#i’m joking he’s not even doing anything :3

[vaquerolvr]

I need if your able, one with the dirty patriot cacaw mother fucker Graves for the good looking boy dorky posts, 🥺🙏 if not I'd be down for Nikolai on such a Nik kick it ain't funny 💖

tell me i’m your national anthem

synopsis: texts with graves as your bf

extra headcanons at the bottom again :)

cw: mentions of injuries

an: this is just graves getting bullied because i hate him /j. soap and ghost version will be coming soon (probably) while i force myself to get through the ghosts campaign. title is from national anthem by lana del rey :3

masterlist

⊹ he’s so bad at video games

even something simple, like animal crossing (i have a vision of him playing wild world and getting pissed when the villagers are mean to him). BUT he can be convinced (bullied) into playing with you. be warned, he will do his best to lose on purpose, out of spite

⊹ i’m not saying he’s a sugar daddy but…

you never have to pay for anything again after you start dating him. he’s the type of guy to randomly give you $1,000 to “buy something nice.” he wouldn’t force you to quit your job but he definitely encourages it. like sure, you can have a “career” or whatever if you want, but wouldn’t it be so much nicer if you just stayed home and looked pretty for him?

⊹ he secretly loves shitty soap operas

he’ll stand in the living room watching the TV for like an hour but insist that he’s not invested in it. (bonus points to anyone who knows what show i was referencing hehe)

⊹ freaks out anytime you’re hurt

even a tiny paper cut is enough to switch him into mother hen mode. will pamper you, treats you like royalty until you feel better. it’s nice at first but after the fourth hour of him hovering and not even letting you go to the bathroom by yourself, you’ll probably be tempted to smack him

⊹ gets SUPER clingy whenever he has to be away from you for longer than a week

he won’t say it but he feels guilty about leaving you alone so much, it’s part of why he insists on spoiling you. he’s kind of a workaholic but having you around makes him want to cut back on his hours.

⊹he can’t handle horror movies

torture? war crimes? death? he’s fine with all of it. but the chestburster scene in alien? he’s turning away from the screen and gagging.

⊹ he falls for the ligma joke every time

at some point you have to start wondering if he’s dumb or if he’s just playing along to make you laugh.

⊹ HE’S A SIMP

can never say no to you, folds at the slightest bit of begging.

⊹ the first time you called him kitten was the closest he’s ever been to breaking up with you

he’s resigned at this point. doesn’t bat an eye if you call him your malewife or babygirl. will be a little upset if you call him that in public though.

dividers from @/saradika-graphics :)

[yowumi]

Hotshot surgeon Gojo x Medical Student Reader Ft. Hotshot Surgeon Suguru [ modern au ] TW. Pregnancy & Love Triangle

Shotgun Wedding Ch. 04 | The Proposal

Summary. Satoru Gojo, The states #1 Neurosurgeon, known for his wealthy clan. He was known for his success, parties, and his willingness to fuck anybody and everybody in a 10 mile radius. Unfortunately, one unlucky night, you make the wise decision to do what any hard working young medical student would do when faced with a sexy doctor…you sleep with him in which changes your life forever.

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Warnings. Accidental pregnancy, no protection (wrap it before you tap it), love triangle, roommates (they all live together), satoru is a bit of a meanie, plot twists, angst, smut, you only end up with one.

A/N. this is my first time writing a fanfic, although i’ve always wanted to! i’m always open to take constructive criticism or any tips to make my writing better! I hope you guys enjoy and definitely lemme know if you have any suggestions, read well luv <3

keep up! // ch. 1 // ch. 2 // ch. 3 // ch. 4 // ch. 5 (coming soon)

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“Ah Megumi what a great surprise, it’s been a while since Satoru has dragged you out here” geto jokes, pulling Megumi into a tight hug leaving a pat on his back.

“Yeah unfortunately”

“Hey! I know you love spending time with your older brother!” Satoru pouts while trying to reference himself in which Megumi responds in a disgusted huff,

“He already agreed to come here, no need to torture him too much, Satoru” Suguru closes the door behind you guys finding his way to glide his hand on the small of your back, sending shivers down your spine.

You try and ignore it as you walk into the living room, Suguru guiding you to the kitchen where he has food prepared for laters dinner, which makes you eye ball the delicious food being teased in your face.

Megumi pulls Satoru the side with a small, “We’ve got to talk.” leaving Satoru confused as he follows behind him.

“What’s this all about?” he asks in confusion as they are both now pulled aside.

“I know” He pauses trying to find the words, “I know that you’re the father of the child she’s carrying” He raises his voice a little.

“I figured that much considering you didn’t talk to me nor her for nearly 2 months, I understand you may not like me but it has nothing to do with her” He says, his voice becoming more calm compared to the hyper playful voice he usually kept around Megumi.

“What the hell were you thinking? Knocking her up like that? She deserves better than you, you know you can’t commit to her and give her what she deserves so why the hell would you do it, why?” his voice struggled to stay consistent feeling emotions trying to tear their way out of his throat.

Why was he so upset about this? Why did he care so much who you were with? Why the hell couldn’t he control his emotions.

And it was almost as if Satoru reads his thoughts because his face falls with a new look of realization, he stutters for a moment, “Wait..this isn’t about me, is it? you like her, Megumi…Oh.” He says looking down in guilt.

He cared about you. He cared about Suguru. But Megumi…he took care of Megumi the best way he could as a teenager, seeing the look on Megumi’s face truly made him realize the damage he had inflicted on him.

He would have never done it if he knew Megumi had still loved her.

“This isn’t about me. This is about her and I understand what’s done is done but promise me that you won’t leave her alone with this, promise me you won’t hurt her or fuck around like you do with everything else.” His heart feels heavy, he can’t even keep eye contact.

“Listen…I know i don’t have a good history with relationships and that stuff but I do care about y/n. I wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize her happiness, trust me on that.”

Megumi takes a few seconds to process it before slowly nodding, “I think we should head back inside.” He says before walking past him.

MEANWHILE IN THE KITCHEN WITH Y/N & SUGURU:

“So…” You start,

“So!” He says cheerfully, putting his elbows down on the counter in front of you, with an interested expression on his face.

“I actually have a question…it’s about Satoru’s parents.” You say nervously hoping he would give you any tips or warnings on what to expect.

“Well, they’re great people as one would say while talking about one of the most popular and rich families in Tokyo but honestly…They can be a little rough on Satoru, and I wouldn’t take anything they say to heart, They seemed to have had an effect on Satoru’s last girlfriend.” He trails off suddenly not wanting to talk about it at the mention of his last girlfriend.

“What happened to his last girlfriend…?” You didn’t want to push any boundaries but you couldn’t help but feel curious on the sudden change of mood at the mention of her.

“Uh…Well-“ He’s cut off before hearing a rowdy Satoru enter the room excitedly, placing a hand beside you.

“Heyyy so what are we talking about!”

“Oh we were just talking about-“ You are about to say before getting cut off by Suguru, “Oh it’s nothing Satoru, just talking about your parents.” He says.

Satoru looks at you looking for any concern before putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Oh don’t worry, they aren’t that bad, just ignore most of what they say and you’ll hold up just fineee” He trails off his words playfully as he picks at the food in front of him, earning a slap on the hand from Suguru causing a wince from him

‘ Knock Knock ‘

A knock that seemed to make the room go dead silent, as if everyone went still knowing who was at the other end of the door, making your nerves rise as your hand begins to shake a little.

Satoru notices this and gives you a pat on the head, “Don’t be nervous, everything will be fine.” He says before opening the door, on the other side stood his parents.

His mother, a woman who aged beautifully, long white hair down to her back waved carelessly in the wind outside and his father, who Satoru must take from, being a spitting image of each other, only his fathers face much older and less peaceful, his father held a serious blunt expression. Making you feel intimidated.

You can see where Satoru gets his good looks from, his parents were both jaw dropping.

His mother walks in as Suguru gives her a hug and friendly kiss on the cheek, “You look not a day over twenty, Ms. Gojo, you amaze me.” He compliments her, causing her to chuckle as she walked towards Megumi in which she asked how the boy was doing.

“How are things Megumi? You know you always have that offer if you’d like to get out of that small apartment of yours.” She says, causing Megumi starting to fail hiding his expressions,

“I think i’m fine with where i’m at, thanks.” He says wanting to move on from the conversation.

Meanwhile, Satoru’s father gave out handshakes to the men, greeting them firmly, almost business like.

Once they had both got to you, they paused. You felt unaware of what to do in the moment, wanting to play it safe, you start up words, “Hello, I’m-“ before being interrupted by Satoru.

“This is my girlfriend Y/n, I thought you should meet her.” He says, making you furrow your eyebrows at him almost offended at the thought of being his girlfriend.

“Girlfriend? You never mentioned a girlfriend before or the times we’ve talked on the phone?” His mother questions suspicious as his father gives you a look of judgement. Suddenly you felt conscious of how you looked and appeared.

“Ah well yes it’s a little new.” He says trying to play it off. You wait for him to mention the part where you are pregnant with his child, yet it never seems to come. Did he really not tell his parents yet?

“Ah well uhm okay, it’s nice to meet you uh, y/n was it?” His mother asks giving you a fake smile as her and her husband shared a look or perhaps, the look.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both Mr. and Mrs. Gojo!” You say trying to give them a friendly smile in which they choose to ignore your presence.

“Well then, i smell food and you know how much I miss Suguru’s cooking, I assume we shall eat now” She says clapping her hands as everyone followed along, Satoru’s father still glaring at you.

At the table, small talk was made about how Satoru’s career was going along with Suguru in which received positive feedback in which everything felt okay until the conversation was brought up about Megumi and the past.

“Oh i remember how skinny and fragile he was, jesus the kid was living in such poverty, thank god his father passed or else he would’ve been stuck eating scraps if it weren’t for Satoru.” She says laughing as she sipped her wine.

The talk of losing his father and how he grew up seemed to cause Megumi to go quiet.

The attention seemed to now be turned towards you as Mr. Gojo finally speaks up for the first time since they’ve sat down, “So y/n, I assume you don’t come from money, correct?” He asks bluntly, taking his fork to carve his meat.

You feel yourself start to become uncomfortable which doesn’t go unnoticed but you decide to answer, “Uh well no i suppose i don’t.” You say looking down at your plate, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“I’m going to be blunt about this, what is it that you’re using my son for? sex? money? or perhaps do you think satoru will raise your status so you could become a surgeon?” He asks crossing his hands over each other.

“Father-“ Satoru starts before his father puts his hand up as a sign for Satoru not to speak,

“Let her speak.” He says and the room became quiet.

You felt offended by what his father was saying. As if money, sex or a title at work would make you want to deal with Satoru on a daily basis. But what boiled your blood more than that was the fact he was asking this only because you didn’t grow up rich.

“None of the Above.” You state, the boil in your blood causing a sudden rise of confidence.

“Oh no need to be humble darling. Just tell me what you want from him or our family and you can get it now rather than distracting my son.” He says leaning back in his seat.

“I am telling the honest truth, I don’t want his money or his-“ You get cut off by Satoru. “Okay dad I think that’s enough interrogating, He’s just joking-“ Satoru says trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m asking an honest question and I would like it if you’d stop interrupting her, Satoru.” He says, almost as a warning as you see Satoru’s change in emotion at the mention of his father saying his name.

“Listen, I don’t want shit to do with your money or using Satoru as anything, Id appreciate it if you stopped accusing me of this bullfuckery” You blurt letting your hormones getting the best of you…or perhaps your temper.

“Tell your whore to watch her mouth.” His mother commented causing your blood to boil as you got up from your chair, Satoru rushing to hold you back, “The fuck did you just say?” You said heated.

In the corner of your eye you can see Megumi with a surprised yet slightly amused expression at the sight of someone standing up towards the Gojo’s.

“I think we should all just calm down, okay?” He says looking at everyone.

“Get your whore a leash and a muzzle while you’re at it. How dare you let her speak to your mother that way!” Satoru’s mom says sipping her glass on wine carelessly.

“Oh i can say a lot worst-“ You say before satoru pulls you back cautiously so he won’t hurt you standing between you and his mother.

“I demand you to leave this woman at once.”

“I can’t do that mother.” He says trying to avoid eye contact.

“Oh sure you can, you can do much better than this whore with a mouth on her!” His mother starts to raise her voice.

“You don’t understand mother, I am not leaving y/n and that is final.” He says and his mother grows furious.

“Oh enlighten me! what’s so special about this woman, because you two haven’t interacted with each other all night so don’t bullshit me that you two are in love.” She yells.

“I- I-“ He stutters wondering if he should just say it. He looks at you looking at how furious and offended you were and the disappointed look on Suguru’s face across the table. “y/n is pregnant.” He says.

His mother seems to not understand as she goes on, “So? You don’t need to take on charity cases-“ She gets interrupted by Satoru who blurts out, “No mother, the baby is mine. I got her pregnant!”

His father’s eyes widen before him and Mrs. Gojo look at each other, them both deciding to stand up.

“Satoru. A word. Now.” His father demands as he walks out of the room, his mother trailing behind him as Satoru looks worried down at you before following his parents.

From the dining table you could hear the faint sounds of yelling and arguing coming from Satoru’s office causing a sudden guilt to fill your stomach, this all felt like so much. You needed fresh air.

You walked out of the room going outside to the snow as you lay on the ground, slowly making a snow angel. Something so childish yet comforting in the moment. You couldn’t quite figure out what about this action made you feel so warm yet you were in the cold.

“I can go-“ Suguru says before trying to follow after you outside before Megumi Interrupts, “I’ve got this one, thanks” He says as Suguru respects that as he begins to clean up the table.

You hear the door close in which you see moments later a familiar black haired man in front of you, hands in his pockets before settling down on the ground next to you, laying still compared to you who was making motions in order to make a snow angel.

“I have a question for you.”

“What?” You asked confused as Megumi isn’t typically the type to ask questions so suddenly.

“Are you happy?” He asks concerned, looking at you in the corner of his eye.

“I mean considering what just happened moments ago, i wouldn’t exactly say i’m too-“

“You know that isn’t what I mean.” He says firmly. You sigh, “Yeah, I know.”

You take a few moments to let the silence take up space as you think about his question.

“I don’t think it matters if I am”

“I think it does, you should be able to choose what life you want to live.”

“I have to do what’s best for this baby, if i chose how to live based on my emotions, I wouldn’t be having this baby. Don’t you think i’m scared? Scared of being a mother, scared of being something that i’m not even familiar with.” You say, a tear breaking its way out of your eye causing you to sniffle a little.

Megumi seems to understand now, “I understand. But just give me the word and i promise i will pick you up from this dump and you can leave it all behind” He says, casually calling Satoru’s million dollar mansion a dump, causing a small choked up laugh to come out of you making a small smile appear on megumi’s lips.

Surprisingly, Megumi’s hand find its way to yours. An act of comfort.

Megumi is suddenly filled with the slight hint of nostalgia having an old feeling hit him hard, making him remember.

MEGUMI POV SWITCH: 7 YEARS AGO

‘ knock knock ‘

he hears the frantic knocking coming from the door, knowing exactly who it was. he opened the door expecting to see her but there was no one there.

he walked out expecting you to have forgot something from your car or for you to be hiding yet no sign before suddenly being hit by a snowball right in the chest, his gaze turned towards y/n, his next door neighbor and best friend.

“gotcha!” he watched her laugh as she ran away as he walked behind her, her keeping a slow enough pace for him to see where she was going yet not slow enough for him to catch up.

she finally stopped in her tracks, tumbling down on the floor with a ‘thump. her body motioned back and forth attempting to create a snow angel as she laughed.

he would watch in awe before she grabbed a hand out to him encouraging him to join her, in which he didn’t refuse.

“cmon!” she dragged him down in a hurry, “okay okay” he says falling down on the floor next to her as the sound of her giggles filled the air, him listening silently.

she turned to look at him, in which she she smiled up at him as he laid down next to her,

“hey”

“hi”

a few words could be spoken between you two yet he always felt so comfortable and used to your company.

“I don’t ever want to grow up” she suddenly admitted.

“why?” he asked suddenly curious of her unfamiliar change of mood and speech.

“because then you’ll be all grown and won’t want to hang out with me” she said jokingly yet her eyes seemed to express an almost worried expression. was she worried he would forget about her?

“you don’t have to worry about that.” he stated.

“why not?” her gaze suddenly turning towards him, the simple act of looking at him so innocently suddenly made his heart heavy,

“you can stay with me however long you’d like.” he says reverting his eyes fully towards her , looking at her straight in the eyes.

a moment that felt like forever passed before the sudden feeling of her lips were felt against his. he takes a few moments to process it before cupping her face gently pulling her into the kiss.

it wasn’t long before the heat between the two teenagers got heated, them both now retreated to the treehouse they built as kids that was near their previous snow angel spot, him now on top of her.

as they kissed he felt the warmth of her clothed cunt grinding against his knee that laid comfortably between her legs. he watches with a shaky breath before breaking the kiss.

“what’s wrong?” she asked trying to catch her break

“are you sure you want to do this?” he asked showing concern for any discomfort or second thoughts she might have.

“i’m sure megumi. I want my first time to be with you.” she said bringing a warm hand up to his cold cheek.

his hand travels down to your thigh as his breath hitches. he takes off his big jacket and puts it beneath her on the floor to make things more comfortable for you.

she began to strip in front of him, his gaze never leaving her eyes before she finally finish, allowing him to avert his eyes down her body, thinking that if perfection was anyone, it would be her.

he trailed soft loving kisses down your body, admiring and touching you like you were art, a beauty that should be praised and admired.

he felt that in that moment, nothing else had mattered. it was only you and him.

afterwards you two were left next to each other comfortably as he held you in his arms, an act he dreamed of doing for the longest.

“what you were saying earlier, i wanted to tell you that you don’t have to worry about me forgetting you because i will spend the rest of my life by your side.” he said feeling confident in finally exposing his true feelings towards you.

you took a few moments before you gave him a soft smile, “thank you megumi, i couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

friend

friend?

friend.

his heart dropped, he felt as if it had been stomped on. after taking her virginity just moments ago, after spending years by your side, as you laughed, cried, sobbed, smiled, it felt like a brick was just brought down on his heart.

THE PRESENT:

Megumi is brought back to the present after reliving the memory in his head. he’s now aware of his surroundings, wondering how he could be so close to you, holding hands with someone would be considered such an intimate act yet he felt so far away from you. As if he could never, would never break that infinite barrier that separates the two of you. A world he could see but never enter. A wet painting he could see but never touch.

he’s interrupted by Suguru who suddenly walks outside causing you both to separate hands.

“They’re done talking and asking for you, id ask that you come inside if you will” He says in the calm voice he always kept.

When you both make your way inside and the mood has changed drastically, the air felt heavy as you now saw Satoru sitting silently across the table looking down, not saying a word nor acknowledging your presence at all.

“We have came to an arrangement in which you have two options.” Mr. Gojo speaks once again,

“As you know the Gojo is a class name and our reputation to the public is very important, it helps us keep our status and remain a good name. See now having the newspaper say ‘Gojo Clans’ and Tokyo’s beloved top neurosurgeon Satoru Gojo knocks up young intern’ doesn’t exactly hold up a good reputation, but ‘Satoru Gojo’s new fiancé seemed to have been getting quite busy with a baby on the way’ seems very more delightful.” He says making your eyes widen in shock of his words, he didn’t seriously think you would agree to marry Satoru, did he?

“and the other?” You ask considering your options.

“The other option is that you can get an abortion and we will pay you 5 million up front to keep your mouth shut and disappear from Satoru’s life, it will all be on the low.”

You felt trapped, abortion wasn’t an option. You chose to have this baby and you want to stick with that choice. Yet marrying Satoru felt like a nightmare, you never even considered marriage let alone with Satoru.

Before you could find the words to speak you hear Suguru speak up, “Listen Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, you guys are respectable people and I wouldn’t go against your beliefs but-“ He states before being interrupted by Satoru’s mother.

“So then don’t.” She bluntly says, glaring at him.

He stops for a moment before starting up again, “I believe this is a decision she needs to make on her own and is something her and Satoru should talk over, they are both young and no offense but times are different now and i don’t believe marriage is necessary as Ms. Y/n is only 2 months in her term, a lot can happen from now to then.” he waited for a response,

“Suguru Geto, you’re parents would agree with this just as much and you know that. This simply will be for business, If some skank decided to get my son into this situation then she should learn the consequences” Satoru’s fathed spoke.

Suguru takes a few moments trying to collect himself the best he can, you began to become nervous not knowing how to answer mumbling a bit trying to stutter out an answer before Suguru interrupts you,

“Don’t worry about it y/n, I believe their stay here has been extended, I would kindly ask you two to leave” He says getting up to get ready to greet them out as the Gojo’s agree, leading themselves out before his father stops.

He places a hand on Satoru’s shoulder trying to say goodbye in his own way before Satoru pulled away from his hand.

“Don’t act out son. You’re lucky we aren’t doing to her what we did to your last girlfriend.” He finishes and makes his way out the door.

Megumi stands silently for a few moments before seeing his way out, waving you a goodbye before heading out. His phone dialing a number waiting for a number to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I need you to pick me up” Megumi speaks from over the phone.

“Sure! is everything alright fushiguro?”

“Yeah…” He stays silent for a few moments thinking, “Actually, are you free tonight?” He asks

“Yeah! why?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to get some drinks”

“Sure! Should i invite everyone?”

“I think i’d like it if it were just me and you.” Megumi says suddenly feeling a little nervous.

“Okay if you say so!”

“Okay, i’ll see you then…thanks itadori.” He says before hanging up.

-

Satoru and you sat in silence for a few minutes, crossing your arms waiting for a response out of him. After a while you realize he just wasn’t gonna say anything so you finally speak, letting anger take over you,

“What the fuck, Satoru.”

He looks up at you but doesn’t respond, he just stares emotionless at you.

“Don’t just sit there! Say something! you couldn’t even say anything while they were sitting there calling me a skank and whore all night, so please enlighten me with your fucking words.” You feel tears trying to make their way out of your eyes but you wont let them.

He pauses before looking back down at his lap, “Are you sure you want to keep our baby”

You huff in disbelief of his words, there’s no way he could seriously be considering that.

“What, are you having second thoughts? having second thoughts now at the thought of marrying me? You aren’t scared of becoming a father but you’re scared of the thought of marrying me, god fuck satoru!” You shouted at him feelings tears fall down your face.

He doesn’t say anything before excusing himself from the table as he walked into his office, locking the door behind him.

Suguru walks in to you with your hands on your knees as you quietly sobbed on the floor, he rushes towards you pulling his arms over you in a hug as tears spilled even more.

You look up at him with teary eyes as he cups your face gently pulling you into him. You try to form words but they don’t come out and Suguru notices this as he spoke gentle words, “It’s okay, I know.” His words came out softly against your ear as he held you.

Your gaze turns towards him, looking up at him as you stare at each other for what felt like forever before you did the unspeakable.

You kissed him.

You hadn’t known why you did so, in the moment it felt so right. And with that, he returned it, he kissed you back passionately before the maid walked in, her stepping back trying to pretend she didn’t see anything before Suguru pulls away.

“Let’s take you to bed, a lot has happened today. I think we all need rest tonight.” He says helping you up offering you a kind smile as he helped you walk to your room.

He leads you to your room before letting you enter yourself before wishing you goodnight as he looked away.

The kiss you shared just before had felt so right yet somehow now things felt so awkward as you laid in bed silently as you thought over the fact that you kissed Suguru in the middle of a breakdown which now made you feel a bit embarrassed.

You began to shut your eyes, choosing not to dwell on it too much as you already had a long night deciding to try and get rest.

Or atleast you try to do before you hear the door open, you figure it may be the maid who forgot something in your room as it’s happened before, an honest mistake so you carry on with your sleep, keeping your eyes shut.

That is until you hear someone sit on the bed next to you placing a hand on your hair, brushing it gently. You don’t dare to make a sound or look who it is, you figured it may have still been the maid checking on you.

A careful arm hugs over your body barely before hearing a whisper “I’m sorry.” the familiar voice of Satoru Gojo fills your ears as you still pretend to be asleep. He presses a soft kiss to your stomach before leaving the room.

The room suddenly felt empty, cold. The interaction was so short, so little yet you found yourself missing the warmth of his hand against your stomach.

.

.

.

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A/N. this chapter has by far been my favorite one i’ve written, and the fastest yet longest one i’ve written so far. (I spent my whole thanksgiving righting this up LMAO, who needs to cook a turkey when I can cook up a new SGW chapter!!) I already had an idea for this chapter knowing that i wanted this to be the chapter where reader meets Satoru’s parents and their marriage would be arranged but I changed a lot of things and I honestly like how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy and Reblogs and Asks are appreciated! happy holidays luvs <3

let me know if you guys would like to be added to the tag list for ‘Shotgun Wedding’ updates!

tags: @jeannieboys @maskedpacific @muimuiwisteria @baileebear

[pinkcutiepiee]

Ooo hi! If it’s okay, can I please request a Fred Weasley x muggle!fem!reader where they are engaged and are staying at the Burrow to have their Wedding there that weekend, and even though y/n has been to the Burrow to visit his family many many times throughout she the years of she and Fred’s relationship, and she found out about magic a while ago, it never ceases to amaze her and she honestly loves going there so much and is also always amazed when she visits the Twin’s joke shop. Anyways, Fred just thinks his fiancée is the most adorable human being in the world as she stares at all of the magic (that honestly he never thought of as amazing because it’s normal to him) with wide eyes and disbelief. Honestly he’d love showing off to her (she thinks it’s really hot tbh🙇‍♀️)

Fred Weasley with a muggle!partner (gn)

so sorry this took a while! thank you for your patience! didn't want to make this too long so i just wrote a moment in this pair relationship, so let me know if you want any more would love to write more for this pairing<3

masterlist

Divider my @saradika

“This is so cool!” You exclaim excitedly as Fred hands over another new product that is about to be introduced at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Fred leans against the door frame with his arms folded, smiling softly, as you play with the product. He doesn’t respond; instead, he allows you to become fully immersed with the magical object.

If you had asked him, he probably would’ve said that it was one of his and George’s less impressive, more simple products, in comparison to everything else they have on offer. However, your reaction alone is enough to convince him otherwise. How you look at the product in awe makes him fall in love with you all over again, no matter the years you’ve been together, or the fast approach of your wedding in 4 short days. In this moment, he feels that he’s setting his eyes on you for the very first time.

Being a muggle, and growing up around mediocre muggle magic, gactual magic le magic, even the simplest of actual magic was enough to amaze youcompletely. The twins joke was up there as one of your favourite places. . Every time Fred introduced you to something that was so normal in his day to day life, your excitement was close to that of a child at Christmas. Which sometimes, Fred would use to his advantage to jumpscare you. But in times like these, he finds himself unable to do anything other than watch in complete awe. How did he get so lucky? He wonders.

His mind wanders back to the first time you stepped foot in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes early in your relationship, 5 whole years ago. You had gone speechless, mouth open in shock as you take in your surroundings. You could’ve sworn you were dreaming when you entered, not wanting to be woken from this magical dreamland. Fred remembers this as the moment he decided he had to marry you. That you were the one.

“Just because I’m distracted, don’t think I don’t know you’re staring,” you smirk as you continue to play with the item. He smiles back as he continues to stare.

“I don’t know how, but my love for you gets stronger every time I see your reaction to magic,” his words earn a playful scoff from you as you finally look at him for the first time since you were handed the magical objects, “that’s so cheesy,” you tease as you approach him, placing the object down to hold his hands.

“Maybe… but you love it,” he says back, leaning down to peck your lips gently, smiling in the kiss. The kiss itself feels magic, especially when you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck - deepening the kiss alongside the playful movements of your fingers.

“Merlin, I can’t wait to marry you,” he groans as he pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, holding you gently against his body, the possessive part of him excited for the day he can start to show you off as his wife.

[alwayssassydreamer]

Song #3

Song Prompt Challenge

If you cried out for more If you reached out for me I would run into the storm Just to keep you here with me

Warnings: none

Characters: Shanks x GnReader

It started like it always did with Shanks: a laugh, a drink, and that irresistible smirk that made it impossible to stay mad at him for long.

He had an uncanny ability to turn the most serious moments into a joke, disarming you with his charm and leaving you wondering how you’d fallen for him so hard.

Tonight was no different.

The Red-Haired Pirates had docked in a small, lively port town, the kind that catered to sailors and adventurers. The tavern was bustling, music and laughter filling the air.

You had tried to stay at the edge of the chaos, nursing your drink and pretending you weren’t scanning the room for that telltale shock of red hair.

But, of course, Shanks found you first.

“Hey there,” he greeted, sliding into the seat across from you with a grin that could melt steel. “Fancy seeing you here. Or did you miss me too much to stay away?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Shanks. I just happen to like this tavern.”

“Sure you do,” he teased, leaning back in his chair with that easy confidence. “And I just happen to like this table. Funny how life works, huh?”

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that escaped.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he said, winking.It was maddening how easily he got under your skin.

But that was Shanks—carefree and irreverent, yet somehow always knowing exactly what to say to keep you from walking away.

As the night wore on, the two of you fell into the familiar rhythm of banter and stolen glances. Shanks was the life of the tavern, telling exaggerated stories and coaxing laughter from even the grumpiest patrons. Yet, despite the crowd, his attention never strayed far from you.

At some point, the conversation turned quieter, more intimate. The rowdy atmosphere of the tavern seemed to fade into the background as Shanks leaned across the table, his gaze locking onto yours.

“You know,” he said softly, “I’d do anything for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone.

“Don’t start getting all sentimental on me now, Shanks,” you joked, though your voice wavered slightly.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, his smile softening. “If you cried out for more, if you reached out for me—I’d run into the storm just to keep you here with me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the weight of them settling over you. Shanks wasn’t the type to make grand declarations, but when he did, you knew he meant every word.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “You’ve got this way of grounding me, of reminding me what’s really important. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

For once, you didn’t have a clever retort. Instead, you reached across the table, your hand brushing against his.

“You’re not going to lose me, Shanks,” you said firmly. “But you’ve got to promise me something.”

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“Promise me you won’t get yourself killed trying to prove something,” you said, your voice tinged with both affection and exasperation.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Can’t make any promises there, sweetheart. But I’ll always come back to you. That much, I swear.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile crept onto your lips.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said with a grin.Shanks stood, pulling you to your feet with him.

“Come on,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Let’s get some air. I need a break from all this noise, and I think you do too.”

As he led you out of the tavern and into the cool night, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm settle over you. With Shanks, life was unpredictable and chaotic, but it was also full of moments like this—moments where the world seemed to stand still, leaving just the two of you.

And as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close, you realized you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[kloroxa]

Rainy Day Women PT 2

Pt 1 Pt 3

Young!Stan Pines x GN! Reader 

SFW! 

WC: 1,246

During your short tour of the ‘behind the scenes’ as Stan called it, he explained more of what your job would be. 

“The Mystery Shack is open five days a week, 9-5, and i’m expectin’ ya to be here for all of those days. And hey if you gonna live here too might as well fix up the house a bit” He laughed with his classic con-man smile.

His tone was light when it came to him joking about you doing housework. But as you saw more you could tell that the man’s home was as cluttered as his mind, and you knew overtime that the mess would genuinely bother you.

“But now for the real grand attraction of the mystery shack, your new room!” 

Stan led you to a small and dusty room, which was surprisingly bare. It was nice to see a mostly empty room however, it made you feel like you weren’t invading a space he needed. 

“Well i’ll leave you to get settled since it’s getting late. Don’t forget, your new life as the Cashier of Mystery starts tomorrow” He laughed as he left you in your newly acquired room. 

As you dragged your stuff out of your car you realized how few belongings you actually had. Given that all the space you had was a trunk and a backseat, it got stuffy fast. It made you a bit sad to see everything you owned not even fill a small room. 

Shortly after unpacking and getting settled, you decided to go to bed to attempt to not think of how surreal your life was feeling at the moment. However, the first night in the mystery shack was not helping bring you back to reality. You kept hearing noise in the night, noise that sounded to be much more than the typical house settling noises. The noises made your brain overthink more than it typically did, specifically about the ‘Man of Mystery’ Stan Pines. Your brain wondered who he really was. The townsfolk already knew he was a conman, was Stan Pines really his name? What if he renamed the Mystery shack because he was on the run from murdering someone? And why did you agree to move in with a man you had never met before? Or even a better question: why was he the one to suggest the offer? You hoped he didn’t have anything bad planned for you. Maybe he was kinder than his persona let on? You wouldn’t deny that he definitely had a lot of charm in the way he talked and held himself, but that could have been a part of his act. You tossed and turned but not for long, the warmth and comfort of finally sleeping in a bed lulling you to sleep.

The next morning you woke up to your alarm in a daze, it took you a few seconds to remember where you were and oh god you live with a man you hardly know and you also work for him. Now that you regrettably remembered what you got yourself into, you got up and decided you would need a shower before your first day of work. It had been a little longer than you were willing to admit since you showered. You grabbed your small bag of toiletries and nervously went to find the bathroom. The bathroom was surprisingly nice, not as small as you thought it would be. As you got out of the shower and dried off, you realized you left your clean clothes in your room. You could just get back into your dirty clothes but your bedroom was less than ten steps away so you figured it was worth the risk to just wear a towel back to your room. 

Just as you were about to open the door your horrible luck almost hit you right in the face. Your horrible luck being the Man of Mystery himself, in boxers and a white t-shirt, with quite the startled look on his face. 

For a split second Stan eyed you up and down, just as fast he squeaked out a “Shit-Sorry” as his whole face started to blush, he turned around and hurried back to his room.

*Stan POV* 

God Stanly you really are the definition of the wrong place at the wrong time. Gonna be an awkward day now, what are you supposed to do? Should you pretend that never happened? No, you literally looked them up and down! god why can’t you ever think before you act. I mean it wasn’t a bad view-NO you are not dragging them down with you, you have ruined every person's life who had the misfortune of becoming close to you. They seem down on their luck enough. This is what you get for pitying someone who is in the situation you were just in. You think you can help them? Yeah right. God they probably think you're a creep, they are probably packing up their stuff now. Best they do anyway you're only gonna make their life worse if they stay. Always the fuck up. Always the worse twin.

*Reader POV*

You thought that the 'Man of Mystery' persona wasn't too far off from the real Stan, but you realized after your impromptu interaction with him that you were mistaken. You thought he would have said some lame pick up line or even whistled at you. But it was cute how instead his face got red and his voice got so small. His confident persona made him seem older and so sure of himself, but the Stan you just saw? That version of him seemed like the real Stan. You won't forget the way his eyes wandered for a second, but you probably would have done the same. Hell he probably forgot you moved in. You found yourself smiling at the situation instead of being embarrassed, but you knew you would be the one blushing when you had to face him. While technically he didn’t see anything, it was more the idea of having just a towel on that was far too intimate. You didn’t want to think about how if he had opened the door any sooner he would have seen a lot more of you. You would have had to skip town out of sheer embarrassment if that had happened.

Then again seeing the Man of Mystery character disappear so fast intrigued you. Seeing a glimpse of the real Stan made you less worried about who you were living with. You really couldn't help but smile when thinking about his red face and how quick he was to run away. You hoped he didn’t feel too bad, you were the one who left the door unlocked after all. He was probably embarrassed given he wasn't wearing much either, but from what you saw he looked good. It was also the first time you saw his hair without his fez on. You couldn't recall the last rime you saw a mullet look that good on someone. You found yourself thinking that you got a better view than he did.  

You shook your head and snapped out of those thoughts because You. Don’t. Know. This. Man. You don’t need to be making risky choices now, especially if you want to stay living here, and keep your job. God, your job. It was gonna be a long day, you didn’t even know how you were going to act normal around Stan. 

You figured it would be best to be the first one to talk when you did see him. Yes. You could apologise for not locking the door! If you could shift the blame to you he would hopefully feel less awkward about the situation.

_____

Author's notes:

hmm what could all those noises in the night be?? (it's him working on the portal. I am not clever.) Wonder who's empty room too??? (it’s prob not canon but i’m gonna say it was Mcgucket's room before he left Ford)

These details don’t really matter but it was what my mind imagined when I wrote it so I figured I would add that context.

[ezrazwrldz]

vent. i may have yapped. deleting later.

i genuinely thought i was doing better. but bpd has to come in and take all that away from me. all i’ve got that i’m clinging on to is the fact i’m 3 months self harm free. other than that, i’m an emotional, unstable wreck.

my friends think i’m a fucking psychopath. i’m deranged and i see things that aren’t there. i leave nothing but a path of destruction wherever i walk. i absolutely wreck everything i touch. i hear things that don’t exist, i see my fucking dad in every brown haired older man that walks past. i always panic for a moment, thinking it’s him. i missed out on my childhood because of that fucking dick. i’m 15, but i may as well be 50 with how fast i’ve been forced to mature. that man wrecked me. he fucking ruined my entire life. every traumatic experience has stemmed from what he did, at least a little. the bad people i got connected to and attached to were because i bonded to them through my trauma.

TW. DETAILED TRAUMA VENT RELATING TO DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND PEDOPHILIA AND SUICIDE AND GROOMING AND TRAUMADUMPING AND SELF HARM

my dad was a wife beater and alcoholic. i was as young as 4 when they broke up, but i has still seen everything. i don’t even fucking remember much of my childhood because of dissociation.

i do remember my 7th birthday, though.

we were in the car on the way home from my birthday party, and i was happy as anything. but, my mum and dad were in the same car, and that could never end well in a million years. they got into an argument, and my dad opened the car door and undid his seatbelt on the motorway, threatening to jump out and end his life right there, in front of me and my siblings. i screamed and cried and begged, resorting to screaming about it being the ‘worst birthday ever’ to try and distract them both and hope my dad forgot about the attempt he intended to make. and, i don’t remember anything else. i literally only remember the moment i screamed ‘this is the worst birthday ever’, and both my parents turned to me, my dad still stood there with the car door open and tried to convince me everything was fine. i knew better. i always knew better.

i remember when that man promised he would never leave me, but he forgot my birthday this year. there was a time when we didn’t talk for 4 years - only being forced back into each other’s vicinity when my mum and stepdad got mad that i went to an after school homework club that i wasn’t meant to go to and made me pack my bags, driving me to his house convincing me they were going to make me live with him. that they didn’t want me anymore.

that night was my breaking point, and the first time i went to social services about my mum and stepdad, and they got involved, which ruined my relationship with my parent even more. my stepdad was threatening to move out, and asking if i could be sent to a mental hospital for treatment or a facility for troubled kids on weekends or whatever. i hated being at home. i preferred school but that was hell too. that’s where i met her at 11 years old. i’m gonna refer to her as amy for privacy reasons. amy was a traumadumper. a REAL traumadumper, not just the tiktokified version of what a traumadumper is.

i, being the fucking idiot i am, became very close friends with amy. we bonded over similar trauma, and i’d try to talk to her about my problems as she said i could, but she’d always turn it on herself. she’d send me HORRIFIC self harm photos on snapchat, only to send me a ‘whoops!! trigger warning!!’ after, as if it was all some stupid fucking joke. amy would also make up fake trauma story after fake trauma story, each one more disturbing than the last. but, i was obsessed with her. i loved her so, so much, so i was completely blind to how poorly this girl was treating me. i loved her, and i wanted to save her. to save her from this “horrible life” that she had been through. eventually, she binned me off for trying to prevent someone from killing themself (which also turned out to be a joke as an attempt to bully me but that’s another story)

a few weeks after amy, i met one of my groomers. real sweetheart he was, pretending to be my age to sexually exploit me and using the fact i’m mentally unstable to take advantage of me. he was my world when i thought he was my friend. he meant everything to me. and, in classic bpd fashion, he became my FP. just like amy had previously.

so, when my parents found out and took him away from me, i fought tooth and nail to get him back, completely in denial, no matter what my parents or the literal police told me.

when the police decided to “take action”, they said they couldn’t do anything due to only having his discord and email. the problem? this fucking guy has my address and school. and he’s still out there. i mean, it’s been a long time now, but i still get nightmares and live in fear.

[edgy-dragon-trash]

Astorvember 2024 — Day 30: The Future of Hyrule (Post-Calamity)

And it seems this years Astorvember has come to an end. While in the end I did nothing for the final week, I had to make something for the last day.

And since this prompt is post-calamity, gaze upon my post-calamity boy again.

Like I said, the AU started backwards, from this part, because I used to imagine what it would be like if Astor was playable and then that turned into how he would interract with the main gang.

And I gave him some friends :3

The stallhorse is his childhood dead horse, which he was reunited with during the calamity.

The evil egg was fixed up by Robbie later on (as he and Purah did his arm too anyways) and lost all the malice inside of it. So it’s just a weird robot dog thing with sass.

The cat is a senior stray he found that he got so terribly upset at how beaten down it was that he decided to take care of it.

And the possum is just there because Astor got compared to rats and possums all these 4 years. Originally he did have rats but things changed along the way and now it’s a possum. This one is just for me, in honor of the old joke.

———

This is just off topic but,

I’m really happy with this year’s Astorvember. I had lost motivation for art a bit before november so I’m really happy with how consistent I was, even if in the final days I didn’t do anything. I also got back to my sketchbook thanks to this so yay.

I only wish I had more time to really render in stuff and maybe make more prompts.

But also!!! I really, really loved seeing everyone’s contribution and headcanons!! All of the art and writing was gorgeous and great <3

And I’m glad that towards the end we all sorta went down the oc x canon route. Selfshippers/yumeshippers stay winning!!!

I love this tiny fandom alot and I’m grateful that it’s still going and I’m grateful for all the old and new people still here <3 And that we’re making a zine wooo thank you emo for the extended deadline🙏🙏

[suappang]

my boyfriend’s birthday is tomorrow and i have class all day >:( this should be illegal

[dykedvonte]

why do you hate Joshua Graham or Honest Hearts so much?

This DLC and character represents a bigger issue with fandom spaces I have but particularly fallout fandom in general.

Fallout tends to tackle a lot of topics controversial and not. The first two games it’s heavy cause they are the most satirical and direct with how anti-war, nationalism and etc… they are. 3 loses this as it’s very clear once you play or learn about all the games that Todd and a bunch of guys at Bethesda just liked the 50s post apocalyptic aesthetic and refuse to actually critique the ideals of the time period like the earlier titles.

New Vegas is the game that really gets back into it a degree it almost seems like it’s taking too much on. There are things done exceedingly well while other things are done horribly wrong . I’ve made posts about it before and plan to make a big series of posts (it’s a lot of writing) but my biggest gripe is with Honest Hearts and all the gross and white savior esque depictions it has of indigenous peoples. The entirety if FNV does not do the injustices faced by indigenous people correctly on any count. My two biggest complaints are with the Khans and the tribes in Zion but I’ll talk about the former on a different post.

Both characters of Daniel and Joshua are the most accurate depiction of white saviors I’ve seen and I hate how the DLC tries to justify and defend them. The DLC treats Joshua like this man who has repented for his past actions when he is just retracing his steps after his cruelty bit him in the ass. He was one of the worst parts of the Legion and it is all but explicitly stated that if you don’t force him to be non-violent he will turn the tribes of Zion into the legion 2.0. The Dead Horses and the Sorrows are horribly infantilized by both Daniel and Joshua who both use them for self serving purposes guised by religious duty. The White Legs are the horrible stereotype of violent and savage indigenous and I personally think a lot of their interlinking with Ulysses, his hair and Ulysses character in general are distasteful and very telling of how BIPOC or POC where involved.

But outside of the game it’s the weird obsession people have with these characters ideologies and trying to make them seem more interesting/philosophical than they are. Tumblr is an echo chamber and many fans of Fallout are not the people on this site. Many people are not educated in the issues these characters convey and how poorly they do or used these characters as a poor introduction for their takes. Contrary to what a lot of people believe in, fallout has a prediomeny white cis male fanbase. More importantly a large portion of the fanbase is white.

You can joke how FNV made you trans or see the numbers on post/fics or diverse headcanons but these are kiddy numbers compared to the millions that consume the franchise and aren’t in those more aware spaces or don’t engage in the spaces the same way someone like me does/has to. Their views shape a lot more than people realize and it’s exhausting to be in a space where people don’t correct the more subtle yet toxic aspects of it but also adopt them into some weird quirky view point on the characters or issues. Some people don’t realize and some people don’t care.

My main issue is just the idolizing of these sort of thing in this fandom space and people try to acts like a game like fallout whose tagline is “War never changes” and has never had a game not revolve around political or militaristic factions issues isn’t that deep or doesn’t relate to real issues. I think it’s mainly caused by how over powered you can become and how you can strong arm your way past these learning moments as majority of people who play this game do play it as a power fantasy where they can do so as they please (which of course, go ahead it’s fun) but never take in parallels or lessons in the story as if it was just another first person shooter.

Also like another personal gripe is Cazadores spawn like hell whenever I’m there and I have not found a mod that works to mod them out so I have to play Indigenous Racism the DLC while getting jumped by giant wasps WHILE helping Mormons. Like I cannot catch a break.

[goblin-enjoyer]

*draws something for the first time in a while. “Man I suck at drawing! Maybe go back to being good at it if I draw more!”

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

“Oh I got a neat idea for a drawing! Surely I have gotten better by now!” Loop post

[paintedvanilla]

I feel really sick and ill about the guy at work who won’t take the hint actually like I’m home now sitting in my room and I feel Terrible. physically nauseous.

[none-tadashi-left-hiro]

hmmmm. Sad

[joelsgoldrush]

“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.��

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who���s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[rowarn]

soap x reader x simon

soap doesn't know how to make you cum on his cock so he asks his trusted lieutenant to teach him how.

sub!reader, dom!simon, switch?soap, getting fucked by soap in simon's lap, wet&messy, cumming untouched, size difference/kink, threesome, fat dick!soap, MDNI

<3 just some horny nonsense that was spinning in my brain!!!

When Simon found out that sweet Johnny was struggling with something personal and even as embarrassing as making you cum, Simon’s mouth moved faster than his brain with an offer he never thought he would utter.

“I could help you out with that,” he had said, making Soap pause, mouth agape. Simon almost rescinded those words, brushing it off as a crude joke.

But then Soap spoke.

“Would you?” he asked, blue eyes glistening hopefully.

And Simon felt his cock twitch in his jeans.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t make you cum, Soap had defended on the drive over to your shared flat. Soap was good with his tongue and his fingers, could make you squirt by just rubbing that sweet little spot inside your gooey cunt.

The problem was whenever Johnny got his cock in you, he just could never get it right. The pace was wrong, the angle was off, he went too deep – anything that he could do wrong, he would do wrong.

“It’s never been like this with other…partners,” Soap shyly whispered. Though it was dark in the truck, Simon knew his friend was blushing in embarrassment, “I-I don’t know what I’m doin’ wrong this time.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out, Johnny,” Simon assured, shoving the door open the second Soap turned the engine off.

You and Soap lived on the top floor and the elevator ride up was stifling. Soap was fidgeting, clearly more than a little nervous about how this night was meant to go.

You and he had been together for a while – long enough to move in together. Simon wondered what finally made Soap reach out for help on this little problem after so long.

But Simon wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d wanted to get his fucking hands on you from the second you bounced into the room, radiant and so sweet in the way you shyly clung to Soap’s arm. You were precious and Simon’s not proud to admit he had gone home and tugged his cock fucking raw over the way you had batted your pretty lashes at him when you looked up at him – so much smaller than him.

He knew he would be a fucking wreck the second he had you within his grasp and fuck, he was right.

His hands were shaking as he held you in his lap, gripping your knees to keep you spread wide for Soap to slot his hips between them.

You were a sensitive little thing, Simon learned. You came so easily around Soaps fingers when he worked to stretch you open for him. If you came so easily then why the fuck couldn’t Johnny get you off from his cock?

You were trembling, wide eyes teary as you watched your boyfriend carefully work his cock into you. The stretch was always so good, always making your eyes roll back in your head. Your cunt was so slick and sticky, eagerly swallowing every inch of Soap. So fucking messy. It made Simon's mouth fill with saliva at the sight of how wet you were, he wanted to taste you so badly.

Johnnys cock was fat, thick and heavy, no doubt burning your poor little cunt with how wide he had you stretched around him. You creamed around him, juices dribbling down his balls and wetting his sweatpants. You even dripped all over Simon who held you in his lap.

When Johnny started thrusting, Simon immediately understood why you couldn't seem to cum. Sure, it felt good, and you were moaning - twitching and gasping every time Soap sunk in and brushed against any sweet little spot inside. But Soaps rhythm and pace were inconsistent and he didn't seem to have any idea how to aim his cock to really hit those gooey spots that would have you falling over the edge into bliss.

Simon took a few moments to admire the scene unfolding right in his lap. You, creaming all over a cock that couldn't make you cum. Soap desperately humping your pretty cunt haphazardly and sloppily. He wasn't even bothering to touch your clit. Beneath his mask, Simon grinned.

It was so cute how Johnny went so stupid the second he got his cock wrapped up in a tight, hot pussy.

“Johnny…” Simon finally spoke, “Slow down.”

Immediately, Soap did as he was told. His pace slowed, careful rolls of his hips replacing the jackhammering.

“There's a good boy,” Simon praised, eyes darkening at the sight of Soap’s ears turning red, “Go nice ‘nd deep You gotta hit all those nice spots inside.”

Soap’s pretty, blue eyes were half-lidded as he watched you writhe and twitch in his Lieutenant’s arms. With every deep stroke, both of them could hear the sticky, wet noises of your pussy swallowing every inch.

One of Simon’s hands trailed down your thigh, inching down and down. Soap’s eyes followed every movement until his fingers finally found your hard little clit. Immediately, your cunt clamped down around Soap’s cock and the Scot moaned.

“You gotta touch this cute little clit,” Simon teased, “If you really wanna know how it feels to have a pretty cunt cum around you.”

Soap nonsensically nodded, blunt nails digging into your hips as he held himself back from fucking you like a madman again. He kept Simon’s words in mind - deep and slow. Aim for those little spots. He knows where they are, he knows where it feels good. Just don't think with his cock - that's all he had to do.

With Simon’s callused fingers swirling over your sticky clit and Soap’s fat cock stuffing you full just right, it came as no surprise when you finally came.

Soap wasn't able to stand how good it felt with how tight you were squeezing around him, pulsing through every wave of your orgasm. You were gushing, creaming sticky and wet all over him. Simon could feel you clit twitching under the pads of his fingers.

With a shout, Soap filled you up with his load, “Fuck!”

As the two of you came down, Simon’s big hands carefully stroked up and down your thighs until their trembling ceased.

“You know, Lt,” Soap panted, looking up at him through his lashes, “I think I could use a little more hands on training. How about you really show me how it's done.”

Even though Simon had quietly came in his own pants, his cock was chubbing up again at those words.

“I like the sound of that, Seargent.”

do not modify translate, or repost to other websites. reblogs welcome!

[chastiefoul]

he finds you crying ft. love and deepspace men

ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel, and sylus a/n: I always feel like mc wasn’t given enough time to grief when chapter 4 happened (or maybe they just didn’t show it or i remember it wrong) but to lose the people you’ve considered family like that in front of your eyes would severely mess on anyone’s mental well-being. mc stronger than me fr i would've had a breakdown every night. so i tried to write the comfort that was long overdue. <3

Zayne

He found you hunched over at the couch, knees tucked to your chest. your shoulder shook as he heard the sniffles and although he’s physically perfectly fine, he swore it felt like his heart was breaking in two.

He would gently put his key on the table, making his presence known in the subtlest way possible so you didn’t get startled.

You quickly tried to wipe your eyes and sat normally but suddenly in no time you were carried as he made you sit on his lap, bringing your head close to his neck as he held you tight.

Zayne wasn’t one who’s great at offering consoling words, as he also a firm believer of actions speak louder than words. As he rubbed your back gently he only said, “Let it all out, I’m here.”

So you did just that. You’ve said this once to him as a joke, but truly, anywhere by his side was the time you felt the most safe.

The doctor continued to comfort you in silence, hoping with every beat of his heart that his arms and hands that’s so used in saving people’s lives, could offer at least some kind of solace for your heart that was in disarray.

Xavier

He’d never hated the sight of a bed so much, until he found you crying atop of it.

Xavier would rushes over to you (arguably faster when he encountered strayed wanderers), determined to do anything he could to help you feel better.

As he put a hand over your cheek, wiping the tears that just kept on coming he whispered, “I’m here, what do you need?”

When you couldn’t even manage a reply Xavier would just stay by your side, his and was diligent in rubbing the side of your face; he never felt so useless, knowing the little gesture gave almost to none help.

For someone who finds sleep easy inbetween every hours, that was the most restless he’s ever been. He stayed with you until you calmed down, offering gentle whispers as you felt your awake state slipping away.

The moment you’re asleep Xavier was keen on wiping your face softly off of the remaining tears, and he tucked you in properly. He brought you to his embrace.

Yet unlike any other nights, he couldn’t find any part of him that was able to join you into the dream state.

Rafayel

Rafayel knew he came at a bad time. Seeing the way you spoke so stiffly and the way you zoned out of the conversation every few minutes.

However, he also knew he couldn’t leave you alone right then.

The silence once again was loud, but he didn’t think you realize that, as he followed your stare to the table, to what’s on the top of the table to be exact. A necklace with an apple charm on it.

He approached your side, cupping your face with both of his hands. “Miss bodyguard, you don’t have to be strong all the time, you know? Especially now, since you’re off duty.”

You chuckled quietly, but what followed after was not your usual easy smile but instead it was tears streaming down your face. And it felt like Rafayel could offer anything he had just to make them stop. And if that’s not enough, he swore to give you twice or thrice of what he had, it didn’t matter if he was to be in debt.

He held you tight, the sight of you crying was enough to make tears made their way to his eyes as well. And it pained him, knowing the best he could do in that moment was only to hold you tighter, as he wished that he could mend whatever broken part you had with one of his.

Sylus

He didn’t even flinch when you climbed on his lap, your usual talkativeness was nowhere to be found.

You rested your head on his shoulder and within seconds he knew that your emotions were in chaos, and if you thought you could find comfort in him, then he was more than happy to be there for you.

“Let me stay like here for a while,” you said weakly, voice all tense and anxious.

He brought a palm to your back, “By all means, darling. You didn’t think I was going to turn you away, did you?”

You stayed quiet, trying your best to get your emotions in order but it just seemed impossible. Sylus then sigh at your another attempt to pretend once again that you’re okay. “Cry if you need. Tears were never a sign of weakness, it just proves that you’re human.”

His rigid sentence somehow brought a strange sense of comfort for you, making your tears escape freely.

Sylus’ fingers felt fleeting on your back, like a touch that could slip away anytime. But he made sure none of that will happen as he stroke your hair gently over and over.

Was he worried of you? Absolutely. Yet he believed with all of his entire being that you that has fallen apart that day, would have no time standing back up again on the next day.

If there’s anything he learnt about you during your time with him, is that you’re a stranger to giving up.

[stunie]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁ “MY BOYFRIEND IS GONNA KICK YOUR ASS !”

WINDBREAKER BOYS PROTECTING YOU FROM PERVS. ft. kaji ren, togame jo, umemiya hajime, sakura haruka, hayato suo, toma hiragi, kiryuu mitsuki, & kyotaro sugishita x f!reader

sfw. wc: 2.6K. oh how i’ve been wanting to write this since i finished the manga! but individual warnings are below <3

KAJI REN. referred to as she/her, ‘my girl,’ comments about your outfit

“My boyfriend’s real scary y’know.” Your voice falters a bit as you take another step back, hands coming up defensively. “And he’ll be here any moment.”

It’s a lie that you hope sounds convincing— because Kaji coming to save you today may be nothing more than a desperate wish of yours. How would he even find you in a place like this? You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed since you’ve started running, but you’re certain that by now, you and Kaji should have already been inside the bakery, finally getting to taste test the new fruit pastries you’d been dying to get your hands on.

It started off as just a loud whistle your direction, then led to an uncomfortable conversation about how you’re not interested— and that you have a boyfriend. One thing led to another, and somehow you’ve ended up here, out of breath from speed walking and completely lost— and to top it off, the only person near you is the one you’ve been running so desperately from.

You wish Kaji was here already.

“Oh yeah?” The man in front of you takes a step towards you, lips contorting into a sick grin when he sees your hands trembling. “I don't see him.”

Your lips tremble a bit when he reaches you, towering over you with ease. “Don’t you dare touch me.” You warn, “My boyfriend will beat your a—” you yelp as you’re suddenly pulled to the side, stumbling into someone’s chest as they pull you flush against their front.

The familiar scent of candy melts away your fear in a split second.

“Kaji!”

You can tell when you glance at him just once that he isn’t happy. His forehead is damp with sweat, and he looks disheveled, chest rising up and down with labored breaths— he must have been running around trying to find you this entire time.

Your boyfriend clicks his tongue in annoyance, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the man in front of him. “Problem?”

He rips off his headphones, letting them hang around his neck as the man feigns an apology, unapologetic eyes looming over your figure again seconds later. “But y’know man, you should be keeping a closer eye on your girl,” he points to you with a smug smile, “she was practically begging for me to say something with the way she’s dressed.”

“I wasn’t!” You protest, face burning as you tug on ren’s coat. You thought your outfit was cute— and definitely not anything crazy— you double checked. You really did. But he’s pointing at you now, rambling on about how you wanted this— and you can’t help the way tears start to blur your vision.

“Huh?” Kaji snarls, head tilting to leer at the man. The arm around your waist pulls you tighter against his chest, and you hear the angry thumping of his heart. “What'd you say?”

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving now.” The man chuckles in defeat. “I was just joking. Wasn’t gonna actually do something to your girl.” he waves him off. “You should lighten up—”

He chokes when Kaji grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulling him off balance before knocking him backwards, your pursuer falling roughly onto the floor as he winces in pain. “Then get outta here already.” Kaji glares, a stark contrast to the gentle way his hand is pressing against your lower back to guide you away.

“And don’t let me catch you looking at my girl again.”

TOGAME JO. referred to as she/her, ‘my girl,’ you wear his jacket

Togame gives you a sleepy smile as he watches you from Miniso’s entrance, excitedly sorting through the newly restocked blind boxes. He was resting his back against the wall behind him when he caught his first glimpse of that guy.

He’s wearing a dark hoodie, head turning back to shamelessly stare your direction as he passes by slowly. It’s enough to get togame back up on his feet immediately, quickly heading your way just as the man reaches to get a feel of your thighs—

“How shameless.” Togame laughs, big hand squeezing painfully into his wrist. “Tryna bother my girl?”

In any other situation, Togame would chuckle at your obliviousness, your headphones cancelling out any noise as your eye catches the cinnamoroll section, letting out an excited gasp as you head that way. You really had no idea.

“M-my bad man.” He stutters, ripping his arm from Togame’s grasp. “Just thought she was my sister— was just gonna tap on her back to grab her attention.”

Togame raises an eyebrow at the lazy excuse, leaning down until the man takes a nervous step back, eyes darting to the side to avoid Togame’s glare. “Sister? That’s my Shishitoren jacket she has on, no?”

The man feels heavy beads of sweat roll down his face when Togame’s hands curl into clenched fists. “You mean to tell me your lil sis is from Shishitoren?”

“I said it was my bad,” he repeats, chuckling nervously. “It won’t happen again okay? I won’t bother her again.”

Togame’s hands return to his pockets. “Won’t let you off so easy next time,” his voice is low as he steps aside to let him off, “so you’d better keep your distance.”

UMEMIYA HAJIME. referred to as she/her, ‘your girl’

Umemiya instinctively perks up when he hears two voices behind him, momentarily tuning out your gushing about how cute the little plant kits at barnes and noble are.

“….She's probably taken.”

“Is that her boyfriend behind her? Think she's talking to him.”

There's a chuckle between them. “Doesn’t matter. Go tell her what you just said to me when she's alone.”

“What?” The man laughs. “Ask her if i can grab a handful of that ass?”

More laughter.

Umemiya’s jaw clenches, eyes darting back at you in a flash, and he’s relieved when he sees you’re still gushing about the flower kits— completely oblivious to the two men just beyond this aisle. He’s by your side in an instant, arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Oh.” You turn to press a quick kiss against his temple, smiling when he melts into your touch. “Hi, Haji. Did you find a book?”

“Nothing here.” He sighs dramatically, his embrace around your middle tightening just enough for you to barely notice. “But we can grab some of those flower kits.”

“Really?”

“Of course—”

“Hey.” A familiar voice interrupts him with a stifled laugh, followed by a tap on his shoulder. With the roughness, it’s more like a jab— but he lets that slide.

“Ah— your friend, Haji.” Your voice comes off as a mix between a question and a statement.

“Hey, my friend has something to ask your girl.”

Umemiya’s jaw clenches again, and your eyes widen a bit at the sudden change in the atmosphere. The first friend’s hand is swat off of his shoulder in a split second, Umemiya straightening back up to look back at them.

Their first thought is that he’s a lot taller than they had pictured. A lot more muscular too— and they take note of the way his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt. “What, you have business with her?”

They flinch at the tone.

“Ah— sorry.” The second friend stutters. “We got the wrong person.”

SAKURA HARUKA.

“Ah— what happened?” Your hands delicately cup Sakura’s face, ignoring the way his cheeks instantly turn into a deep shade of scarlet. “N-nothing happened!” He weakly swats at your hand, a futile attempt to dissipate the heat spreading through the tips of his ears.

“I was only in the bathroom for five minutes.” You laugh. “How’d you manage to get into a fight so fast?”

He stiffens when your arms come to wrap around his bicep, resuming your ramble about some recipe you wanted to try tonight. Macarons…or something. He doesn’t pay much attention, because he knows whatever you end up making will be good anyway.

“—Are you listening, Sakura?”

The clueless look he gives you confirms it. “So you weren’t. I had a feeling— but it’s okay.” You giggle. “But you didn’t answer my question from earlier either. How’d you get into a fight?”

His eyebrows furrow deeply as he decides whether or not he should tell you. “They were….” he clicks his tongue angrily, “they were talking about you when you walked by.”

You can feel his muscles tense as he deepens his scowl, still trying to fight off the blush plastered across his face. “I just gave ‘em what they deserved.”

HAYATO SUO. referred to as she/her, mentions of how you’re dressed

“What a bitch. She was totally asking for it.”

I know— dressed like a whore.”

Suo stands up from the bench outside your local convenience store, hands dusting off the dirt on his pants. You had asked him to wait outside earlier because ‘you wanted to grab him a super delicious snack that he would most definitely love.’

He had a feeling the two dirty men who entered the store minutes later were bad news, so he was already on high alert before listening in.

“That whore— you mean my girlfriend?” Suo’s voice comes out calm, a stark contrast to the sickening anger and pressure he feels building up inside his chest.

“Huh—oh. Yeah.” One of them chuckles, jutting their thumb at the entrance. “That bitch inside your girl? You let her prance around with her tits hanging out for everyone to see?”

He's calm and composed as they size him up, their chins tilting up to look down at him. “She's pretty, isn't she?” and Suo fails to stifle the chuckle that escapes his lips. “Did she reject you too harshly for your liking?”

One of them balls his fists, muttering profanities under his breath as he leans closer to him. “Now how'd you know that? You should really teach that bitch some fucking manners.” He reaches forward to grab Suo by the collar, eyes blinking in confusion when he finds himself spun behind Suo seconds later, feet struggling to find their balance.

“—The fuck did you do?”

“It’s a bad habit of hers,” Suo continues. “I understand it though, not wanting to be around a pathetic thing like you.” The edges of his lips tug into a faint smile.

The other man’s eyebrows twitch, spitting empty threats as he he throws a wide swing, only to find himself reduced to his knees seconds later. “T-the fuck...” he grumbles to himself— he could have sworn he could practically see his fist connect. What happened?

“You'd be better off looking for someone to protect yourself the way I do for her.” His words are mocking as he heads towards the store’s entrance. “And— it'd be really unfortunate if i see something like this happen again.”

TOMA HIRAGI.

“H-Hiragi? What are you doing?”

Your lips are pressed in a nervous line as your hands come to shyly rest on his chest, sucking in a breath when his arms come to roughly cage you against the train’s walls, strong body towering just over yours.

“Do you…need more space?” You whisper, heart racing at the proximity. You can smell his cologne so well at this distance.

Hiragi simply shakes his head, distracted gaze shifting between you and something behind him every few seconds. “It’s okay.”

He swears his stomach isn't churning like this without good reason. It’s not just a coincidence that the same person who he had noticed eyeing you at the boba shop had gotten onto the same train. He could let it go at that, but the same man had been slowly worming his way through the crowd to get closer to the two of you. And while he’s not certain, he thought he saw the man take out his phone and try and angle it beneath you, but not before jolting and dropping his phone onto the floor when Hiragi's hands abruptly slammed against the wall beside you.

The train suddenly rocks, sliding his phone to the other side of the train, and you’re knocked off balance, face slamming against Hiragi's chest. “S-sorry!”

“It’s okay.” He gives you a smile, hand coming to cradle the back of your head and pull you closer. “You okay?”

“I’m okay...” you mumble, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Your chest is hard.”

He responds with a light chuckle. It’ll be okay like this, he thinks. He’ll protect you with his body for now, and figure out what to do with that guy later.

KIRYU MITSUKI. ‘pretty thing’

“It’s no wonder she doesn't like you,” Kiryu sighs. “You're gross.”

Your mouth is ajar as you stare at the state of the man who was harassing you only moments ago, his unconscious body resting neatly against the wall after Kiryu had dragged him there.

“Sorry you had to watch that, pretty thing.” His hand comes to gently interlace with yours. “But he didn't leave me with much of a choice, did he?”

“It’s okay.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “That was so cool of you.”

His eyes widen a bit before his lips curl into a small smile. “Oh? You think so?”

“Mhm. I don't know what would’ve happened to me if you were there...” your voice trails off a bit.

You really don't know what would have happened, because it's not like you know how to fight or anything. Getting hit on is enough to make you nervous, so a pushy guy like that was too much— you froze up as soon as he started spitting threats after you expressed your disinterest.

There’s a light squeeze around your hands, and you’re reminded of this gentle warmth that Kiryu always brings with him. “Don't worry about it.” He gives you a small smile. “I’ll just need to accompany you more often when you go out. It’s no problem.”

KYOTARO SUGISHITA.

“You’re like a bodyguard, Kyo.”

You giggle at the huff beside you. “How’d you even react that fast?”

It all happened within a second. You were walking beside him, stopped for a brief second to bend down and peer at the plushies lining the shop window, not noticing the man approaching you— his grimy fingers coming to take a peek under your skirt. Before you had even registered the feeling of the cloth moving, there was a loud crack, and the man was on the floor, groaning with his hands covering his bloodied face and a very angry Sugishita on top of him.

“He made me angry.”

Of course he would be. And if you weren’t with your boyfriend, it would be an entirely different story. You’d bring along your assortment of self defense items, ranging from pepper sprays to taser lipsticks— and you’d be a thousand times more cautious. Pay extra close attention to everything around you.

With Sugishita, however, it’s different. You think of it as being able to turn off your brain… or something like that. Whatever lets you truly relax and enjoy your time with him, and it’s always okay because your boyfriend is there to protect you. “Well, don’t be so mad, cutie.” You smile, your fingers reaching to interlace with his as he tenses at the nickname.

“Everything is okay— I’m okay. I’ll even get us smoothies to help lighten the mood.”

He lets you drag him to your favorite smoothie shop in silence— still fuming about the incident. He wonders why you’re not shaken up. Ifnhe had been one second later, that piece of shit would have lifted up your skirt. In public. His jaw clenches at the thought, angry eyes darting at any anyone who dares look your direction.

“Why’re…” his voice trails off, remembering what Umemiya said about toning down his choice of words around others. “Why’re you so happy?”

“Hmm? I’m not too worried.” You laugh. “You’re my bodyguard right? Nothing will happen if you’re here.”

part 2