#i almost edited it out but then i was like no

[rokonrrc2]

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I’ll rip in hands and teeth and take a bite

[p1utofairy]

holy shit, the glow-up vibes are potent as fuck in this pile! people are going to be in absolute awe of you, pile one. your energy, your body, your face card, and your personality are going to have people bowing the fuck down to you. i'm not feeling any sense of arrogance or conceitedness either – you're just truly about to step into your most powerful and authentic self. this was always destined, pile one. this innate magnetism was always inside of you, but you just never truly knew how to wield it entirely. it's like you were dipping your toes in and out of the water, not sure if you should fully submerge yourself in it and become who you've always known you were, or stay digestible and dim your light so others around you could shine. no more of that. this is, and will continue to be, all about you, pile one. you are shedding the people-pleasing tendencies that have held you back for so long.

you are reclaiming your power. you have such a kind heart with a fierce spirit, and you've been suppressing that fierce side of you in fear of what others may think of you or say about you. too many times, you've had your back kicked in at the expense of sparing another person's feelings, and your spirit guides are getting restless from the sidelines watching you repeat these same situations time and time again. they're giving you the green light to boss the fuck up and show these people what you're made of. they're telling me that this is a rebirth for you.

i see you experimenting with your wardrobe and appearance: more sexy, more bold, and more alluring. dark eyeliner, sheer stockings, red tops, lace, denim, corsets, etc. showing more of yourself but still keeping it classy. i'm being drawn to alexa demie, 2000s meagan good/megan fox, and gabriette. very siren-like and hard to miss. this is going to be completely new to you, but it's going to feel sooo good and rewarding. a lot of what you used to say yes to is going to turn into straight no's.

you're going to notice a shift in the people, opportunities, and love offers you attract as well – more fruitful and abundant. they align more with the lifestyle you've always wanted for yourself now that you're rejecting the projections and expectations that no longer serve who you are at the core. you will not be settling for less, pile one, that's for sure! i'm hearing that it's basically giving your pinterest boards come to life lol. i love that for you. things that you've been specifically journaling about and manifesting for yourself are going to come to you with no effort – it's almost going to be alarming. it's like you've been waiting, waiting, waiting, thinking someone was going to come along and shift your reality for you, when really you were the key all along.

i'm seeing a lot of yellow and orange, so your solar plexus and sacral chakra are going to be so fucking activated. you're going to be very selective and protective of your energy, as you should. you'll just be like, wow, what took me so long to lean more into this side of myself? it was necessary, though, because it opened your eyes to the world we live in and how you have to operate and not short-change yourself in spite of what others want or expect from you. some people might not like this transformation of yours, but that's simply not your problem, and those people are not on your same frequency. you already spark a lot of jealousy, but this energy shift right here?! whew. hoes mad, pile one! i'm like seeing tiktok edits in my head of the hot villainous characters like katherine pierce and jennifer check lmao. you're winning, and they're not, my loves!

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

ashwini, ballin' by partynextdoor, unhealthy codependency, anuradha, tall in height, 1st house, neptune energy, neptune-asc, blick sum by latto ft. playboi carti, manifest it, shatabisha, fashion/modeling industry. scorpio, aries, aquarius.

things have been seeming very redundant lately, pile two. you've been craving change for a while now. i'm picking up that you're really at your wits' end in regards to the job you're currently working at and/or all the responsibilities you have on your shoulders. you've been pushing yourself so hard, but you're starting to wonder if any of it was worth it because you're not seeing the payoff just yet. you might be feeling overlooked or undervalued at the moment, but i definitely see things changing for you.

i see a new job/financial opportunity making its way to you, and it aligns more with what you love to do. it's an offer definitely worth taking, pile two! this is the beginning of something that's going to catapult you to the next level. i see this one opportunity leading to an elevation of your life. it's a chance of a lifetime. you're closing out this current cycle of stagnancy and getting the ball rolling on your desires and the lifestyle you've always wanted for yourself. this isn't on a small scale either, this is huge. it's damn near like whiplash – so sudden and unexpected but very well deserved.

i see you gaining more friends and networking with people that advance you and pour into you as much as you pour into others. this is oddly specific, but i feel like some of you have some very mean-spirited co-workers around you. do not tell these people your plans or anything personal, because they really don't like you (projection because they really don't like themselves lol), and they're secretly sending you the evil eye. if you don't have an idea of who specifically this could be, just know they definitely smile in your face and pose as someone who likes you but say things behind your back that prove otherwise. they're not stopping shit though, so your spirit guides want me to tell you that you have nothing to worry about.

for my singles, i was also picking up on a new romantic suitor having their eyes on you. this person could have a charming and bit of a cocky vibe going for them – they usually like to be chased rather than do the chasing, but something about you is intriguing to them. for some of you that have just gotten out of a relationship, i see you have a couple of options to choose from. there's this energy of being amused and entertained. a lot of people are going to find you to be very irresistible, and the way you carry yourself so gracefully will have many heads turning.

for those of you that are in a committed relationship, i see you two becoming even closer and more vulnerable with each other. any walls you've built around yourself in fear of disappointment or regret will finally be dropped as you learn to trust not only yourself but your partner fully as well. one more thing i will say is that you should make sure you're budgeting your finances properly and remember to take care of any debts you may owe, okay? 444 on the clock. everything is working out in your favor you shall soon see.

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

6th house, krittika, dark skin, when one door closes another one opens, revati, transformation, jyestha sprung, ideal partner/dream person, taurus, pisces, scorpio moon, nasty by tinashe, fever by dua lipa & angèle.

you've really been keeping to yourself huh, pile three? you could be clashing a lot with your parents/family or just feeling misunderstood by the people closest to you. i feel like things have been a bit chaotic and unstable in your life, especially in regards to your home environment. one minute things are good, but when things get bad, they get pretty fucking bad. ugh, pile three.

i feel like you're very sensitive to your environment, and whatever is going on around you, you absorb it like a sponge. there's inner child wounds that you're working on, and it's really not easy, but your spirit guides want you to know that they're so fucking proud of you. you're doing the work that others weren't brave enough to do in order to heal yourself and your bloodline. some of you might have a very dysfunctional family, and it weighs heavy on you; most times you have to tiptoe around your emotions in order to keep the peace.

i'm also picking up that some of you might have older sibling syndrome – there's immense pressure and expectations put on you since you were a child. whatever the case may be, i feel like you actively doing the work is going to unlock a part of yourself you never really knew was inside. i can feel the passion, the dedication, and the motivation buzzing off you, pile three. 2025 is gonna be your year. the martian energy is strong in this pile. i feel like you had to learn the lessons and really sit back and observe the dynamics around you to come to the realization that NO, you do not want that for yourself and the ones that come after you. you want something stable, something emotionally fulfilling, something that makes you feel free in so many ways than one. you're a very compassionate and selfless person, and you will find someone who will pour equally into you as you do them.

this person that you're attracting is deeply committed, patient, financially secure, thoughtful, and extremely grounded. you'll never be an afterthought when it comes to this person – they'll support you and guide you (if you need them to) every step of the way. you're so used to figuring things out on your own and having to think for others, but this person wants you to simply relax and just be. i can see you pacing back and forth, venting to them, and just going on and on, listing every single thing you need to get done and do for this one and that one. and i can just see them sitting but rising to their feet and slowly walking over to you with this calm demeanor, putting their hands on your shoulders, and it's like everything melts away. they want me to reassure you that you're not alone – they want to carry the weight and release the burdens off of you because they recognize that no one has truly showed up and out for you the way you do for others. this is very beautiful energy, pile three.

as you step into this new chapter, you’ll realize that some of your past connections were often just bandaids for wounds you hadn’t healed yet. there’s a lot of clarity about your self-worth here. some of you might be working through daddy issues, and this healing is part of why you’re ready for a deeper love now. this is very specific and may not apply to all, but i keep picking up on pregnancy energy, so if you're ready for that, i do see potential for that with this person you're attracting. if not, then just be mindful of that lol. on the flip side, the person could have a kid, but again, this is just some scenarios i'm picking up on for a small fraction of you. i do see you getting long-awaited closure with a specific person or family member. when that happens, it’s going to feel like a massive weight has been lifted. pile three, this is your time to heal, grow, and attract the life and love you deserve. it’s so beautiful.

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

faking it by calvin harris ft. kehlani & lil yachty, bharani, pussy power, all of the answers are within you so trust yourself, big d energy, a father, purva ashada, having receipts, dhanishta, capricorn, aquarius, pyrmaids by frank ocean, sagittarius, aries, coffee fucking by miguel ft. wale.

mind over matter...hm. that's what i keep hearing, pile four. i feel like you're in your head about something regarding your work-life balance. it's like you deprive yourself of going out and having fun because you worry you'll be overspending or won't have enough time; but i feel like this mentality is causing you to miss out on some really fun moments and memories, especially with your friends.

you're very responsible (almost to a fault, according to your spirit guides lol), and because you're so practical and matter-of-fact, you don't give yourself enough room to be spontaneous and open. for example, if you just got off work and a friend invites you out, you might think about the laundry you could be doing or some work you could be catching up on instead of just saying, "fuck it, yeah, let's go have some fun." gatekeeping yourself isn’t going to get you very far, pile four.

you're meant to be seen, and you're meant to let your inner child run free and have fun. keeping yourself tucked away in your room or isolating yourself is doing more harm than good - your spirit guides really want you to know this. there are potential love interests you don’t even notice because you're not putting yourself out there enough! some of you might have bad social anxiety, and being around new energies might feel overwhelming, but your guides want you to know you can work through this, slowly but surely - you've just got to start somewhere.

your quirkiness could open so many doors for you, and you don’t even realize it yet. there are so many people you're destined to meet and connect with on a soul level because you have such a unique spirit. you have this way of making people feel seen and heard. if you're single, i feel like your next romantic connection will be incredibly healing in so many ways. some of your past lovers or friends might have made you feel misunderstood or undervalued, but that’s going to change. this is just a quick sidebar, but i feel like you’ve got people (unbeknownst to you) talking about you or your personal business. so, be careful who you confide in because not everyone is your friend, especially in a work or school environment. even if they don’t know anything about you, it seems like they’re speculating and gossiping about you with others.

but anyways i feel like this "mind over matter" mentality comes from wanting to control situations and outcomes, and while it’s great to have self-awareness and discernment, it can also be debilitating: if you let it. i feel like you’re about to start challenging yourself to socialize more and just not give a fuck. wherever the day or night takes you, it takes you. it doesn’t always have to be a club or party, but even if it is, you’re still giving yourself the freedom to have fun and live in the moment.

your job will still be there the next day, okay? your laundry too. but memories? they last forever. so please don’t deprive yourself of the good ones, pile four. you are so worthy of them.

OTHER CHANNELED MESSAGES:

hit me hard and soft album by billie eilish, vishaka, want more for yourself, magha, pay attention to the signs, moon energy, this person is manifesting you, pisces moon, purva phalguni, co-workers gossiping about you, leo, scorpio, libra, 11:11.

[ofbatsandballads]

have this thing I wrote in a flash of pure, unadulterated love for Jason that I felt while doing my hair routine after my shower. never needed a fictional guy more in all my life and honestly this may be my personal favorite thing I’ve ever written.

Thinking about domesticity with Jason Todd. Building a home with him, a life. How ever so gradually mine and yours becomes ours.

You’re brushing your teeth one morning and decide to try out his toothpaste, the one he always buys from the bodega down the block owned by the little abuelita that loves him to death. It’s fresh and it’s minty and you swear it leaves your teeth whiter than the brand name stuff you buy, so you let your tube get used up and never buy toothpaste again. Jason, without question, simply starts buying it twice as often as usual.

You’re fresh from the shower together after a night off for both of you. You’re warm and you’re happy and you’re both so in love it almost hurts. You watch enraptured as he towel dries his hair, roughly scrunching the water from his inky curls. You don’t like how he lacks gentleness with himself, so you take the towel from him and gesture for him to lean down. Ever obedient to you, Jason complies and smiles softly as you dry his hair for him. You think suddenly that while his curls are always soft to the touch, they could do with being a bit more defined. They tend to get really frizzy and poofy by the end of the day. So you grab your curl cream and gel and just absentmindedly do your own routine on him. He raises his eyebrow in question only to quickly relent when he realizes it means you’re playing with his hair for longer. Your hunch is right; once his hair dries, his curls are so pretty you think you could get lost in the waves of them. Jason’s just happy cause now his hair smells like you.

The only clothes Jason has that are his now is his Red Hood gear. The rest of his closet has quickly become co-owned by you. His brain never fails to short circuit when you walk out in his hoodies, or his sweatpants, or his t-shirts, or his boxers. There’s not one piece of his civilian clothing that hasn’t been on both of your bodies at this point. Sometimes seeing you in his clothes has Jason blushing and his heart pounding with how much he loves you, how grateful he is to have this life with you. Other times seeing you in his clothes has him calculating the fastest way he can get them all off of you. You’re just disappointed that it can’t go both ways. But, alas, the struggles of having a massive boyfriend are that he’ll never be able to fit in your clothes. Whatever; it still does something for you when he finally wears the old Gotham Knights shirt that you’d stolen for months.

It’s also kind of funny sometimes. You two own a set of old, dark gray towels affectionately labeled “The Blood Towels”. The Blood Towels are only brought out after a really rough patrol or post-showering when you’re on your period. They came about after you’d nearly slipped while soaking wet from how quickly you’d tried to dry off to avoid bleeding on his good, fluffy towels. Jason just looked at you like you were a little ditzy, a flat “Do ya know how many times I’ve bled on these towels?” coming from his mouth. “I don’t care! I still don’t wanna ruin them!” you’d insisted. And thus, The Blood Towels were born.

Your bookshelf is never going to stop growing. You’ve actually had to go to IKEA more than once to get a larger one with how often you and Jay visit the old bookstore two blocks away from your apartment. Neither of you can resist a pretty cover, or a new annotated edition, or, heaven forbid, those rare, expensive first edition copies. At this point you’re not really sure which of the five copies of Pride and Prejudice first belonged to who, but really what does it matter when you’re both reading them anyways? And it’s always funny when you have to drag home a bigger bookshelf. You can never hold your laughter when Jason inevitably shouts “What the fuck! This wouldn’t be so goddamn hard if they actually gave you coherent instructions!” It’s also always nice to drag the old bookshelves to the apartment of the single mom downstairs whose kid loves reading. You both know she can barely afford the second hand books she gets him, so the shelves are happily given. You’re actually thinking of asking Jay if he’s willing to part with one of your first edition copies of Frankenstein for Christmas; the kid would freak.

All of this comes to a head with a cat. A big, fat, black cat that crawls up on your fire escape one night. You’d both been a little distracted–okay, a lot distracted by the feeling of being lost in each other's touch. You’d been making out for over an hour, just relishing in the intimacy of being together. It was definitely going to go somewhere until you heard the caterwauling of an animal outside your window. “The fuck is that?” Jason had asked as he pulled away from kissing bruises into your neck. “Sounds like a cat.” You’d begged, actually begged, Jason to let him stay. The next morning you came home with a grocery bag full of cat toys and bowls while Jason hauled a value-sized 40 pound bag of cat food on his shoulder. Atticus sits with you both while you watch TV now. Atticus still sometimes ruins the mood when he sees Jason sink his teeth into you and immediately swats his dad on the cheek. But Atticus is also undeniably your boy. And whatever, maybe you do start thinking about what Jason would look like with an actual baby in his arms when he’s cradling Atty as he shuffles around your home. But there’s time for that yet. You both know that. You know that beyond anything else, you’ll always have this life, this home together. It’s the best gift either of you have ever been given.

[puckstories]

Boyfriend Headcannons | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Fluff, that's it I think. Edited only once.

Summary; What I think Quinn would be like as a boyfriend (:

Word Count; 3.1k

Author’s note; Enjoyed writing this so much, also considering writing a nsfw version if anyone would be interested. As per usual, any thoughts or reblogs are greatly appreciated (: -Honey

Boyfriend Quinn, who absolutely lives for affection.

He’s not always the most vocal about it, but the way he craves your touch, your kisses, your warmth—it’s in the little things he does. Quinn has this quiet, relaxed way of seeking affection that makes your heart swell every single time. He doesn’t always ask for it with words; most of the time, he doesn’t need to.

You’ve learned to recognize his silent cues by now. Whenever he wants a kiss, he won’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he’ll simply stop whatever he’s doing and turn toward you, his soft hazel eyes locking onto yours, and then he’ll tilt his head ever so slightly, his lips gently pouting in that way that’s both completely endearing and impossible to resist. He’ll just look at you with that silent, expectant expression, waiting patiently for you to indulge him, because he knows you almost always do.

And how could you not?

Sometimes, he’ll be subtle about it—like when you’re both curled up on the couch, watching a movie. You’ll feel him shift beside you, and when you glance over, there he is, his lips pushed out just a little, eyes soft and hopeful, his attention fully on you. It’s a request, his gentle way of saying, "Come here, kiss me." You’ll roll your eyes playfully, but inside, your heart melts every time. You lean in, pressing your lips against his, and you can feel the contentment in the way his body relaxes, the way his hand automatically finds yours and squeezes, as if thanking you without a single word spoken.

Other times, he’s a bit more bold, more obvious—like when you’re cooking in the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables or stirring something on the stove. You’ll be focused on whatever task you have at hand, and you won’t even notice him sneaking up behind you. He’ll come up and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, and before you even have a chance to say anything, you feel it. He presses his lips to your neck, soft and gentle, and then pulls away just enough to turn his face toward you, lips already slightly puckered, waiting. He doesn’t say a word, but his intentions are clear.

You’ll try to ignore him at first, teasing him, pretending you’re too busy with dinner to give in to his unspoken request. But he’s persistent. He’ll squeeze you a little tighter, nuzzle into your neck, maybe even let out a small, exaggerated sigh to get your attention. And when you finally turn your head, there he is again—pouty lips, soft eyes, silently waiting for the kiss he knows he’s going to get. You give in, every time. You can’t help it.

"Okay, okay," you’ll say with a laugh, turning your head to press your lips against his, giving him exactly what he wants. The way his lips curl into a smile against yours tells you just how satisfied he is.

It’s not just the way he asks for kisses, though. Quinn is equally generous when it comes to giving affection, and he loves surprising you with it at the most random times. You could be in the middle of reading a book or scrolling through your phone, completely absorbed, and suddenly, you’ll feel his presence beside you. He’ll lean in, wrapping his arms around you gently, his hands resting at your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug. No reason. No explanation. Just because he can. Just because he wants to.

And it’s those moments that catch you off guard the most—the way he showers you with love so effortlessly, so naturally. He never needs an excuse. For Quinn, giving you affection is as simple as breathing. It’s the way he expresses his love, the way he reminds you how much he adores you, even without saying a word.

It's in the way, he loves being close to you. He always finds a reason to touch you—whether it’s holding your hand, resting his head on your lap, or draping his arm over your shoulders when you’re sitting beside each other. He’s not clingy, but there’s a need for contact that’s just so Quinn—that gentle, understated craving for connection. And you’re always happy to give it to him, knowing that being close to you is where he feels most at home.

When he’s tired, he’s even more affectionate. After a long day of practice or a tough game, you’ll find him seeking you out the moment he steps through the door. He’ll drop his bag, kick off his shoes, and walk straight to you, wrapping you up in his arms without a word. He won’t even need to say he missed you, because the way he pulls you close, burying his face in your neck, says it all. And when he’s feeling particularly worn out, he’ll simply press his lips to your forehead or your cheek, a quiet sigh escaping him as he relaxes into your touch.

And then there are the nights when he’s lying next to you in bed, the room dark and quiet, both of you just on the edge of sleep. That’s when Quinn is at his softest. He’ll roll over, pulling you closer, his lips brushing over your temple or your shoulder, and you’ll feel his gentle pouting, his silent plea for one last kiss before he drifts off. You oblige him every time, pressing your lips to his in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, and he’ll hum contentedly, his body relaxing completely as sleep finally overtakes him.

Quinn never needs to say much when it comes to affection—his actions speak louder than words ever could. The way he seeks out your touch, the way he silently asks for your kisses, the way he gives so freely of himself—it’s all a testament to how deeply he loves you, how much he cares about you.

Boyfriend Quinn, who always does the little things for you.

It’s in the smallest, most thoughtful gestures that Quinn shows his love, the kinds of things that make your heart swell and remind you just how lucky you are to have him in your life.

Take winter, for example. As soon as the first snow starts to fall, Quinn’s mind is already on you—making sure you’re taken care of, even when it comes to something as simple as the driveway or your car. He hates the thought of you standing out in the freezing cold, shivering as you scrape ice off your windshield in the early morning before work. So, whenever he’s home and able to, Quinn is always up before you, dressed in his thick jacket and boots, quietly heading outside while you’re still bundled up in bed.

By the time you’re awake and getting ready for the day, the driveway is already clear, the snow neatly shoveled into piles, and your car’s windshield is free of snow and ice. It’s not something he ever makes a big deal about—he doesn’t even mention it, really. You’ll only realize what he’s done when you look out the window and see the work he’s put in, your breath fogging up the glass as you smile to yourself, heart warmed by his thoughtfulness.

You always try to thank him, but Quinn just waves it off like it’s no big deal. "I don’t mind," he’ll say with that soft smile of his. "I just want to make things a little easier for you." And that’s the essence of Quinn—he’s always thinking about how to make your life better, how to take even the smallest burdens off your shoulders, whether it’s clearing the snow or making sure you don’t have to start your day on the wrong foot.

Then, there are the flowers. Every week, without fail, Quinn makes sure to pick up your favorite flowers when he’s out. It’s not a grand gesture, not some big bouquet delivered to your door—just a simple bunch of fresh flowers that he knows will brighten your day. Sometimes, they’re the ones you’ve always loved: delicate peonies, bright sunflowers, or soft, fragrant roses, depending on the season. Other times, he surprises you with something different—wildflowers from the local market or a mix of colors that remind him of you.

The best part is always when he walks in with them, his face lighting up just as much as yours does when he sees your reaction. He loves the way your eyes widen and the way your lips curl into that smile he adores, the one that makes his whole day feel brighter. "You didn’t have to do that," you always say, even though you both know how much you love it when he does. And Quinn just shrugs, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter or the dining room table with an easy grin.

"I like seeing you smile," he says simply, as though that’s all the explanation he needs. And it is—because, to him, these little moments of joy he brings into your life are worth everything.

It’s the same when it comes to things like the dishes. Quinn is the type of boyfriend who doesn’t just pitch in around the house—he takes care of the things he knows you hate. Like dishes. You’ve always hated doing them. It’s that one chore that gets under your skin, and you’ve made it no secret that scrubbing pots and pans is not your idea of fun. Quinn knows this, and so even on nights when he’s the one who cooked dinner, he’ll always make sure to handle the cleanup, too.

"Go relax," he’ll say, waving you off when you try to help. "I’ve got this."

You’ll protest, of course—after all, he’s already done the cooking, and it doesn’t seem fair for him to do it all. But Quinn is stubborn in the best possible way. He’ll roll up his sleeves and start running the water, ignoring your half-hearted attempts to convince him otherwise.

"You hate doing dishes," he’ll remind you with a smile, "and I don’t mind them. Plus, you always do so much for me." And that’s Quinn—always thinking about balance, about making sure you’re taken care of. He knows how much you appreciate the little things, and to him, doing the dishes after dinner is just another way of showing he loves you.

And then, there are the texts. When Quinn’s away for away games, his schedule is packed, and the time zone differences don’t always work in your favor. But he never lets that stop him from staying connected with you. No matter how busy his day gets, no matter how late it is, he always makes sure to send you a good morning and goodnight text, without fail.

Sometimes they’re simple—“Good morning, baby. Hope you have a great day.”—just a little reminder that he’s thinking about you, even when he’s miles away. Other times, they’re more playful—“Wish I was in our bed, I miss your icicle feet”—a teasing note to keep things light even in the middle of a long road trip. And when he’s too tired to string together a full sentence, it’s just a quick “Miss you” with a heart emoji, but that’s all it takes to remind you how much he cares.

He’ll always send these texts right before he crashes into bed, no matter how late or how exhausted he is. And when you wake up in the morning, knowing he’s already thinking about you from wherever he is, it never fails to make your heart skip a beat. It’s the small things like this that mean the most—how, even in the chaos of his life, Quinn makes sure you know you’re never far from his mind.

Boyfriend Quinn, who loves taking you on dates.

Whenever he has an off day, the first thing that crosses his mind is you. He always makes sure to check in with you first, sending you a quick text during the day or giving you a call, gauging how your day is going and whether you’re feeling up for it.

"How's work today? Not too tired? Feel like going out later?"

You never have to guess if he's planning, because you know Quinn's always thinking about how to make the most of his time off with you. It’s his way of creating balance in his life, something steady and beautiful amidst the chaotic whirl of hockey schedules, travel, and games. And even if you’ve had a long day at work, the thought of spending the evening with him—of getting out of the house, hand-in-hand, with nowhere else to be but together—always gives you the energy to say yes.

Most of the time, the two of you keep things casual, finding comfort in the familiar. Your favorite go-to is a small diner just a short drive away, the kind of place that feels like a second home. The staff knows your names, and there’s always that corner booth waiting for you two, tucked away enough for a little privacy. It’s not fancy, but it’s yours. The menu is simple—burgers, fries, milkshakes—but it never fails to hit the spot after a long week. There’s something cozy about it, something that makes you both feel grounded. You’ll sit across from each other, sharing fries and talking about everything and nothing, laughing over inside jokes that no one else would get.

But occasionally, Quinn likes to change things up. There are times when, instead of texting you about grabbing dinner at the diner, he’ll tell you something a little different: “Dress fancy tonight. I’ve got a surprise for you.” You can almost hear the excitement in his voice, even over text.

When Quinn decides to take you somewhere nice, it’s an event. He puts thought into every detail, planning a reservation at a restaurant you both love but don’t visit often—maybe that elegant spot downtown with the candlelit tables and soft jazz playing in the background. He’s a romantic at heart, even if he doesn’t always show it in obvious ways. On those nights, he wants to make sure everything feels just a little more special.

One of the best parts is the little ritual the two of you have before your fancier dates. Even though you live together, Quinn always insists on getting ready in the guest bedroom, leaving you to get dressed in the room you share. It’s his way of adding an element of surprise, a way to keep things exciting. He loves the idea of seeing your outfit for the first time when you come downstairs, just like on your earlier dates, when everything was still new.

The guest bedroom becomes his own little prep space. He’ll spread out his suit jacket or freshly ironed button-down on the bed, taking his time to make sure everything looks just right. Quinn isn’t the type to obsess over his appearance, but on these nights, he pays a little extra attention to the details—whether it’s making sure his tie is perfectly knotted (though, he rarely wears one anymore) or his cologne is subtle but present. He knows how much you love when he dresses up, and honestly, he loves seeing that look in your eyes when you see him standing there, ready for the night.

Meanwhile, in your shared room, you’re just as focused, choosing the perfect dress and making sure your hair and makeup are done to perfection. There’s a thrill in getting ready separately, knowing that in just a few minutes, you’ll come downstairs and have that little moment of reveal. It’s a simple tradition, but it always makes the evening feel a bit more magical.

When you finally step out of the bedroom, your heart always flutters with anticipation. You make your way downstairs, and there he is—standing by the door, looking impossibly handsome in his suit or tailored shirt, his eyes brightening the moment they land on you. It’s like time stops for a second. Quinn’s not one to gush, but the way his lips part slightly and that small, slow smile spreads across his face says everything you need to know.

"Wow," he’ll say softly, his eyes taking you in as if he’s seeing you for the first time. "You look... amazing."

You can’t help but smile back, your cheeks warming at the compliment. "You clean up pretty well yourself," you’ll tease, though you can’t deny how much you love seeing him like this—dressed up, standing there with that look of admiration in his eyes.

He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and without a word, he’ll reach for your hand, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss—just a little gesture to avoid messing up your lipstick, but one that makes your heart skip a beat every time. It’s these small, quiet moments of affection that make Quinn’s love feel so real, so genuine.

And then, off you go, stepping out into the evening together, hand in hand, as the world seems to fall away. The restaurant is just a short drive, and the conversation flows easily between you, filled with laughter and teasing. When you arrive, the ambiance of the restaurant is perfect—low lighting, the hum of quiet conversations around you, and the soft clink of glasses and silverware. But for you, the real magic of the evening isn’t just the atmosphere or the delicious food—it’s the fact that you’re with him, that Quinn has gone out of his way to make this night special for no reason other than wanting to spend time with you.

Throughout the meal, he’ll reach across the table, his fingers brushing against yours, or he’ll lean in to whisper something that makes you laugh, that private smile playing on his lips. He loves these moments—the ones where it’s just the two of you, away from the rush of life, enjoying each other’s company in a way that feels intimate and timeless.

And when the night is over and you’re both back home, the magic of the evening doesn’t fade. Quinn always makes sure to cap off the date in the sweetest way possible. He’ll pull you in close, his arms wrapping around you as he presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering something like, "I had fun tonight," in that casual, endearing way of his.

[voparwave69]

Destroyed my grandma and her husband's life with my boyfriend

Destroyed that guy who made me have to be homeless for a week or so's life with my boyfriend

Boyfriend got a fantastic job

Made lots of meals that my baby tiger loved with my boyfriend, discovered he loves ghee and almonds

Made a mochi that he loved even more than last year with my boyfriend

Got a free treadmill

Owned my mom hard with my boyfriend

Figured out my gender stuff after being repressed for years with the help of my boyfriend

Got back into "art" and made lots of new friends who I adore (that's yall :o) ) after my boyfriend suggested I post it on Tumblr instead of Fscebook

Even watched my editing style get spread around which is literally an immense fucking honor

Owned my landlord a couple of times with my boyfriend

Minorly owned another hater with my boyfriend

Watched my boyfriend own another hater hard

Got better at meditating and mantras with my boyfriend

Invented a new style called jungle goth

Got called Gamzee a billion times

Got sent a trillion asks by my awesome good pals

Had people make me fucking art, just cuz they wanted to. Like even a motherfucking painting. What a fucking honor. What fucking great people have I had the privilege to meet :'o)

Got treated like a queen at the fair by my boyfriend who won me a billion prizes

Became Moldzee because of my very fucking great mutual

Almost got my niece to say "honk"

Got my brother to stop being a dick with my boyfriebd

Got clean off pills with my boyfriends help

Minorly owned another hater with my boyfriend

Bought my baby tiger a daisy necklace, a damaroo, and matching tiger hello kitties that I painted bindis on all with my boyfriebds help

Got a peacock feather

Had plenty of sexy moments

Was doted on lots and generally treated like a queen

Got to become community mom, my boyfriend always tells me I'm through and through a mom, and even in smaller ways I see it happen over and over

Honestly this year was rough but as I describe it I really had so many wonderful moments, I'm so happy that my life really has become so happy :o)

if you see this post you are obligated to reblog and tell me something good that happened to you this year

[quarterlifekitty]

Something, something, König picking up gaming in his free time, not uncommon for an older guy especially with a cute little thing who has a nice set up for gaming and he absolutely takes to it with flying colours. Kinda pissing you off how he’s gotten leagues better than you at one of your favourites in such a short amount of time. So when that skin you absolutely NEED drops you’re going insane grinding for it. It’s frustrating too because all the sweats have come out of the woodwork to grind for it too, leading to a lot of swearing and groaning on your end, coincidentally, König’s free time aligns and he’s more than happy to help you grind the tougher parts if you sit pretty on his lap and drain his pent cock.

What’s better than two stress relievers when he comes home from a high tension workplace environment?

(Bonus points if he’s your weird online long distance boyfriend who definitely told you an age younger than what’s on his ID and the place he comes home to is just your apartment that he decided was his too.)

Brother. The way this ask is in my mind. I would like to preface this by saying if you or a loved one is playing a video game with microtransactions and limited edition skin drops it’s not too late to get help. We can beat this together.

cw: he’s kind of a creep in this. Red flags abound. Somno/dubcon type stuff

Gonna make a couple of amendments to this one if that’s ok. 1) König is never going to be a god gamer because his hands are too fucking big and also I WANNA BE THE DOMINANT GAMER IN THE RELATIONSHIP. My ass is carrying HIM in apex. I don’t care that he knows how to shoot real guns. Don’t take this away from me

2) while he didn’t outright lie about his age, he did not say shit that would lead you to believe this man was over 40. He shared very few details about his personal life. Just that he was in the military, Austrian, and now? A gamer. Those are all the hallmarks of being a man in his 20s! Except the Austrian thing— that can happen to anyone.

I like to imagine he treats you like his discord kitten tho. You ask how old he is and he’s like “I’m an adult, if that’s what you’re worried about” or “old enough” or “don’t worry about it” and you say “okay 💖 yay 💖”

And he’s 100% your sugar daddy. Constantly buying you games just so you can co-op with him, gifting you in-game currency to spend on battle passes, absolutely ravaging your wishlist— steam, amazon, or otherwise.

He finds himself in your area for work and you tell him your address so he can meet up with you.

And you’re kind of a stupid femcel so when this dude shows up at your door, almost seven feet tall and wearing a surgical mask, scarred face with a healthy grey streak in his hair, it’s not setting off any alarm bells. There’s like at least 5 red flags here but you’re colorblind and inviting him in.

You didn’t realize that he was planning on staying with you while he was in the area. You also didn’t realize that the moment he found out he’d be stationed near you, he decided it was time to take your relationship to the next level.

Which is how you end up stretched out on his cock on the same day that you met in person for the first time, with him grunting in your ear about how he dreamed of this— thought of it every time he jerked off when you fell asleep during a discord call. He could tell just from your voice that you’d be pretty and soft and tight and perfect for him— and he was ready to settle down.

Good thing you didn’t really have any plans for the rest of your life, or you might find how fast he moves a little scary.

So it makes sense that you’re still a little shy. Too nervous to initiate things usually. So he just has to motivate you a little.

This skin’s an exclusive, can’t be earned with currency, and available as a drop for just 7 days. You can’t put in the hours to get it on your own, not to mention how tedious it is, and it can’t be bought. But it’s so cute.

So he makes the offer. He’ll spend his precious leave time helping you earn it if you keep his cock warm while he does it. He’d initially planned on using that time to rearrange your guts, so you’re gonna have to make it worth his while.

And maybe you exaggerate a little. You’re used to saying these things over calls— where nothing has any repercussions in the real world. Where you can promise anything from the safety of being on a screen a world away.

You tell him you’ll let him do whatever he wants to you if he can get that skin for you. After a moment you realize the implications of saying that to someone who can and will hold you down and make out with your cervix using the tip of his cock.

He borrows one of your elastics to tie back his hair.

He’s gonna get you that skin. And then he’s gonna get you pregnant.

You did say anything.

[embbarnes]

Подарок. | W.S

summary: You give the soldier a present for Christmas.

warnings: Fluff & Angst | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Post!CA:TWS | PTSD mentions | Mention of medical treatments | Recovery | Brief talk of nightmares

a/n: Sort of unofficial part two to Sugar Plums since I had a few people asking for a part two. Same universe I guess, with some time between. Uhh probably rushed idk. To be edited later. ;; wc: 3.3k

Recovery.

Fickle, fragile, exhausting.

He gradually accepted being called Bucky, though the name stirred something uncomfortable within him each time it reached his ears. Steve, ever persistent and hopeful, would use various versions of the name - Bucky, Buck, or sometimes James - in his unwavering attempts to resurrect the friend he once knew, unable to accept that the Bucky from his memories had faded away like footprints in snow.

Winter had completely erased the old Bucky.

While these names would trigger a subtle internal struggle, he maintained an almost perfect mask of indifference, with only the slightest furrowing of his brow betraying any sign of his inner turmoil.

You, however, carefully navigated between calling him Bucky and Soldat, aware that using his old code name might reinforce programming you wished to help him break free from. Yet there was a slight relaxation in his shoulders when you used the familiar designation, the way it seemed to ease the constant tension he carried made it impossible to completely abandon - his comfort, however small, had become your priority.

Even if that comfort stemmed from a dehumanizing name.

It required negotiation and persistent discussions to convince Tony to finally allow the soldier access to the medbay wing for his necessary medical treatments. Despite the soldier's extended stay in the tower passing without any concerning incidents, Tony maintained a strong hesitation about providing medical assistance. His deeply-rooted skepticism and apparent distrust were sources of frustration for you, though you consciously chose to avoid escalating the situation into a full-blown argument, knowing it would only make matters more complicated.

You had already gotten into intense scuffles with Tony over the soldier’s stay, how he needed to be looked over, physically and internally. The dislocated arm Steve caused never healed, and he had been carrying his arm awkwardly close to his body. Other physical injuries on top of the apparent dehydration and malnourishment, he was constantly under a veil of sickness.

The situation was particularly delicate because Soldat struggled with being in the presence of the other tower residents. He was acutely aware of how everyone seemed to cautiously moderate their behavior around him, treating each interaction as if they were navigating through a minefield of potential triggers. Like they were walking along eggshells every time they were near him.

It felt like he was walking on glass.

You were his only source of comfort, though traces of caution still lingered in his demeanor. He knew you posed no threat to his wellbeing. You had been patient and gentle the entire time, regardless of his panic or prone sense to lash out if he got stressed enough.

Long nights stretched endlessly in the sterile medbay rooms, where you faithfully maintained your vigil in the uncomfortable chair positioned beside the standard-issue medical bed. The soldier’s bed remained empty, as he consistently chose to rest on the cold floor instead. Sleep was an elusive companion for him, a nightly battle he rarely won. More often than not, his rest was violently interrupted by his own terrified screams or desperate shouts, his body jerking upright with defensive movements, arms swinging at invisible threats.

You would spend countless minutes trying everything in your power to bring him back to reality and calm his frantic state. Sometimes, despite your best efforts and gentle words, the situation would escalate beyond your ability to manage, forcing the medical staff on standby to intervene with sedatives to prevent him from unintentionally causing harm during these episodes.

Luckily his recovery progressed slowly but surely, transitioning from those intensive IV treatments in the clinical environment of the medbay to the more comfortable setting of your personal quarters. His sleeping arrangements evolved as gradually as his treatment; first from the hard floor, then to the modest couch tucked against the far wall, and finally to your bed.

These days, he found his rest beside you each night, his body instinctively seeking comfort by curling close to yours, desperately trying to make up for all those decades of disturbed sleep and haunted dreams.

Over time, his attachment to you had grown increasingly intense, and he began experiencing waves of jealousy whenever your attention was directed elsewhere. You helped around the tower a lot, so you tended to be distracted with tasks or aiding in another’s need. The soldier didn’t like it, so he began leaving his mark on you. It started subtly at first, he would rub your clothes on himself, in his mind it was good enough that you smelled like him. He saw it in a documentary once, of animals, but he had been in such a dehumanized state for so long, it made sense to him. His body’s scent on you, others would back off. That would work.

But, no, it wasn’t enough.

One day, crossing an unspoken boundary between you, he started placing love bites along your skin, positioning these tender marks from your neck down to your shoulders, eventually becoming bold enough to venture lower, marking your chest with these plum bruises.

The possessive displays sent warmth coursing through your body, and you willingly accepted his territorial behavior. After all, you had become his sole source of comfort and security in this world, making it perfectly natural for him to want to claim you in some way - whether through his distinctive scent (you knew about him rubbing your clothes on his body) or these carefully placed marks. His need to establish this connection, to make his claim visible, he was terrified you’d be taken from him.

Progress was being made in your relationship.

While he was still cautious with physical contact, he had begun to allow gentle touches and brief moments of closeness, though always within carefully maintained boundaries. He was like a cat, deciding when he wanted physical attention and when he wanted it to stop. The challenge of memory recovery remained a significant hurdle in his healing process. You had to help him remember specific things, he often mixed Russian and English, or plainly forgot the simplest of words.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what a pillow was.

When Steve would speak to him, sharing stories and memories of their past, Bucky would often find himself lost in confusion, unable to connect with the vivid recollections that Steve so enthusiastically shared. The determination in Steve's eyes was evident as he tried desperately to help his lost friend remember the bond they once shared, but for Bucky, these memories remained frustratingly out of reach.

Steve's enthusiasm was well-intentioned, but sometimes, it manifested as an overwhelming flood of information and expectations. You could sense Bucky's growing distress during these interactions, the way his shoulders would tense, how his eyes would dart anxiously around the room. The stark reality was that Bucky's memories of Steve were minimal at best, yet Steve continued to share detailed accounts of their past experiences with increasing intensity.

Your became a careful mediator, providing emotional support to Bucky while gently helping Steve understand that his passionate approach was more hindering rather than helping the delicate process of memory recovery.

Bucky would get frustrated with himself during his journey of recovery. His collection of journals became a sanctuary for his fragmented memories, filled with carefully preserved photographs (provided by Steve), detailed notes written in an unsteady hand, and hastily scrawled thoughts or recollections that would suddenly surface from the depths of his consciousness throughout all hours of the day and night. These journals became both a source of comfort and torment, evidence of his struggle to piece himself back together like a puzzle without a photo.

Even with help from you or Steve, he maintained strict control over his recovery process. He deliberately chose not to document anything that Steve mentioned or tried to convince him of, instead focusing solely on recording memories that emerged organically from within his own mind.

Having experienced decades of mental manipulation, he didn’t want anyone influencing his thoughts or memories ever again. He couldn't bring himself to simply accept Steve's version of events without questioning them, needing to verify everything through his own recollections.

You knew it hurt Steve to see Bucky this way, how he refused to listen or believe him, but you couldn’t blame the man. Either of them, really. It was delicate, it took a lot of patience on everyone’s part.

Bucky’s dedication to recovering his past manifested in sleepless marathons that would stretch on for days at a time. The soldier within him approached the task with military precision, attempting to reconstruct his shattered memories in a specific manner. Yet despite his efforts, the majority of his recollections remained disjointed and fractured, with memories of his time with HYDRA dominating his consciousness more than anything else.

While Bucky was trying to recall his elusive past, you dedicated yourself to helping him build new neural pathways and retain more recent experiences, hoping to make his daily life more manageable and give him a sense of independence. The simplest tasks had become foreign territory for him - the muscle memory and basic understanding of everyday activities having slipped away like water through cupped hands. Modern appliances like microwaves, coffee makers, or the oven had become objects that he approached with confusion.

His relationship with food had become particularly concerning. Unable to prepare proper meals, you would find him furtively consuming makeshift sandwiches, but only when he believed he could finish them before being discovered. His posture during meals was hunched, protectively positioning himself over his plate or bowl, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming pace, his entire body tense as though preparing to defend his meal from unseen threats.

Food aggression, apparently, wasn't restrictive to just animals.

Among the numerous concerns, his recurring nightmares stood out as the most troubling and pressing issue. The frequency and intensity of these night terrors had become increasingly worrisome, regardless of how well he had progressed otherwise.

Night after night, his anguished screams would pierce the darkness, and these episodes gradually evolved into extended periods where sleep became completely impossible for him to achieve. Bucky would remain awake for days and nights at a stretch, fighting against his own exhaustion, scribbling nonsense into his journals until his body would finally surrender and he would collapse into a brief, troubled slumber.

This cycle would repeat, each time more severe than the last.

Your began looking into different methods that might help ease his troubled sleep so that Bucky could experience the simple luxury of peaceful rest. Your research led you through a wide array of options; from various herbal teas and natural sleep remedies to more conventional medical interventions. However, given his strong aversion to pharmaceutical solutions, you deliberately steered clear of medication-based approaches, knowing they would likely be met with resistance.

Over time, you discovered that a soothing routine of warm herbal tea and gentle companionship proved to be an effective remedy for his nightmares. The nightly ritual of sharing your sleeping space had become second nature, and you observed how this consistent presence brought him the comfort and stability his life lacked for seven decades. His sleep patterns were delicately intertwined with his emotional state, thus during periods of anxiety or perceived threat, his rest would become noticeably disturbed and fitful.

However, your unwavering presence served as a constant source of reassurance, creating a safe haven where he could finally find peaceful rest. Plus, it helped him regain new memories to write down and you could see how proud he was every time he recounted something from his past.

Christmas morning.

Every corner and crevice of the tower sparkled with festive décor, tinsel draped from every available surface, and twinkling lights illuminated the halls in a dazzling display. It was an extravagant winter wonderland that bordered on excessive, but that was exactly Tony's style - he approached every holiday with unbridled enthusiasm, and Christmas was undoubtedly his crowning achievement.

With his seemingly limitless resources at his disposal, there was nothing holding him back from creating the most elaborate celebrations possible.

Aka…he was rich so he could.

In contrast to Tony's lavish approach, you took a more modest approach when it came to gift-giving. The act of receiving presents always made you somewhat uncomfortable, as you found far more joy in being the one doing the giving. You selected meaningful presents for each team member, carefully considering their individual interests and preferences. You couldn't match Tony's extravagant spending (something he never failed to remind everyone of that morning), but you firmly believed that the genuine thought and personal consideration behind a gift carried far more significance than its monetary value (Tony disagrees).

Bucky perched uncomfortably at the far end of the plush couch, his posture tense and rigid while the other team members enthusiastically tore through their wrapped presents with childlike excitement. Your general annoyance with Tony's characteristic swagger and showmanship failed you this morning, a warmth spread through your chest at the genuine joy radiating from Pepper's face when she discovered the exquisite diamond ring he had carefully selected for her and presented after she freed it from the tight wrapping paper.

You stayed by Bucky all morning, carefully observing his reactions to the bustling holiday atmosphere. It was clear he was struggling to process the overwhelming sensory experience and you didn’t blame him. The twinkling lights and shimmering tinsel to the constant chatter and laughter of the group, on top of holiday music and the smells of breakfast and baked goods from the kitchen, were surely a lot to process. His discomfort grew and you recognized the telltale signs of sensory overload in his slightly widened eyes and shallow breathing. The social expectations was clearly taking its toll.

He had wanted to try, he wanted to sit down with you that morning, but he had been struggling.

Your gift pile was modest, exactly as you had requested. You insisted that presents weren't necessary, you found yourself the recipient of a generously stuffed Christmas stocking and an assortment of small, meaningful items carefully chosen by your teammates in a way that made it impossible for you to object to their kindness.

When Steve presented Bucky with a collection of carefully preserved mementos from their past, but the soldier's response wasn’t what he wanted. His eyes fixed on the items that should have sparked recognition, should have ignited memories of happier times, but instead were met with blank confusion and growing distress. You sensed the uncomfortable scene and noticed the mounting anxiety in Bucky's expression, you decided to intervene with a present you got for him.

"Here, I got this for you." You handed him a carefully wrapped bag with delicate tissue paper peeking out from the top, rustling softly with each movement. "Nothing all that special but...I figured it might be nice to have something like this." You replied gently, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness as you watched him, waiting with anticipation for him to open the gift.

Bucky held the bag tentatively, his eyes fixed on the festive baby blue packaging adorned with an intricate pattern of darker blue ornaments. The glitter-coated decorations caught the light as they spiraled across the surface of the bag. He had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes, his hand slowly reached up and grasped the white tissue paper that had been carefully arranged at the top, concealing the gift. He pulled it free, soft crinkling sounded as he removed it.

He reached into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushing against something soft before grasping it. As he drew it out, his hand revealed a charming stuffed elephant, its plush grey body soft to the touch. The toy was perfectly proportioned, with endearing fat limbs that dangled naturally from its tear-shaped body. Its oversized ears flopped gently and its trunk curved in a friendly manner that seemed to welcome embrace. The stuffed animal sat comfortably in his hands, sized just right for holding close and cuddling.

"Elephants are known for their memories, you know." You gave him a gentle, encouraging nudge, your voice soft and hopeful. "Who knows? Maybe having this elephant around will help spark some of those lost memories of yours. They say elephants never forget, after all."

Bucky turned to face you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. His eyes held that familiar, guarded look the soldier usually carried - a careful blend of wariness and interest that never quite revealed his inner thoughts. He examined the stuffed toy with an almost childlike fascination, as if encountering one for the first time.

His flesh hand explored every detail of the plush elephant with careful attention, fingers trailing along the soft fabric. He wrapped them around the trunk, testing its flexibility, then moved to rub the floppy ears between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezing the body gently as if checking its softness.

"There's something else too." You smiled warmly, gesturing toward the bag with enthusiasm. "Go ahead, take another look." He complied, reaching in until his hand emerged clutching a brand new journal. Following the theme, the journal was decorated in a soothing light blue shade, its cover stamped with a delicately printed elephant in the center. "I noticed your other journals were getting pretty full, so I thought you might need a fresh start. This one's got plenty of space, lots of room for all those thoughts and memories you want to keep safe."

His hands gently set the items down after examining each one carefully, his eyes lingering on every detail as if trying to memorize them. Then he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "You...got these...for me." Bucky spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen, as if he was having trouble processing the simple act of kindness. "To help me remember?"

"And, the elephant will be a nice cuddle buddy for those long nights you tend to have," you explained softly, watching his reaction. "It has special infusions of lavender and bergamot oils that I picked specifically to help you sleep better. The aromatherapy might even help soothe away those bad dreams you've been having. Well, at least according to the sales clerk." You reached out and lifted the soft plush elephant, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. "See? It's really calming, isn't it?"

He took the toy back and smelled it deeply, letting out a contented sigh as the aroma filled his nose and sent waves of comfort through his body, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He carefully lowered the elephant into his lap, treating it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. His throat tightened with emotion as he swallowed hard and looked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude.

"All this for me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to process the reality that someone would think to get him anything at all (Steve didn’t count). The concept of receiving gifts was so foreign to him, so far removed from his perception of what he deserved, that he could barely wrap his mind around it.

You thought maybe it looked sill to some people, but it was more about why you got it, not what you got him.

You nodded, offering a warm smile, "Yes...I got this just for you."

The soldier's gaze slowly drifted back to his lap, his fingers lingering momentarily on the thoughtful gifts before carefully pushing the journal and elephant to rest beside him. He then leaned forward quickly, closing the distance between you and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. The display caught you off guard, given his usual hesitance to initiate any form of contact beyond nightly cuddling or his possessive love-bites.

After you recovered from the sudden gesture, your arms encircled him in return. You drew him closer as he nestled himself against your body, seeking comfort in your warmth and smell. It was one of the only things he could consistently rely on.

A knowing smile played across your lips as you whispered against his ear, "I take it you like it?"

"...Да."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[mooomuzan]

— 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆 𝖙𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖊

they spend christmas with you ! sae , rin , kaiser , isagi , nagi , reo , fluff

ღ — Sae doesn’t do cliché Christmas traditions. Instead, he drags you to an upscale restaurant, every detail of the night meticulously planned, yet somehow effortless. The gift? A small velvet box set on the table between the two of you. He watches your reaction with calm detachment, but the faint smirk curling his lips reveals his satisfaction when you light up. “I didn’t get this just anywhere,” he says, leaning back in his chair, his tone cool but teasing. Later, as snow falls lightly outside, he walks you home, his hands stuffed in his pockets, but his shoulder brushing yours every step of the way.

ღ — Rin isn’t one for grand gestures, but the thoughtfulness in his actions speaks volumes. He hands you a gift—simple wrapping, neat folds—his gaze unwavering, as if daring you to find fault with it. “Open it,” he says curtly, his voice carrying that familiar edge. But when you lift the lid and see the item—a rare piece you’d mentioned only once in passing—there’s a faint flush on his cheeks, barely noticeable. He doesn’t look at you, but the way his hand lingers briefly over yours tells you everything. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, low and dismissive, but the care in his choice betrays him.

ღ — Kaiser makes Christmas a spectacle, just like everything else he does. He doesn’t just hand you a gift—he orchestrates an entire scene. The lights are dim, the tree sparkles with precision, and in his hand is a sleekly wrapped box with his signature flair. “I picked this out myself,” he says smugly, watching you with those piercing blue eyes that dare you not to be impressed. Inside is something extravagant—a rare piece of jewelry or an item tied to an inside joke only you two share. When you look up, he smirks, leaning casually against the wall. “You deserve the best, don’t you?” he says, but the way his fingers linger at your chin when he tilts your face toward his is surprisingly tender. Later, as snow falls outside, he pulls you close, his voice low and intimate. “You’re my star this Christmas,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your temple, and for once, the arrogance melts away, leaving only sincerity.

ღ — Isagi is all nervous smiles and excited energy as he places the gift in your hands, the wrapping slightly uneven but clearly done with care. “I, uh, wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, but there’s a hopeful light in his eyes as you peel back the paper. When you pull out the scarf he’d seen you eyeing weeks ago, his grin widens, warm and unrestrained. “Do you like it?” he asks, his voice soft but eager, and when you nod, he pulls his own scarf off to wrap around you, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “Merry Christmas,” he says, his voice full of sincerity.

ღ — Nagi’s idea of Christmas is low-key but meaningful. He shows up late, as usual, holding a gift bag he clearly picked up last-minute, but when you pull out the contents—a limited-edition game you thought was sold out—your jaw drops. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, leaning against the wall, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Figured we could play it together.” Later, you find him sprawled on your couch, the glow of the TV reflecting in his lazy smile as he hands you the controller. “Merry Christmas,” he says, his voice soft, his focus entirely on you despite the game.

ღ — Reo’s Christmas is extravagant, as expected. He surprises you with a beautifully decorated room, a tree dripping with lights and ornaments, and a pile of gifts that feels almost overwhelming. “I wanted to make this perfect,” he says, his voice warm but tinged with nervousness. The gifts are thoughtful—things you’ve mentioned wanting, alongside ones you didn’t even realize you needed. But the one that means the most is a handwritten letter, tucked inside a small box. “Read it later,” he says softly, pulling you into a hug as the snow falls outside. His arms tighten around you, and for once, he doesn’t need words to show how much you mean to him.

[chrissv4mp]

𐙚 GAMES

EDIT: shit i forgot this was in queue 😓 merry christmas i guess (if you celebrate)

Her fingers worked furiously, eyebrows furrowed and lip tucked between her teeth as she breathed heavily, "Fuck!" She groaned, leaning back against the chair as she threw her head back against the headrest softly. Her fingers slowed to a halt, stopping her moments entirely to breathe for a moment.

"GAME OVER," the screen read, flashing white for a moment before it asked if she wanted to play again. And, of course, she pressed, "YES." Billie had been at this for what felt like an eternity, playing some stupid video game instead of paying attention to you. Not even your lazy attempts at bringing her water worked, and it was starting to irritate you intensely.

So, you finally pull the oldest trick in the book: Whining her name lowly, lips pouty and eyebrows furrowed as you squirmed on the bed. Her posture was quickly fixed as the sound reached her ears, fingers pausing once again on the controller she held so possessively. Then, the screen paused, and Billie finally set the controller down on her desk, spinning around in her chair.

Her eyes landed on you immediately, clad in only your undergarments as it was almost midnight. Way past the usual time you and her fell asleep, "What's wrong, Ma?" She asks, voice husky due to the insane amount of yelling she'd done in the past few hours. Her tank top hugs her chest perfectly, and as she stretches, you can't help but stare at the dragon tattoo that peeks out as the fabric rides up.

She yawns quietly before manspreading, hands resting on her clothed thighs. She hadn't even gotten ready for bed before she started the game, and even that was irritating you. You whine again, your pout deepening, "Want'chu in bed, Bills..."

Billie's lips curl into a smirk at your tone, her tattooed hand coming up to run through her soft hair. It doesn't even take you ten seconds to scurry into her lap whenever she motions you over with her two fingers, clinging to her body like you hadn't seen her in a million years—Because that's what it felt like. Her head nuzzles into your neck, breathing in the faint smell of your perfume as her hands wrap around your waist, holding you possessively.

Your body shakes slightly, a shiver running down your spine at the feeling of her touch for the first time in a few hours, earning a quiet, amused chuckle from your girlfriend, "Someone's excited to see me, hm?" Billie comments, one of her ring-covered hands coming down to pat your ass softly. Your hips buck subconsciously, arms wrapping tighter and tighter around her body as your breath becomes uneven.

"Jus' missed you," quickly falls from between your lips, voice quiet and laced with sleep and something else. Something she can't quite put her finger on. Your eyes flutter shut as you relax in her embrace, your hips continuing the slow, grinding movements against Billie's lap. It's only when you mewl straight into her ear that she notices what you're doing and what you're feeling, "I can tell."

Your arousal leaks through your panties, coating a small patch of her sweatpants. Billie gasps just to humiliate you, "Missed you—Bills, missed you s'much." You babble, hips starting to move faster with the help of your girlfriend's hands guiding your movements, "Wan'—Need you, baby," you cry softly, voice breaking. Billie stays silent, her breathes becoming heavy, head falling back against her headrest.

"Yeah?" She asks, voice teasing and raspy. Her nails dig into your hips, eyes locking onto yours as she pulled away from your neck, "Well, c'mon, show me how much y'missed me, babygirl." She nods her head towards your trembling figure, a devious smirk playing on her lips. Your cunt clenches around nothing, clit throbbing with each movement of your hips, head lolling back and revealing more of your neck, "S—So mm..much!"

"Missed you too, sweetie," she mutters, biting her bottom lip as her hands continue to rock you back and forth on her lap. She's already dripping herself, and she swears she could cum just from the sight of you alone, "Sorry for bein' so distracted. Didn't mean to ignore my pretty baby's needy pussy." You huff at her words, sweat beginning to bead on your hairline, "Gonna cum—cum f'you, Bills!—"

Her hands are quick to halt your grinding hips, heart beating rapidly in her chest as she looks up at you with that same mischievous glint in her eye that never left. She spun her chair back around, hands leaving your hips to grab her controller once again. God, you never thought you'd be able to hate an inanimate object as much as you hated that stupid controller.

"One more game." She breathes into your ear, kissing your jawline, "Then I'll treat you better than ever."

𐙚 amiyaps : how not to hate every single thing I EVER WRITE

𐙚 tags : @sophloveswomen @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @afteraftercare @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @hopelessfawn @zayluvss @meliciousmel13

[mxltifxnd0m]

white collared ✮ s. winchester

summary: you can't stop staring at sam in his priest getup

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester gn afab! reader

word count: 1.1K

warnings: no use of 'y/n', no mention of pronouns besides a "good girl", cursing, making out, sam in the priest outfit (yes thats a warning), dean being a menace as per usual, implied smut, kinda edited

a/n: got inspired from a edit of priest sam i saw on my feed and i wrote most of this in class and then in the library, so enjoy :p

enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

YOU WERE STARING. Scratch that. You were practically devouring Sam with your eyes as he came out of the motel bathroom, adjusting the clerical collar that was around his neck.

Your eyes followed Sam as he bustled around the motel room, barely registering that Dean had gone into the bathroom to change himself. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Sam, your mouth feeling dry as you swallowed thickly, trying to pull your gaze away from the taller Winchester. 

Christ almighty, how could someone look so good in a priest outfit?

You thought to yourself as Sam sat down at the table near the kitchenette in the room. Your eyes trailed up and down Sam’s broad figure from your spot on the bed. The black slacks were tight around his thighs, and you could only imagine how good his ass looked in those pants. 

The white clerical collar was starch white, contrasting the tanned skin at the hollow of Sam's throat. You bit your bottom lip as you saw Sam’s dexterous fingers pull at the collar, adjusting it before your eyes followed his hand as it fell back onto his thigh. 

A low chuckle coming from the man you were staring at snapped you out of your stupor, and you met Sam’s hazel eyes, filled with amusement. You could recognize the familiar look of desire that lingered in the greens and golds that colored his gaze. 

Sam’s plush lips were pulled into a sly smirk as he shook his head, a piece of his hair falling in his face as he did. “See something you like?” He asked, his tone teasing. 

You felt your cheeks fill with heat at being caught staring at Sam. But you tried playing it off, rolling your eyes as you sat up, making your way to the table he was sitting at, and resting your hip against the edge of it, looking to your left at him. Sam had to tilt his head up a bit to meet your eyes. 

It’s unfair how his height barely changes when he sits down. 

“Maybe I do.” You let your eyes trail over Sam’s body again before meeting his gaze again. 

Sam’s lips twitched before slowly rising in his seat, the chair scraping against the carpeted floor, and he leaned forward, his hands resting on the table as his face got closer to yours. Now, you had to crane your head back to make contact with his eyes. 

“This is doing something for you isn’t it?” He questioned, Sam’s head tilted slightly as the sly smirk turned into a grin. The white of his teeth almost distracted you from the devilish expression on his face as his eyes darkened and his tongue peaked out to wet his bottom lip. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to resist the urge to clench your thighs together at the lust filling his eyes as he stared at you, feeling heat pool in your core. 

“Unfortunately.” You grumbled as you broke the eye contact the two of you were sharing as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

You heard another chuckle escape Sam’s lips. You listened to some shuffling and felt one of his fingers push your jaw to look at him. Sam was standing in front of you as he took your chin in between his index finger and thumb. His lips stretched into a lewd smirk as he leaned closer to you, his cologne filling your senses as you felt his breath fan over your face. 

“Who knew that you have a thing for priests?” 

You uncrossed your arms and scoffed at him before hooking your fingers into the belt loops of his pants, pulling him closer to you. “I have a thing for you in this getup, not the other way around.” You clarified, your lips pulling into a half-smirk. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at you. “You sure?” 

“Shut up, you know how gorgeous you are.” You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s honestly unfair how good you look in anything.” 

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose. “Mhm, sure.” He rubbed his nose against yours before capturing your lips between his, pulling you into a fiery kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. You let out a low moan as you pulled him closer to you and felt his bulge grind against you. 

Sam always had this hold on you every time he placed his lips on yours. The only thing that was on your mind was always Sam. It was like there was a giant neon sign that flashed his name every time he touched you. 

Suddenly, Sam pulled himself away from you. What you didn’t realize as Sam was making out with you was that Dean had finished changing into his own priest getup and stepped out of the bathroom.

You heard him clear his throat, and you looked over at Dean. Though you would never admit it out loud or to anyone ever, Dean looked as good as Sam did in the white collar (but you had a bias towards your boyfriend because, well, he's your boyfriend).

Dean raised an eyebrow at the two of you. “You two done defiling each other?” 

“Shut up.” Sam shot a scowl at Dean's smirking face.  

“Nope." Dean said, popping the 'p' obnoxiously. "Next time don’t make out in the same room as me.” He came over to the table and smacked his hand onto Sam’s shoulder before brushing past him and left the motel room. 

You let out a small laugh as Sam’s face twisted into his bitch face before sighing. But a smile slowly appeared on his face at the sound of your laugh. 

He turned around to face you again. You looked at him with a smile. His smile got wider before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss against your lips. Sam pulled away, letting his forehead rest against yours. 

“You should probably get another room before we get back.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?” 

The edges of Sam's' lips threatened to curl up before his face became serious.

"Because I have plans for you and I don't want to share this room with Dean."

"Oh?" A smirk grew on your face. "What kind of plans?" You asked coyly.

Sam let out a soft laugh before pulling back and cupping your face with his warm hand, his thumb stroking the apple of your cheek softly.

"The kind of plans that require you to be on your knees repenting and confessing all the naughty thoughts that your mind conjured up about me ever since I came out of the bathroom."

The heat in your core grew brighter as you clenched your thighs together at the low rumble of Sam’s voice. 

“You understand?” You nodded dumbly at his words, and Sam pecked your lips. 

“Good girl.” Sam sent you another smirk before letting his hand fall from your face and exiting the room. 

You swallowed thickly as you stood frozen in your spot. “Well, fuck me.” You breathed out before leaving the room and getting another, just like Sam asked. 

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

[luvleyshif4]

BOUND TO YOU

Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Even after dating for years, you realize just how much you’re still in love with Rafe and how obsessed you are with him.

Warning: fluffiest fluff, lot of physical touch, tooth rotting love, reader is a book gyal, just readers pov (there aren’t really any serious warnings)

Word count: 813 words

Authors note: Soo this is the shortest one-shot I’ve written for Rafe out of the four. It’s just a little fluff I came up with after seeing a TikTok of a girl talking about how she’s still so obsessed with her boyfriend, even after 7 years of dating. Hope you all like it! 😘😘 (also love how this makes me feel so utterly single!!!!!!!!)

EDIT: I’ve already uploaded Rafe’s POV SO GO AND CHECK IT OUT!!

Rafe’s POV

The soft rustle of pages filled the air as you sat curled up on the far end of the couch, a book resting in your lap. It was one of those quiet evenings, where the world outside seemed to slow down, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble. Rafe was on the other end of the couch, his laptop open, his brows slightly furrowed as he typed away.

You had been flipping through the same page for at least five minutes now, but the words weren’t sticking. Your eyes kept wandering, drawn, as they so often were, to him. The way his lips pursed ever so slightly in concentration, the way his hair fell messily across his forehead. Even the small crease that appeared between his brows when he was focused felt endearing.

He was just sitting there, lost in whatever he was working on, but something about the scene made your chest tighten. Maybe it was the warm light of the room casting golden tones over his skin, or the quiet comfort of being together like this. Or maybe it was simply him, the effortless way he existed, the way he carried himself even in the smallest, most mundane moments.

You felt yourself staring, unable to stop. It was almost embarrassing, the way your heart fluttered like you were back at the start of your relationship. But here you were, years later, still completely captivated.

Rafe’s fingers paused on the keyboard, and he glanced up, his blue eyes meeting yours. His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “What?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with amusement.

You froze, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Nothing,” you murmured quickly, looking down at your book, pretending to read.

But Rafe wasn’t convinced. “Uh-huh,” he said, his tone teasing now. You could feel his gaze on you, lingering, studying. “You’re staring at me, baby.”

“I’m not,” you said, a little too quickly, the warmth in your face growing.

He chuckled under his breath and set his laptop aside. Then, in one fluid motion, he lifted his arm and gestured toward you, silently inviting you to come closer. The look in his eyes was soft, teasing but warm, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

You closed your book, setting it on the coffee table, and moved toward him, sliding into his side. His arm wrapped around you almost instantly, pulling you closer, and you rested your head against his shoulder. His warmth was immediate, comforting, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. He smelled like clean laundry and the faint cologne he always wore, a scent that had become so familiar, so him.

Rafe didn’t say anything at first, just let out a soft exhale, his hand coming up to rest gently on your waist. His thumb brushed against your side absentmindedly, and the simple gesture sent a wave of butterflies through your stomach.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. His face was so close now, his features softened by the dim light. Your eyes lingered on his lips for just a moment too long, and Rafe noticed.

He didn’t tease you. Instead, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was slow, tender, and deliberate. It wasn’t rushed, it was the kind of kiss that felt like coming home, like an unspoken reminder of everything you shared.

His hand slid up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he kissed you deeper. You felt yourself melt into him, your heart pounding in your chest, even though you’d kissed him a thousand times before. There was something about the way he kissed you each time that made the world feel impossibly small, as if nothing else existed but the two of you.

When he finally pulled away, your breath was unsteady, and your cheeks were warm. Rafe didn’t go far, though. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes half-lidded and a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You nodded, but the words you wanted to say caught in your throat. Instead, you leaned into him again, tucking your head against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

It was in that moment, nestled against him with his hand resting protectively on your side, that it hit you.

Even after all this time, after all the years of being together, all the kisses and quiet nights and moments like this, you were still so completely, utterly in love with him. You still felt that same giddy, heart-stopping adoration that you did at the very beginning. He still made your heart race, still left you breathless, still consumed every part of you in a way no one else ever could.

You closed your eyes, letting the realization settle over you. It wasn’t just love, it was obsession, in the best way. He was your anchor, your home, the one person who could make you feel like this without even trying.

Rafe’s fingers traced absent patterns on your arm, his touch soothing. “You’re quiet,” he said softly.

You tilted your head to look up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking,” you replied.

“About what?”

You hesitated, your chest swelling with so much emotion it almost hurt. “You,” you said simply.

Rafe’s lips curved into a soft, genuine smile, and he leaned down to kiss your forehead again. “Good,” he murmured. “’Cause I’m always thinking about you.”

You didn’t say anything else, just tucked yourself closer to him, letting the steady beat of his heart lull you into a state of perfect contentment. Because in his arms, with his lips still lingering on your skin, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You knew you were bound to him the moment you met him. And even after all this time, you couldn’t get enough of him.

Authors note: Rafe’s POV is up now bbssss.😝

[railingsofsorrow]

Back To Normalcy

[JJ Maybank x reader]

summary: JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

pairing: jj maybank x f!reader

w.c: 2.8K

warnings/content: near death experiences (flashbacks); obx4 ending is discussed (as in graphic descriptions of what happened so be aware); jj being the best whipped boyfriend; PTSD is hinted; hurt/comfort (trust me, no one dies); paragraphs in italics are flashbacks.

A/N: this is kind of a fix-it and it is set after the pogues find the blue crown. it will have discrepancies regarding canon cause I didn't watch obx4 part 2. bear with me. I'm editing this in the middle of class lol. merry christmas to those who celebrate and a happy new years!!!

navi

masterpost

obx masterlist

request me something

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So it's like... We gotta think of everything. Yeah, we found it, but we gotta—”

“... Have a solid plan, yeah, Pope.” John B cut him off, earning a glare which made the edge of his lips quirk up in amusement. If there was one thing the Pogues had fun in doing, that thing was annoying Pope Heyward. It was just too easy. “Sorry, sorry.” The Routledge boy raised his arms, pretending to surrender but the grin in his mouth betrayed him. John B never felt the will to smile more than he did in that moment. He had his friends. His family. With him. Safe and sound. Finally. Everyone in one piece. Barely. . . And back home. What more could he ask for?

What more could any of them ask for, really?

You tuned out the conversation for the tenth time that night. You loved bonfires. Especially the ones where your friends organized, where you felt at home around their stupid jokes and drunk laughter.

But you couldn't focus tonight. Somehow you always ended up right back in the scalding sand of Morocco, blood sipping through your fingers as tried desperately to stop it. Your screams of agony even though you weren't the one stabbed echoed through your brain like you had worked hard to memorize it.

You'd rather it had been you, actually. No doubt about that.

The soft nudge in your leg made you step out of the infusion of bad memories your head had conjured up. As your eyes adjusted to the bonfire's flames, you noticed all your friends staring at you in expectancy.

“What?”

Instead of the nudge, you felt cold fingers come in contact with your thigh and you almost flinched at the coldness — that coldness — before you caught the beer bottle in his hand. With a gentle squeeze to your thigh, JJ brought you back to Earth.

“I was just tellin' them here,” he began, leaving his beer aside to scoot closer. “how I'm gonna kidnap you to South America any moment now.”

“Hey.” You forced your breathing to slow down. He didn't need you freaking out now, he needed you to be on your best sane behavior, that's what JJ needed. He needed you. “Jay? Baby, take a deep breath, it's alright.”

“He, um...” JJ's shaky hands reached yours and you shook your head when his fingers curled around your bloody ones in his stomach. “I can't— You—”

“I'm here. It's okay. It's gonna be okay, yeah? You just, you just have to keep breathing. Slowly, like me? Okay?”

Where was everybody?

“And how are you gonna do that?” You forced out, taking a long sip of your beer in a foolish attempt of drowning the memories in your head.

Sarah let out a snicker and Cleo's thick accent scolded somebody but you couldn't bring yourself to the present moment. No, you were still fucking there.

“Pope!” You bellowed now unable to control the shakiness of your hands as they tried to stop the blood. So much blood. So much blood. Why? “John B! Where is— Kiara! Baby, hey, hey!” You used one of your hands to grab his cheek, tilting his head to look at you, his half-lidded eyes showed you how weak he was. You didn't care that his pretty face was smeared with your bloody hands, you had to make him stay awake. “JJ? JJ!”

He blinked with difficulty, gazing up at you. “Hi...” And he had the decency to smile. He smiled! How can someone who has been stabbed smile and it takes your breath away the same away? You never thought you'd see his last smile and you shouldn't even be thinking of that because you both are young and have a whole life ahead of you so why would you be thinking of your boyfriend's last smile?

“Hey.” You cried out. “J, you gotta stay awake for me, okay? I'm getting help. You just have to—”

“I love you.”

Certainly, your whole body froze right at that second. That hadn't been the first time he said it, no. JJ made sure to let you know he loved you thousands of times ever since he said the three little words for the first time. And every time he said it, you felt the warmth of his arms around you, his sunbathed skin against yours and the softness of his lips curling in his favorite spot on your neck after a long day.

That's what “I love you” means when JJ says it.

Except now there was no warmth because he felt cold. Everything regarding him was cold. The kind of coldness a boy with the sun in his smile shouldn't have. There was no smile, not the same smile, at least. There was no life because your favorite boy was saying goodbye and that's what his words meant this time.

Coming back to the bonfire was almost as if a bucket of cold water had been splashed in your face. Your friends had vanished. Nobody was around but you.

“Hey.”

. . . And JJ.

You should've thought he wouldn't have left you alone.

“Hey,” you offered him a half-assed smile. “Where's everyone?”

“Inside.” He mentioned towards the house with a jerk of his head before turning back to you. His cerulean eyes studied your frame for a bit before he let out a sigh, standing up and outstretching a hand in your direction.

You stared at it and him with a raise of your brow. A question.

There was nothing JJ hated more than waiting. So, he didn't wait. He lowered fully to kiss your lips since you were sitting down, enjoying the way they parted in surprise. Stealthily, he wrapped an arm behind your back and beneath your knees and before you could react he pulled you up as if you weighted a penny.

“Jesse James Maybank!”

Oh, he was well aware he was in deep shit when you say that but hell, he missed having a reaction from you that was something other than forced smiles and blank stares.

JJ often caught your unfocused gaze drifting to a random corner, lost inside your head. After Morocco, he noticed that a lot.

“Not the government name, babe.”

“Dude, put me down.”

A gasp. “And now I've been called dude what has this world become!”

He halted near the water, after walking across the beach for a few long minutes with you in his arms. You just stopped fighting, slapping his butt at every step he took.

“You think it's the drums or somethin'?”

“Could be.”

As he sent a look of disapproval your way once he placed you down on your feet, it pulled a laugh out of you.

His fingers — no longer cold — cupped your cheeks and brought you closer. “Do it again.”

“Do what?”

His eyes carried that glint of pure joy mixed with the ocean blue that would get you hypnotized. You just didn't know why this time.

“Your laugh. Haven't heard it in so long.”

Oh.

“That's not true.” You held his wrists just to feel the warmth of his skin when he began caressing your cheeks.

JJ hummed, the sound a gentle protest against your claim. He's come a long way to know your little tells, so he wasn't not easily fooled. With a glance in your way, he knew the hidden meanings.

“Uh, yeah. It is, babe.”

You pulled your hair behind your ears, burying your toes in the sand as you racked your brain to seek an excuse that would work to get you out of that conversation. Any excuse would do, really. But you feared you used all of them since you came back from Morocco. And he knew that.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed down with difficulty.

“Are you?”

“That's not what I asked.”

You finally glanced up, finding him staring forward at the waves, almost distracted. No, not almost. The look in his eyes, you recognize in yourself when drifted back to two weeks ago and the horror took over your mind. It didn't only happen to the two of you, you remember that every time you caught John B outside in the middle of the night, arms behind his head as he stared at nowhere in particular. Or Sarah, when she would crawl up into your bed saying she missed you but you knew exactly what she meant by that. Or Cleo. Oftentimes you needed to force something out of her given everything she went through otherwise she would shove it all in and then never share. Or Pope, because he lost a lot and yes he would never say he hated the whole chasing gold adventure or Poguelandia but he missed safety and a time when you didn't have to worry about danger at your every corner. He's getting used to peace a little more now. Or Kiara, the girl who was a fighter through and through and would choose her friends over anyone in the world, but she needed reassurance once in a while and you all would coddle her a little when you knew it was time for it.

The look.

They all had it. They all suffered through stuff that made them carry it.

And not talking about it made it worse, you told Cleo that once, but since when did you ever take your own advice?

“Yeah, well, Jayj.” You begin, crossing your arms over your chest as the wind picked up. “It happened to you, not to me. It's you who should be ready to talk about it, not me.”

“I remember the blood in your hands, my blood,” JJ still didn't look at you. He was ready to talk about it, not ready-ready but he could accept what happened. That he almost wasn't here. “I remember your voice asking—pleading for me to not close my eyes—”

“Stop.”

JJ finally turned to you, his lips tugging downwards with sadness. “See? It's you who can't talk about it.”

“You almost died in my arms and you expect me to just accept that as if it was a common occurrence?!” It came out as an accusation but in reality you didn't really blame him. He had no fault whatsoever in being stabbed and almost dying. The fault relayed only on the person who caused this torture on all of you. “I can't...” Your voice cracked with newfound emotion. “I can't imagine living in a world where you're not in it, JJ.”

Before he could speak, you cut him off. The dam had broke and now everything you had been hold it in was going to be unleashed.

“You told me you loved me and then you... You stopped breathing.”

He blinked, brows furrowing in thought. JJ knew there was some things he couldn't entirely recall that day, but he didn't remember that.

“I love you.”

If his heartbeat was faint before, now it was non-existent and if felt like the weight of the world had crumbled down on you.

“Open your eyes,” you begged, grabbing his cheeks as a cry of pain left your lips. He was cold. His eyelids shut as if he was sleeping. He was calm. “JJ, open your eyes!” And that's when you felt something touch your shoulder, different hands and voices beside you. All you could focus was on him. “No, c'mon. Jay. Jay? I didn't—” you held his head to your chest, fully sobbing. It was like your heart was being ripped apart. “I didn't say it back.”

Even if she had told him she loved him as many times before, she hadn't say it one last time in time.

You flinched slightly when you were pulled into a pair of arms, fingers reaching the back of your neck to gently press you against a chest. A beating heart welcomed your ears and you didn't realize you were crying until the sobs must've echoed the entire beach.

“I'm sorry, I don't— I don't remember that.”

Your cries were muffled by his shirt. “It wasn't your fault,” you said, your chest tight. “I wish it hadn't gotten to that point cause it was... Fuck.”

JJ tightened his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into your neck. He was still clearly shaken up by what happened, reasonably so. But seeing you like that... He would've take back every decision he made that took your group to that moment just so you wouldn't have to go through that.

He complained when you pulled back a little, drying your tears to glance up at him. Your lips stretching into a timid smile. A real one.

“I'm glad you're okay.” You said with a nod, exhaling as the fog diminished significantly. “I'm happy. But I'm so deeply sorry that I couldn't do more. That I almost let you—”

“Hey, no, no.” JJ was quick to interrupt your train of thought, grabbing your shoulders. “Do not even go there, alright? Absolutely not. Don't even— babe.” He leaned down to connect your foreheads. “You saved my life. All of you. You really think I'd be fine with going... wherever that I wouldn't be able to annoy the shit out of you? I mean— ow!”

You glared at him after punching his forearm though you weren't upset as soon as he gave you his disarming grin that turned your legs to Jell-O.

“You told me you can't imagine living in a world where I'm not in it, right? Well.” JJ brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles as his blue eyes full of life studied you in a serious manner. “I happen to absolutely not want to live in a world without in it either...” He tugged you closer. “It would be boring as hell and that's why I would probably, I don't know, crawl out of whatever grave I was in to tickle your feet during the night.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned with a laugh and he shut you up with a kiss, his hand crawling up on your back to press your closer.

“I can't live without your sounds,” he kissed the edge of your mouth, then moved towards your jaw. “Any of them. I can't live without your smile or seeing your lashes fluttering before you wake up. Or without seeing you when you're pissed at me and you pout the entire time, it just makes me want to kiss you but I know it would earn me a punch in the neck.”

“Yeah it would.”

He chuckled, lifting you so you could wrap your legs around his middle. He held the back of your thighs, thumbs running through your smooth skin.

“Hey.” He said softly, bumping his nose with yours as the waves crashed a few feet away, butting in on your moment. “I love you. And I'm gonna stay in your life for as long as you let me. There will be no stupid rushed goodbyes or near-death experiences that will stop that, alright?” He smiled when you nodded, pressing your lips to his. “Yeah.” He started kissing your whole face then just to listen to the inevitable sound of your laugh again. He could never get tired of it. JJ would crawl out of hell just to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

“And about that South America trip—”

“I'm in.” You said, resting your chin on his shoulder, fingertips scratching his scalp as you stared at the sea. “You can kidnap me to wherever you want.”

His excited laughter echoed in your ears like your favourite song chiming in during a stormy night.

“Oh we're gonna have so much fun.” JJ started rambling on his way back to the house, you in his arms because he refused to put you down. “I'm finally teaching you how to surf! And we can visit all the beaches in Brazil, 'm gonna show you some pictures, it'll be amazin', baby, you'll see.”

“I can't wait.” You mumbled with a kiss to his temple. “Are you just gonna carry me around or...”

“Yes.” He pecked your lips, hands squeezing your waist lightly which earned a proper curse out of you and his usual untamed laugh that you were crazy about. “Just stay put and look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, wrapping both arms around his neck and didn't complain. Why would you? You had your favorite boy holding you in his arms, rambling about your future plans to South America on his way to your place. You had nothing to complain about.

You just had to get used to getting back to normalcy.

━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @hoeshissworld

[jmdbjk]

Jungkook telling it like it is...

He did tell Spotify that he'd use the blanket they gave him. Just not the way they probably thought he would: Jungkook's glossy black marble floor shows his bare feet prints on it and he used his Spotify blanket to clean the floor. He says he'll have to always wear socks or slippers. I can see him leaving a pile of toe socks at the door just for him to put on when he's in that room...

He says he briefly and unseriously considered quitting the business to be a full time cook. (JK, you can't do that, you have to make enough money to pay for the utilities and property taxes on your new fortress...) But that's his introvert kicking in, the routine, the comfort zone, the way his job holds his interest enough to make him want to keep doing it. But he is aware and he knows this about himself and knows he has to return to his "spot" as he called it.

He seems to accept the fact his place of residence is going to be known by the fans just like many other aspects of his life such as details of his military service. He seems to take it in stride but he also sets boundaries by asking fans to not come to his house and do not send packages, not only to his house but to his army base. He explains why, that he cannot accept them and that packages containing food are restricted. He clearly instructs to send letters to the company.

How do people know where he lives? Here's the answer, or at least part of it:

We all know if you spend time on Youtube the algorithm will feed you videos and channels similar to what you've watched. If you are restrained enough to limit your viewing to only BangtanTV I applaud you. But if you watch anything else, youtube will serve you similar. We all know that through the anecdotes of Armys talking about being flooded with edited, slo-mo shipping videos.

Personally, I like watching youtube channels that show walking tours of Seoul. The city captured my attention and I've learned so much about it. But because of this interest I have in Seoul and Korea, more "walking tour" and Korean travel type channels are suggested to me. Some are better than others. Some are actually run by K-Army. I am very interested in K-Armys' perspective about life in Seoul so I watch. We get to see the birthday cafe events and such that I'm probably never going to experience.

Inevitably one of these channels is going to walk by the members' homes... because they are Army and can. Streets are public. And this is how other people find out where the members live. The videos show that none of the homes are accessible. They are all behind walls and gates. None of the videos show hoards of fans congregated in front of the homes. The only place you ever see that is in front of the Hybe building.

Yes, it is controversial knowing these things but it is also one of those things that is almost unavoidable. What do I do with the information I gain by watching? Nothing. I satisfy my curiosity and move on.

Jungkook knows we are curious. He knows with his position in life there are things he cannot control and he's aware of it. It's pointless for him to pretend he isn't aware of this. That's why he sets boundaries. And he's very kind about it when he does set boundaries.

Are there bad actors out there who will take advantage of the knowledge? Of course. But that's on them. Are there people who will post every detail they learn? Of course. That's how the information spreads to other social media platforms.

Anyway... the Weverse translations are sort of skimming over what he says. There's a little bit of nuance being left out sometimes.

The Weverse English subs say "We'd sing it every day while taking showers." But Jungkook more accurately said: "We always sing together while taking a shower." (begins at 1:00:00)

The Weverse English subs say "Recently, with Jimin, now during our clean up time I finished up in the kitchen and came back up we talked a lot about music and we'd always be humming (he hums) and I'd go far away and sing songs (he gestures away from him). I'll try to practice more when I have time." But more accurately he said: "So these days I'm with Jimin and now when its personal maintenance time I go upstairs after finishing kitchen work. We talk a lot about singing and we're humming along to each other all the time (he hums) like that and we go far away and sing and stuff (he gestures away from him). I'll practice more in my spare time." (begins at 36:48)

The Weverse English subs say "I've been doing well with Jimin in my military life. I've been well." More accurately he said: "I'm/we are working hard and doing well in military life together with Jiminie-hyung. I'm doing well." (at 8:18)

He showed us his entertainment room, he clearly states he can't show us the upstairs but he does not give a reason why but as he talks he explains he has not "organized" his house. Maybe he won't show it because he doesn't want to or maybe he won't show it because in his opinion, its a mess right now. Regardless, its his choice what he wants to show us and we are privileged when he does so. I'd bet that at some point, we'll see his kitchen because he's Jungkook.

He talked about his job as a cook in the Army. He said he prepares many Korean dishes and they are either boiled or braised. He mentions that they cannot grill food. He says its not easy making large amounts of food. He says he does his best to make them tasty. I've noticed on the timeline the accounts that post military menus that on most days, meals include stews and soups so he is definitely learning how to cook a wide variety of dishes.

He sang about 30 songs including several off Golden. He sounded really good singing Standing Next to You, in fact, his off the cuff live singing of all the songs from his album was pretty exquisite even if he didn't sing most of the songs to the end.

He spoke with a slight reverence regarding only singing BTS songs with the rest of the members. It gave me the impression he knows it will be a special moment for them as well as us.

He picked at his lip, bit his cuticles, touched his lips, scratched his head under his beanie and yawned many times before finally telling us good night. Until we see you again soon, Kookie! Be safe and keep practicing with Jimin!

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 16)

summary: an article comes out about you and your relationship with hugh while he's away and you know just exactly who it was. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: reader's insecurities come back, brief mention of physical abuse (not with hugh!), mention of age gap, implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 2.8k a/n: so... jack is back y'all and we've got a few more parts left of this story, so stay tuned! as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part.

Hugh’s been gone for a couple of weeks now and you both manage to create a routine to speak with each other every day, depending on the time zone that he’s in. He continues to send you photos of where he’s been, wishing that you were with him, but despite the distance, it never does feel like he’s away. Hugh makes sure that you know that you’re his priority and you never have to second guess what he’s doing or where he’s at because he’s always communicating with you.

You’ll send him a text every morning you wake up, counting down the days until he gets home. You spend most of your time either editing, at a photoshoot, or working out with your personal trainer. It helps to keep yourself busy because the home you now share with Hugh is just too big for you alone. You miss his presence, miss his touch, falling asleep and waking up in his arms. 

You miss him. 

Today, though, you have nothing planned and you know Hugh has a day off from press so you decide to give him a call through FaceTime. He’s in Brazil, which just happens to be only two hours ahead. Dialing his number, you’re sitting out on the balcony, eating your dinner while watching the sun set. This still doesn’t feel real, like one day you’re going to wake up and realize it was all just a dream. 

You hear his voice and then look down to see him through your phone, your entire face lighting up at the sight of him. You prop your phone against your water bottle and take another bite of pasta as you bring a leg up on the seat. 

“Hey, baby,” he says with a smile. “Whatcha eating?” 

“Made some pasta,” you answer, showing him your bowl. “Eating out on the balcony, watching the sunset. Wish you were here though.” 

“I know,” Hugh sighs. “Wish I was there too. Just two more weeks, baby, then I’ll be home.”

You nod and then set your fork down, turning your entire attention on the man through your screen. “Just two more weeks,” you repeat. “How’s it going so far?”

“It’s been so much fun,” he answers. “Ryan likes to bring you up in every conversation we have almost daily,” Hugh chuckles. “Says you should be here with us, with me… and I agree with him.”

You laugh quietly and shake your head. “We both know that if you had it your way, I’d have gone with you.”

“Well…” Hugh smiles, leaning back against the bed that he’s lying on. “I did say you should come with me.”

“You know, usually the honeymoon phases out by now…” you tease. “I think you’re obsessed with me, Hugh Jackman.” 

He laughs quietly, turning to lie on his side instead as he keeps the phone facing him. He is so enamored with you, that even through a simple FaceTime call, he can feel the amount of love he has for you. You’re so beautiful, the sunset casting a glow around you. 

“Oh, I’m obsessed with you, huh?” 

“Oh yeah,” you grin. “What is it about me, hm?” 

“Everything,” he answers honestly. “I can’t just pick one thing, baby.” 

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you wrap an arm around your leg and rest your chin on your knee. “Still the smooth talker, I see.” 

Hugh rolls his eyes playfully. “I’m just tellin’ the truth.”

“I love you,” you blurt out instead.

His eyes light up – he’d never get tired of hearing you say those words. “I love you too, baby.”

“You know, the house feels so empty without you,” you admit. “I don’t know how you lived here all by yourself.”

“It was hard,” Hugh answers. “Kept myself busy most of the time, but you– you’ve made it a home. A place where I want to spend most of my days at, as long as you’re there.” 

“When you say things like that, it makes me want to kiss you. So, what am I supposed to do if you aren’t here?” you smile. 

“Use your imagination,” he teases. 

“Ah, so I guess I’ll just have to entertain myself.”

Hugh’s gaze darkens as he shakes his head. “Don’t you dare tease me.”

“Or what? You’re not here,” you grin mischievously, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. 

“Guess you’ll find out when I get home then, won’t you?” 

“Fine,” you huff. “My fingers and toy aren’t the same anyway.” 

“Y–You have a toy?” 

You giggle. “Actually bought one a couple of days ago. Figured we could try it out together when you get back.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you grin excitedly. 

Hugh groans. “Two more weeks… just two more weeks.” 

You laugh to yourself and then tilt your head, eyes staring at the screen. You wish you could reach out to him, to feel his strong arms around you. “Got a full day of interviews tomorrow?” 

Hugh nods. “Yeah, but you know I’ll make time to give you a call.”

“I know, Hugh,” you smile. “But it’s fine if you don’t, you know. I know you’re busy and–”

“You know I can’t go a day without talking to you, baby,” Hugh interrupts. “I’m never too busy for you.” 

“I know, I just–” you sigh. “Just don’t want you to feel like you have to talk to me if you’re tired.”

“Never,” he answers. “Never too tired to talk to you. I’m already miserable without you here. If I don’t get to talk to you every day, I think I’d lose my mind.” 

“Okay, Hugh,” you nod. “My perfect man.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Hopefully only perfect for you.” 

“Oh, I think you’re it,” you admit with a smile. 

“Yeah?” he grins. “You mean that?” 

“Oh yeah,” you nod. “So don’t go and break my heart, okay?”

“I don’t ever plan to, baby,” he answers. “Because I think you’re it for me too.”

“Yeah, I wish you were here,” you sigh. “This would be a perfect moment to kiss you.”

Hugh chuckles. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too. Just two more weeks,” you repeat. “Then you’re all mine.”

“Oh, I can’t wait. We’re not leaving the house for a week, at least,” he winks.

“What did you have in mind we do for an entire week?” you ask innocently. 

“I think it’d be better to show you when I get back,” he grins. 

“Well, I can’t wait,” you smile. “You should probably get some rest, Hugh. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Hugh nods. “Yes, baby. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you too. Good night, Hugh.”

“Night, baby. Sweet dreams.” 

“I’ll be dreaming of you,” you wink.

“Good because I’ll be dreaming of you too.”

—

A week later, you’re sitting on the bed re-reading the story about your relationship with Hugh in a well-known online published article. You can feel tears stinging your eyes, can feel your hands tremble as you read every single untrue word.

They call you a gold digger due to the age gap. 

They say that you’re too ugly to be with someone like Hugh. 

They say that Hugh’s only having fun with you. 

That the relationship isn’t serious. 

That you’re not enough. 

That he’s going to realize that he deserves better than a nobody like you. 

And the words stay with you because it all sounds so familiar. You’ve heard it before and there’s a dreadful feeling in the pit of your stomach when you realize who might be behind this article. 

An article that’s now gaining more and more traction. You shouldn’t have googled Hugh’s name because all you can see in the search results are different variations of the same article. With your name plastered all over. 

You’re only with him for his money. 

The age gap is too ridiculous and Hugh’s just messing around after his divorce. 

You’re not enough. 

You’re not enough. 

You’re not enough. 

You finally toss your phone aside and curl into the sheets, eyes staring out the large window. You’ve never felt more alone than you did now. You can hear your phone ringing but you don’t bother trying to answer it; you just want to disappear and you certainly can’t call Hugh. 

You can’t tell him; he’s already got other things to worry about. 

Your tears trickle down your cheeks and stain your pillow as your breathing picks up. The article brings up a lot of feelings that you’ve tried so hard to work through because you know who’s behind it. 

Jack.

It’s always going to be Jack. He just can’t leave you alone. Despite him being the one to end the relationship and the one who has verbally and physically abused you, he’s still acting like you’re the one who hurt him. 

It just seems like he can’t let you go, like he still has to have some control over you. 

Your phone goes off again and you turn around to grab it, seeing Hugh’s contact on your screen. You don’t answer, afraid that he’s going to tell that something’s wrong so instead, you send him a quick text to let him know that you’re busy editing and that you’d call him back once you’re finished. 

It’s a lie and you hate lying to him, but you can’t tell him the truth. You can’t tell him that there’s rumors about you, about your relationship with him and how you want (and need) him so badly to be here. 

He reads your message, but instead of sending a reply, he just calls you again. You don’t answer, letting it go straight to voicemail. He doesn’t leave a message, but you see that he’s begun typing – the three dots appearing on your text thread with him. 

Four simple words. He texts four simple words that make your heart ache even more: You’re lying. Call me. 

With a heavy sigh, you wipe your tears away and then begin to dial his number. It barely rings once before he answers the phone, his voice immediately coming on the other end of the speaker.  

“You saw it,” he says. 

“Yeah.” You don’t need him to clarify what he’s referring to because you know exactly what he’s talking about. 

“I know you’re not okay, so don’t tell me that you are.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to say, Hugh?” 

“The truth,” he answers. 

“What good will that do? You’re not here.” 

You hear him sigh. His voice sounds tired. “Baby, please. Just–”

“It was Jack,” you interrupt. 

“What?” 

“The article. It was Jack. It’s gotta be.” Your voice trembles. “I’ll be fine and–”

“I’m coming home,” Hugh says. 

“You have one more week left of press.”

“I don’t care. You matter more. I’m coming home,” he repeats. 

“Hugh–”

“No,” he interrupts. “Don’t defend him again. You shouldn’t even be defending him.” 

“I’m not.”

“Then tell me what’s on your mind!” He raises his voice and your eyes fall shut, gripping the phone close to your ear. You know that he’s frustrated at being so far from you, for allowing you to deal with this all by yourself. He should be there with you. He needs to be there with you. “I’m sorry, baby. I just– Fuck, I feel helpless here.” 

“Well, I’m feeling helpless too,” you admit. “That article… Those rumors, maybe some of them are true. Maybe you do deserve better than me.” 

“Stop.” Hugh sighs. “You know that’s not true.” 

“You’re you and I’m just… I’m just me.” 

You can hear ruffling on the other end of the phone and when he goes to speak again, his voice sounds more distant, like he’s not holding the phone directly to his ear anymore. “I’m coming home. I already told Ryan and Shawn.” 

“Hugh,” you sigh. “Baby, please.” 

“No,” he says. “Don’t you think that article hurts me too?”

“B– Because of your reputation? Because of what it says about you?” 

“No,” he sighs. “Because of what it says about you. It’s not fucking true. None of it is, and it hurts me because I know that it’s hurting you. So, yes, I’m coming home so that I can be there with you.”  

You don’t answer because you finally feel yourself begin to break down. You put the phone on speaker and set it aside, burying your face into your hands as you let out an inaudible sob. 

“Baby?”

“Don’t come home,” you finally answer. “Let me– Let me handle this on my own. Let me work through this on my own. Please, Hugh.” 

“Baby,” Hugh sighs. “I can’t–”

“Hugh, I need to do this for myself. Please, can you do that for me?” 

“I don’t want to,” he answers. 

“I know, but you need to.” 

“I can hear you crying, baby.” 

“It just hurts. All of it, but I can do this,” you sniffle. You want so badly to just feel his arms around you. 

Hugh sighs in defeat. “I love you,” he whispers quietly. “So much, okay?” 

“I know,” you answer with a slightly trembling voice. “I know you do.”

“I won’t come home today, but I will be home by the end of the week. Can we come to that compromise?” 

“Yeah,” you answer. “I think that’s okay.” 

“You know you’re the best person I’ve ever met, right?” Hugh asks. “You’re kind, thoughtful, considerate… so passionate and I love everything about you. Flaws and all.” 

“Even when I get into my own head and–”

“Yes,” he interrupts. “And I wish that you can see what I see in you, what everyone sees in you.” 

You shut your eyes and imagine him there with you, arms wrapped around your frame, lips near your ear as he whispers. You lie on your side and wrap the sheets further around your frame as you keep the phone on speaker. 

“I’m sorry I’m broken…”

“Baby,” he sighs. “You’re not broken, and you shouldn’t be apologizing. Someone who you trusted, who you loved, hurt you over and over again. He manipulated you, took advantage of you and–” he has to stop himself from talking because he can feel himself getting angrier and angrier. “Jack never deserved your love. He never deserved you.” 

“Hugh…” you whisper. “I love you.” His words awakens something inside of you, something that you never thought existed. You thought you had done a lot of reflection on your relationship with Jack, but you never looked at it from your perspective in this way. You always wondered what you could have done differently, what you could have changed about yourself that it wasn’t until you met Hugh that you realized the issue was never you. 

It was Jack. 

And it will always be Jack. 

“I’ll be home soon, okay?” Hugh sighs. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, Hugh,” you sigh. “More than you ever know.” 

“I’m one lucky man, I’ll tell you.” He replies. 

You bite your lower lip and take your phone off speaker to bring it close to your ear instead. “I’ll call you later?” You ask. 

“Yeah, baby. I’ll be here.” 

“Got another full day of press?”

He sighs. “I have time for you. Always will.” 

“You sure?” 

“Positive, baby.” 

—

For the rest of the day, you steer clear from your phone and laptop. The only time you’d reach for it is to respond to a text from Hugh or from your trainer. You distract yourself by watching movies, but even in the living room, you’re missing Hugh’s presence. 

The movies only do so much for so long when your mind begins to drift to Jack. For the longest time, you’ve tried so hard to ignore it, to just move on without ever reflecting on just how toxic that relationship was for you. It was easier to just forget, but when he decided to force himself back into your life, you realized just how many unresolved emotions lay dormant. 

You can still vividly feel his fist connecting with your cheek, can feel his entire body weight behind the punch. You should have left him then, shouldn’t have even let it go that far, and you wished you had a good enough reason why you didn’t leave. 

Part of it was because Jack had made you believe that no one would ever want you if you did decide to leave on your own… and he would tell you how worthless you were over and over and over again to a point that you started to believe it. 

But him ending the relationship had been the one of the best things to ever happen to you. You know that you still have so much to work through, but you’re no longer the same woman you were when you were still with Jack. 

You try to remind yourself of that. Jack doesn’t have authority over you anymore (and he never should have). He never should have laid his hands on you. Never should have repeatedly put you down with his words. 

And you’re tired of letting him get away with it. You’re tired of letting him win.

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf

@needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom

@sue8724 - @squishyfruitloop - @sylviavf - @emotrash1 - @dissentientss

@sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay - @itsallyscorner - @haytchee

@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you - @definitely-not-chill - @khxna

@jules-and-gemss @keerygal

[tteotlma]

Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here. 

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in. 

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned. 

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place. 

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight. 

Not that exhaustion was new to you. 

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved. 

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem. 

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].” 

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around. 

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.” 

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind. 

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise. 

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin. 

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration. 

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you. 

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough. 

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body. 

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder. 

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back. 

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles. 

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click. 

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood. 

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for. 

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part.  “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat. 

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust.  Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up. 

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.  

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes,  wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him. 

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.” 

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking  your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to. 

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed. 

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely. 

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. “This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

[puckstories]

Don’t Stop | Jack Hughes

Pairing; Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Oral sex (M+F receiving), cursing, use of the term 'good girl', situationship, low-key dropped the ball on reader hating Jack (sorry), overuse of the words 'trembling' and 'teasing' (sorry lol), edited only once

Summary; Part two to Arrogant, which can be found HERE

Word Count; 8.3k

Author’s note; I hate this unfortunately, but I spent a bit of time on it, and I really want to get it out of my drafts, so here it is. Keep in mind, I'm still new to writing smut, but I hope you like it at least a little bit. Also, the ending is kind of abrupt, sorry. Writing for Jack doesn't come as naturally as writing for Quinn does, but if you have any Jack requests, feel free to send them through my inbox. Thank you all so much for all the support, I hit 100 followers this morning! Should I do a celly, or should I wait until I hit a higher milestone? -Honey

His hands grip your ass firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he effortlessly lifts you, pulling your body against his. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, locking in place as he straightens up, holding you securely. His lips are still on yours, hungry and demanding, the taste of him lingering as he begins to carry you toward the stairs.

With each step he takes, you can feel the flex of his muscles beneath you, the way his body moves with an easy strength that sends a thrill rushing through you. But the second he starts ascending the stairs, the thought of being dropped flashes through your mind, and you pull away from his lips, breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"Don’t drop me," you warn, your gaze narrowing at him.

Jack pulls back just enough to glance down at you, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as a smirk curls on his lips. He lets out a low chuckle, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hide the grin that’s tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Relax, princess," he mutters, the nickname rolling off his tongue with that infuriating mix of affection and mischief that only Jack can pull off.

You roll your eyes at the word, heat flooding your cheeks. "How many times have I told you not to call me that?" You huff, irritated at the way he says the word—"princess"—with that unserious, almost mocking tone always sends a strange flutter through your chest, even if you pretend to hate it.

Jack doesn’t miss a beat. "Yeah, well," he says, his voice low, bordering on exasperation. "you say a lot of things." His grip on you tightens, and the effortless confidence in his movements makes it clear he’s far from concerned about dropping you.

He reaches the top of the stairs, his pace quickening as he makes his way down the hall. By the time he pushes the door open with his foot, the air between you feels charged, every touch sending sparks of heat coursing through your veins. The second you cross the threshold into your room, Jack wastes no time. He walks straight to the bed and drops you onto the mattress—not roughly, but with enough force to make you bounce slightly against the plush comforter.

A surprised gasp escapes your lips as you land, but it’s cut short when Jack is suddenly hovering over you, climbing onto the bed with a swift, predatory grace. His knees sink into the mattress on either side of your hips, caging you in beneath him. The intensity in his gaze shifts, his playful smirk softening into something darker, something laced with the undeniable tension that’s been building since the moment his hands found your body.

You can feel the weight of his body pressing against yours, the heat of him seeping through your clothes, the way his breath brushes against your skin as he leans down, his face inches from yours. His eyes flicker over your features, taking in the way your lips part slightly, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

"See?" he murmurs, his voice a rasp, rough around the edges. "Told you I wouldn’t drop you."

You roll your eyes, but it’s mostly for show. The truth is, your heart is racing, your pulse thudding in your ears, and your body is already aching for his touch. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his eyes darken with desire as he hovers over you, and it makes your breath hitch. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s affecting you—at least, not yet.

"Wow," you quip, your voice laced with sarcasm even as your chest rises and falls more quickly, "you did something right for once." The smirk on your lips is teasing, but it’s your way of holding on to some semblance of control, even though you can feel it slipping with every passing second.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your jab, but there’s something dangerous in the way his lips twitch into a smirk of his own. Without another word, he presses his body against yours, the full weight of him pinning you to the bed, his warmth seeping into your skin. The intensity of the moment sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath catching as you feel every inch of him against you—hard, unyielding, and incredibly close.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, filled with an edge that makes your stomach flip. "You’ve got a bad mouth on you." His eyes bore into yours, and the heat in his gaze makes your skin flush. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he adds, "Might need to shove something in it to make you be quiet."

His words send a shiver down your spine, the rough edge to his tone making you gasp softly, despite your best efforts to remain defiant. His breath is hot against your ear, his lips brushing your skin just enough to make you want more, even as his hands trail possessively down your sides, claiming you.

"Fuck you," you hiss, though the words come out breathless, your bravado faltering just slightly as his body presses harder against yours. Your hands grip the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as heat pools low in your stomach, your body already reacting to the promise in his words, the tension between you winding tighter and tighter.

He lets out a soft, amused laugh, his lips curling into a grin that’s all arrogance and confidence. "Oh, I’m sure you’d like that," he replies, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. His hips grind against yours for emphasis, his body so close now that you can feel the hard length of him pressing against you through the thin fabric of your clothes, teasing you with what’s to come.

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing the small gasp that threatens to escape your throat. He’s so infuriatingly smug, and yet, the way his body moves against yours, the way his hands grip your hips with just the right amount of pressure, it’s enough to make you dizzy with want.

"You’re not as tough as you think, princess," he continues, his voice a dangerous mix of teasing and desire, his lips moving from your ear to your neck, where he begins to trail slow, deliberate kisses along your skin. The heat of his mouth contrasts with the cool air of the room, making you shiver beneath him.

His words are like gasoline to the fire burning inside you, and despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface, you can’t deny how much you want him—how much you’ve been aching for him to touch you. But you’re not about to let him know that. Not yet.

"Don’t call me that," you snap, though the bite in your voice falters when he sucks lightly at a spot on your neck that makes your knees go weak. His lips pull away just long enough for you to catch the flash of mischief in his eyes, a look that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

"Make me stop," he challenges, his tone almost daring you, like he knows you won’t—like he knows that despite your words, your body is already giving him all the permission he needs.

You want to retort, want to snap back with some smart remark, but before you can find the words, his lips crash down on yours. It’s a kiss that’s full of intensity, raw and hungry, leaving no room for anything else. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a demanding urgency that makes your head spin.

You groan against his mouth, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at the strands with a mixture of frustration and need. The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue and heat, as if neither of you can get enough, as if all the tension between you is finally snapping, and you’re both powerless to stop it.

His hips grind harder against yours, his body practically caging you in beneath him, and it’s almost too much—the pressure, the heat, the way every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire. You tug at his hair harder, pulling him away from your lips just long enough to catch your breath, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze.

"Still want me to stop?" he breathes, his forehead resting against yours, his voice rough and strained with the same tension that’s running through your veins.

You meet his eyes, your defiance flickering just beneath the surface, even as your body betrays you with the way it arches into his touch. "Shut up," you whisper, though the breathless tone of your voice takes all the bite out of the words.

He grins, utterly satisfied with himself as he leans back to pull off his shirt, his muscles rippling beneath the skin in that infuriating way that makes your stomach flip no matter how much you try to ignore it. The moment his shirt hits the floor, your eyes involuntarily trail down his chest, over the defined ridges of his abs, and before you can stop yourself, you roll your eyes—hard.

His grin only widens at your reaction, his amusement practically dripping off him as he stands there, all confidence. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows how much his body affects you, even if you refuse to admit it. And God, he loves it—loves pushing you, teasing you, knowing you’re fighting yourself every step of the way.

"See something you like?" he teases, voice just dripping with that irritating cockiness that makes your blood boil. His eyes gleam with mischief, his lips curling up in a way that dares you to react, dares you to admit what’s already painfully obvious to him—that despite how much he drives you crazy, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

You let out an exaggerated scoff, forcing your gaze away from his infuriatingly perfect body. Your arms cross over your chest in a gesture meant to convey annoyance, but all it really does is give you something to hold on to as the heat of desire coils low in your belly. It’s maddening—how easily he can get under your skin, how effortlessly he can flip your emotions from anger to... this.

"You wish," you snap, your voice laced with irritation, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him.

He lets out a soft, amused laugh, that insufferable smirk never leaving his face as he leans back down, closing the distance between you. His presence feels overwhelming, the heat of his body, the sheer size of him towering over you. You can feel his breath against your skin, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine even though you’re determined not to show it.

"Really?" he murmurs, his voice low, dripping with that maddening confidence. "Because I think you’re lying." His eyes flicker over your face, watching your reaction with that smug intensity that makes you want to slap him—or kiss him. Maybe both.

You huff, your jaw tightening as you refuse to meet his gaze, even though you can feel the weight of it, feel him practically daring you to look at him. "I’m not lying," you bite out, but the words sound weak, even to your own ears.

"Uh-huh," he drawls, his hand coming down to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. The touch is light, almost gentle, but it sends a bolt of electricity through you that you feel all the way down to your core. "Why do you keep lying to yourself, princess?" he says, his voice a low murmur now, the teasing laced with something darker, more intense. His eyes flick down to your lips, just for a second, before locking back onto yours with that infuriating mix of amusement and desire. "I can feel how much you want me. You’re terrible at hiding it."

"Stop. Calling. Me. That." you snap, trying to regain some sense of control. But it’s hard to focus on anything but how close he is, the heat radiating off him, the way your body seems to hum with awareness of every inch between you.

He laughs again, a deep, rich sound that makes your frustration flare. "You keep saying that," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "But we both know you love it."

You clench your jaw, your nails digging into your palms as you fight to maintain the upper hand, but it’s slipping fast. His hand moves lower, grazing your arm, his touch light but purposeful, and you can feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and that’s what infuriates you the most.

"Tell me to stop," he says, his voice soft now, almost a challenge. His lips hover just a breath away from yours, so close you can feel the warmth of him, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to give in. "Go ahead. Tell me to stop."

Your heart is pounding, your breath shallow as the tension between you reaches a boiling point. You should tell him to stop. You should shove him away, wipe that arrogant smirk off his face, and storm out of the room. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, meeting his gaze with as much strength as you can muster. "I hate you," you whisper, your voice shaking with the force of your frustration, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

But instead of being hurt, or even fazed, his grin only widens, his eyes gleaming with victory. "No, you don’t," he whispers back, his lips brushing against yours, the touch feather-light but enough to send a wave of heat crashing through you.

His lips press against yours, hot and insistent, as he pins you deeper into the mattress, his weight settling over you like a blanket of heat. The kiss is all-consuming, stealing your breath and scattering your thoughts, but you can’t help the way your body responds—how your hands instinctively clutch at his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You hate how easily he does this to you, how effortlessly he tears down your defenses with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

His hands are already moving, sliding beneath the hem of your pajama shirt, the cool air meeting your bare skin for a brief moment before his fingers find you. The second his hands make contact, a jolt of electricity shoots through you, igniting another fire low in your stomach. He doesn’t hesitate, his palms warm and firm as they trail upward, sending goosebumps racing along your skin as they push the fabric higher, higher—until he reaches your breasts.

He cups them, his hands squeezing gently at first, his touch confident, possessive. His lips never leave yours, and you can feel the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he deepens the kiss, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. You try to hold back a whimper, but it escapes anyway, much to his satisfaction. He groans softly in response, the sound reverberating through you, adding fuel to that fire already building inside you.

Your frustration bubbles up again, a part of you hating how easily he affects you, how he always seems to get what he wants without even trying. But your body isn’t listening to your mind anymore—your heart is racing, and your breath comes out in short, needy gasps as his hands continue their exploration. His thumbs graze over your nipples, and your entire body jerks in response, a gasp spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

He pulls back from the kiss just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with that familiar teasing glint. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Already falling apart, and I’ve barely even touched you."

"Shut up," you manage to hiss, though your voice betrays you—too breathless, too shaky to sound convincing. You try to glare at him, but the way his fingers are kneading your breasts, the way he’s rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, makes it impossible to focus. The pleasure is too intense, too overwhelming, and you feel your control slipping with every flick of his fingers, every press of his hands.

He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying how much he’s getting under your skin—both literally and figuratively. "Your wish is my command," he says, his tone full of that infuriating cockiness that makes your blood boil. He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses as they move lower, teasing, grazing your skin with his teeth just enough to send a shiver running down your spine.

His lips trail down your stomach, each kiss soft and unhurried. His breath is hot against you, and every brush of his lips feels like a tease, leaving you trembling with a mixture of anticipation and frustration. You don't want him to know how much he's getting to you, but your body betrays you with every little shiver and breathless gasp that escapes your lips.

He pauses when he reaches the waistband of your sleep shorts, his lips just hovering above the fabric. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to arch up into his touch, determined to maintain some semblance of control, even as desire coils tightly in your core.

"Hips up, princess," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, the nickname rolling off his tongue without a care in the world.

You let out grumble, though your voice comes out breathier than you'd like. The complaint lacks any real bite, especially since, despite the irritation burning through you, you're already lifting your hips, obeying his instruction without hesitation.

The second your hips rise, even the slightest bit, his hands are already on you—his fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts and panties, tugging at them. You let out a sharp breath as the cool air hits your now-exposed skin, the sudden contrast sending a shiver racing through your body.

He pulls the fabric down your legs slowly, dragging the moment out just to torment you. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time, that intense, smug gaze that makes your pulse race and your skin flush with anger. Once the shorts and panties are off, he carelessly flings them somewhere behind him—he doesn't even bother to look where they land. His attention is entirely on you now, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as he sits back on his heels, taking in the sight before him.

He whistles softly, a low, appreciative sound that makes your cheeks burn with both embarrassment and desire. You want to tell him to shut up, to wipe that cocky smirk off his face, but you can't seem to form the words. Not when his eyes are locked on your glistening core, his lips parted slightly in awe, like he's seeing you for the first time-even though you've been here before, countless times.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes darkening with lust as they travel slowly up and down your body, lingering on the slickness between your thighs. “You’re already so wet for me.”

You press your lips together, trying to stifle the embarrassed moan that threatens to spill out, but you can’t stop the way your hips twitch, your body betraying you once again. The throbbing between your legs grows more insistent, more urgent, and you hate that he knows exactly how much power he has over you.

“Such a good girl, even when you’re pretending to hate me,” he adds, his tone dripping with teasing arrogance. His hands slide up the insides of your thighs, the heat of his touch leaving a burning trail on your skin, making you ache for more.

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of defiance you have left. “Asshole,” you snap, but your voice comes out shaky, breathless, and it only seems to make him grin wider.

His fingers brush just shy of where you want him most, deliberately avoiding your slick heat, keeping you on edge. You hate how easily he can work you up, how he seems to know your body better than you do. And you hate that, despite everything, you want him to touch you. You want him to stop teasing and give you what you’re aching for, even if admitting that would mean admitting defeat.

But he’s not done yet. His eyes never leave yours as he leans forward again, his breath hot against your thigh, his lips hovering just an inch from your slick skin. He’s close—so close you can feel the heat of him, the anticipation driving you wild, making your whole body hum with need.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he murmurs, sending shivers down your spine. His lips brush lightly against your skin as he speaks, and it’s enough to make your toes curl in frustration.

You squeeze your eyes shut, refusing to give in, refusing to let him win. But it’s getting harder. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for his touch, every muscle tensing with the overwhelming desire pulsing through you. You can feel yourself getting wetter, slicker, the arousal practically dripping from you—and he knows it. He’s watching you closely, waiting for you to break.

His fingers slide dangerously close again, brushing the edges of your folds, and you let out a soft, involuntary whimper. Your hips jerk up, your body begging for more, even though you’re trying so hard to resist. You can hear the smirk in his voice as he whispers, “Tell me, princess.”

You open your mouth to snap at him, to throw some biting remark his way, but instead, what comes out is a soft, breathless, “Please.”

His smirk grows even wider, and the satisfaction in his eyes is unmistakable. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he murmurs.

And then, finally—finally—his mouth is on you.

The moment his lips connect with your slick, aching core, a sharp breath catches in your throat, and your body jerks involuntarily, every muscle tensing as the pleasure surges through you. Your bottom lip is caught painfully between your teeth, your desperate attempt to stifle the moan that threatens to escape. It’s almost unbearable, the way his mouth works against you—hot, firm, and utterly devastating.

He grins against you, and you can feel the smug satisfaction in the curve of his lips as they press against your most sensitive flesh. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how hard you’re fighting to keep yourself in check. It drives you crazy that he gets off on it, that he takes so much pleasure in teasing you like this, in watching you struggle to maintain even a shred of control.

His breath is hot and heavy against your skin, sending shivers racing up your spine, and before you can gather your bearings, his tongue dips out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe against your folds.

It’s maddening—the way he takes his time, dragging his tongue slowly, purposefully, from your entrance up to your clit, as if savoring every inch of you. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your toes curling in response as heat blooms low in your stomach. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building with every excruciatingly slow movement of his tongue.

A muffled whimper slips past your lips, despite your best efforts to keep quiet, and his tongue pauses for just a second. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your core, making your thighs tremble.

“You’re trying so hard,” he murmurs, his voice teasing as his lips brush lightly against your sensitive skin. “But I can feel it,” His breath fans over your folds, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “How much you want to fall apart.”

You can feel your resolve slipping with every word, your body betraying you with every twitch, every soft whimper. It’s embarrassing, how easily he can unravel you, how his touch, his mouth, his voice, all seem to have complete control over you, even when you’re fighting with everything you have to hold on to some semblance of composure.

Your hands clutch the sheets beneath you, fingers twisting in the fabric as his tongue dips lower again, swirling slowly around your entrance, teasing you, making your hips twitch in response. He’s dragging this out—drawing you closer to the edge but never giving you quite enough to send you over. It’s infuriating, but it’s intoxicating all at once.

You manage to breathe out a shaky, “Just—” but before you can finish, his tongue flicks up again, brushing against your clit in the lightest, most maddening touch you’ve ever felt.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and your back arches off the bed, your hips instinctively bucking toward him, desperate for more. Your body is betraying you in every possible way, and it only seems to fuel him, his movements becoming bolder, more confident.

“Just what?” he murmurs against you, his voice dripping with amusement. His tongue moves in slow, lazy circles now, brushing over your clit with just enough pressure.

“Jack—” you try again, but the words die in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes through you. Your mind is spinning, a haze of want and frustration clouding your thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the delicious torment of his mouth against you.

You bite down on your lip harder, trying to keep yourself from begging, but it’s useless. You can feel yourself falling apart under his touch, your control slipping away, bit by bit, with every swirl of his tongue.

“I can stop,” he offers, though you can hear the tilt in his voice. You know he’s just toying with you, enjoying the power he holds over you. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them wider as his tongue flicks over your clit again, the touch just enough to make your body tremble with need.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you manage to gasp, your voice a ragged mix of frustration and desperation. Your body is on fire, every nerve alight with sensation, and the thought of him stopping now, of leaving you teetering on the edge like this, is unbearable.

He chuckles again, clearly pleased with your response. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs.

Casually—almost too casually—he moves a free hand down between your legs, his fingers brushing against your inner thigh with a featherlight touch that makes you shiver. It’s infuriating how effortless he makes it seem, as if he isn’t already driving you wild, as if your body isn’t already on fire from the way his mouth is working you over. You’re trying to calm yourself down, catch your breath, when he pulls his mouth away from your core, just enough to make you feel the sudden, almost unbearable emptiness.

The cool air hits your slick skin, making you gasp, but before you can even think to complain, his hand is already there. His fingers hover just shy of your entrance, brushing against your folds with an aggrevating slowness that sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. You bite your lip hard, trying to keep yourself grounded, trying to hold on to the last bit of control you have left—but it’s slipping, fast.

And then, without warning, he pushes a finger inside you.

A loud, desperate cry escapes your lips before you can stop it, your body arching off the bed as the sudden intrusion sends a shockwave of pleasure straight through you. The sound is raw, uncontrollable, and it only seems to spur him on. You can feel his grin against your inner thigh, smug and satisfied, as his finger sinks deeper into you, curling just enough to make your whole body light up.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice full of that familiar, cocky arrogance that makes you want to scream and kiss him at the same time. His finger begins to move in and out of you, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. “Let me hear you.”

His words only make the heat pooling in your stomach burn hotter, the sensation of his finger working in and out of you too much and not enough all at once. You can’t help it—every movement of his hand makes another moan slip past your lips, makes your hips buck helplessly against him, your body chasing the pleasure he’s so expertly building inside you. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge, how to make you unravel with nothing but the touch of his fingers, and you hate it.

He thrusts his finger in again, a little harder this time, and a strangled cry escapes you, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you for dear life. Your head falls back against the pillow, your mouth falling open as you gasp for breath, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

His mouth returns to your core, his tongue flicking out to swirl around your clit just as he thrusts his finger in deeper. The combination of his mouth and his hand working together is lethal—his finger curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your vision blur, while his tongue works circles over your swollen clit, sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body.

“Fuck—” you manage to gasp, your voice shaking as the tension inside you builds to a near-breaking point. Your hips grind up toward him, desperate for more, your body moving instinctively as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable.

His finger starts moving faster now, thrusting in and out with a steady, relentless rhythm, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. His tongue is merciless, flicking and circling over your clit in perfect time with his thrusts, and you can’t hold back the moans anymore. You’re beyond caring how loud you are, beyond caring about anything other than the way he’s making you feel.

He slips a second finger inside you, the stretch making your thighs tremble, and you let out a strangled moan, your hands flying to his hair, tugging hard as your body reacts on instinct. The added pressure, the feeling of his fingers thrusting deeper, curling and pumping inside you—it’s almost too much. Your hips buck wildly, your body overwhelmed with the intensity of it all, and you’re not sure how much longer you can last.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your core, “Close, aren’t you, princess?”

You nod frantically, unable to form words, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building to a breaking point, every thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” he commands, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity that sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. His fingers curl inside you again, pressing against that sweet spot with devastating precision, and it’s all you need.

With a loud cry, your body shatters beneath him, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for breath as the pleasure crashes over you in wave after wave. Your thighs tremble violently, your back arching off the bed as your entire body convulses with the force of it. His fingers keep thrusting, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left a quivering, breathless mess.

When the last of the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against the bed, completely spent, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. He pulls his fingers out of you gently, his touch lingering just long enough to ride you through your climax. His mouth leaves your core, and when you glance down at him, you see him grinning up at you, his lips glistening with your arousal.

“Taste so good,” he murmurs, his voice full of satisfaction as his tongue swipes across the tips of his fingers. He sits back on his heels, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, infuriating mix of arrogance and desire. “So fucking perfect when you fall apart for me.”

You manage to muster enough strength to roll your eyes at him, though the effort is half-hearted at best. Your body is hot, your legs weak, and despite your frustration, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. Because as much as he infuriates you, as much as you hate his smug, teasing arrogance... fuck, does his tongue feel good.

Your attention is pulled back to him the moment you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. The metallic click echoes in the room, and your breath hitches, your pulse quickening as your eyes dart down to him. The sight before you makes your mouth go dry, only for heat to pool low in your stomach as a new wave of desire surges through you.

He’s standing there, his bare chest gleaming in the dim light, and now his pants are sliding down his legs, leaving him in nothing but a pair of snug boxers that cling to his hips. Your gaze locks onto the outline of his cock, already straining against the fabric, and you can’t help but feel your breath catch in your throat, your body reacting instantly to the sight. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, instinctively, as if preparing for what’s to come.

A hunger blooms in your chest—sharp, sudden—and even though you’ve just been wrecked by the intense climax he pulled out of you, your body is already responding to him again, aching for more. It's embarrassing, really.

He watches you, blue eyes of his trailing over your body with that familiar intensity that sends a shudder down your spine. His gaze lingers on your chest, and it’s then that you realize your arms are itching to move, to shed the last barrier of clothing that separates you from him. Your nightshirt suddenly feels too constricting, too hot, and without hesitation, you tug it over your head, tossing it aside in one quick motion.

You’re bare before him now, and the cool air against your flushed skin only heightens the feeling of being utterly exposed to him—but instead of fear, it sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you. You can see the way his jaw clenches slightly, his eyes darkening as they take in the sight of you, and the raw desire in his gaze makes heat flare through your entire body. His eyes flick down to your breasts, lingering there for a moment, and the way he looks at you makes your nipples harden all over again, your body responding to his gaze as if he’s physically touching you.

He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t need to. His silence speaks volumes. The way his gaze trails down your body, the heat of it making your skin tingle, tells you everything you need to know about what’s going through his mind. He’s savoring this moment, drinking you in like you’re something he can’t get enough of, and the hunger in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re so focused on his eyes that you almost don’t notice when his hands move to the waistband of his boxers. But the second he begins to slide them down, your attention snaps to the motion, your mouth going dry as the last of his clothing hits the floor. He steps out of his boxers with that same casual confidence, and your gaze locks onto him—fully, completely bare—and suddenly it feels like every nerve in your body is on fire again.

You can’t help it. Your tongue darts out again, wetting your lips in anticipation as your eyes drink him in. He’s hard, thick, his cock jutting out proudly in front of him, and the sight alone sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through you. Your body clenches in response, the ache between your legs growing more intense, and despite the fact that you just climaxed, your body is already craving more. You feel a new rush of slickness between your thighs, the anticipation building with every passing second as you watch him step closer, the tension in the room thickening with every heartbeat.

He notices, of course—he always does. He sees the way your body reacts to him, the way your thighs press together, trying to alleviate some of the ache, the way your tongue wets your lips in anticipation. His eyes flicker with that familiar cocky glint, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he steps closer to the bed, closing the distance between you.

"Someone’s eager," he murmurs, teasing, as he comes to stand next to you by the bed. He reaches out, his hand brushing a piece of hair out of your face, his touch featherlight but enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. "Greedy, greedy girl..."

Without a word, he grabs your hand—not roughly, but with enough force to let you know exactly what he wants. His touch is firm, guiding you with an unspoken command as he pulls you gently off the bed. Your legs tremble as you rise, but instead of standing, you feel the soft give of the carpet beneath your knees as you sink down in front of him, your body instinctively following his lead.

He takes his place on the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide. Without breaking eye contact, he wraps his hand around his length, lazily stroking himself. Your eyes drop to his hand, watching as he moves nonchalantly, as though he has all the time in the world. You swallow hard, your mouth watering at the sight of him, your body responding to the intensity of the moment. His fingers slide over the smooth, rigid flesh, and you can see the slight glisten of pre-cum at the tip as his grip tightens, making your pulse race even faster.

You don’t wait for his permission—you don’t need it. Your hands reach out, eager but steady, and you gently take his cock from him, your fingers wrapping around him with a sense of ownership. His breath hitches slightly at the change in contact, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his muscles as he watches your every move.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and the look on his face—the hunger, the way his jaw clenches in anticipation—sends a wave of confidence rushing through you. You hold his gaze as you lean forward, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, the tip of your tongue brushing against the corners of your mouth in preparation. His breath comes out in a slow exhale, his chest rising and falling in a way that lets you know you have him where you want him.

Casually, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching the way it glistens in the dim light of the room. The saliva drips down, mixing with the bead of pre-cum already there, and your hand moves instinctively, spreading the moisture along his cock, making each stroke smoother, slicker. The wet sound of your hand sliding over him fills the air, and his body tenses under your touch. You feel him grow harder in your hand, his muscles tightening as he leans back slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress for support. His eyes are half-lidded now, his gaze heavy as he watches you work over him, the lazy strokes of your hand building a steady rhythm.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges, the first word he’s spoken since pulling you to your knees. There’s something unfiltered in the way he says it, like he can barely keep the desire out of his voice. His head tips back just slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths as he fights to maintain the upper hand.

You can’t help but smirk, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the way his body is responding to you, at the way he’s losing that unshakable control he’s so good at maintaining. You know you have him now, and the knowledge makes you bolder. Without breaking the rhythm of your hand, you lower your mouth to him, your tongue darting out to swirl over the tip, tasting him. The salty taste of pre-cum meets your tongue, and you hum softly in response, the sound vibrating in your chest as you take him further into your mouth. His sharp inhale fills the room, and you feel his body tense under your touch, his hands gripping the mattress tighter, his knuckles white.

"Good girl," he breathes, the words slipping out in a low, almost involuntary growl. His fingers twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to bury them in your hair and guide you to move faster, harder, but he holds back—for now.

You feel the power shift between you, the balance of control subtly tilting in your favor as you wrap your lips around him, your tongue swirling over his head before sliding further down. His hips jerk up just slightly, his body instinctively chasing the heat of your mouth, and the low groan that escapes him makes your whole body thrum with satisfaction.

You bob your head, slowly at first, taking your time, savoring the feeling of him filling your mouth. Your hand works in tandem with your lips, stroking the base of his length while your mouth moves over the rest, each movement deliberate, slow, teasing. You can feel him trembling slightly beneath you, his restraint slipping as his breath becomes more ragged, more uneven.

"Fuck," he mutters again, his voice tighter this time, strained with the effort of holding back. His hands finally move from the edge of the bed, one of them tangling in your hair, the other resting on your shoulder, his fingers flexing against your skin as he fights to keep from thrusting up into your mouth.

"Don’t stop," he grits out, his voice rough, desperate. His hand tightens in your hair, just enough to guide you, to push you a little deeper.

You hum around him, the sound vibrating through your throat and sending a jolt of pleasure straight up his spine. The soft, needy noise you make seems to unravel him, his grip tightening in your hair as you continue the steady motion of bobbing your head along his cock. The weight of him in your mouth, the taste of him on your tongue—it all builds into a dizzying sense of control and desire that fuels you to push even further.

He’s not forcing, but guiding, applying just enough pressure to help you take him in deeper, pushing you down on his length. Your lips stretch wider as you take him further, the sensation of being filled making your core throb with heat.

You adjust easily to his lead, and the soft sound of his breath hitching above you tells you how much he loves it. A low, guttural moan escapes his lips, and the sound sends a rush of excitement through you. He’s losing control—because of you. And you can feel it, in the way his body tenses, in the slight tremor in his fingers as they flex against your scalp.

Your free hand moves down between his legs, the motion slow as your fingers brush lightly against his balls. You can feel how tight and full they are, and the heat radiating from his skin makes your fingers tingle as you cup him gently in your hand. His reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his hips jerking slightly upward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth as your fingers squeeze him lightly.

"Fuck," he mutters, the word drawn out, his voice thick with lust. His hips buck slightly again, just enough to let you know how much he’s struggling to keep control. His head tips back, the cords in his neck straining as he fights to maintain the upper hand, but you can tell he’s losing it, bit by bit.

You hum again around him, your fingers stroking and massaging his balls in time with the bobbing of your head. Each time you take him deeper, your throat tightens around him, the soft gagging sounds mixing with the wet, slick noise of your mouth working over him, filling the room with the raw, intimate sounds of pleasure. Your hand continues to stroke gently, massaging him as your mouth moves faster, deeper, the pace building as you sense him drawing closer to the edge.

The way his hands grip your hair tighter, the way his breathing becomes ragged—all of it tells you how close he is, how much he’s holding back. The control you have over him right now sends a thrill coursing through your veins, and it only makes you want to push him further, to make him fall apart completely in your hands.

His groans grow louder, more desperate, and you can feel his hips rocking upward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth with every thrust. The sensation of him filling your throat, of the slight sting of your gag reflex, only spurs you on, your hand squeezing his balls a little firmer as you take him even deeper, your lips pressing against the base of his cock with each motion.

His breath comes out in ragged gasps, his fingers flexing against your scalp, his grip tightening as he guides your head down, pushing you to take him as deep as you can. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tensing beneath your hand, his whole body coiling with the intensity of his impending release. The tension between you is electric, thick and heavy in the air, and you know he’s on the verge of losing it—his control fraying with every stroke of your hand, every movement of your mouth.

"God, you’re—" he starts, his voice tight and strained, but the words are cut off by a low, guttural moan as his body shudders under your touch. He pulls you down harder on his length, his hips rocking up into your mouth with more urgency now, the slow, teasing pace you’d set earlier completely forgotten. His hands guide you faster, harder, as if he can’t get enough, as if he’s chasing that final, explosive release that’s just within reach.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper, harder, as your hand continues to squeeze and massage his balls, your fingers pressing into the sensitive skin with just the right amount of pressure. The combination of your mouth and hand working in perfect rhythm is driving him wild, and you can feel him trembling beneath you.

"Shit—just like that," he groans. His head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut as he surrenders to the pleasure, his entire body shaking with the effort of holding on for just a little longer. "Don’t stop," he grits out, his hips bucking upward again, pushing himself deeper into your mouth as his grip on your hair tightens even further.

And you don’t stop. You keep going, faster, your mouth moving in time with his ragged breaths, your hand continuing to massage him, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge. You can feel him tensing, his body shaking with the intensity of it all, and you know it’s only a matter of seconds before he breaks.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, his body shudders violently, his hips jerking up as he finally comes undone in your mouth. His release is sudden and overwhelming, his cock twitching as he spills hot and thick down your throat. You take him as deep as you can, swallowing around him as his body convulses, his fingers gripping your hair tightly as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

A long, broken groan escapes his lips, his entire body trembling as he surrenders to the pleasure. You keep your lips wrapped around him, your hand still gently massaging him, coaxing every last drop from him as he shudders beneath you. His hips rock gently against your mouth, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he finally starts to come down from the high.

When the last of the tremors finally subside, you pull back slowly, your lips slipping off his length with a soft, wet pop. His chest is heaving, his breath still uneven, and his eyes are half-lidded as he looks down at you, his gaze hazy with the remnants of pleasure. His hands loosen in your hair, sliding down to rest gently on your shoulders, his touch soft now, almost reverent.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. His head tips back, and he lets out a long, slow exhale, his body relaxing as the tension finally leaves him. "That was... incredible."

You smirk up at him, wiping the back of your hand across your lips, your body still brimming with the satisfaction of knowing you made him come undone like that. “I know."

Two can play that game, asshole.