and passion, as if he owns her.He wants her back in his home, alone, just the two of them for a whole month.

He wants nothing but her all to himself, without any interference or distractions.

“That’s why I want to ask you to come back home with me while I’m off for the whole month just me and you…that’s if you want to mama.” He asked with pleading eyes.

Dakota pondered for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts and doubts. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he was sincere in his words. Could this be his opportunity to prove it? She took a deep breath and looked up at him, searching for any sign of insincerity. When she saw only a warm smile on his face, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. With a smile of her own, she answered, "Yes, I'll go with you."

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Instagram Story • Dakota Valentine

“It’s so beautiful here.” Dakota covered her eyes from the hard sunlight while she admired the beautiful landscape of Pensacola, Florida. The beautiful trees and water was something that amazed her how beautifully it was.

After a long flight from Atlanta in Jey’s private Jet alone just them two the more they spent alone the more she became to believe he actually meant what he said.

“Here ko.” Jey handed Dakota the keys to his home while he grabbed her luggage from the car his driver sat in. “Go unlock the door and chill I got everything and you better be laying down Frl ko.” He glared at her knowing how much she didn’t listen.

Rolling her eyes she caught the keys walking towards the door she threw the middle finger up at him “You already did.” He shot back smartly.

As she turned the doorknob and stepped inside, she found herself mesmerized by the sheer beauty of his home. Every time he had flown her out to his place when he was off, she was left in awe at the stunning interiors and the breathtaking exteriors. It was as if the first time she had visited his home was replayed in her mind every time she visited.

Dakota walked towards the refrigerator grabbing a drink of water before she plopped down on his white comforting couch she watched as the sunset rose in more beautifully the water waving softly the trees flowing through the wind she was so caught up into the sight that she didn’t hear Josh calling her name.

“Mama you good?”Jey asked sitting next to Dakota on the couch, gently and lovingly takes her feet into his hands.He removes her blue Dior slides and begins to gently rub and massage her feet, caressing every inch of her soft, smooth skin.

He places a gentle kiss on her foot, sending tingles through her body, before rubbing the other foot. She leans back into his hands and sighs contently as he spoils her with this attention and affection.

With a gentle nod of her head, she replied, "Yes, it's just that this place is so breathtakingly beautiful. It's been quite some time since I last visited, and I almost forgot how much I missed it."

“I know I changed some things around here too, remember that painting you wanted back in September when I took you too that art show? I got it hung up right there for you Ko.” He pointed towards the white painted wall where the panting hung.

“Aww thank you baby.” She blushed cheesing happily resting her head and back against the couch.

The two of them sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, Jey spoke up, his voice soft and gentle, breaking the comfortable stillness that had enveloped them. As he looked into Dakota's eyes, he spoke with a sincerity that could not be denied, “Dakota I meant what I said earlier.”

Sighing she looked back at him “I know but I want you to show me Joshua not tell me.”

“And I will trust me.”

Park West Beach

“Joshua you bet not have me at no damn water park! For me dressing up when I should be sleeping some damn where.” Dakota stressed as he had his hands covering her eyes leading her towards the beach she felt sand at her foot.

“Dakota shut up and be patient.”

“You shut up! You better not throw me in the water cause I feel sand at my feet and we are at the beach sir.”

Huffing Joshua smiled finally being at the location he desired for her he spoke “okay ima count to three and then I’ll uncover your eyes aight?”

“Yes.” Dakota answered softly geeked with anticipation and eager.

“1,2,3.” Removing his hand from her eyes he stood back watching as she took in what was in front of her.

Dakota's face lit up with a wide smile as she gazed at the mesmerizing sight in front of her. She could hardly believe that he had gone to so much trouble just for her. The ambiance was absolutely perfect, with flickering candles casting a warm, inviting glow all around them. Her favorite foods were carefully laid out on the table, tantalizing her senses with their mouth-watering aromas. The comfortable chairs beckoned to her, inviting her to sit down and relax. And all around them, fragrant roses bloomed, their delicate petals bathed in the soft light of the moon, as they sat beside the tranquil waters.

“J-Joshua you did all this?” She looked back at him with tears filling her eyes that she so desperately wanted to held back.

Smiling he embraced her into a hug leaving a few kisses on her face “Yeah I had Jimmy and trin help me, you like it?” He asked nervously, he was worried that she wouldn’t like it considering he wasn’t much a romantic partner but he tried and he always with over and beyond for Dakota no matter what.

His love ran deep for her that some would say he was infuriated with her.

“Do I love it? Of course!” She jumped into his arms Jey caught her with one arm wrapping her legs around him he held her tightly then two laughing.

“I can’t believe you did this for me.” She gushed once more before he sat her down gently on the circle chair he sat beside her holding her hand.

As she glanced around she couldn’t help but ask what did he do all this for? Was it to apologize? Because if so she wasn’t accepting it from him no matter how beautiful everything was.

“So what is all this for?” She asked knitting her eyebrows together while she looked into his eyes waiting for an answer.

“Well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He took her hand into his moving closer to Dakota he stared directly into her eyes watching as she became nervously because she was biting her lip which he took notice of a few months back of when she was nervous.

“I know what I said a few weeks ago hurt you Ko and I apologize but not only that but I wanted to confess my love for you Dakota.” Jey left a few kisses on her Hand before taking a deep breath.

Jey's eyes burn with the passionate fire and desire he's had for Dakota for so long. He wants to express his love for her with a burning intensity, wants to claim her as his, and make her his in every way possible. It's not just an infatuation anymore, it's something so much more than that.He's obsessed, addicted, and obsessed with her.

As he watches her, he's hit in the gut with the depth of his feelings.It feels like a burning hot flame that's raging within him and he can't deny or stop. He's consumed by his love for her, intoxicated by her beauty and presence.

“I love you with every breath I take, with every beat of my heart", I couldn’t imagine life with you Ko and no matter how stubborn you are I’ll show you I mean it.” he confesses.

Jey holds her hands. He looks at her with pure adoration and devotion, his feelings so deep and his love so real.

"Dakota Kamire Valentine..." he whispers, taking a moment to take in her whole beauty and being.

He takes in a deep breath and continues. "Will you be my girlfriend? My partner in life? My soulmate?"

He stares deeply into her eyes, waiting for her answer, his heart pounding and aching.

Dakota's eyes widened in surprise as she gazed back at him, feeling a mix of emotions bubbling up inside her. She tried to avoid looking directly at him, scanning the surroundings instead, to control her tears. It was hard to believe that Jey Uso, the Joshua she had grown to know so well, was confessing his feelings for her on a picturesque beach, with just the two of them as witnesses. The beauty of the moment was almost too much to handle.

He wanted her and only her and he was going to show he meant it.

“Y-yes I’ll be your girlfriend Josh.” She stuttered tears leaving her eyes Jey embraced her into a hug before wiping her tears away she kissed him deeply.

“I can’t believe your silly ass just asked me to be your girlfriend.” Dakota chuckled wiping away her tears pushing at his chest playfully while smiling at him shyly.

“Yeah it took me a while but I had too I couldn’t stand you possibly being with someone else other than me Ko, I love you.”

"Josh, why did it take you so long to come clean about this? Was it because you were hoping I'd forgive you for what you said, or was it because you saw me at the club with another man and felt guilty? I need to know the truth, Josh," she said, her arms folded as she fixed him with a curious gaze.

“To be honest… It was because of what my brother said.” He spoke “I had realized that I fell in love with you ko and I was scared to admit it because of past experiences as far as my divorce I had a year ago I didn’t want to go through another heart ache if we never worked out Dakota with me being on the road I feared you’ll fall out of love with me too and find someone else new.”

“I feared that maybe you didn’t want this as much or I wasn’t enough but most importantly my one fears made me push back my feelings for you but no matter how hard I tried I always seemed to fall for you deeper and deeper.”

"You probably think I’m bullshiting, but there is truth to these words..You are the air in my lungs, the light in my eye, the smile on my face. You are everything to me, and without you...I feel lost and like a ghost of who I used to be.”

“Your gaze upon me is simply enchanting, it's like a magnet pulling me closer to you. Your mere presence ignites a flame of passion inside me, and I feel alive in your arms. The warmth of your touch sends shivers down my spine, and it's a sensation I never want to lose. You're the missing piece of my puzzle, the one who completes me in every way. I can't imagine my life without you; you're my every breath, my lifeline, and my everything. I love you more than words can express, Ko.”

Dakota couldn’t even spare a word to him after hearing him confess his love for her. She was stunned she couldn’t believe it that the one thing she wanted was happening before her eyes.

She love him just as much as he loved her.

“Aww Josh you gon make me cry…I hate you.” She said playfully before she wiped her tears falling from her eyes. She was in such awe.

“Don’t cry ma I just want to tell you how much I love you uce and I meant it.” Jey kissed her, her lips so soft and so sweet. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against his chest, the heat of their bodies making them close and intimate. He touches her body slightly, caressing the curves of her hip before letting his hand rest on her ass. He stares at her with desire, wanting to never stop touching her.

Dakota's eyes sparkled with love as she gazed at Joshua. "I love you, Joshua," she whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. "There's nothing else in this world that I want more than this moment with you." As she spoke, she reached up to caress his face, her fingertips gently tracing the contours of his beard. The touch was soft and delicate, but it conveyed a deep sense of affection and intimacy. Joshua felt a surge of emotion as he looked into her eyes, knowing that he was the luckiest person in the world to have her by his side.

While the two sat and watched the waves of the water flow by quietly Josh spoke “I got something for you.” He said before grabbing a gift from the side of him it was red roses and a jar full of poems of letters that he wrote confessions of his love for her.

“Since you said you liked hand written notes, I decided to do this , here’s 365 hand written notes.”

“Jey you didn’t.” She smiled grabbing the jar opening it she read a few notes in complete awe she couldn’t wait to tell Jasmine she was going to flip about this.

She chuckled softly, unable to contain her surprise as she looked at him. 'You really do have a memory like a steel trap,' she murmured, a hint of admiration in her voice. 'I said that months ago, and yet you remember it like it was just yesterday.' Her laughter was infectious as she leaned in to kiss him, grateful for his thoughtful nature.

“But I did and I wanted to it’s always the littlest things that matter and this is one of them baby.”

Jey gazed at Dakota with a look of compassion and sincerity, and spoke in a gentle tone, "I want to take away any pain that you have ever experienced, Ko. I want to help you heal and feel better."

“What if I told you that you did.” She admitted.

“You Frl ko?”

“Yes I’m Frl, when my mom passed you were there for me every step of the way Jey. With you being on the road and busy 24/7 you still made time for me, you still made sure I was okay no matter how many miles away you were from me it always felt like you were there with me. You made me feel whole again through those dark times and I appreciate and will always love you for that.” She stared at him watching him smile brightly hearing those words.

Jey looked at her, an adoration in his eyes as he stares.

"You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

His eyes are soft and tender, yet there is a desire in them.

"I only want you to be happy, Dakota, even if you'd be happier with someone else."

They both were in love and there wasn’t anything getting in the way of it.

Lovers till the end of time .

To be continued…

Hey my baby dolls I hope you all enjoyed this lovely chapter! I told y’all he would do better but next chapter will be not so great that’s all ima say na!

Happy Mother’s Day as well hope you all are having an amazing Sunday with your families.

Till next time. Love you all for tuning in🎀

[luvv4lurd]

kento nanami n/sfw alphabet! ♡

✰ notes: This is only part one! Part two is coming soon. Merry Christmas and sorry about the inconsistency <3

✧ ! sfw below ! ✧

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

super affectionate. small touches on the hand, knee, shoulder, literally everywhere. not in a sexual way either, but in a loving and caring way.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

the friendship started by a accidental bump of the shoulder in the library. no big deal. until you started seeing him everyday you came in. he was definitely the first one to start to friendship.

him as a friend is so sweet, he would buy you things for big things like birthdays, holidays, promotions. he would take you out on lunches or dinners, but he would never admit it being a date.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

two cuddling positions he really enjoys are spooning and face to face embrace. spooning because he likes to hold you from behind, face to face embrace usually happens when you’re taking a nap. 

he loves to look at your face while you sleep, moves any strands of hair from your face. if you wear a bonnet, he’ll make sure no strands of your hair are visible, tucks every piece back in gently, careful not to awake you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

hes such a clean freak, any dust in sight and it’s gone with a blink of an eye. nanami’s OCD goes through the roof, he hates anything with the smallest stain on it. his shoe got dirty once, took him half an hour for him to clean it properly.

his cooking is absolutely amazing. he’s got a cook in his bookshelf somewhere. nanami makes sure to take his time with the dishes he prepares for you, putting effort and love into it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

in the most respectful way possible. he’s not going to straight up tell you with out a reason and just walk out, he would explain why he feels that way, trying his hardest not to hurt your feelings, but ends up doing it anyway. he offers the two of you could still be friends, but if you decline, he’ll respect it, and you’ll never hear from him again.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

nanami’s in no rush to get married, he would want to spend a few years with you first, (two-three), then think about marriage, maybe kids.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

physical: every gesture he does is so soft and filled with love. he wouldn’t dare put a hand on you, no matter how upset he gets. holds your hand, kisses your hand, cheeks, nose, lips.

emotionally: SUCH A WAY WITH WORDS. he’s praises you on small things. he doesn’t say anything negative about you or what you do ever. loves you too much.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

he likes to cuddle sometimes, but other times, he’d rather be sat beside you, holding your hand or keeping his hand on your thigh.

✧ ! nsfw below ! ✧

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

he’s such a sweetheart… he’ll run you a nice bath, give you a good meal, something a drink, a massage, literally, ask him for anything. he will provide!

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

he likes his hands… how big strong they are, how well they can pleasure you. he really likes to hold your hand during sex, makes him feel closer to you.

Nanami loves your eyes. he loves how they look during the day, especially when the sun hits your face. he also loves how he can make you tear up from pleasure. hates seein’ you cry, but when it comes to sex, he loves it.

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

he prefers cumming inside, says it doesn’t go to waste, and he likes kids. but, if you’re not ready, he’ll cum outside or in a condom (which makes him upset, but it’s whatever. 🤷🏾‍♀️)

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

he wants to see you pregnant with his child. just the thought of seeing walk/waddle you around the house and belly swollen REALLY gets him going.

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

he’s only had sex once or twice. his sex drive isn’t really high, so he’s somewhat experienced. he’s a quick learner, so don’t worry.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary: he likes to see your face while he fucks you. he takes in every little detail, from tears rolling down your cheeks, eyes squeezed shut tight (which he hates, he wants you to keep your eyes on him.), drool escaping your pretty lips.

flatiron: it’s usually when you two are having rough sex, which is never, really. but if you ask him to go rough, he’ll go rough, and this is one of the positions he’ll do.

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

very serious. sex to him is a romantic moment, and time shouldn’t be wasted. he’ll crack a joke after, it’s really cheesy, but it’s cute.

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

he leaves some of his pubic hairs around, but not a whole bunch. small bush.

[ryuzakistoe]

Her (Chigiri Hyoma x fem!reader)

fluff, angst, angst with happy ending, school au, fem!reader, swearing, jealousy-ish, mentions of his torn ACL, arguing

a/n: y’know what, i might do sae next bc i love him so much

(couldn't really find anything that matched perfectly but that's okay ig)

——

He was the definition of beauty, and everyone at school knew it. His glamorous reddish-pink hair framed his face perfectly, each silky strand falling just between his eyes, enhancing his striking features. Those eyes—an enchanting shade of deep pink—were captivating, complementing his overall allure.

He had the look of a model, with a presence that was nothing short of glamorous. Yet, he chose to dedicate his life to football. His striking appearance wasn’t just for show, though; his physical abilities had a purpose.

With remarkable speed, he was virtually unmatched on the field, moving with a swiftness others could only envy or fear. His speed was remarkable, setting him apart in every game, leaving his opponents in awe—or jealousy.

His extraordinary talent allowed him to score countless goals, making him the star of his team. Soccer was his life—his passion, his purpose—and he poured himself into it fully. Nothing else mattered, and he believed nothing ever would.

That is, until the day he met the new girl.

The moment she walked into his classroom, his world shifted. Her graceful entrance, her hair flowing gently beside her, radiated an effortless beauty. But that wasn’t all that captivated him.

As the morning sunlight bathed her in a warm glow, he couldn't help but notice her smooth, delicate skin and the quiet power of her small smile. His eyes widened as he took in her presence. When her beautifully colored eyes finally roamed across the room and landed on him, he felt a spark he’d never experienced before. Soccer was no longer the only thing that mesmerized him.

His breath caught quietly as his gaze locked with hers. To him, it felt like a blessing—an unspoken gift to have someone so beautiful meet his eyes and hold them. He couldn’t look away, as though she were a magnet drawing him in.

But he wondered: why wasn’t she looking away first? They’d been holding eye contact for what felt like an eternity.

The truth was, she found him just as captivating. She had never seen such beauty. His bright hair seemed to radiate, like a flower irresistibly drawing a butterfly. And his eyes…she couldn’t begin to describe them. They were a stunning shade of pink, like nothing she’d ever seen before.

She could have lingered on every fascinating detail about the boy, but the teacher’s voice snapped her out of her trance.

"Hello? Ms. L/n? Would you like to introduce yourself?"

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and offered a shy chuckle. “Yes, I’d love to. Sorry about that.”

The teacher gave a firm nod, indicating for her to begin.

"Hello, everyone. My name is Y/n L/n, and I'll be your new classmate from now on. I hope I get to become good friends with all of you.” She smiled warmly.

That smile…he still didn’t know why it affected him so deeply. But as he glanced around, he felt a flare of annoyance—he wasn’t the only one captivated by her. Others in the room seemed just as taken, drawn to her beauty like moths to a flame.

But he didn’t want them looking at her. She was meant for his eyes only.

But he knew it was almost impossible. That lingering eye contact they shared could easily mean nothing. For all he knew, her gaze might be set on someone else.

It was the first time he’d ever doubted himself. The thought of having a chance with her felt unrealistic. Even with his reputation and titles, his odds seemed to go from nonexistent to barely slim.

What good was such a tiny chance, anyway? It would take a miracle for her to feel the same. But he knew the difference between dreams and reality.

This was just a dream—a dream he wished, more than anything, could come true.

…🌼…

He let out yet another satisfied sigh as the ball brushed the net. Scoring a few goals, he thought, might be the best way to clear his mind, to shake off the image of that beautiful girl wasting her time with some average guy. The thought nagged at him enough that he’d come out here alone, hoping the rhythm of the game would numb it.

Unbeknownst to him, the very girl he was trying to forget was seated on the bleachers, watching him with a gentle smile. As he kicked the ball into the goal again, a sudden applause echoed from the stands.

He turned, and there she was—his mind’s distraction, clapping for him. His ears flushed red, realizing she might have been watching the whole time. Embarrassment mixed with something warm and unexpectedly sweet as he caught sight of her wide grin.

Had she been watching the whole time…?

He stood there, frozen for a moment, before grabbing the ball and moving to the far side of the field, trying his best to ignore her presence. But it was impossible. Knowing she was there, watching him, sent a surge of excitement through him.

Out of all places, she chose to be here. What a surprise.

Each time he tried to shoot, his footing faltered, his nerves fraying under her gaze. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the ball, his mind kept drifting back to her. How could she have this effect on him?

Finally, as he decided to pack up and leave, her image lingering in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the quick footsteps closing in behind him.

"Hey."

Startled by her soft voice, he spun around, eyes widening as he took her in.

And there she was—standing right in front of him, delicate and breathtaking. His mouth parted slightly as he absorbed the sight of her up close. Those beautiful eyes met his, and he felt his heart begin to race.

He couldn’t help but trace his gaze over her features, taking in her soft, gentle eyes, her plush, velvety lips, and the way her silky, flowing hair framed her face. Every inch of her seemed to radiate beauty, as if she were something out of a dream—perfect, unreal, ethereal.

He wasn’t the only one captivated. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him either, caught in the same quiet, electric moment.

She found him just as unreal, just as stunning, with every feature and trait as mesmerizing to her as hers were to him.

After a moment, she broke the silence. "Hey, nice shooting back there," she said, a bit awkwardly.

She continued, "My name’s Y/n L/n, by the way—in case you don’t remember. We’re in the same class–"

"Of course, I remember," he blurted out, interrupting her without thinking.

She paused, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Well, that makes things easier, doesn’t it?"

"But I still don’t know your name," she added, her voice gentle.

Realizing he hadn’t introduced himself, he felt a sudden rush of embarrassment. "Chigiri Hyoma," he replied quickly.

"Chigiri Hyoma, hm?.” she echoed, a warm smile spreading as she tried his name out, savoring it like it held a secret just for her. “I'll remember that.” she continued.

Chigiri felt warmth flood through him at the sound of his name on her lips. It made him feel a mix of nervous excitement and an undeniable happiness. He loved the way she said his name—so much, in fact, that he could listen to her say it a hundred times… no, ten thousand times.

But his thoughts scattered as he noticed her turning to walk away. A pang of disappointment settled in his chest; he wanted to keep talking, to hear her voice just a little longer. He’d do anything to make her stay, even for one more second.

“I’ll see you later, Hyoma! I hope we can become friends!” she called over her shoulder, turning back to flash him a smile.

His eyes widened slightly at her words. The thought of her wanting to come back, wanting to be friends, sent warmth spreading across his skin. It was more than he’d hoped for.

She really wanted to be friends with him? He wouldn’t let this chance slip by.

He’d do anything to get closer to her—maybe even as more than friends someday. But all he knew was that he wanted to be by her side for as long as he could.

…🌼…

Meeting at the football field became their routine, something they both cherished. They would talk about their passions, their dreams, or simply whatever crossed their minds, and each day felt like paradise for the boy. He looked forward to their time together, and she felt the same way. Their presence brought each other comfort, a kind of peace neither had known before.

As their connection deepened, so did their unspoken feelings. They left subtle hints, shared shy smiles, and even had a few intimate, awkward moments. But neither dared to confess their true feelings, each afraid of rejection. Chigiri, especially, doubted he was worthy of her; he convinced himself her heart was set on someone else.

Y/n convinced herself that all he wanted was friendship—nothing more. Doubts and excuses piled up in their minds, each of them pushing aside their "what ifs" to avoid risking the perfect friendship they had. They tried to convince themselves that this connection was fine just the way it was, even as they secretly longed for something deeper.

They told themselves this was fate. But, one way or another, the fate they believed in would take an unexpected turn.

…

"Go, Chigiri!"

Cheers erupted from the bleachers as Chigiri gained possession of the ball. His team was in the lead, and the opposing side was struggling to catch up. The moment the ball touched his foot, the crowd roared with anticipation—they knew he would score. No one ever doubted his speed.

As expected, Chigiri sprinted down the field, closing in on the goal with effortless precision. The noise from the stands swelled as he prepared to shoot, seconds away from sealing the game. This would be the winning goal, and he was the one to bring them victory. With each swift movement, he dodged every opponent who tried to block his path, his speed unmatched and unstoppable.

His eyes shone with determination as the goal opened up before him. But just as he charged forward, he suddenly collapsed. The crowd's roar faded into silence as they watched, stunned, as the player everyone thought would be the hero now lay on the ground, muffling pained cries.

Chigiri's strained grunts were the only sounds echoing across the field, while everyone else stood in shocked silence, absorbing what had just happened. After what felt like an eternity, a few people rushed onto the field to help him.

Y/n’s eyes remained wide, unmoving, as she stood frozen in the crowd. Her mouth hung open, unable to fully process the scene. She had only seen him suddenly fall, as if his own body had betrayed him.

It took her a moment to fully register what had happened, but before she could shake off her shock, her eyes met Chigiri’s. He was being carried off the field, his face tight with pain as they rushed him to get emergency aid.

In that brief, shared eye contact, Chigiri felt a wave of embarrassment and defeat wash over him. Shame gnawed at him, knowing she had seen it all—the near victory, the fall, the failure. He quickly looked away, unable to bear the sudden rush of emotions her gaze stirred in him.

But it was too late. She had already glimpsed everything in his eyes: the hurt, the frustration, the vulnerability. She couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity, yet this was the last thing Chigiri would ever want—from her or anyone else.

…🌼…

He sat on the hospital bed, staring blankly ahead, contemplating his life. Just hours earlier, the doctor had told him to take it easy—his ACL was torn. If he injured it again, his soccer career would be over; he’d never play again.

Fear overcame him. The thought of losing soccer gnawed at him—without it, he didn’t know who he’d be. Soccer was his entire life, his only focus. The whirlwind of thoughts consumed him, until he was pulled back by a knock at the door.

“Chigiri? It’s me… can I come in?”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t want to see her—not after she had witnessed his collapse. How could he face her now? He couldn’t bear to see pity in her eyes.

He didn’t want her to see him like this—weak, defeated. Would she look down on him now?

“Chigiri…?” Her voice was gentle, hesitant.

He paused, wrestling with himself before he finally replied, “I… I want to be alone right now.”

Guilt pricked him as he said it, but he couldn’t face the expression she might have, full of pity or regret. That was the last thing he wanted to see.

“Oh… alright. I understand. I’ll be on my way then.”

The sadness in her voice only made the guilt grow sharper. He wanted her there more than anything, but he knew he wasn’t ready. As he heard her footsteps fade, he let out a sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He leaned his head against the hospital bed’s headboard, closing his eyes. How could he possibly face her?

More than anything, he wanted her to come in, to meet her gaze, those beautiful eyes he’d come to realize he loved. But he wasn’t ready to see the look that might come with it—pity, concern, maybe even disappointment.

He groaned softly, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. He felt completely lost, unsure what to do or how to feel.

He felt clueless.

…

Weeks passed, and he continued to turn away every visitor. Y/n had come by several times, hoping to see him, but each time, he declined. The guilt gnawed at him—he wanted to let her in more than anything, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.

Now, navigating the school hallways on crutches, he silently prayed not to run into her in this state. But, as if fate had other plans, he spotted a familiar figure ahead.

“Chigiri?”

His body tensed at the sound of her voice. Though it was weird. Even though he’d hoped to avoid her, he couldn’t help feeling a spark of happiness at seeing her again.

But he couldn’t move. He begged his body to move, even just a single step, but nothing happened.

“Oh… Chigiri… are you okay?” Her voice was soft, filled with concern.

Just as he feared, he saw pity in her eyes. A flicker of irritation rose in him. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, especially not hers. He didn’t want to be seen as fragile, someone who needed special care or couldn’t handle himself. He wasn’t some helpless boy, and he didn’t want to be treated as one—especially not by her.

“Chigiri… please, just tell me. Are you okay?”

His jaw clenched, annoyance simmering. Why did it have to be her, the one he cared for so much, that he felt himself wanting to snap at?

“No, Y/n, I’m not okay. Just do me a favor and go away.”

He hadn’t intended for his words to come out so harshly, but the frustration bubbled over. What surprised him wasn’t that she could have easily left; it was that she stood her ground and responded just as fiercely.

“No, Chigiri. I’m not going anywhere. I’m sick and tired of you shutting everyone out and being selfish.”

Her words struck a nerve, igniting his anger. “If you came here to pity me or tell me you care, then just fuck off, Y/n. I don’t need that from anyone right now.” His voice was laced with venom as he focused on the ground, unable to meet her gaze.

She felt a jolt of shock and hurt at his response. Shocked by the audacity he had to speak to her like that and hurt because he was pushing her away when all she wanted to do was help.

“How could I not care, Chigiri? It’s only natural for me to worry about you,” Y/n replied, her voice steady.

“In such a pitiful way? No thanks, I don’t need that.” His tone remained unyielding.

He wanted to avoid this conversation; he knew it would only lead to a pointless back-and-forth. More than anything, he dreaded hearing the words he desperately didn’t want to come from her mouth.

“Why does that matter? I care about you, and ever since the accident, I’ve been worried sick,” she said earnestly.

“And I don’t need that! Don’t you understand? I hate being looked down upon. I hate not being seen as equal or better. I hate feeling helpless. I hate all of this, Y/n!” He shouted, frustration pouring out as he aimed to end the conversation.

He didn’t want to spend another moment here with her.

He hated arguing with her, but her inability to understand his feelings only deepened his frustration.

"But they care about you! I care about you! How is that such a bad thing?!" she shouted back.

"Well, I don’t need that shit from anyone! Especially not you!" he snapped, not considering the weight of his words.

Before he could take them back, something unexpected burst forth from her lips.

"Well, that fucking sucks, doesn’t it?! Because I care for you! I care for you so damn much! When I witnessed that accident, I felt a fear I’ve never known, and all I could think was, 'Is he okay?'

"You can’t stop the people who love you from caring about you! That’s just how it works because I love you, Chigiri! I love you so much! It hurts my heart when you shut me out. I try to be understanding—I really do. But what you’re doing right now is just flat-out shitty.”

His eyes widened as he lifted his head to meet her gaze. Shocked would be an understatement; he was completely taken aback. He never expected an argument to lead to a confession—unless it truly was a confession.

Could he believe the words that had just come out of her mouth? Did she mean it the way he hoped?

Before he could ask, she seemed to read his thoughts. “Yes, Chigiri, this is a confession… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, especially if you don’t feel the same. I just had to say it—”

“I love you too, Y/n.”

Now it was her turn to be shocked. The realization hit them both, a powerful wave of mutual feeling. Nothing could describe the rush in their chests, the connection that suddenly felt undeniable.

The tension that had hung in the air dissipated, replaced by a steadier sense between them.

They breathed easier now, lost in each other's gaze.

"I love you so much, Y/n. I'm sorry for shutting you out," Chigiri said, breaking the silence.

"It's alright, Chigiri. I forgive you." Y/n smiled softly, never breaking eye contact.

With determination, Chigiri slowly released his grip on the crutches and took a step toward her. To his surprise, he managed to walk unsteadily but steadily forward.

He gently cupped her face in his hands, taking in her features, as beautiful as he remembered. It felt like that day on the field, except this time he was holding her.

His thumb brushed softly beneath her bottom lip as he asked, “Can I?”

A simple nod was all he needed. He leaned in slowly, closing the distance and filling the emptiness between them.

This was their first kiss—clumsy yet sincere, a moment they would both cherish as they navigated through their feelings.

He took the lead, deepening the kiss as he pulled her closer, his right hand sliding to the small of her waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck, matching his movements effortlessly.

Eventually, they broke the kiss, and he gazed at her lovingly, his heart swelling with happiness. Her eyes sparkled with the same affection.

A smile spread across his face as he held her in his arms.

"I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Chigiri."

a/n: no words besides that Chigiri is truly an exquisite masterpiece

He's so zesty tho wth😭

[roykentschesthair]

Roy is touchingly proud of Jamie in a quiet way.

They haven’t been dating very long (officially anyway) and though the team knows, they’re forbidden from mentioning their knowledge to Roy or during practice because one it’s none of their fucking business and two they need to at least try to be professional

Jamie isn’t sure how he feels about that.

He’s a bit of a show off, and he’s never been afraid of PDA, especially with a partner as fit as Roy Kent.

But Roy isn’t necessarily big on public displays and again it doesn’t look great that a coach is dating a player, so Jamie keeps all his penchant for needy physicality until they get home.

Roy is more than happy to give him all the love and attention he wants and then some.

And so they go for awhile, until it’s once again time for a red carpet and maybe there’s some off rumors about their closeness, about why Jamie Tartt is seen at Roy Kent’s house at all hours of the day and night, and whether something is going on.

And maybe Dani congratulated them on their six months anniversary and maybe Sam did too, and maybe, just maybe, but he’s not admitting anything, Jamie had a little meltdown that he and Roy don’t show each other off.

He knows Roy isn’t ashamed of him, everyone they care about knows, but maybe he needs reminded sometimes.

And maybe he’s at that red carpet again, in a smart suit that Keeley picked, black silk trim and deep burgundy color, he’s wearing a shirt and everything, smiling and generally being sexy for the many flashing cameras when Roy shows, deep black suit cut close and the cameras still flash, the voices shouting for Roy to stop as he makes his usual straight line down the carpet.

Jamie watches, equal parts amused and still a little hurt that he and Roy can’t do this together

(He knows why, he does, he even agrees, but it still hurts)

And he’s ready to take a step back, let Roy pass, when the older man stops, holds out his hand, quiet and calm and sure in the way only Roy Kent can be when he’s doing what he thinks needs done.

Jamie can’t help the stupid grin on his face, the slight shake to his hand as he reaches back, and there they are, holding hands on a red carpet.

Jamie doesn’t know what to do, but Roy casually steps beside him, hand in hand, and he doesn’t smile, but he turns his head just enough to catch his jawline in the flash of the cameras and Jamie just stares, so in love he can’t even breathe.

(The pictures turn out great, lovesick grin and all)

Then it’s just a careful, gentle walk down the carpet, his hand in Roy’s, and maybe Jamie cries a bit once they’re out of camera view, and maybe Roy kisses him, there in that public place, a gentle stroke of affection that only Roy can do.

Jamie begs to suck him off in the bathroom, Roy says absolutely not, and they argue about the merits of public sex until Rebecca shushes them with a a truly poisonous glare.

They hold hands the entire time.

[dogsohavoc]

This ones been sitting unfinished in my docs for probably... 3 months? now? A little while after I started playing olba for the first time (i very nearly never tried it since it didnt seem like the type of thing id be into!). I absolutely loveeee the idea of subby Cove... he deserves the world, and I deserve his big dick <3 this mans just like a big ol labrador that doesnt realise just how big he is.

im also so stuck on whether to use y/n, MC or Jamie??? im used to MC since i am Obey me freak but... idk... i just went for Y/n for this one loll

Content warnings: cumming inside, slight painful sex, size difference, male sub, threat of being caught during sex, brief mention of reader wearing a bra

Your relationship with Cove was definitely a slow one, to put it lightly. The two of you obviously had no experience, which left you muddling through uncharted territory. But you had no issues with that, as long as you got to do it with Cove. 

You both had recently been able to open up to each other more… physically, too. It was a beautiful summer night when Cove suggested trying a few more adult things in your relationship, and you agreed. Initially, the idea of “going all the way” set off too many alarm bells in his head. Considering the more recent revelations about the circumstances around his conception, you didn't blame the guy. 

He was eager, in a manner that you knew meant he had been thinking about it alot. Like alot alot. But even then, he had taken on a more submissive role during your escapades.

It wasn't long before he was tentatively asking if you wanted to try rubbing against each other. You saw something break in his aquamarine eyes when his tip caught against your entrance only to pop out again. He begged like never before that night, whimpering that he was sorry but he just really really wants you.

Besides some issues regarding his… size, the night went off without a hitch.

Even after all you'd gotten up to, he was still a bit iffy with springing affection onto you. A guilt thing, you supposed. There was always a beat of apprehension before he touched you, kissed you, or anything where you had to reassure him. Small gestures of consent had become key to your relationship, as both of you had some difficulty with expressing difficult feelings. 

He was attentive to whether you were okay with being touched, and if you weren't, he curbed his ever present need to be held by hovering around you. You'd scratch his hair or fiddle with his fingers or thumb over his scar. And it was all at your pace.

One thing that had changed however, was his desire. Ever since you two had your first times together, it was like a tightly packed ball of teenage hormones had suddenly broken loose. You could practically see the anxious energy buzzing beneath his skin.

A kiss that went on for a little too long? His face is completely flushed. You hug him out of joy, or even hold his hand? The poor boy is crossing his legs in an effort to dampen how hot he suddenly feels down there.

It often resulted in him begging you to fuck him silly whenever the two of you had a chance alone.

Still, he tries so hard to be a gentleman. It's like he feels like he's betraying you by showing signs of arousal without your explicit consent. You often had to assure him you didn't mind, and found his unabating attraction to you flattering. And arousing.

He was still as clingy as ever despite the new developments. 

Today, he was settled in front of you in the sand. You had told him you weren't really feeling up for cuddling right now - you often would while soaking up the sun - but had kept his neediness curbed by scraping your fingers over his scalp while the two of you quietly conversed.

Neither of you were really focused on the conversation, just enjoying eachothers company and throwing out whatever thoughts came to mind.

He tenses as your pinky finger lightly brushes against the shell of his ear, his back visibly arching into the sand. He raises his head to look at you properly with his signature flustered look.

“That's- sorry- um…” He squirms a little, unable to explain anything under your amused gaze.

He nervously laughs, before his face turns a little more solemn.

“Sorry, that my um. Body. Is like this… it's weird.”

Cove wriggles in the sand. He's always very flustered when the two of you talk about this.

You ask him what he meant by that after settling your hands in your lap and taking on your best listening face. 

“I don't know… I wish I could feel… normal? When you touch me.” There's a pause of consideration before he puffs up a little. “Don't get me wrong! I really like it when you do even now… it just-” His voice becomes smaller as he speaks, before trailing off. 

“I just- feel bad? That you've gotta deal with this all the time now. I want to spend time together normally but my body…”

Once again he trails off, as though he had gotten lost in his own thoughts and forgotten to speak. He stares down at the sand with a sad expression.

You knew he'd just work himself into a guilty mess if you just let him spiral, and you couldn't help but find his worries a little adorable.

You give him a light tap on the cheek to break him out of his stupor. He's surprised to see you smiling down at him when he looks up. 

“Hey. You know I love you right? And I love that you can think of me that way- find me attractive, I mean.” 

He has a wobbly grin on his face from the first syllable of ‘love’. 

“Plus, you look very adorable all flustered like this~!” 

You say cheerfully as you coax him to come closer to you. He seems a little hesitant due to your previous denial, but you didn't mind now. You wanted to kiss your boyfriend, and that you did. 

He squeezes one eye shut as you pepper his cheek with kisses. His skin is so heated, you think soon he'll be at melting point. Knowing your boyfriend was so helplessly horny for you was getting to you. He turns his head into you to capture your lips in a wet kiss. It tasted surprisingly salty, making you realise that there were tears streaming down his face.

He purses his lips in indignance when you call him a crybaby. He's embarrassed enough to hide his face in your neck. The hot breath makes you shiver.

You break away from him with a quiet click, breathily laughing out ‘crybaby’ as his lips wobble. You can imagine a pair of droopy dog ears atop his head with how hard hes shooting you the puppy dog eyes right now. 

“Can we go home? My um. Dad's out at the moment.” He mutters out, not meeting your eye.

You grin and give him one more kiss to his temple before standing up. You give him your hand to help him stand watching pointedly at his attempt to cross his legs to give himself some modesty.

He fails spectacularly. You weren't complaining, you could get off on the sight alone. He doesn't seem to be too aware of it, but he… let's just say, he grew very well.

The expression on his face borders on miserable. Being like this in public must be mortifying, but he's horny and desperate enough to get home that he commits to leaving like this. You were pretty glad you didn't have a dick.

The dissonance between the two of you was quite funny, with Cove's awkward shuffle and the pep in your step on the way to his place. 

Your beach supplies are plopped down next to the kitchen counter. You wince at the sheer amount of sand that fell off at the impact. The Holden's didn't mind, atleast. Both boys seemed like they'd be perfectly happy to bring the whole beach home.

You're making an attempt to bring at least some of it to the trash before you feel a desperate touch snake over your hip and edge down your thigh. 

“Don't worry about it. Let's just go… please.”

He pauses for a moment before muttering weakly.

“I need you so bad.”

You couldn't argue against that. You took his hand and gave it a small squeeze. He gave a weak smile and led you to his bedroom.

Sand crackles beneath your feet as the two of you shuffle in, both what you had just tracked in and what was already there.

He seems a little lost on what to do, and clenches his hand around yours in a plea for help.

You coax him to the bed, pushing him down gently, watching amusedly as he lets himself go limp, bouncing as he falls and  lying spread eagled. He makes himself more sensible as you straddle him, giggling against each other's mouths as he wormed his hands up underneath your shirt.

He ghosts his fingers up your abdomen, before hesitantly cupping your chest and lightly teasing his thumbs over the nipples. You bite back a sound and push his wandering hands away so you can peel your shirt off, momentarily lifting off of him so he can follow suit.

Cove, in a show of horny impatience, tosses both of yours away after he snaps off your bra as well, and then starts to work on his bottom half. It was pretty funny watching Cove struggle to tug off his shorts over certain… parts blocking it. 

He ended up needing to raise his ass completely off the bed and fight to get them over his thighs. You were so grateful for his genes. They had grown tastefully thick over the years. You'd never forget the time you suddenly noticed just how attractive you found them, when you slipped ass over during a trip to the Docks. Cove was fussing over you while giving you a very intimate view of the delicious contours of those muscles. Which only served to fluster you more.

You were normal about them.

Cove notices you watching and emphasises a big sigh at the sudden exertion. You laugh at his silliness, despite the sexual situation he never failed to try and make you laugh. His eyes suddenly look a little dewy as he looks you over.

“You look really good y/n” He whispers out, as though he were in reverence, and you have to break eye contact from the fluster.

“You're beautiful.”

His breath hitches as you practically throw yourself at him in an effort to shut him up. He's got a smug look on his face, a nice contrast to your pout. In revenge you settle on his lap, pressing your wet heat to his cock forcing a puff of air from him. He bites his lip desperately trying to keep himself in check.

Unfortunately, with how hormonal he is, he lost control alot more easily than you did. 

He unconsciously bucks up into you, sliding his tip through your soft slick and shuddering. Only to yap when you slap his hip with a sharp snap and shove him back into the bed. 

He gulps when you warn him not to move, threatening to up and leave him hard and wanting if he disobeys. You punctuate ‘hard and wanting’ by teasing over his tip with your pointer finger, spreading the abundant precum over him.

“Mmmn! Okay, okay. I'll be good. Just please. I can't wait any more.” 

His thick thighs tense beneath you, their strength nothing underneath you at your mere word. He was enamoured with you. Happy to take whatever you do or don't give.

You tease him gently, sweeping the weepy tip of his cock over your navel as you lightly jerked him.

“They're all big and swollen, so pretty, aren't they?” You tell him sweetly, pulling on a nipple and watching him shudder.

“Ah.. but you're even more swollen down here. I guess you want to be touched here more?”

You enunciate the word big by squeezing him in your hand, ignoring him as he whines in indignance. You tap him once then twice against your sensitive nerves before sliding him through your abundant slick to your hole.

It's so wet down there that you're able to tease him against you easily, working yourself open slowly to make up for the lack of preparation.

He squishes against you wetly. His round tip spread you open widely bit by bit, sharp pinches of painful stretching making you shiver. Both of you hiss appreciatively through clenched teeth as he pops into you with a jolt.

You're able to slowly sink onto him now, slowly dragging him in and out of you to ease the burn. Cove's head is completely thrown back, and he pants with a wide open mouth. His bottom canines glisten with saliva.

You lean down and take his bottom lip between your teeth. You worry it briefly before he reciprocates in a messy kiss, his overeagerness forcing your head back slightly to avoid knocking your teeth together. 

Moans start to vibrate against your mouth as your hips finally meet. He spread you open completely, both a blessing and a curse. The initial pain and friction always left you shivering.

It might hurt, but it's just so good. You love that his body is so much stronger and bigger than yours, so much so that he very easily hurts you without realising. 

And yet he submits to you completely.

You ground your hips into him, huffing as an achey sort of pleasure bubbled up in your belly, ending in a hot jolt of pain as Cove bucks up into you again. 

He's already muttering out apologies before you can pull your brain together enough to scold him. Holding back seems to be wreaking havoc on him; he looks so out of it already. 

Saliva dribbles down his chin, and he's stuck between wrenching the sheets or grabbing onto your thighs. He startles a little when you grab them and hold them down on the bed, and even more so when you use it as leverage to pick up the pace.

You lift off of him fluidly, and bring your hips down harshly taking him from tip to base. He falls apart easily. His legs start to kick up, the unintentional strength behind them threatening to throw your smaller body off, but you're relentless in your assault.

You quickly start to grow more and more sensitive inside, feeling the effects of the rapid pace. You don't want this to end so quickly, so you slow down into a satisfying pace of taking him as deep as you can and grinding down onto him.

Theres just barely enough time to get into the haze of fucking him when you hear a car pull over outside. You freeze, and glance down at Cove, thinking he’d want to stop if his Dad might be home. But no, he gasps violently, and you wince as he continues to hump up into you. There’s a painful jolt in your tummy when he goes deeper than he should. 

He looks distraught when you dig your nails into his tummy warning him to settle, but he manages to push aside his hormonal brain to mumble out an apology. 

You bite your lip as you continue, more shallowly to quieten the lewd noises your bodies were making together- you were so slick, every push into you rang out with a delicious little shlick sound. The sounds of your body impacting his turned you on immensely… but you’d prefer Cove’s Dad didn’t know what you were doing to his son. 

One intentionally quick thrust makes him cry out, and you slap a hand over his mouth to muffle it. Hopefully Cliff didn't hear. 

It was silent now except for the heavy breaths you two gasped out, melding together as you leaned down to press your forehead against his. He shoots you a begging look as you hear his Dad bumbling through the house. There’s the distinct clack of keys being put down on the counter. 

God, he felt so good. You drew out to his tip each time, leaving him slightly spreading you open before you penetrate yourself all over again taking him deep inside. 

Cove's eyes are fixed intensely on you, partially closed as though he were too overwhelmed to stay conscious. His breathing is frantic, gulping and sobbing with each of your steady movements. Hot air fans across your hand from his nostrils. 

He was too big to feel completely comfortable with him inside you down to the hilt, but something about the idea of your insides being forced open to make room for him made you shiver. The bed rocks slightly as you move faster and harder, letting your hips fall into his with quiet slaps and watching his stomach tense and eyes roll back.

Worried that having his noises suppressed may be too intense for him, you lift your hand away only to slap it back as he lets out a broken moan. Not a good idea if you’re trying to maintain your dignity— it's a shame to muffle them but…

His muffled whimpers vibrate against your palm, voice coming through more and more as he gets louder. You tighten your grip over his mouth, your fingers pressing into his flushed cheeks as you slow your movements to a torturous grind. The bed gives a great creak of agony under the shift of your weight, and you both freeze, eyes darting toward the door. 

Cove’s chest heaves beneath you, his hands twitching against the sheets as he fights to keep his body still. His eyes, glassy and pleading, lock onto yours, and you can feel the way his body trembles with the effort. The full weight of him inside you… it's stretching you to your limits, and the slow drag of your hips is enough to make your own breath hitch. Your forehead slips from his— the effort of keeping your head up proved to be too much— and your breath puffs along his ear. You brush your lips just against the cartilage, whispering small praises to him even as your mind slipped away from you. 

The praise makes him shudder, a low whine catching in his throat, barely stifled by your hand. His hips twitch upward instinctively, and you bite back a gasp at the sharp jolt of pleasure-pain that shoots through you. You shoot him a warning look, but the way his brows crease in frustration and his legs kick out from the built up energy makes it hard to even care. 

He’s become a drooling mess with such little work… only the feeling of being inside you, and that feeling of power— no… trust. That feeling of trust, that you’ll take care of him and make him feel good, is more pleasurable than any other sex act you could do.

You adjust your angle, sinking down just enough to keep him deep without the telltale slap of skin on skin. The slick sounds of your bodies moving together are quieter now, but still too loud in the tense silence of the room. Every creak of the floorboards downstairs feels like a countdown, and yet the risk only heightens the fire building between you. You can feel yourself tightening around him, the coil of pleasure winding tighter with every careful roll of your hips.

Cove’s hands finally dare to move, having been ramrod straight since you let go of them, ghosting up your thighs before settling on your hips. His grip is hesitant, unsure, like he was afraid of overstepping, but you pull yourself together enough to give him a weak smile. His fingers dig in, nails just barely pinching at your sides, to ground himself as he lets out a shaky breath against your hand. You can tell he’s close—his breaths are coming faster, his thighs tensing beneath you, and the way his tip reaches so deeply into your belly pushes you further and further with each firm bounce.

You lift your hand just slightly, testing if he can stay quiet. His lips part, and for a moment, you think he’s going to moan, but he catches himself, biting down hard on his bottom lip instead. A tear slips down his cheek, and the sight of him so overwhelmed, so desperate to feel good nearly spells your ending. You lean down, kissing the tear away, and murmur, “You’re perfect, Cove. Just a little more.”

The words seem to break something in him. His grip tightens, and his hips jerk up, just enough to send a spark of pleasure through you. You swallow a moan of your own, pressing your forehead against his as you pick up the pace, chasing that high for both of you. The bed rocks faintly, and you pray it’s not loud enough to carry. You vaguely register Cliff laughing, likely speaking to someone on the phone, and you're very glad for the distraction.

Cove’s breaths turn into frantic, stifled sobs, and you can feel him pulsing inside you, so close to losing it. You grind down harder, clenching around him, and the way his eyes roll back tells you he’s right there. Your own climax is creeping up fast, a tight, burning heat that makes your thighs shake. You press your hand back over his mouth, firmer this time, and whisper “S’ okay, you can do it.”

His body obeys you without question. A muffled groan vibrates against your palm as his back arches up, lifting you in his lap. He gives small, nudging thrusts into you as you feel fluid start to dribble out of you. You have to bury your face in his shoulder to muffle your own shuddering gasp as you feel your insides start to shudder. Your muscles squeeze together in reflex— you pray you don't give yourself a cramp— as you ride out the high as subtly as you can. Your brain felt like it was being smothered, and the only thing that mattered was how Cove’s body felt underneath you.

You’re only just blinking away those last fuzzy feelings when you realise with horror that you can hear Cliff walking up the stairs to his room. You try to jump off of Cove’s lap, but you don't budge. His tight grip is unrelenting as he grinds up into you, relishing in the post orgasm tightness of your muscles. The poor guy looks too out of it to register anything but cumming as much as he can into your poor insides. 

You're ready to cry when Cliff knocks on the door briskly all while Cove gives little jittery thrusts into your guts.

He waits for a moment, obviously trying to as be polite as possible when entering his teenage son's room, before knocking again and calling out for Cove. When there’s no reply, he tentatively opens the door. 

Thank God for Cliff being such a polite dad.

You’re holding yourself together as best as you can, standing dressed infront of Cove’s fish tank, feigning surprise to see Cliff home… all the while cringing at how wet and gloopy you feel down there. 

You didn't have enough time to get underwear on, only shorts, and fat globs of cum have already begun making their way down your leg.

Curse Cove for always doing things in excess.

The cursed boy in question is lazing on his bed trying and failing to look as alive as he can. Surely Cliff could chalk it up to summer heat, if not simply just Cove shenanigans?

He takes a moment to even register your presence, your side at Cove’s hip was ultimately unsurprising and Cliff’s eyes would always land on his beloved son first. Luckily, he didn't look hard enough to see Cove’s unfocused eyes, or the fact that his sheets were thrown rather haphazardly over him despite the heat.

“Hey kids, just wanted to check up on Cove and let him know I'm back from work.” He says with his signature smile. You desperately want to collapse where you stand. 

“I'll be going to bed soon, and I've put some snacks in the fridge for later. Help yourselves if you'd like.”

“You two don't have too much fun! See ya!” He says as he turns to leave.

… and seems a little confused when the two of you sputter at that last part, but he shrugs it off.

[uncannytimecandy]

why is The Social Network (2010) the most sexually charged movie I've ever seen.

It's literally affecting my ability to focus on class and in conversations. (i have to dissect this film for class and all I'm finding is homoeroticism. Im literally 10 years late but whatever.)

Okay first off, opening like 15 minutes. Cuts between girls at parties, doing drugs taking their tops off, he's in his dorm getting drunk, hating on his ex girlfriend on line, and comparing women to farm animals (like the piece of shit he is). It's supposed to be kinda... oh... look at him he's a loser he isnt out at parties like everyone else... but also this IS his party. This is pleasure. He might as well be taking ecstasy rn. Being a condescending asshole and showing everyone how smart he is, devoting his life to being behind a computer to prove it. (also the entire soundtrack is DOWN and DIRTY) Mark's motivations (besides being a smartass) seem to be girls and parties. I dont know just.... sex is like BAKED into the tone of the movie. I squirmed in my seat the whole time like an unwilling voyeur. (except the girls snorting coke off of each other that was awesome)

Okay that said. WHY IS THE MARK ZUCKERBURG MOVIE GAY. The share settlements could have been replaced with a divorce lawyer and I would not have noticed.

Edwardo's introduction as a character coming to comfort Mark about his breakup?

"Are you alright?"

"I need you."

"I'm here for you."

"No I need the algorithm you use to rank chess players."

They make me sick. I can't even structure my thoughts properly because it's the... IT'S THE EVERYTHING!!!

Mark is an asshole. This is the topic of the opening scene and the ending. The whole point is that He Is An Asshole. (I know the lawyer was like, 'You're not an asshole, you're just trying to be.' but like.... when he checked the math of the lawyer for no other reason to be condescending and petty? yea.... okay. DIVA-ING OUT!)

He's an asshole and Edwardo is his only friend. Edwardo keeps being his friend even though Mark is an asshole.

Edwardo showing up in the rain? Like a scorned lover? Just to get upset at Mark's new sidepiece? (i feel like the Elon Musk concubine tweet) Mark saying he needs him AGAIN????? The way Edwardo (assumedly) storms off and comes back as soon as Mark calls?

In the same scene Edwardo says he's scared of Christy, says she's psychotic and unpredictable. Later when she sets the scarf on fire, after getting jealous and treating Mark like one of Edwardo's side hoes, Edwardo tries to put out the fire of a relationship with both Christy and Mark (nahhhh bro ur gf and best bro are being parelleled... its sooooo over...)

On that note... when he first gets together with Christy? They make out and Christy goes to suck him off? At the same time the film points out that EDWARDO IS LISTENING TO MARK IN THE BATHROOM STALL NEXT TO HIM ALSO PROBABLY GETTING SUCKED OFF???? that is a WHOLE allegation

Okay post-fuck-you-flip-flops. All the legal stuff. OOPS??? FYM OOPS!!!

Something about the way these two points COULD have been used to help build their case but they don't, and they aren't exactly 'Harvard Gentlemen'.

Something about how on Edwardo says oops because he was just telling a story, not trying to open a new can of worms. He doesn't bring it up or use it for defamation because he was never angry about Mark's moral failings, he clearly doesn't mind those, he was angry over Mark not needing him. Or maybe ever lying about needing him in the first place.

And what does Mark say oops for? Sorry for bringing the chicken up? Sorry for not? Sorry for the possibility he started the rumor in the first place? Is he saying oops FOR Edwardo, for jumping to conclusions? Is he sorry for defending him?

Physically ill.

So anyways what scene do I use for my quiz because it was due three days ago and I am NOTTTTTT writing about mutually assured destructive yearning

[househrt]

House MD 20th Anniversary Fanfic Gift Exchange!!

Want/Deserve/Receive is my gift for @irenespring for the @housemdanniversary gift exchange (it's also below the cut)

Wilson and House start dating and Wilson freaks out because he isn't convinced he's allowed to feel happy or be selfish*.

*To Wilson, selfishness means pursuing his own desires and having good things in his life because of course it does.

Wilson spends his first week of dating House in a state of low-grade anxiety. It's not the big gay freakout that House predicted that first morning after, when his limbs were strewn across Wilson's body, sapping his body heat and possessively holding onto him.

“If you insist on proposing tomorrow,” House had said, voice deliciously rough from sleep, “I'm not changing my name.”

“Liar,” Wilson said, pressing a kiss to House's forehead just to watch him melt. “You'd love being the fourth Mrs Wilson.”

No, he's been surprisingly well adjusted in that regard. It's hard to deny the reality of his feelings when his chest fills with warmth every time House smiles at him or tugs his tie to pull him in for a kiss or sits on the couch beside him like they've always done but this time their thighs are touching and House's hand is on Wilson's leg or curled around his shoulders.

Dating House is a lot like being friends with House. Wilson knew that years ago, seeing how he acted when he was with Stacy. House isn't one to censor parts of his personality for the sake of whoever he's dating—that'd be too much like lying to him and would undoubtedly lead to a rant about hypocrisy.

That applies to his friendships too—or it would, if he had more than one of them. The only real difference in their relationship dynamic now is the level of physical affection.

The reason he's anxious has less to do with House and more to do with himself. Much like he knows what House is like in relationships, Wilson knows what he's like in relationships.

He goes through the motions, hits all the important Good Boyfriend standards, then he finds someone new who needs him more and he convinces himself he's okay with his decisions, pretends he's happy. He lives with it.

He doesn't want to do that with House, but that doesn't mean anything. It's not like he wanted to cheat on his previous partners at the start of the relationship, back when he thought he'd finally found someone to be happy with.

And House wouldn't want Wilson to be the usual boyfriend-Wilson. But Wilson doesn't know how to be anything different. What is happiness meant to look like for him? Is he supposed to learn how to be in a happy relationship with House? Like an experiment? What if he doesn't figure it out in time?

God. He's never dated a man before either. Navigating his newfound sexuality, trying to unlearn his every dating instinct, hoping he doesn't mess up either bad enough to lose the only good thing in his life.

He should've known he isn't meant to be happy. Happiness is for other people.

House had a patient for the past week, so they haven't had much time together outside of exhaustedly climbing into bed together in the early hours. Now that his case is solved, there are no distractions from their relationship.

And Wilson is terrified. He's falling off the cliff of denial, ready to resign himself to the reality waiting for him at the bottom: he's going to screw this up. When, not if.

House, naturally, thinks he's an idiot, judging by the argument they've been having for the past half hour. House keeps deflecting, diverting the conversation back to his position and dismissing Wilson's.

“I'm going to ruin this,” Wilson says, spelling it out so House can't willfully misinterpret his point this time. “And when I do, I can't show up at your door.”

“Sue you can,” House says, “it's not far to walk, even I could do it. And if it leads to mind-blowing breakup sex, even better.”

Wilson groans and pushes his shirt sleeves further up his forearms. Arguing with House always makes his body heat increase, and seeing House passionately angry always has the same effect, although for different reasons.

“I'm trying to be serious,” Wilson says.

“I know.”

“So, what, you don't care?”

House just looks at him and raises his eyebrows. Yeah, bad question.

“Fine,” Wilson says. “You care. I just can't—”

Wilson has other words at the ready. While he was at work, he rehearsed his side of the argument, coming up with the perfect way to convince House that they made a mistake.

They should stay friends, remove the physical affection from their dynamic and go back to how they used to be. Wilson could cope with that, he thinks. It would hurt now that he knows what it's like to be soft and vulnerable with House in a dating context, but that's okay. Wilson's used to hurting.

His mouth is open to say something, but then he meets House's gaze. House, whose expression is guarded, projecting nonchalance, while something in his stance reveals the thread of anxiety underneath.

Oh god, he's already ruining this.

He wants to take everything back, make promises he can't keep, be the good people-pleasing boyfriend he's always been. But House hates it when he isn't real with him.

He's stuck. His breaths come in short quick bursts and his skin is suddenly too tight. Legs shaky, he stumbles. Distantly, he hears House say his name and he sounds so concerned and genuine that it stings.

House loves him and Wilson knows that he won't be okay when Wilson follows the expected pattern. Wilson can't be responsible for that. The consequences for everyone at PPTH would be bad enough, but the way House will undoubtedly implode…

“I can't,” Wilson says as House’s hands push him towards the couch to sit down. “I can't, I can't, I can't.”

He doesn't realise he's hyperventilating and repeating himself over and over until House tells him to shut up and breathe. It's far from the gentle shushing he might've expected from anyone else, and it works to pull him out of his head a little.

They're both sitting on the couch. House’s hand is pressed against Wilson's chest and he wonders if House can feel his galloping heart rate. He doesn't want to lose this point of contact.

“I can't lose you,” he says, voice cracking.

“Then don't,” House says simply.

“It's not that easy.”

“It could be.”

House says it with an air of easy confidence, as if he hasn't bothered to consider the alternative because there's no chance it'll happen.

“I'm not…good at this,” Wilson says. “Being in a relationship, being happy.”

“And you think I am? Where have you been? I don't do happy, Wilson.”

He flounders for something to say, but he can't think of a way to get House to understand.

He blinks and his vision blurs with tears. House's palm slides up Wilson's chest to rest on his cheek and the underside of his jaw. Tilts his head towards him.

“We can't do this,” Wilson says. “If you don't do happy, why risk being unhappy? When this might crash and burn and kill us both?”

House moves closer, prompting Wilson to turn to face him properly.

“Because you're worth the risk.”

And it's not enough, because Wilson can't imagine anything will ever be enough to convince Wilson that he's allowed to want this, but it's something.

House is willing to risk everything for Wilson. As supposedly carefree as he's trying to appear, Wilson knows he too is fighting the instinct to let himself have something good.

Wilson doesn't know how to respond. He's never been good at reacting to nice words or compliments because a large part of him doesn't believe the words.

But this time, he'd like to.

House tugs at Wilson’s arm, pulling him across the couch until he gets the hint and swings his legs over House's until they're facing each other, Wilson sitting in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs.

“I'm probably going to freak out again later,” Wilson says, settling his hands on House’s waist.

“I know.”

“And I still don't believe you that this won't end badly.”

“Then let it end badly,” House says. “But don't end it now because you're a coward who's allergic to happiness. Be selfish, Wilson. Take what you want.”

“I don't know how,” he admits.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

He nods. He always wants to kiss House.

“Then kiss me.”

Wilson leans down until their lips meet. It's warmth and soft noises and gentle hands and everything that Wilson never thought he'd get to have with House.

When they pull apart, House says, “Not bad. But next time, do it because you want to and not because I told you—”

He cuts him off with another kiss. And another. Each one chips away at Wilson's defenses. It'll take a lot more to break them down completely, but that's okay.

He's not planning on stopping any time soon.

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: swearing, possible spoilers for the game, nsfw included, mentions of parents dying and abuse but only briefly

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ENFJ

Hufflepuff

Neutral Good

Libra Sun, Cancer Moon, Aries Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・This man/druid/male has BIG HANDS. And is incredibly tall; 6'5 - so no matter how tall you are, he's still going to be a giant when next to you

・Halsin peppers kisses on your cheeks, nose, forehead, temple, etc.

・So it's pretty easy to say that Physical Touch is his main love language. Halsin adores affection.

・His Pet Peeve are people who don't help those that need aid. He's had a lot of fights with Astarion because the vampire overlooked

・You fell for Halsin first (not meaning to, but his largeness... the way he was so kind to everyone, especially those smaller than him, it was easy to fall in love).

・You didn't expect anything to happen.

・A male such as he had so many people he could choose from, so you were happy to be friends with him.

・And during your journey, there were many nights where he sat beside you, his body warming yours.

・There, he would tell you stories for hours, the fire dwinding as he spoke. Your eyes fluttered closed after an hour and a half of his deep voice beckoning you to slumber.

・You woke up with Halsin still with you, but he had draped a blanket over you, laid back and let you climb ontop of him.

・It became a normal activity.

・Story time and falling asleep with Halsin.

・Your sleep was always dreamless and every morning you awoke refreshed. For the first time in years.

・But he had fallen in love with you the second time you had conversed. It was your passion, hidden behind your introverted nature, that he fell in love with.

・A person who didn't mind being alone, or didn't have to talk the loudest.

・You were a fresh of breath air for him. And Halsin decided that he couldn't let you leave without telling you how he felt.

・It was a full moon when he confessed his love. The stars shone up above, the air was warm and sweet. It felt truly magical (thanks to Gale...)

・And when he gently clasped your face in his hands, and let his feelings be known - you nearly fainted.

"I was not expecting this, have I offended?" His deep voice said as he hoisted you onto your feet.

"What? No - No! I ... I feel the same-"

・And from then on, you became inseparable.

・He loves animals.

・And when you both settle down together, your home is very busy. With so many different types of animals, sometimes even a kid or two. You help them as best as you can, but their parents were either dead or abusive.

・So Halsin took them out in the yard and showed them how to do basic things.

・Some have magic, some do not.

・And sometimes you felt very overwhelmed, but Halsin understood. And he never pushes you. He tells the kids that you need your alone time, and some people are like that.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Black Cat (You) x Golden Retriever (Halsin)

Always Hold Grudges (You) x Forgives Too Easily (Halsin)

Character That Thinks They're Already Dating Even Though They're Not (Halsin)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Married Couple Who Make Everyone Cringe

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Dance of the Druids by Bear McCreary

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, I bloody mean it. 

・Breeding kink

・Big big breeding kink. Doesn't matter if you don't have that anatomy, the dirty talk is heavily centred on that

・He lasts for a long while. Isn't satiated until round four, but each time he makes sure you cum first. Your pleasure is more important than his (in his mind)

・Likes when you grab, grip, scratch and pull. He especially likes when you bite his bottom lip

・When he's about to cum, he'll bite onto your body, just to taste you.

・Although he has a big sex drive, he would never push you to have more sex.

・He's desperate to make you feel safe with him. It would kill him if you didn't fully trust him.

・He has a very, very large cock. Around 10 inches when erect. It was an ... adjustment, trying to work with it.

・Halsin loves the smell of you, so whenever you aren't with him, he'll get one of your shirts and have it across his face while he jacks off.

[stilesinwonderland]

Genuinely not meaning to be inflammatory, but while I totally agree re. preferring JD's kissing in other shows, I actually don't agree with anon that it's down to JoJo, because then we'd be seeing the same thing with the Kant/Bison scenes and we absolutely don't - we get a whole variety of kissing styles from them throughout THK, each changing depending on the context, e.g. the status of their relationship, the nature of the scene, etc. Best comparison is either the kissing in ep 1 (one night stand) or ep 12 (prison shenanigans), where lust is at the forefront, with ep 8 which, whilst still intense, is much slower, softer, and more lingering (trying not to write a whole theses on the perfection that was FK's physical chemistry in this drama!). So yeah, there's definitely plenty of hot and heavy, but only when the show calls for it. And it was the same in OF - every kissing or sex scene had a different nuance to it depending on the situation. I actually think JoJo (more so than many BL directors) is incredibly intentional with his use of physical affection, particularly in regards to characterisation, and the implication he opts for, essentially, sex over romance does him a disservice. Besides, we're talking entirely different genres of show, and that naturally entails different flavours of intimacy. Personally (and again, honestly not trying to start anything), I think it's more likely to have been an acting choice (because I think we sometimes forget that all the kissing/love scenes still very much involve acting, and, like with crying scenes or comedic scenes or any scenes, the better/more experienced you are (as an actor, not a kisser!), the better the end result will be), and I'm leaning towards Dunk, so maybe there was a misstep in interpreting what the director wanted (e.g. assuming passion = force), in which case yeah, the director is also responsible for not correcting that interpretation, but that's still different to saying it was the director's vision all along. Sorry, but I feel quite strongly about this, especially considering all the ridiculous 'porn over plot' accusations that are always flung in JoJo's direction!

Hey, you know, I think I was thinking this but couldn’t quite put it into words too. I do actually think JoJo’s directions seems to be intentional because you can see the variety between FK/JD there—although it could be FK influence as well because we know they are absolute experts in their craft (particularly understanding their characters and their physical intimacy) at this point.

I maintain that my personal preference is that the style of kissing that works better for joongdunk as actors is reflected better in hidden agenda, where they have an even playing field. I think the balance works well for them, because it just seems to make them more comfortable.

Also, I think the difference is that thk is the “lips crashed together” in fanfic

and hidden agenda is “they savored each other, tasting and feeling the brush of the other’s mouths”

which is DELICIOUS.

I literally wrote this out and it disappeared but sometimes you can even see joong struggling to keep up with dunk’s kissing, and sometimes it seems style is kissing fadel’s TEETH because he is being so forceful. Which is completely in line with his character, honestly, because he doesn’t do anything half-assed lmao. Sometimes I do wonder about the conflation of passion/force in terms of acting though. (Also, poor joong’s back being shoved against that wall so many times 😂)

I just do prefer kisses that have a little more of that give and take like in hidden agenda

[partycatty]

Hi so this is gonna be LOONGG, but I’ve been cooking this up in my head and the scenarios before bed so be ready for the plot I’ve created over a few weeks. You can use as much or as little of this as you want, but I really love your writing style and can’t wait to see what you do with this:3

Alright, so Bi-Han is married and his partner (who I always envisioned as chubby personally) have been married for a short time now, and Bi-Han is still somewhat distant. Your sex lives aren’t being neglected at all, but your emotional and non-sexual physical needs are!! Bi-Han shows his wife little to no affection in public, it’s better in private but barely so. He won’t even hold hands in public!! Like he is so unimaginably stiff and cold that his wife starts to think that maybe he think that they’re disgusting or doesn’t actually love them!!

This makes his wife fall into a Depressed state bc she loves him wholeheartedly and all he’s done so far is talk about getting them pregnant and brush off affections. Was she now stuck in a loveless marriage forever? Out of Anxiety and Depression she loses her appetite and loses some weight, to the point of concern from Bi-Han AND his brothers. But they can’t get an answer her them bc all she seem to do these days is sleep and eat. They don’t train, meditate, smile, laugh, walk in the gardens, nothing!! And Bi-Han only sees his wife when she’s asleep or falling asleep and muttering about how it’s nothing.

Kuai Liang eventually grows worried for her health and with the help of Tomas corners them. She breaks instantly, collapsing into heart wrenching sobs against Tomas. For her sake they take her back to your room, and she spills her guts. Both are horrified by this news, they can read their brother exceptionally well and are well aware that all he wants to do is be near her (and inside her) all the fucking time. He’s just apparently ass at expressing this.

While Tomas comforts her, Kuai Liang runs straight to Bi-Han. His eldest brother was pouring over maps a long since cold breakfast beside him. Kuai Liang does not knock and nearly jumps over his brothers desk to pull him along. Bi-Han was going to be mad, but then he says like “I’ve figured out what’s going on with your wife” so he can’t really be mad now can he? She was losing weight rapidly and had become a shell of herself, it kept him up most nights. Kuai Laing spills everything and Bi-Han can feel his heart break into a million peices. It was him causing you this anguish?

Bi-Han was raised to only think of his clan and their betterment, and the only reason he thought he’d ever marry was for heirs. Affection was not common in his family, not until Tomas came along and he was a teen then, and thought that affection was stupid and for babies. But clearly his wife needed it, so perhaps it wasn’t as dumb as he thought it was.

He demands Kuai Liang take him to her, and when he sees you just wailing into his youngest brothers shoulder? Sure a part of him was jealous but he couldn’t really think about that right now. He takes you from Tomas and into his arms, and promptly sends his brothers away. Once they were gone, he lays down on the bed and held her against his chest.

He doesn’t know what to say, other than constant blubbering apologies about neglecting you. He says I love you more than he’s ever said them before in his life, and kisses her face about a billion times. His hands keep her in place, but her arms are around his neck and he can feel her breathing slowly even out on his collarbones. This is so intimate, so precious that he feels lightheaded. For so long he had pushed her and the thought of affection aside it had warped his view of both. He knew his wife was strong, but she also needed the comfort of a hug more often than thought.

Eventually you calm down enough to talk so he shifts his position into a sitting one, keeping her caged in his arms all the while. Now his hands are rubbing along her curves and he’s apologizing again, and he’s explaining himself (probably over explaining really) because he was so scared that he would lose her to his own actions. And she’s just so understanding, probably too understanding, and hugging him telling him it’s okay, and that she knows that this is how she is. But her brain just spiraled into a state by itself.

Bi-Han doesn’t forgive himself, and he doubts he ever will. But for now, he smiles and nods (a bit stiffly), then he leans down and kisses her sweet lips. And it’s so tender and loving and gentle it catches her off guard. Bi-Han was a very rough lover and sure he’d kissed her before but he hadn’t kissed her like *that* before. When they pull away, he asks her if she’s hungry, (he will send for food no matter what she says) and what she’d like to eat.

Lunch arrives quickly, and he watches her eat the entire meal (plus a bit of his own he put on her plate) smiling gently. Once she was fed he opened his arms again to her, and just holds her. Did he have duties? Oh yeah, he had a lot he was supposed to do today. But now, his wife was much more important than anything else in the world. Eventually she asks him to join her in the gardens, and he agrees.

There in the flower garden he had planted for her as a wedding gift, they spent the rest of the day. And that night, Bi-Han sends for a filling dinner that he shares with his beloved in their shared room. And his beautiful wife sleeps soundly, head on his shoulder with her breath brushing over his chest. (And maybe things get a little spicy too at some point, but I don’t think he’d be all that rough after the day they had;} )